10
Beau
Payne is a genius.
I’d never made the link between prisons and my fortress before, but since he connected the dots in my head, I researched other prisons, ones that were supposed to be impossible to escape, and I finally found my answer.
My hero doesn’t actually have to do anything.
Alcatraz was supposed to be impossible to break out of … until it started to deteriorate.
I might not have salt water, but my world has magic, so why not use that?
With my fortress slowly crumbling, my block should be gone. This was the issue I was having, so technically I know the direction I’m taking things, but … something still isn’t right.
It makes me even more irritable than usual.
My work hours become so erratic to the point I barely see Payne. He’s at work during the day and sleeping while I’m up and down all night.
The one small mercy about my scattered concentration is it means I haven’t had to face him again since he saw way too much of me to be comfortable.
I’m not embarrassed over it, not really, because it was an accident and we’re grown men and Payne was so cool about it, blah blah blah. But when I think about that night, I think about the way his pants hugged that thick, hard outline of his cock, and saliva pools in my mouth.
I’ve taken to jerking off strictly behind locked doors, stroking my cock into total submission so it doesn’t have the opportunity to get excited when I catch a whiff of Payne’s shampoo in the shower or hear him moving around in the apartment when I’m trying to force sleep.
Maybe asking him to move in wasn’t the smartest idea, because this crush I’m supposed to be getting rid of has other ideas. It feels like it’s growing and taking on a mind of its own. I’d planned to eventually tell him how I feel, but it’s gotten to a point where I’m scared of these feelings, and I think it would be better off for all of us if I can pretend they don’t exist.
Marty is having a few people over for drinks this weekend, so I know I’ll have to face Payne again by then, and for some reason, the nerves combined with my frustrations over this book are sending me spiraling.
Yoga is my new best friend, and I’ve taken to unfolding and refolding the paper crane Payne left for me that night. I’ve ordered a bunch of coloring books, which still haven’t arrived, and pound out the sit-ups before bed until I’m at the point of passing out.
It’s past midnight, and I’m typing furiously at one of these nothing flash fictions that are coming so easily to me when the air behind me shifts. My fingers pause and hover over the keys, while awareness slivers down my spine.
It’s either Payne or someone who’s broken in to kill me, and considering I’m not interesting enough to kill, that leaves me with only one option.
I’m not sure which choice is better.
Payne.
Axe murderer.
Payne.
Axe murderer.
Nope. Too close to call.
“Please tell me those words are on your book?” His deep voice, tinged with a hint of amusement, warms my insides.
I turn in my chair to face him. “Unfortunately not.”
All of the lights are off, and what I can see of Payne is illuminated by my computer screen. He’s in sleep shorts and … nothing else. Damn. His sexy chest and all those tats are … I physically shake my head and try to meet his eyes again, only to find them trailing over me.
Normally I’d assume it’s because I have food down my front, but this is a fresh T-shirt, and when Payne’s gaze flicks back to mine, even in the darkness I can tell there’s something different about them.
“Wha—” I clear my throat. “What are you doing up?”
“Couldn’t sleep, and I knew you’d be out here. I haven’t seen much of you.”
I shift self-consciously. “I told you I keep weird hours.”
“I think it’s less weird and more unconventional.” His smile makes me shiver to my toes. “Like you.”
“Is that your way of pointing out maybe this is one of those things I should work on?”
His amusement dies. “Did I say that?”
“To be fair, you haven’t actually pointed out anything though.”
“And why is that?”
I consider the question. “I guess I haven’t been around you enough for you to do it.”
“Yeah … that’s it.”
“Well, you’ll be at Marty’s this weekend, won’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Then let’s go together, and if we hang out there, you’ll be able to keep an eye on me, and every time I do or say something weird, you can tell me. Oooh, maybe we could come up with a code?” I drag my hand back through my hair as I think. “Maybe a cough? No, maybe you can tap your nose? Wait, no, what if I’m not looking? Umm … you could pinch me, or—”
“I’m sure we’ll think of something.” The amusement is back in his tone.
“Deal.”
“Are you sure you’ll even be there? I swear you haven’t seen sunlight in a week.”
“Most of the time when I’m up during the day, you’re at work.”
His eyes hold mine. “You’re not avoiding me, are you, Bo-Bo?”
“What? No. Why would I?”
He narrows his eyes.
I try to look innocent.
We’re locked in a standoff for what must be minutes of intense eye contact and me fighting the need to tremble. Goddamn I want him so bad.
Eventually, he grins. “No reason.”
“Good. No reason.”
“Are you feeling okay?”
“Fine. Why?”
“You seem … more, I dunno, high-energy than usual.”
“Oh. Yes. That. My concentration has gone completely out of the window, and I’m not able to focus on anything.”
“Because of the book?”
“Yeah, I get unsettled when I don’t feel like I’m making progress.”
“What helps?” he asks, sounding like he’s genuinely interested.
“Well, yoga, usually. And recently I’ve taken to refolding the crane you left for me, but the paper is wearing thin.” I laugh softly. “Coloring is usually the best thing because I don’t need to concentrate on it—I can fully zone out. But I didn’t realize I’d finished the books here, and doing it on a tablet isn’t the same.”
“Coloring?”
My face heats. “I know people think it’s for kids, but you can get some really detailed adult—”
“No, no.” He holds up his hands. Big hands. Instead of placating me, all it does is make me focus on those thick fingers and how desperate I am to suck on them. “I know coloring is a thing. I was going to say, when I visit Bridget and Soph, they usually color in my tattoos. If you think it would help, you can use me. Best part is that I can wash it off, and you can do it again.”
Use … him. I will my voice to come back to me, but it’s stuck somewhere in my throat behind a tongue that feels too big for my mouth.
“You … tattoos …” is the best I can get out, but somehow, Payne doesn’t notice the weirdness.
He moves closer, then opens my top desk drawer. “You have markers in here?”