Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 71912 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71912 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
“We’ll be there to get it as soon as we can.”
Darius hung up without saying anything else.
***
“Son of a cocksucking bastard!”
Oh, great. Darius was still there—Marc had hoped he was on his way out when he called—and clearly whatever he was doing wasn’t going well.
“Fuckweasel!”
“Darius! We’re here for Riley’s phone.”
Darius made a sound that was way too much like the one he made when he thrust deep into Marc’s ass. This was so not the time to get horny, but truthfully, all he had to do was be near Darius, and he wanted him. “Wait a motherfucking second.”
Marc couldn’t help but laugh. Darius was vulgar and impatient, and yet he…liked him. A lot.
Darius grimaced when he saw Riley. “Wow, you look like shit. Were you that worried about your phone?”
Marc gave Darius a pointed look. “It’s not the phone. It’s Thorne.”
“Oh God, what’s that bastard done?”
“I… I can’t talk about it.”
Riley had that I’m-about-to-faint look again.
Darius reached him before Marc did. He might be an ass a lot of the time, but he had a compassionate side, something Marc had really grown to appreciate. “Have a seat.”
“He walked in on me and Riley,” Marc said.
Darius gave Marc a look he couldn’t read, almost as if he were deliberately trying to have no expression at all. “Wait. Were you two—”
“No!” Marc shouted.
“But he thought you were?” Darius looked both relieved and confused. He and Marc had never talked about being exclusive. Marc had no interest in finding anyone else—how would he have the energy to when he was fucking Darius most weeknights?
“We were in our underwear.”
Darius raised a brow.
“We were trying on clothes.”
“Thorne didn’t appreciate how hot you two looked together?”
Marc bet Darius wouldn’t mind that at all.
Riley’s expression made it obvious he didn’t find Darius as humorous as Marc did.
“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Darius said. “I shouldn’t be joking around when you’re this upset. What did the fucker do when he found you?”
“He left,” Riley said, his voice quiet.
Darius started to speak, but Marc interrupted him. “We’re going to the lake for the weekend. Riley had rented a place for them, and we’re going to use it.”
“Okay, if you need Monday off too, that’s fine.”
“Yeah?”
Darius nodded. “You work hard; you deserve a break, and you’re helping a friend.”
Who was this man and what had he done with Darius? Sure, Marc was owed a day off or really several, but he hadn’t expected Darius to agree so easily.
Riley’s phone rang, making him jump. “Oh God. It’s Thorne.”
All three men stared at the phone until it quit ringing.
“You should talk to him,” Marc said.
But Darius shook his head. “No, he should let him stew. Thorne deserves it.”
Marc looked pointedly at Darius. Surely even if he didn’t believe in love for himself, he knew how much Riley and Thorne needed each other.
Darius held his gaze. “Thorne needs to learn to appreciate what he’s got.”
Marc couldn’t argue with that.
A voice-mail alert sounded.
“Listen to it after we’re on our way,” Marc said. He sent Riley down to the car, telling him he’d be out in just a moment. “Why are you here so late?” he asked after Riley was gone.
Darius shrugged. “Work’s got to get done.”
“When I first started working here, you said you went looking for tricks on Friday nights.” Why was he probing this? Things were good between them now.
“That got old.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, so I go out on Saturdays instead.”
Marc made a disgusted sound, but he was relieved. Darius was clearly teasing him. If he were actually fucking around, he wouldn’t joke about it, which meant that most likely Darius wasn’t fucking anyone else either.
But Darius hadn’t actually made him any promises. He didn’t have a right to—
It’s not about rights. Tell him how you feel.
Not with Riley in the car. Not now. Just…no.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Darius was propped up in bed, reading the Sunday paper. The actual physical paper, like a fucking luddite. He only got it on Sundays, but there was just something satisfying about holding the actual pages in his hands, rattling the paper as he adjusted it to see the section he wanted to look at next. It was visceral in a way scrolling through his phone would never be, and it reminded him of Sunday mornings with his grandfather, though those had started with church. Afterward, they’d come home to pastries and the news. As he read the news, Darius’s grandfather would grumble about the journalists he didn’t think had it right, and he’d challenge Darius to think critically about what he read.
Just as he got to the arts section, his phone rang. It was Clarice. He’d called her earlier, but she hadn’t answered. She’d probably already left for the early service at church. He’d intended to tell her about the offer. He needed to talk it over with someone, and she was really his only prospect.