It really was a good thing that I was sidelined for Saturday’s game. I still went to the game, of course, and cheered the boys on. But I didn’t have to face off against Valentine.
It was hard enough watching the game, watching him, and not being part of it. But my heart was in my throat every time he got tackled, every ruck, and I held my breath until he was back on his feet. If I’d have been on the field with him, fuck knows what I would’ve done.
And one time our lock, Simons, took him down. Now, Simons was a good guy, a teammate, a mate even. I’d known him for years but I had to shove my hands into my coat pockets so I didn’t run out onto the field and take his head off for tackling Valentine like that. Everyone on my bench said things like ‘good tackle, good tackle’ and it probably was a good tackle, but I didn’t like the fact he took down my Valentine.
My Valentine?
I was losing my damned mind.
Valentine wasn’t my anything. Apart from my enemy with benefits. Not that we were enemies anymore . . . My not-friend with benefits. A regular fuck. Someone I had an arrangement with.
Someone I cared for.
Someone I was beginning to care a great deal for.
Get a fucking grip, Marshall.
All that aside, it was a good game of rugby. North Ryde and Lane Cove were the only two teams undefeated so far, so it was always going to be a tough game. I thought Lane Cove might have had us in the second half, but my boys held their line and when Taka made a run for it, no one on their team could stop him. He was too big, too strong, and too good.
We won by four points.
I stood with the bench and clapped our boys off the field as they ran into the dressing sheds. I clapped a few of them on the back. Taka, of course. Not Simons.
But then I stood there and clapped the Lane Cove boys off too, because it was a good sportsmanship thing to do. I locked eyes with Valentine as he jogged past me, just for the briefest second, and there was the slightest smirk on his face. Along with sweat and a smear of dirt, and it could have very well been his mouthguard that made him smirk.
But I liked to think it was me.
And later, back at the pub, I stood with my back to where Valentine was sitting. I had to, to stop myself from looking for him every two seconds.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Taka mumbled. “Dude, play it cool.”
I paused, my beer bottle at my lips. “What?”
“You keep lookin’ over there, you gonna give yourself away.”
“Oh fuck off,” I replied. “I’m not looking anywhere. I have my back to him.”
Him.
I’d said him as if I’d just admitted it was Valentine, when last week I’d denied it. And at work, we’d been so busy we’d had no time for private conversations. And now, what? I just said him as if it was common knowledge?
Christ. Taka was right. I was gonna give myself away.
Taka smiled because he knew he was right. “And that makes it more obvious when you keep turning your head.”
I rolled my eyes, but I knew he had me. Taka had a clear view over my shoulder. His gaze went from Valentine to me. “If it’s any consolation, he’s tryin’ not to look at you just as much as you’re tryin’ not to look at him.”
What?
I had to make myself not look. Don’t turn around. Don’t look over your shoulder.
“Hey, great game, man,” one of the Lane Cove boys said to Taka on his way to the bathrooms.
“Thanks,” Taka said, raising his beer bottle.
Well, now that I’d all but admitted it . . .
“I told him you knew,” I said, then sipped my beer with my gaze fixed on the back wall. “But no one else can know.”
“I won’t tell anyone.”
I cut my eyes to Taka’s. I trusted him with my life, but now I was also trusting him with Valentine’s. “No one can know, Taka. He’s not out. His father would . . .”
His father would what? Kill him? Ruin him? Fire him? Send him away?
I shook my head. “No one else can know.”
“It’s cool,” he said, his permanent smile in place. “No one’d believe me anyway.”
I nodded because that was true.
“But thanks for saying it,” he added.
I felt shitty for lying to him. “I never meant to keep it from you. It’s just not my secret to tell, okay? He has his reasons for being—”
“An arsehole?”
“The way he is.” Then I added. “And an arsehole. Except he’s not.” I shook my head at myself because this was ridiculous. “I don’t know what the fuck he is.”
Taka smiled as he swigged his beer. “Never thought I’d see the day.”
“See the day for what?”
“Where you caught feelings.”
“I haven’t caught feelings.” Christ, what a stupid thing to say.
“Where you got nailed down by one guy.”
