Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 86597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
“Hey, Blake…” Someone steps onto the balcony behind me, and I turn, all too aware of the journey my body would make if this guy were to push me off here.
But it’s only Mike… or Misha? I’ve been introduced to him in the past by Carl, but I don’t know much about him, other than the fact that he makes my gaydar buzz.
“I’m so sorry for your loss. Carl was such a great guy,” he says the most generic thing he can with a hurt expression on his handsome face.
He looks good in a black suit, I have to give him that, but it’s nothing when compared to the burgundy outfit Nico wore the night we parted. I’m still upset I didn’t get to suck him off while he stood over me, majestic and mysterious in the mask he was wearing. I should have lured him into it in that gas station bathroom.
“Yeah, he will be missed,” I say, responding with an equally cliché phrase and step away from the railing, just in case.
In case of what though? In case Misha/Mike (I’ll go with Misha) was my brother’s secret gay lover, in on the scheme to kill me?
“I’m here, if you ever need someone to talk to. I know you’re not a kid anymore, but everyone needs a shoulder to cry on sometimes.”
More like, Misha needs a free place to crash in Aspen and doesn’t want to miss out on that just because Carl is gone.
“Thanks. I appreciate it,” I say, briefly glancing at the French door behind Misha as I rub my shoulders. “Starting to get chilly out here.”
I was hoping he’d get the hint, but my eyes go wider as he takes off his coat and, without asking, puts it over my shoulders. Which also means he ends up standing much closer to me than I’d expect, given how little we know each other.
Misha smiles. “There. I always really liked you, Blake. You know that, right? I just… didn’t think it was appropriate to let you know before.”
“Let me know what…?” I let my unfinished question hang in the air as the scent of his herby cologne surrounds me from all sides.
Misha places his hand on my shoulder and squeezes it with a sense of familiarity that feels wrong on so many levels. Misha might be trying to woo me, and while there isn’t anything inherently wrong with that, guilt bites my insides, making me pull away. This is an uninvited touch. I don’t want his scent on me, and his hands anywhere near me, because his proximity makes me feel as though I’m cheating on Nico.
“I did hope we could take the plane back to Vermont together. Get to know each other. I imagine it must be hard to be alone now,” Misha says and rubs his thumb along the side of my hand, making anxiety simmer at the pit of my stomach.
Abort! Abort!
I step away, sliding out of the reach of his arms. Is this a normal way to act among gay guys, or is he eager to get together with the naive gay brother now that Carl isn’t in the picture? I barely know him, and if I wanted company, it would not be his.
Not dissuaded in the slightest, Misha sighs and glances toward the snow-capped mountains, no doubt thinking he makes a pretty melancholic picture. “Carl talked about you a lot. It really is a shame that we often only realize who and what’s really important when Death knocks on the door.”
My thoughts were already with Nico, but when Misha said that pretentious sentence, the missing puzzle pieces of my mind slotted into place, leaving me with a sense of purposeful contentment.
Maybe the sentiment Misha expressed wasn’t really so pretentious after all?
I do want company, but not Misha’s, nor any other handsome stranger’s. There’s already someone who’s burrowed deep in my chest and I can’t get him out of there no matter how desperately I try to convince myself he and I can’t work as a couple.
Because we did.
Nico has shown me more heart than any of the people who ought to care for me, and he’s been gentle, patient even, when I betrayed his trust. He might be a killer, but he is so much more: a vigilante, a gentleman, a Christmas enthusiast, and an artist.
As I offer Misha a smile to soften the blow of rejection, my heart blooms, beating for someone else.
“I’m talking to someone. Sorry,” I say, and hand him back the jacket. My thoughts are already back in Vermont, with the man I rejected despite deep down knowing it to be a mistake. Oh, I have been so blind!
Disappointment washes over Misha’s face, but at least he’s not getting pushy, I have to give him that.
“Sure, but just know you can hit me up anytime. I’ll leave you my card. There are some serious predators out there.”