“With her tits right in your face?”
“When we’re like that – when it’s – your face…”
Tenny’s eyes flicked over again, too much of the whites showing, like he was spooked. “What about my face?”
Reese didn’t know how to put it into words, the way looking at it, taut with pleasure and effort, while he felt his own pleasure, heightened every aspect of the act. If he was honest, none of the sex he’d had in the past few months – the only sex he’d ever had – had been about the women. He liked their bodies, their attention, and affection, and enjoyment. But he had no desire to spend an evening alone with any of them. He wanted Tenny there. He wanted to know it was good for both of them, together.
He reached out, on instinct, and touched Tenny’s face the way that Tenny had touched his own, earlier.
Tenny went very still, and his eyes widened another impossible fraction.
“I like your face,” he said, because it was all he could think to say, no matter how inadequate. And he ducked his head and kissed him.
He felt Tenny’s lips part beneath his, a startled gasp, and he didn’t understand that. Maybe Tenny liked to initiate? Maybe he wasn’t doing it right?
Then Tenny’s hand fisted in his hair, and he kissed him back.
It wasn’t as harsh and punishing as before. Softer. Tentative, almost. And after a moment, Tenny turned his face away, chest heaving beneath Reese’s, breathing hard like they’d been doing much more than kissing.
“Shit,” Tenny said again, a faint whisper.
Reese drew back. “Why ‘shit’?”
Tenny closed his eyes a moment, his expression pained. Then he sat up, forcing Reese to sit up, too. He blinked down at his lap a moment, and when he lifted his head, he wore an entirely pretend smile. “You did well tonight. Next time, we’ll have to get two girls.”
He pressed a fast, smacking kiss to Reese’s forehead, then slipped out of bed, and left the room, without looking back.
Reese raked his hair back off his face, and felt something like loss.
Twelve
“Finally,” Maggie said the next morning, when Leah broke down and called to ask for her help in finding a job. “Hang tight. I’ll get back to you.”
Five minutes later, her phone rang again. “I know it’s short notice, but can you make a noon interview?”
Leah bolted up from her chair – her new, gorgeous, Albie Cross-made kitchen chair – and slapped a hand to her rumpled ponytail. “Absolutely,” she said, and headed toward the bathroom.
“Great. I’ll text you the address.”
Noon saw her standing on the sidewalk in front of a sleek, glass-front building in the heart of downtown. People in smart suits and dresses moved in and out of the revolving door; through the cool, green-blue tint of the glass, she spotted a lobby with marble floors, a marble-fronted desk, and a fountain laced with lots of potted palms and ferns.
She double-checked that the address Maggie had sent matched the gold numbers above the door, straightened her skirt, took a deep breath, and went in.
A young man with very shiny hair and a very fitted suit glanced up at the sound of her approach, and offered a mild, professional smile. “Good afternoon, ma’am, how can I be of service today?” He had one of those pleasant, unaccented voices made for the service industry, and it caught her a bit off guard. She’d been expecting a local firm of some sort; professional, but still undoubtedly Southern at heart. She felt a bit like she’d stepped through a portal back to Chicago. Or maybe New York.
“Hi, I’m here for an interview.” With a flash of panic, she realized Maggie hadn’t given her the name of her interviewer. “I’m Leah Cook.” She lifted the folder that contained her notebook and resume, and flashed a hopeful smile.
“One moment.” He checked his computer monitor. “Ah, yes. Miss Cook. If you’ll follow Candace” – he motioned toward a woman who stood over by the elevator bank – “she’ll take you up to see Mr. Shaman.”
That was a weird name.
Candace of the white teeth and the sleek gray dress greeted her with muted, but perfect politeness and took her up in the elevator to the fifth floor. The doors slid open onto a serene space full of low couches, chairs, more potted plants, and widely separated cubicles occupied by more elegant, well-dressed people talking softly into phones. At the far end of the vast space, a frosted glass wall set with a door proved to be their destination. When they reached it, Candace knocked once, then cracked it open and said, “Your noon appointment is here, Mr. Shaman.”
“Thank you, Candace, send her in,” a very crisp, posh British voice intoned.
Candace ushered her in with a softgood luck, then closed the door behind her.
Leah wasn’t embarrassed to admit that she was a little bit stunned.