“I’m not nailed down.”
He pressed his thumb on the bar like he was squashing a bug. “Under the thumb, my friend.”
“Oh, fuck off.”
Taka laughed just as someone tried to squeeze past. “Excuse me,” a guy said, his hand lingering on my side as he got through the crowd. I gave him a brief glance and he was vaguely familiar. I think maybe I’d taken him home once. Maybe that explained the way he touched me . . . hopeful of a repeat.
A few weeks ago, that move would have seen me follow him to the bathrooms. Now I moved to let him pass without a second thought.
Taka gave me a pointed look. “My point exactly, bro.”
I rolled my eyes.
Then someone else brushed up against me to get through. “Excuse me,” he said, his voice warm and familiar. I turned this time, coming face to face with Valentine, his gaze lasered in on mine, and he smirked. “Maybe you shouldn’t stand in the walkway.”
I bristled, but then I noticed the shirt he was wearing. The white button-down with the buttons I’d sewn on with red thread.
And if you wear this shirt, it’s like you’re saying Marshall did this, and no one but us will know.
My gaze drew up to meet his, and I smiled. “Maybe you should go around.”
His nostrils flared, but his friend Lleyton intervened and pushed Valentine past me. He looked at me with disdain. “Calm down, Wise,” he said, then he smiled at Taka. “Hey, Taka, good game today.”
Taka, of course, was now grinning. “Thanks, man.”
My heart was hammering, blood pumping.
That little interaction was interesting.
He’d worn that shirt because I’d told him it was like saying I’d been the one to rip the last buttons off, how no one would know but us.
But I’d know.
He was wearing it for me.
When I finally met Taka’s eyes, he laughed. “Yeah, no one will suspect a thing. Tell me, do you two hate-fuck each other or something? Because, Jesus.” He shook his head.
I snorted and drained my beer. “Something like that.”
“Hey, Valentine,” someone said loudly, getting my immediate attention. “Happy birthday, man!”
I turned at that, because what the fuck?
He and Lleyton were talking to a group of guys near the bathrooms. They looked like typical rich private-school types, and Valentine shook their hands and did that fake laugh, and . . .
“Oh, thanks,” Valentine said.
His birthday?
What the actual fuck?
How did I not know that? How did some fucking random dickhead in a bar know that and I didn’t?
Anger spiked in my blood, a thousand stinging needles in my heart.
Valentine disappeared into the bathrooms, and I put my empty bottle on the bar.
“Don’t do it, man,” Taka said quietly.
I looked up at him. “Do what?”
“Don’t go in there.”
I was so fucking angry—irrationally and stupidly—and hurt.
I was hurt.
This was bullshit.
I fished a twenty out of my pocket and put it on the bar. “Next round’s on me,” I said. “I’m out.”
I turned and pushed my way through the crowd, desperate for fresh air. I felt like I was drowning.
Over what?
Not knowing it was Valentine’s birthday?
That he never told me. That it wasn’t something he thought I should know.
That I wasn’t . . . that we weren’t what I’d stupidly fucking thought we were? And I’d have liked to think we were on the same page, especially after this last week, all the texts, me staying with him, getting into the bath with him because he was hurting when he’d tried to pretend he wasn’t crying. Me staying the night and holding him while he slept because he wasn’t as fine as he said he was. He was a mess and I wanted to make him better.
Me being in way over my head, and him . . .
Him being nothing more than he ever said he would be.
Christ.
I checked the time. It was half-past eight. Thirty minutes before our usual 9pm rendezvous time . . .
What I felt like doing was going back inside the pub, getting shitfaced, and forgetting all about him. Or going home to lick my wounds.
But what I needed to do was be a fucking grown up and talk to him.
I hadn’t wanted to force his hand, to find out what the fuck we were, but apparently tonight was it.
We’d either be finished or we’d be . . . something else.
I’d only had a few beers, so I drove to his place and sat on the brick fence in the freezing fucking cold waiting for him. The longer I sat there, the more determined I was. I shot him a text.
Still on for nine?
My stomach was a massive knot, and my heart was squeezing tight.
I didn’t want him to end this but by the end of the night, at least I’d know where we stood.
