Page 29 of Midnight Mate
“That’s different. That’s protecting. This is”—Bayne gestured vaguely between them—“complicated.”
Clint turned off the heat, plating the reheated pasta with more force than strictly necessary. “Everything about this is complicated. You show up bleeding, can’t remember anything, someone’s hunting you, and now apparently, we’re mates, which means something I don’t fully understand but sounds pretty fucking permanent.”
“It is permanent.” Bayne’s voice had gone serious again. “For me, anyway. You can walk away if you want. I won’t stop you.”
Something about the way he said it, careful and controlled like he was preparing for rejection, made Clint’s chest do uncomfortable things.
“I’m not walking away.” The words came out before he could think them through. “I’m just pissed you didn’t tell me.”
Relief flickered across Bayne’s features, there and gone so fast Clint almost missed it.
Setting the plates on the table took more concentration than it should have. Every movement felt too aware, too conscious of Bayne watching him. The familiar routine of lunch had gone sideways, charged with something that made his skin feel too tight.
“Eat,” Clint said, sitting down harder than he’d meant to. “Before it gets cold again.”
Watching Bayne eat shouldn’t have been interesting, but somehow it was. The way he held his fork, the careful attention he paid to each bite despite probably being able to inhale the entire plate in seconds. Even annoyed, Clint found himself tracking the movement of Bayne’s throat when he swallowed.
Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic.
“This mate thing,” Clint said, needing to fill the silence before it got too heavy. “Is it why I can’t stop...”
“What?”
Heat crawled up his neck. “Nothing. Forget it.”
But Bayne was already leaning forward, eyes focused. “Can’t stop what?”
“Thinking about you.” The admission came out rough, embarrassed. “Even when I’m pissed, I keep noticing stupid things. Like how you hold your fork or the way your jaw moves when you’re thinking.”
Something shifted in Bayne’s expression, pupils dilating slightly. “That’s not the mate bond. That’s just attraction.”
“Oh.” Clint stabbed at his pasta with unnecessary violence. “Great. So I’m just regular pathetic, not mystically pathetic.”
“You’re not pathetic.” Bayne’s hand moved across the table, fingers brushing Clint’s wrist. Just that small touch sent heat racing up his arm. “The bond doesn’t create feelings. It just recognizes what’s already there. Or what could be there.”
“Could be?”
“If we let it.” Bayne’s thumb traced a small circle on Clint’s pulse point, and breathing suddenly required conscious effort. “The bond doesn’t force anything. It just says ‘this person matters more than anything else ever will.’”
Clint should pull his hand away. Should maintain some distance while his brain processed all this. Instead, he found himself turning his wrist, letting Bayne’s fingers slide against his palm.
“That’s a lot of pressure.”
“Only if you let it be.” Bayne’s grip shifted, fingers interlacing with Clint’s. “Right now, it’s just us. In your kitchen. Eating mediocre leftover pasta.”
“Hey, that pasta is perfectly adequate.”
Bayne’s mouth curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile but made Clint’s stomach flip anyway. “Adequately mediocre.”
“Ass.”
“Probably.” Bayne’s thumb kept moving against Clint’s hand, each sweep sending sparks up his arm. “But I’m your ass, apparently.”
The laugh bubbled up before Clint could stop it. “That’s the worst line I’ve ever heard.”
“I’ve got worse ones.”
“God help me.” But the anger had mostly dissipated, replaced by something warmer. Still complicated, still overwhelming, but less sharp around the edges.
