Page 46 of Rival for Rent
“Sure. Why not?”
“Because it’s the unprotected gay sex drug?” I said, smirking.
His eyes went wide, and he stiffened like I’d slapped him. Then he shook his head, lips pressed tight. “You probably shouldn’t be doing that.”
“Excuse me, but my sex life is none of your fucking business.”
“It is if it means you’re not safe.”
“That’sliterallywhat PrEP is for,” I said. “Well, for HIV anyway.”
“I don’t care abouthowyou have sex, I care about you having it at all. You can’t seriously think it’s safe to be meeting strange men right now. One of them could be your stalker.”
“Okay, first of all, it’s homophobic as hell to assume I’d only be meeting ‘strange men,’ and also homophobic to think there’s something wrong with that if I were. And I’ll say it again, it’snoneof your goddamn business.”
The truth was, I hadn’t hooked up with anyone in ages. And I always used condoms. PrEP didn’t protect against most STIs. But I wasn’t going to explain myself. Not to him.
“Maybe it isn’t,” he said, “but I still think I should be the one to pick it up.”
I was starting to feel like a prisoner in my own home. Normally, I would’ve spent the evening catching up on work in my office. But with Mason around, I couldn’t focus. I was hyper-aware of his movements, even when he was downstairs making dinner.
And dinner was…awkward. Worse than breakfast. He actually came upstairs to ask if I liked fish and how I felt about spinach. I realized I didn’thavefeelings about spinach. I barely ate it. And I wasn’t a big fish person either—but I didn’t tell him that. If I had, he would’ve asked what Ididlike, and made that instead, and the whole act of kindness would’ve pissed me off even more.
Of course, when I got downstairs, the whole house smelledincredible.Mason had made a dill-buttered salmon filet so perfectly cooked I had to stop myself from moaning aloud.
New rule: no moaning within Mason’s hearing. Not even about food.
Still, I did break and tell him, “The spinach risotto is really good.”
He didn’t even have the decency to look smug or snobbish. He just said, “Thanks,” and then, “How have you usually had spinach prepared?”
I winced. “I guess I haven’t, really? If I’m honest, I don’t eat a ton of the leafy green stuff.”
He frowned. “I’m starting to worry about your diet. What do you eat? Your fridge was completely empty when I got here, except for some leftovers that were about to grow legs.”
I shrugged, uncomfortable. “I don’t know. I usually get takeout. I’m not much of a cook.”
“I gathered,” he said, tapping his fork against his lips.
Don’t look at his lips. Don’t remember how they felt on yours, soft and strong. Don’t wonder if they’d taste like butter if you kissed them now.
“I wonder if you’re getting enough vegetables,” he continued. “You might be missing some critical nutrients. I could pick up a multivitamin for you tomorrow.”
I wanted to scream.
“And what do vitamins have to do with keeping me safe from this stalker?” I asked, smiling as sweetly as I could manage. If I still looked like I wanted to kill him, well, that was his problem.
“Nothing. But I could still get them, while I’m here.”
“Thanks. But I’ll pass.”
I’d probably end up deficient in Vitamin D, the way he had me on house arrest, but I wasn’t going to give him more ammunition.
“About earlier,” he said. “I’m not trying to get mixed up in your love life.”
“Too late.”
“But I think it would be best if you didn’t go out to meet anyone—or have anyone over—until this is over.”