A knock on the glass foyer door startled me. It was Valentine, and he opened the door when I stood up.
“Waiting long?” he asked.
I shook my head and brushed past him. I hit the elevator button and we rode in silence up to his floor.
It was awkward.
And awful.
He opened his front door and stood aside for me to walk in first. Enzo came out to meet us and Valentine scooped him up, holding him like a shield for what he knew was coming.
I stood in his kitchen with my arms crossed.
“Just say it,” Valentine murmured, his face a mask of sadness. “Clearly something’s wrong.”
“It’s your birthday?”
He sighed. “Yes.”
“Today?”
“Tomorrow, actually.” He nodded slowly. “That guy . . . we were in the same year at college. It’s his birthday too, that’s how he remembered.”
I scrubbed my hands over my face, trying to calm down, to put aside my hurt and get some answers. “I’ve been trying to think of why you didn’t tell me,” I said. “And the only thing I keep coming back to is that we’re obviously on different pages here. Entirely different books, even.”
He shook his head. “No.”
“I think we are. Because here I am thinking maybe we had something, and it’s pretty fucking obvious that you don’t feel the same.”
He shook his head again, but Enzo struggled to get down, and as soon as Valentine let him go, he began to meow at his bowl.
“I don’t know how I feel,” Valentine whispered. “I’m . . . confused. I don’t . . . I can’t . . .”
Enzo meowed and meowed, and Valentine groaned. “Okay, okay,” he said, clearly flustered. He went to the pantry and got out the cat food and he fixed Enzo’s dinner, agitated, his hands now shaking, and Enzo kept yelling at him until he put the bowl down. Then Valentine stepped back and shook his head, his hand to his forehead, fingers trembling. Enzo was finally quiet, but Valentine was pale, and he opened his mouth to say something, and he tried to speak, his eyes wide and watery. He gasped like he couldn’t catch his breath. Over and over, he struggled to get enough air.
Oh my god.
He was freaking out.
Valentine Tye was freaking out.
I went to him and wrapped my arms around him, holding him. “You’re okay,” I soothed, though I wasn’t sure he was.
“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologise,” I whispered, rubbing his back. “I gotchu.”
He nodded and then shook his head, still gasping for air. “Just need . . . to catch my breath . . . need my pills.”
His pills.
The ones in his bathroom?
“I’ll get them,” I said, rushing into his room. I grabbed all the prescription bottles in his cabinet because I didn’t know which ones he needed, and when I came out, he was getting a glass of water from the sink.
I put the pills on the counter and he opened one bottle, his hands shaking, and threw some back, chasing them down with water.
He shook his head. “Sorry. Sorry.”
I took the glass from him, sat it down, then pushed him against the kitchen counter, my arms tight around him. His whole body was trembling, his breaths short and sharp. “Don’t apologise.”
“Panic,” he mumbled, his face against my chest. “I have panic . . . attacks.”
Christ.
Something else I didn’t know about him.
“It’s okay,” I whispered, rubbing his back. “You’re okay.”
We stood like that for a long, long while, until his breathing evened out. Until the pills kicked in. “Haven’t had one in a long time,” he said, his forehead against my neck.
I rubbed his back some more. “You feel okay now?”
He nodded, barely. But when I went to pull away, his hold on me tightened. “I’m sorry,” he said. “For not telling you. Birthdays aren’t something I celebrate. Never have. Not really.”
“Never?”
He shook his head and gave an uncertain shrug. “My sister and I . . . our parents weren’t . . . no one . . .”
Parents? I couldn’t ever recall the mention of his mother.
“Your parents are arseholes, and you and your sister deserved better.”
“I know.” He nodded, still not letting me go. “I didn’t think to tell you because . . . because I forgot. Not forgot to tell you. I forgot it was my birthday.”
Jesus Christ.
I squeezed him and kissed the side of his head. “I’m sorry I got mad. I heard that guy tell you happy birthday, and it stung. He knew and I didn’t. And I . . . I don’t know what I thought.”
Yes, you do. You thought this was about you. You didn’t for one moment stop to think about him.
