Page 33 of Teach Me To Sin
Shutting the bedroom door, I cross awkwardly to sit on the other end of the couch. This seems to offend the dogs, who hop down and wander away. “I assume so. Look, I’m so sorry for anything I did or said while I was under.”
His lips twitch. “Mostly you apologized nonstop. It really killed the mood.”
I laugh in spite of myself. “What about Benji? He’s made himself at home in there.”
“Oh.” He waves a dismissive hand. “I upset him, so he went running to his other dad for comfort.”
There’s a moment of dead silence as we stare at each other, the words falling heavily onto the couch between us. He grimaces. “Forget that. When I tried to ask him questions about himself, he clammed up and refused to talk. I have concerns about him.”
Resentment flares hot in my chest. “Can you drop that? It’s not your damn problem.”
Colson doesn’t answer; he just examines my features so intently I can’t breathe. I tense when he reaches toward me, but I don’t pull away. His long fingers catch my jaw and turn my face to the side, then brush the spot on my neck where his mark from the locker room has only just disappeared completely. “You’re always the good guy,” he murmurs. “Perfect Alek. But deep down you’re selfish too. You want him and what he can give you, so you ignore the warning signs.”
“No.” My voice betrays me, coming out childish and unconvincing. “I just trust him.”
Colson shakes his head slowly, eyes fixed on mine. “I don’t believe you.”
I push his hand away and scramble to my feet, even though I can’t do anything but stand there pointlessly. “Look, Colson. Do you give a shit or not? You say you don’t, but you keep coming back, acting like you have a right to be here. Either you’re in or you’re out. And unless you’re all in, there’s no reason I should listen to anything you say.”
The gorgeous older man lifts his chin as he listens to me, the lamplight glowing off his hair and skin. He’s not all supple and flawless like Benji–he has subtle crow’s feet and frown lines that deepen while I talk. There isn’t a second that goes by when my mouth doesn’t remember the shape of his. Benji’s the one who draws all the attention, but I want this man too, so intensely it makes me sick. After a long pause, he offers a smile so faint I might be imagining it. “You did alright, at the news station.”
This time, I cup his jaw in my hand. I can’t help it, like my body is a magnet torn between two poles–one in here and the other in the room behind me. “Did you actually listen to my speech? It’s what I’ve been trying to tell you this whole time.”
He tilts his head into my palm, a gentle pressure, his eyes not leaving mine. “I listened, but I still heavily question your judgment. You’re a stubborn bastard.”
My thumb brushes his cheek. “Says you.”
The atmosphere in the room breaks as he stands up so abruptly I stumble backward. He grabs a glass off the coffee table and retreats to the kitchen, rinsing it even though it already looks clean. “Look. If you need something before I leave the country, you can call me.” Setting down the glass, he points to the bedroom. “But you need to be careful with that little piece of dynamite, and we all need to stop playing games.”
The words sting more than I expect, shredding painfully into the pieces of my heart he keeps prying open. “This isn’t a game to me. You two might be playing around, but I’m risking my entire future.” The bottomless want from a moment ago intertwines with bitterness at the way his smug face always makes me feel inferior, until I can’t swallow past the ache. “I’m going. Tate will pick me up.”
“Wait,” he calls after me as I head for the front door. “What the hell am I supposed to do with Benji?”
“Throw him out? I don’t know. You told me not to make him my problem, so I won’t.” On that note, I bang the door shut and pause on the step to put on my shoes.
It’s not until I’m fuming on the sidewalk, waiting for Tate, that it sinks in–Colson agreed to help me again. He always does, no matter how much he says I drive him mad. And I have no idea how that makes me feel.
Alek
I’ve been toyingwith the idea of buying a smaller bed since Maya left. Sometimes I sleep diagonally across our king-sized mattress, just to try and balance out the hole where someone else used to be. More and more, it makes me think of the two men I’ll never share a bed with on a quiet, cuddly Saturday morning.
Today, I’m sprawled across the mattress in my boxers, cradling a mug of coffee against my chest as I search for the cheapest tickets to Columbus, Ohio for Benji’s meet. My interview aired a few days ago, followed by a positive reception as viewers praised the passionate speech I barely remember making. I still can’t shake a feeling of dread, like I’m watching a dark thunderhead grow on the horizon.
As if on cue, my phone rings. When I see Tate’s name, I drop my laptop and fumble to answer. Something’s not right; the man hates calling people. Struggling into a sitting position, I set aside my#1 Mr. Alek Teachermug that some of my students made for me and swing my legs off the bed. “Everything okay, man?”
“Check the email I sent you,” he demands without even saying hi.
I put him on speaker and open the message in my notifications–a blank email with two links to news sites. My finger hovers over the first one, but I don’t want to know. “Tate, is it…”
“No, it’s not good. Just open them.”
Coffee churns in my empty stomach as I tap each link and skim the headlines.
Nonprofit head stepping aside to rebuild controversial family coaching empire.
Donors question swimming nonprofit’s use of funds as director launches personal venture.
“I… What?” The words go in and out of focus on the screen in front of me.