Page 55 of Brushed and Buried
George barks a short laugh. “I didn’t say that.”
“You sure as hell sound like it.”
He gives me a slow, sidelong glance, finally registering the heat in my voice. “You’re really not okay, are you? Do you dislike him that much?”
I don’t answer. I just wipe my palms on my shorts and move to the bench.
George sets his dumbbells down and stretches his arms. “I don’t usually say this stuff, and I sure as hell don’t go sappy,” he says slowly. “But the guy made it feel safe to look past what everyone else thinks is convenient to see in me.”
My grip on the towel hardens, the fabric twisting in my fists. I force my expression to stay blank, but inside, something yanks tight, sharp enough to cut. Jealousy drags like claws across my chest, raw and ugly, as if George has already reached for something that should only ever be mine.
George doesn’t notice.
“He wasn’t what I expected,” George says. “Not just the…physical stuff. That was…fuck, yeah, that was good. But it’s not about that. He showed me something I didn’t know I needed to see.”
I stare at the floor while I control each breath with careful focus.
George leans against the rack, tone steady, thoughtful. “I’ve spent years thinking I was one kind of man. Back when I was in the Navy, then later at the garage, there were always guys who’d flirt. Quiet, bold, it didn’t matter. I never got weird about it. Ijust brushed it off. I didn’t feel anything, so I figured that was that.”
He lets out a slow breath. “But with Adrian, it wasn’t something I could brush off. It was like someone turned on a light I didn’t know was off. He didn’t push; he just let you figure it out on your own time.”
I realize George isn’t describing romantic feelings at all. He’s talking about self-discovery, about seeing himself more clearly. The jealousy eases, replaced by something quieter, more like recognition. He’s just another person Adrian helped see themselves better, the same way he’d done for me all those years ago in high school.
I remember those nights Adrian spent with me and my friends, the way he moved, spread out, flushed and gasping, surrounded by hands and mouths that weren’t mine.
I’d stood off to the side, arms crossed like a man in control, like I was above it somehow. But I wasn’t, not even close.
Watching them touch him, eager and shameless, I should’ve felt disgusted. I should’ve turned away. Instead, I watched every second like it was branded into me. Every sound he made crawled under my skin. Every twist of his hips, every tremble, every breathless moan hit something in me I didn’t really have a name for.
And the worst part? I liked it.
I liked seeing him like that. Open, wrecked, and desperate in the most beautiful fucking way.
I liked the way he let them in, let them use him, let me see it. It was like I was allowed to be possessive without ever having to say the word. But the second it felt like more, like they might see the part of him I wanted to keep for myself, I couldn’t stand it.
George lets out a long breath, then adds, “It was like there was tension every time you looked at him. You two had some kind of pull. I don’t know what it was. Is there something going on with you two?”
I keep my expression flat and give him a grunt as my answer.
George gives me a look, not judging, but just trying to make sense of how I’ve been acting since Adrian showed up in our hotel suite for Trevor’s bachelor party.
The problem is, I already know why it’s eating at me. I’ve known since the moment I saw him, looking exactly the same and completely different all at once. The same Adrian I convinced myself had played me, when maybe all along, I was the one too scared to play at all.
And now he’s coming back. In less than twenty-four hours, I’ll see him again. The thought terrifies and thrills me in equal measure, like standing at the edge of a cliff and realizing you want to jump.
19
Vince
The resort’s main terrace overlooks the pool area, all white stone and glass with California sun beating down on everything. It’s one of those perfect June days that makes you understand why people move here and never leave. It’s the kind of heat that settles into your bones and makes you lazy, except I’m wound tight as a spring waiting for Trevor’s car to pull up.
Becca slides into the chair across from me, iced tea in hand, her blue sundress bright against the neutral furniture. “You look like you’re about to jump out of your skin.”
“Just hot,” I lie, taking a long pull of my lemonade. The ice clinks against the glass, and I focus on that sound instead of the knot in my stomach.
“It’s air-conditioned out here, Vince.”
Before I can come up with another excuse, I spot Trevor’s car through the terrace windows. My pulse kicks up as I watch them climb out, with Lance from the passenger seat, George from the back, and then Adrian unfolds from the other rear door.