“You’re the only person who does know me, Marshall. Only you,” he said. He pulled back now and his eyes were glassy. Glazed over. Yep, the drugs were definitely working. “I thought you were going to say we were finished and . . . I panicked.”
Yeah, I saw that.
“I don’t want to end this,” I whispered, kissing him softly. “I thought you were going to tell me that this feeling wasn’t part of our agreement.”
He smiled sadly. “This feeling.”
I nodded. “This confused feeling.”
He snorted. “I have that same one.”
“We need to talk,” I said. “But maybe tomorrow.”
He nodded. “Tomorrow. Please don’t leave me alone tonight.”
I cupped his face and pressed my lips to his. “I won’t. Please don’t tell me this is all one-sided.”
He shook his head. “It’s not. But I don’t know what it is. I don’t want anything to change. I can’t offer you anything more than this. You showed me . . . things. Special things.”
I frowned at that. “I showed you kindness. And it’s a little bit fucked up that you think that’s special.”
“It’s special to me. And you didn’t just show me kindness. You showed me what was possible, and what I could have. And what I’ll miss when you leave me. What I will never find again. All I wanted was for you to fuck me. I never asked for anything else, and now I don’t know how to live without it.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Not yet.” God, he looked so damn sad. “I can’t ever come out, Marshall. I can’t ever be out.”
“I know.” I brushed my thumb over his cheek. “I don’t expect you to.”
He studied my eyes, and staring back at him was taking me places I wasn’t prepared for. We really did need to talk, but tonight was not the time for this conversation. Not when he was like this, with his slow blinks and lazy smile.
I looked down at his shirt and tapped the first button. “Nice red coloured thread.”
He smirked. “Thanks.” Then he seemed to remember something. “Oh. That guy in the bar who put his hand right here,” he said, sliding his hand down to my waist. “What was that?”
The guy who brushed past me? The one I’d thought the old me would have banged in the back alley, but the new me didn’t even consider it? The guy I think I maybe did bang in the back alley once . . .
“I didn’t like it,” Valentine said, frowning.
I chuckled. “Is that why you came over and did the same?”
“I don’t like it when other guys touch you.”
He was jealous?
Well, I liked that way more than I should have, and I was about to take the piss, but then he smiled, his head lolled back and he tried to look at me. “Think I took one too many pills.”
“How many did you take?”
He shrugged. “Two. Three?”
“How many are you supposed to take?”
“One.”
Shit. “Do you need to go to hospital?”
He snorted. “Nope. Need to sleep. Make me tired. And wobbly.”
Wobbly. Valentine Tye just said the word wobbly.
“Okay then, let’s get you to bed.”
He nodded and pulled his phone out of his pocket and slid it onto the counter, and I noticed a text on his screen.
Still on for nine?
My text.
Wait . . .
“Is that my text?” I asked. “Why is my name the pizza emoji in your phone?”
He laughed, and so help me god, his smile was incredible, high or not. “Pizza. Nine inches. Deep dick . . . I mean, deep pan.”
I scoffed out a laugh. “What the . . . ?”
He laughed and he was heavy against me. “’S funny.”
I mean it kinda was.
I chuckled, stunned. “You need to go to bed. I can assure you there will be no nine-inch-deep dicking tonight.”
He whined and leaned his whole weight against me, resting his head in the crook of my neck. He fisted my shirt. “Don’t go.”
Oh god, Valentine.
“I won’t leave. Me and Enzo can watch Rambo. He hasn’t seen it.”
He sighed, keeping his head down. “I haven’t seen it either. I could watch it too?”
I reckoned he wouldn’t even get past the opening credits, so why not? “Sure.”
We got to the couch and he planted himself on me, between my legs, lying with his face on my chest. I gently ran my fingers through his hair until his eyes closed, and Enzo jumped up and joined us.
I could get used to this.
Real used to it.
So much had happened tonight. Things were admitted but not discussed. We definitely needed to talk, to clear the air, but for now it was enough.
I’d learned some things about Valentine tonight.
He’d said he had feelings for me. Feelings that confused him. He’d freaked out when he thought I was leaving him. He’d been overwhelmed and panic kicked in. He had pills to help him with that, so it was something he’d learned to live with. He’d never celebrated his birthdays because his parents didn’t give a fuck. I didn’t even know he had a mother, yet he’d said parents.
