CHAPTER 6

River

My resolve to be normal is already blown, and all it takes is one look at Julian sporting this tank top to realize I'm too starved for his attention to be normal in his presence.

"Are you a fan of the Glass Saints?" I ask, backing away from this side of my car, wallet extended.

Julian's face lights up. "Yeah, I mostly only listen to them. They're just so unique from everybody else and I swear everything they put out is better than the last album. It's fucking impossible to get tickets for their shows anymore though because they sell out so goddamn fast and I can't afford those bullshit third-party charges."

"Yeah, I hear you. They sold out their upcoming tour in what, three minutes?" I ask, even though I know damn well it was one. Theo had bragged to me the last time we spoke, the pride not difficult to hear.

"I wouldn't have pegged you for a Glass Saints fan." Julian says in surprise, making me laugh.

"Assuming from the suit again, I see," I tease.

He pulls his tongue along the rim of his lip, catching my eye on the move and making my heart race.

"Yeah, I suppose so. My fault, man."

It's all good," I reply, letting him off the hook. "I have to admit that they aren't very popular among my peers." We stand there for a moment in silence before I move on. "Well, hey, thanks for allowing me to take this. I'll get out of your hair." I brush away an errant rain drop heading down my forehead from my wet hair.

Finally.finally.I'm actually behaving like I possess a functioning brain.

"I just opened a new box of shop towels. You, uh, need to dry off?"

"Yeah, actually that'd be cool." I just want to do anything that keeps me around longer in his vicinity.

When he's getting down on his haunches rummaging around in one of the built-in counters, a man who looks to be in his late-fifties to early-sixties comes into the shop from the office.

"May I help you, sir?" he asks, looking around, clearly thinking I'm by myself here.

Julian sticks his head over the counter. "It's okay, Pop. I've got it."

The older man regards me for another second, no doubt admiring my custom suit and Rolex on my wrist. "You the Maserati owner?"

"Yes sir," I reply, nodding my head once.

"River informed me about hitting it up. He's excellent at fixing it. You'll never know anything occurred."

That's not going to happen because whenever I close my eyes nowadays, I picture a tan-skinned man with dark hair, blue eyes, and tattoos, and I am fully aware something occurred.

"Only a little bump. They just don't make 'em like they used to." I dislike taking River's defense too quickly. I already feel scummy about the whole thing and I don't want River's dad blaming him for any of it now.

"You can say that again," the older man laughs.

"Here you go." River extends the towel to me and I take this as my cue to leave.

"Thanks. Guess I'll catch up with you when she's finished."

He gives a nod and returns to his work.

In the Range Rover once again, my phone starts ringing.

"Hey, Camille."

"Hi, Julian." Nobody other than Beckett, Ezra, and Micah ever addresses me as Jules in my peer group. If River did it routinely, I didn't correct him because I loved the feeling of camaraderie. "Don't forget dinner with my parents tonight at the Stonebridge Country Club."

"I haven't forgotten."

"I told them I'd booked a table at Bistro Verona. You would have heard my mother choke on her tea." Camille's giggle eases the tension from my breast.

In practice, our relationship is arranged.only she doesn't know it. Neither of us really selected the other. My parents essentially informed me I would court her and win her out, and her parents nurtured the developing relationship and found ways to keep putting us together.

Our dads cut their deal on the golf course years ago. My dad needed affluent clients, and her dad needed money for his campaigns.

If I did have a thing for ladies, Camille would be an excellent choice. Camille's been coached in high society, and honestly, it's where she belongs. She has a large heart and enjoys doing charity work. She's brilliant at spending her daddy's money and keeping him respectable, but she's also a woman of business, and her business is booming.

I feel a great deal of guilt for knowing I'll never love her as she deserves, but I do my best to compensate as much as, and as often as, possible.

"I'm sorry I missed hearing that reaction," I tell her. Camille's mom is something else, and Camille and I generally have a lot to commiserate on when it comes to our parents' many shortcomings. "Before I forget," I tell her, "I'm on call at the fire station this weekend, so after we finish dinner, I'll have to run out."

I worry so when you are there, but I consider you very much for doing it. I only wish you would not keep it a secret so others would know how unselfish you are."

A little twinge of guilt sneaks behind my sternum and settles in, and I release a sigh.

We both know my dad would close that down in a heartbeat and just do something else so I'd be stuck in the ivory tower of Ashford & Co. Wealth."

I began three years ago as a volunteer fire department member. The requirements are relatively low because we have an amazing squadron of full-time firemen, but it's something I need to get my adrenaline fix after sitting around all day in the corporate world of number plugging.

