Page 23 of The Truth of Loving You

“Oh, baby, come here.” Even though Lisa was a full foot shorter than me, she cradled me to her chest and guided me to the couch.

“I’m an asshole,” I confessed as she stroked my hair.

Four full days—today was the fifth day—but I wasn’t counting, and no response from Shane. I’d left him a message to apologize and to arrange returning his clothes. Lisa had talked me off the ledge and said it was okay to spend time with another man but to take things at my own pace. She never pushed me to move on or told me I shouldn’t feel guilty.

I felt guilty, but mostly because I thought I should hate what had happened with Shane. But I didn’t hate it. The memory replayed in my mind over and over and over. The last few nights, I’d jerked off, remembering the way his ass warmed and turned red under my palm.

Paxton and I’d had an extremely active sex life. There was nothing better than sinking into him after a long day. We both liked it when I took charge, and I’d never wanted more.

But commanding Shane and doling out pain as comfort was completely different. It had never occurred to me to dominate someone, so I’d never had the urge before. Being bisexual stretched the boundaries of normal sex, but I wasn’t sure I was willing to explore being a Dominant. I shouldn’t want to do it again. I shouldn’t want it at all.

But it didn’t stop me from trying to leave another message for Shane.

“His damn phone keeps going to voicemail,” I grumbled.

Alec placed his hand on my forearm with such a look of pity, it confused me. “He blocked you, dude.”

“Wwwhat?”

“Try texting, but I’m telling you he blocked you. I thought you’d figure it out, but watching your clueless ass call him is pathetic. No one calls. No one.” Alec patted my arm condescendingly.

I shook my head in disbelief. Shane wouldn’t. He’d loved what we’d done. That was a fact. Yes, I’d been an asshole, but he should let me apologize.

Alec picked up the shop phone and dialed. “Hi Shane, it’s Alec from Unframed Art. I wanted to let you know we’re offering a special of 50 percent off your next tattoo for new customers only. Call us if you’d like a consultation.”

“What. The. Fuck.”

“He blocked you, and before you throw a mantrum, if he blocked you, then he’s not coming in to get another tattoo.” Alec sauntered over to a customer picking out artwork.

“I wasn’t going to have a mantrum,” I grumbled, annoyed with myself for using Alec’s stupid word.

My next appointment arrived, and I welcomed the distraction.

Unfortunately, he wanted a skull on his biceps. With the easy design, my mind had plenty of time to think about Shane.

Alec materialized as soon as I finished to schmooze my customer and book his next appointment. Alec was a master at customer service, and I depended on him to take care of all the payment details and charm clients into more tattoos.

“Are you going to tell me why you’re stalking the yummy baby-bi?” Alec leaned against my office door.

I mentally took back all the positive thoughts I’d had about him. Shane was yummy, but I didn’t want anyone else thinking it. “I’m not stalking him.”

“Mm-hmm.”

We stared at each other, neither conceding our point, although I didn’t actually have a point.

“You know I’m on your side, right? You’ve mourned for years, and I’ll never tell you it’s been too long, but I will tell you that he’s the first person to get to you. I want you to be happy. I don’t know if he’s right for you, but if you want a friend to help figure it out, you know where to find me.” Alec tipped his chin up and wandered back up front.

He was right. Shane had gotten to me, and I’d fucked up. Not a newsflash. Shane had been using the griddle pan that Lisa had given me for my birthday. Paxton had snatched it from me and told me if I wanted a decent breakfast, he’d be the only one using it. I had a habit of ruining pans. With a kiss, he’d made me promise to never use it without him. He’d died before we’d made breakfast together again.

The time between seeing Shane with that pan and Lisa showing up was a blur. I can’t remember what I’d said to him, but he’d left without a word.

Fixing the situation might make it worse for both of us.

But my mind wouldn’t let go of the image of his face while he came all over my hand. And I had to apologize; it felt necessary to move forward.

I found myself knocking on his apartment door at 9:30 p.m. on a Thursday.

Knocking again, I slumped against the wall across from his door while waiting for an answer. I should leave his clothes and take this as a sign that he was a mistake that I needed to keep in the past. Unable to drop the bag of his clothes, I stepped into the elevator without closure.

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