He’d said I was the only person to ever know the real him.
And maybe when I’d come here tonight, my feelings had been confused too. Leaving the pub, not knowing what anything meant. But lying there on his couch, with him in my arms and his cat purring beside us . . . my feelings were pretty freaking clear.
I didn’t hate Valentine Tye anymore.
I hadn’t for a while.
I didn’t know what it meant for us or where we went from here. But he was on the same page as me. And, for tonight, that was enough.
I woke up around six o’clock, sunrise barely cracking through Valentine’s bedroom window. He was lying on his side, facing me, sound asleep. His hair was messed up, his lips parted. He looked peaceful and so fucking beautiful.
And today was his birthday.
And if he’d never really celebrated a birthday before, then I should make this one he’d never forget. I’d make it all about him. Starting with breakfast.
“Why are you watching me?” he mumbled.
I laughed. “How could you tell with your eyes closed?”
He made a face and rolled over, burying his beautiful face into his pillow. “Don’t be weird.”
I kissed the back of his head. “Happy birthday.”
He froze for a second, then groaned as he deflated. Did he just remember last night? “Mm.”
“I’m going to make you breakfast,” I said.
He groaned again. “Coffee.”
“Breakfast.”
“Breakfast coffee.”
I laughed and smacked his arse before rolling out of bed. I pulled on my jeans and went to his fridge and found a whole lotta nothing. His pantry was the same. “Jesus Christ,” I said, loud enough for him to hear. “Do you ever eat?”
His reply was half mumbled, half croaky. “Coffee.”
I started his coffee machine and found two cups. Enzo decided to join me, jumping up on the kitchen counter. He meowed at me. “Morning to you too. Want some breakfast? At least there’s food for you here.”
I poured some biscuits into his bowl, and when the coffee machine beeped, I made us one each. I took it into his room. “Birthday coffee.”
He groaned again. “Really?” He did sit up though, resting against the headboard.
I handed him his cup and sat on the edge of the bed. “Yes, because there’s no birthday breakfast. I’m gonna have to go out and get something.”
“Just have it delivered.”
“For breakfast?”
“Sure. Why not?”
“Or we could go out to a café somewhere?”
His gaze shot to mine, and I realised I’d put my foot in it. No, we couldn’t go out somewhere . . .
“We could go where no one knows you,” I added. “Northern beaches or something.”
“My sister lives up there.”
Of course she does.
“We could drive up to Newcastle,” I suggested, even though it was a stupid idea. “Or just drive and get something takeaway. We don’t have to get out of the car. Maccas? I owe Enzo some nuggets.”
Valentine almost smiled as he sipped his coffee, but he never said anything.
And this was the reality of seeing someone who was not out, who could never be seen in public with me. Not just any guy, but especially me. A guy who he’d had a somewhat public feud with for over a decade.
I was also an employee.
He was watching me. “Not so much fun, is it?”
“I just wanted to do something for your birthday,” I murmured. “It doesn’t have to be anything, really. We can order breakfast. Or I can make a quick trip to the supermarket.”
His eyes met mine. “Just this is enough for me,” he said. “It’s more than I’ve ever had.”
Christ.
It just made me more determined to do something.
“Okay, I’ll make a dash to the shops. I’m going to make you breakfast. Actually, I’m going to cook you breakfast and you’re going to help me. I’ll be ten minutes.” I stood up, not taking no for an answer. “And if Enzo tries to tell you he hasn’t had breakfast, he’s lying.”
I pulled on my sweater and boots, grabbed my keys, and hauled arse to the closest supermarket. I bought all the breakfast essentials, then hit the cake section and even found some birthday candles.
Because fuck it.
I looked twice at the little balloons and decided that was too stupid, got to the end of the aisle, and went back for the stupid balloon because fuck that too.
And a stupid bouquet of stupid supermarket flowers at the checkout.
Because fuck that as well.
I made it back to Valentine’s apartment with my arms full to find him freshly showered and smiling. “You took twenty minutes, not ten.” Then he noticed what I was holding. “What did you . . . ?”