I like my day job, I swear. Hell, if I didn't, I'd have said fuck it to my whole life like my brother did. But I enjoy the challenge of trying to outsmart the system. I love the puzzle, the breakdown, the greenbacks, the grins on my client's faces, and if I'm being painfully honest, I love the grin on my dad's face when I surprise him. I do, however, have a desire to be free and unbridled, and I get that rush when I rush into burning buildings and sit at the ready listening for those sirens to blow. It’s the one piece of myself I’ve been able to hold onto.

I ran into my three best friends at the firehouse. Micah, Ezra, and Beckett treat me like a regular person. Although they don't know that I am gay, I don't believe they would care if they did. They don't care about my money, and they mess around with me just as they do with each other, which matters more to be than they'll ever comprehend.

"I know. I love your bad girl side," Camille teases. "Just make sure to tuck it under your suit and tie when you're in daddy's presence." She giggles like only an innocent debutante lamb can.

She thinks I secretly working with the fire department is my bad girl side…shudder at the feeling she'd get if she had any inkling of the darkest desires in my heart for the man with the tattoos and ice-blue eyes.

Camille glows after dinner with a grin that illuminates the entire block as she hugs my arm and we wait for the valets to bring our vehicles.

"I don't want you to have to go to the fire station tonight," she says, holding me more tightly. I kiss the top of her head, but say nothing, not being able to think of what to say, when she continues. "I got something I wanted to share with you."

I look down at her and to my utter shock, she’s discreetly pulling the neckline of her dress aside, revealing a dark, lacey piece of lingerie underneath.

My eyes go wide with surprise, and I’m thankful she interprets the shock as lust. The move is so out of character for my conservative girlfriend.

"I thought you'd like it," she whispers as my headlights pull in toward us. When the valet tosses me my keys and Camille's car pulls in behind mine, she busses my cheek. "You can see the rest of it soon. Be careful tonight."

Camille’s growing interest in our sex life—as well as her recent insistence in discussing marriage, kids, and the future—isn’t good for me. Already on a prescription for Viagra—after lying to my physician and telling him the stress of my job is really killing my libido—I’ve still been struggling to manage the couple of times a month our schedules actually align and allow us to make it happen.

I peck Camille's cheek farewell again and get her settled into her Audi while I climb into my truck.

I have never been more thankful to drive to the firehouse in my life. Not having sex with your girlfriend shouldn't be a matter of dodging a bullet.

Julian

My dad is going to hang my ass on the fancy office lobby light fixture when I get back to work. Not only was I supposed to deliver a portfolio analysis to a big client an hour ago, my dad and I are supposed to have our one-on-one quarterly strategy meeting in fifteen minutes.

But sitting here next to River at the moment, I am not leaving any time soon.

River is okay enough in my passenger seat for all that even though I know he'd rather be driving. The way his leg is bobbing and his fingers twitch every time I take my hand away from the steering wheel are definite indicators he's used to being behind the wheel.

The sun is shining, and it's warmer than usual in late summer down south. I did think about rolling down the top, though, but I'd rather be able to hear him.

Not to mention, I like it better how close and intimate it feels being closed in this way.

Adrenaline still raging through my system, and I'm glad brick missed his head. Otherwise, I'd probably be being taken in for first degree murder right about now. Of course, I'd feel that way about whoever they hit. Hate crimes are appalling.

"Turn left up here," River instructs me. "We'll go about six miles, then make a series of right-hand turns and you can let me know what you're picking up."

What I feel.

It only took three meetings, but I feel too much. Too much excitement. Too much joy. Too much lust. That need to be near someone and know everything about them. It's been a long time since I've felt like this, and I am desperate to grasp it as long as possible.

The air inside the car right now is actually crackling as if I'm creating my own static. I hope to god River doesn't notice because there is no other explanation for the electricity emanating from me other than the truth.

I want him. Badly.

I dare a glance at River whose tattooed left elbow rests on my center console. His hands are beautiful. Delicate fingers and nails. Yes, there is oil on his hands, but he doesn't bite or scratch them, that's for sure. His right arm is covered in a sleeve of tattoos, and I'm dying to know the rest of it. Was that tattoo on his side that I saw when we first met? Do the two go together? Is it all black or is there color somewhere? I need to consciously shift my focus back onto the road as the sweat begins to bead at the nape of my neck.

Ink has never been my weak spot. Despite the fact that I myself do not bear a tattoo, I'm a fucking softie for those who do.

"Six miles you said?" I ask, trying to organize my head. I've got too much adrenaline and need to release it in some form, and the gas pedal on my right foot is just the thing.

He nods.

"How straight is it?"

He looks at me and winks devilishly. "Straight enough."

This is sarcastic to the point of torture based on what is happening down below my waist.

Without hesitation, I floor the pedal. We were already traveling fifty miles an hour. A full three seconds later, we're doing one hundred and ten.