Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 123873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 619(@200wpm)___ 495(@250wpm)___ 413(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 619(@200wpm)___ 495(@250wpm)___ 413(@300wpm)
“I know. Just remember your pretend boyfriend is a very large man and while not particularly violent, I’m quite good at convincing people I could be.” And Brendan might enjoy that a little too much—convincing Oliver Newcomb. “Though that might explain why you’re afraid of me.”
Cillian winced, baring his clenched teeth, and leaned away a little. “…I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Uh-huh. And how did you mean it?”
“It’s not…!”
“…Cillian.” Brendan almost wanted to smile; the other night he’d watched a dozen videos of Cillian meeting people with a confident, sleepy-eyed smile, and yet somehow around Brendan he was always sputtering, flustered. “I’m not upset. I just want to make sure I’m not making you as uncomfortable as Newcomb is.”
“…no! Ah…fuck.” In a sudden spurt of motion, Cillian furiously scrubbed the fingers of both hands through his hair, shaking it up into a cloud that caught the lights and turned gold along the thinnest arcs of dark brown strands. Then he threw his head back, raking his hair back into a messy semblance of some sort of order, staring upward. “I barely slept last night asking myself if this whole…thing…we’re planning is really happening. And not even sure if I was…you know, if I was going to say yes. You told me to think about it, and I thought about it, and I’m thinking about saying yes and I’m nervous.”
Rocking forward, Brendan draped his arms on his thighs and tilted his head toward Cillian. “Tell me what’s making you nervous.”
“The fact that you’re so chill about this, for one.” Cillian waved both hands, then dropped them. “I’m a mess, and you’re half asleep.”
“No, I’m fifty-one years old.” Brendan half-smiled, shaking his head. “At some point, one day you just…slow down. Stop. And realize you don’t have any energy left to waste on things that don’t matter. So you just…don’t. And suddenly there’s much less to stress over in the world, and much more time for the important things.”
Cillian stilled, blinking quickly, giving Brendan a long, quiet look of parted lips and subtly trembling lashes. “So you’re…making time for me. Because I’m an important thing…?”
“Helping my costar is much more important than worrying about other people’s judgment about what two consenting adults do.” He bumped his elbow into Cillian’s arm again. “Remember, if you come by tonight…you’re the one in control. You have to teach me, because this is new to me. So nothing will happen that you don’t want to happen, because you’re going to tell me exactly what to do.”
“Oh, God, that’s even more terrifying.” Cillian let out a shaky laugh, swinging his feet a bit against the crate and thumping his boots against the side, the vibration of impact shivering up into Brendan’s thighs. “Me. Giving you orders.”
“What, just because I’m taller? Please. I’ve seen men half your size top men twice mine. You can be the David to my Goliath.” Brendan paused, considering. “…in instructions. I don’t switch. Don’t even try it.”
“Brendan!” Cillian gasped—before bursting into helpless, red-faced laughter, curling forward and hiding his face in his hands. “Stop—I mean, we’re in public, how can you—”
“Say such horrible things with a straight face?” Brendan grinned. “Practice. And it’s worth it. You’re not afraid anymore, are you?”
Wheezing, Cillian sat up, wiping at his eyes, still grinning. “Not so much, no. I…thank you.” His grin faded into a thoughtful smile, and he shook his head slightly, looking at Brendan for long moments. “So I think I’m starting to figure you out.”
“Yeah?”
“Mm. You’re impatient, but…you’re actually quite nice.”
“…the hell I am. I’m practical, and I have a reputation to uphold, and just because I can afford a box office bomb doesn’t mean I want one.” Nice. Hmph. Brendan grunted and flicked Cillian’s arm. “I’m not nice. I’m just too impatient to wait for you to deal with this on your own.”
“Ah, all right. I’ll accept that.”
Cillian’s sly little smile said he wasn’t accepting anything at all.
Brendan narrowed his eyes. “So…you’re not afraid of me anymore, hm? Just like that?”
“Nope.” Cillian lifted his chin, pursing his lips with a decisive little nod. “All fear dissolved. You’re as harmless as a kitten.”
“You think so?”
He couldn’t say where the urge that gripped him came from. Only that those red-soft lips, teasing and coy, pulled at him, pricked his pride, pricked something else—and he caught Cillian by the chin, drew him in, met startled eyes for just a moment before he let his sweep closed as he leaned in, bringing his mouth in to Cillian’s, close enough to feel and hear the sound of Cillian’s breath drawn in sharp past parted lips.
Brendan stopped.
“Yes?” Brendan asked on an exhale—because those lines weren’t there yet, because he didn’t know Cillian’s boundaries, because he wouldn’t teach Cillian to fear him the way he feared Newcomb.
Cillian’s lips trembled, stirring the fine hairs against Brendan’s cheek, around his mouth, with his shallow breaths and soft quiver-sweet vibrations.