I took the flowers out first. “Happy birthday.”
He stood there, stunned, maybe horrified. He didn’t take them. He just stared. “Marshall . . .”
“They’re only supermarket flowers. They were at the checkout. It was a stupid idea,” I said, feeling like a grade-A fool.
Until he got all teary.
“No one’s ever bought me flowers before,” he whispered.
Oh shit.
Oh god.
“Well, to be fair, I’ve never bought flowers for anyone before. Except my mum, of course.” Then, while I was being the biggest idiot ever, I took out the little balloon and shoved it into the bouquet and held them out for him.
He let out a breathy laugh and took them, his chin wobbling a little. “Thank you.”
“Happy birthday,” I said again.
He nodded and looked at the flowers as if they were some award-winning florist arrangement.
Then I took out the cake and candles. It was just one of those small ones, not much bigger than a muffin, to be honest. I quickly shoved a single candle in it and held it up. “And this.” I shrugged. “I don’t have a lighter.”
He let out a teary laugh. “A cake?”
“Well, yes. It’s what happens on birthdays, typically.” I cringed, because god, this was all awkward. “But you have to eat your breakfast first. That’s the rule. Well, that was the rule in my house growing up.”
I cringed again.
Fuck.
Valentine laughed but he wiped a tear from his cheek. “Christ, this is . . . I don’t know why I’m crying.”
God, why did it hurt so much to see him cry? “I didn’t mean to upset you,” I murmured. This was all a bad idea . . .
He shook his head quickly, more tears welling in his eyes. “No, you didn’t. I, uh . . . wasn’t expecting this. It’s just . . . maybe the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”
Oh, goddammit.
I put the cake on the table and went to Valentine, putting my arms around him. “Don’t crush my flowers,” he mumbled into my sweater, holding the flowers out to the side.
Then, of course, Enzo decided to try and steal the cake. “No,” I said, lunging for it. I saved it before he got his fangs in it. “Little dude, we had a deal. Remember?”
Valentine scooped the now-irate cat off the table and dropped him onto the sofa, and I took the cake and the grocery bag from the table into the kitchen. “Okay, breakfast-cooking time.”
I pulled out the Turkish bread, eggs, bacon, vine tomatoes, and a jar of Hollandaise sauce, and began looking for a chopping board and different knives. Valentine stood back, leaning against the counter, arms crossed.
“You can help,” I said.
He wore a strange smile. “But you’re doing such a good job. I never realised how appealing it was to have a man who knows his way around my kitchen.”
I took the short, sharp knife and handed it to him. “Roma tomatoes. Cut lengthways.”
He smirked. “Mm, bossy. You know I like that.”
I put a pan on the expensive stove top that I doubted had ever been used. “And I said no dessert until after breakfast.” Soon I had bacon sizzling and badly sliced tomatoes frying, and I put him on coffee duty while I toasted the Turkish bread and cracked the eggs.
A few minutes later, we sat down at the table with a pretty good birthday breakfast.
He hadn’t stopped smiling yet.
“This is really good,” he said. “I can’t believe you made this.”
I sipped my coffee. “I can’t believe you can’t cut tomatoes.”
He laughed. “I told you I don’t cook.”
“We’ll have to make a dinner next. Something easy.”
“Takeout is easy.”
“Takeout is expensive.”
He shrugged. “I have money, and honestly, I’d pay just so my kitchen wasn’t a mess.” He gestured to the pans on the stove.
“I’ll clean this up,” I said. “Only because it’s your birthday. When we make dinner, we both clean fifty-fifty.”
He was still smiling, and he ate everything on his plate. So much for only wanting coffee . . . But then that line between his eyebrows appeared.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
His eyes met mine. “Nothing. I was just thinking.”
“I know. You get a line right here,” I said, pointing above my nose.
He smirked wryly. “You know me so well.”
I wasn’t sure I did, but considering how private he was and how closed off he was towards others, maybe I did?
“When’s your birthday?” he asked.
“August fifteenth.”
“Any brothers or sisters?” He made a face. “You never mentioned any . . .”
I shook my head. “Just me.”
“Longest relationship?”
“Ooh, straight into those kinda questions,” I said. “Five months. His name was Kevin.”
He frowned. “Five months . . .”
“I was twenty-two, he was thirty.”
“Who ended it?”
“He did.”
I wasn’t sure if he was pleased or pissed. “Why? What was wrong with him?”
I chuckled. “Wasn’t a good fit,” I quoted. “Physically, I mean. He didn’t like . . . he preferred a smaller dick.”
Valentine laughed. “His loss, honestly. Yours is the best I’ve ever had.”
Oh, Jesus.
“The best, huh?”
He nodded. “Easily.”
“What’s your longest relationship?”
He inhaled deeply and sighed on the exhale. “None. Us, whatever this is. I’ve only ever had physical arrangements. Sometimes repeats. Mostly not. I never wanted anyone around. I’m not exactly easy to be around, let’s put it that way. It’s just easier to be alone rather than explain my . . . life, my job, my family. And I never found anyone who was compatible.” He shrugged. “Until . . .”
“Until me.”
His gaze cut to mine, and he gave the barest of nods. But then he rolled his eyes. “Don’t get smug. It’s not all about you.”
I chuckled. “No. It’s about you too.” I stood up and took our plates to the sink. “You go do something. I’ll clean up here.”
He sat there for a few seconds, his brow furrowed again, then he began clearing the table. When I’d finished stacking the dishwasher, I ran some hot soapy water into the sink for the pans and suddenly Valentine stood behind me. He put his hands on my waist and pressed his forehead against my spine.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
I smiled, not game to turn around in case he pulled away. I slid my hands over his to hold him right where he was. “Is this the first time you touched me first?”
He was quiet for a moment. “I told you not to get smug.” Then he snorted. “And I seem to recall a bathroom stall incident that I initiated.”
I laughed. “Oh, yes. When you shoved me into a cubicle so you could give me a blowjob.”
“I shoved you into the stall so you wouldn’t start a fight.”
“And so you could suck my dick.”
I felt him smile against my back. “I’d heard you had a huge dick. I needed to see for myself.”
I laughed. “Oh, like a nine-inch-deep, deep pan pizza, right?”
He snorted and pulled his arms free. He leaned against the kitchen counter, kinda smiling, kinda not. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that.”
I turned to face him. “Don’t be. It’s funny. I’m just surprised you actually have a sense of humour.”
He made a face. “No, not about the pizza emoji. I’m . . . sorry about last night. I freaked out a bit.” He nodded to the prescription pills still on the counter. I thought he might have put them away when I’d gone to the supermarket, but no, they were still there. Deliberately, I could guess, so he could bring up this conversation. “Do you want to know what they’re for?”
Oh boy . . .
“If you want to tell me, then yes. You don’t owe me any explanation.” Here goes nothing. “To be honest with you, Valentine. I saw those in your bathroom cabinet a while ago.”
His gaze met mine. “Oh.”
“I totally snooped. Sorry. But like I said, you don’t owe me an explanation. If you need meds, you take them. It’s that simple. You don’t need to feel ashamed or embarrassed.”
“I’m not . . . ashamed.” He shook his head, then crossed his arms and uncrossed them, then searched for pockets he didn’t have.
I reached out and took his hand, giving it a squeeze. “It’s okay.”
“I’m not ashamed,” he said again. “I just . . . it’s not easy to admit weakness.”
“It’s not a weakness, Valentine.”
He winced, and then he let out a long sigh before he reached for the first bottle of pills. “These are sleeping pills. I don’t take them very often, but sometimes my mind won’t stop turning. If I have a lot going on at work, or if I’ve had to deal with my father . . .” He shook off whatever line of thought that was. Then he picked up another bottle. “These are for anxiety. I don’t need them very often either, but sometimes it sneaks up on me. If it’s something big or something I can’t control . . .”
Like the idea of me leaving.
I rubbed his arm and let him get his thoughts together.
“Sometimes it feels like everything’s closing in on me and I can’t breathe.”
“Like last night.”
He nodded. “I thought you were going to tell me . . .” He shook his head again and laughed. “Fuck. This got complicated, didn’t it?”
“Not really,” I said. “It doesn’t have to be.”
“When you . . .” He scowled like he was mad at himself. “When you fuck me, it makes everything stop. Nothing else exists. My mind goes quiet and nothing else matters.”
Oh, okay. Not what I was expecting, but—
He licked the corner of his mouth and nodded. “I like the pain of it because it centres my attention, and I like it when you’re rough and when you use me for your pleasure. I’m sure there’s probably a shrink’s list on why that’s fucked up, but all I know is that I like it. All my life people have given in to me or yielded to me because of who I am, because of who my father is. Yes, Valentine. Anything you want, Valentine.” He rolled his eyes. “But not you. You bend me over and hold me down and call me names, tell me I’m worthless and for some fucked-up reason it validates me. It reminds me that I’m not invincible, that I’m human.”
Christ.
He folded his arms then and stared at the wall. Vulnerable Valentine was gone, proud and defiant Valentine in his place. “I don’t want that to change,” he added. “I don’t want this agreement to change. And that might be selfish on my behalf because it’s all about what I want, and I’m sorry. But it should come as no great surprise to learn that I’m selfish.”
“So you still get what you want, you still expect me to yield, to give the Valentine Tye whatever he demands, even though you just said you liked it when I didn’t?”
He winced. “No.” Then he sighed. “Yes.”
“Okay, just so we’re not confused.”
He sighed. “Marshall.”
“No, I get it. It’s all about you.”
His eyes met mine and he raised his chin. “You’re supposed to hate me, remember?”
I barked out a laugh. “Oh, so that’s what this is about? Poking and prodding me to get a reaction. Well, let me tell you something, Valentine. You want me to hold you down and fuck you so hard you can’t sit down for two days; you don’t need to make me mad for me to do that. I know how you like it. You like it rough. You like me to own you, use you. I don’t need to be mad at you to do that. I’ll give it to you as hard as you can take it because that’s how I like it too.”
His jaw bulged and his nostrils flared, a familiar heat filled his stare.
“But I don’t hate you,” I admitted quietly. “I hope that’s not going to be a problem. I mean, I don’t particularly like you, Valentine.”
He studied me for a second until he tried not to smile. “Good. Because I don’t particularly like you either.”
“Good.” It didn’t help that I was smiling back at him.
“So,” he said. “Now we have that out of the way, I believe there was a mention of birthday sex. Well, you called it dessert, but you were talking about—”
“Ooh, cake,” I said, remembering. I plucked the candle out of the cake, went to the gas cooktop, and pressed it on. The gas plate lit up, I lit the candle and carefully stuck it back in the cake. I held it up for him. “Make a wish.”
His eyes went to mine, and his smile wavered a little. “A wish?”
“Yes, it’s a birthday cake thing.”
He stared at the flame for a second but then he very gently blew the candle out.
“Happy birthday, Valentine.”
“Thank you,” he murmured.
I put the cake on the counter. “You have to cut it and eat the first slice. That’s another birthday rule.”
“But it’s eight o’clock in the morning.”
“It’s your birthday.” I pulled a knife from the drawer and handed it to him.
“But I wished that you’d bend me over the sofa and nail me. That’s what I wished for and it hasn’t happened yet.”
I laughed. “Oh believe me, I’m gonna do that too. But first you gotta cut the cake.”
He rolled his eyes but he was smiling, and it might have been stupid, but no one had ever made a fuss over him on his birthday before, so what the hell.
I sang him the birthday song.
He was embarrassed, for me, I think. But he did take a bite of the first piece, then he made me have a bite, and it was far too much sugar, but then he leaned up on his toes and kissed me.
Just a peck.
And for all the filthy things we’d done together, that simple little peck was just the sweetest thing. It took me by surprise and made by belly swoop. He’d never initiated touch, and he’d certainly never kissed me first. Sure, I’d had his tongue down my throat, but this seemed by far the most intimate kiss.
“Thank you,” he murmured, his cheeks tinted in the softest pink.
Damn.
“Don’t get smug,” I said, repeating what he’d said to me earlier and ignoring the thump of my heart. “Now, about that birthday wish.”
