Page 37 of Resisting You

For the first time ever, he wasn’t thinking about Grady while he sat there.

He was thinking about how warm Frey had been. How pliant. He was thinking about the way Frey had melted under his touch and obeyed his every command like it was the only thing in the world he wanted.

Frey looked angry at himself when it was over and oddly crushed when Renato let him go, but in the moment of peak ecstasy, Frey looked like he’d ascended. Fuck, he was getting hard. He rubbed a hand over his bulge in an attempt to tuck it back, then sat on his fingers so he wasn’t tempted to break the law.

The last thing his record needed was a charge of public indecency.

He blew out a sharp puff of air.

“Welcome to High Towne Theater. Your movie will be starting shortly, but please enjoy the carefully selected soundtrack while you get settled. And don’t forget to visit the concession stand for the freshest popcorn and the coldest soft drinks this side of the James River.”

Renato bit back a laugh. “Oh, my love,” he whispered. The words tasted a little ashy on his tongue. “I would give anything for a sign to know that this was okay. I mean anything. I wish?—”

Renato’s jaw snapped shut when he heard the familiar squeak of the theater doors opening and closing. Fuck. This was the second time in as many weeks that he’d been interrupted, and he didn’t understand how his luck was such shit. He only wanted a few moments alone with his husband’s voice, damn it. Why did he have to be interrupted?

He tried not to glance over when he saw a figure hovering, but something pulled his gaze like a magnet. And then his eyes locked on the one person he wanted to see.

Or maybe he was the one person he didn’t want to see.

He had no idea. But he’d asked for a sign, and he was starting to wonder if maybe Grady really was still hanging around. God help them both if that was true.

Frey stood there looking as delicious as ever in his tight jeans and button-up. His hair was windswept, which had to be on purpose because there was no wind out, and he looked shy. He had a hand in one pocket, and the other was fidgeting with his keys, which were making a soft little jingling sound.

Renato wanted to rip them away from his fingers and toss them against the wall, then pin him to the floor and fuck him until they were both mindless.

Holy hell, where had that come from?

“I thought I might find you here.”

Renato blinked. “Are you stalking me? You know that’s a crime, yes?” God, why was he like this? Why did those words have to tumble out of his mouth?

But Frey just snorted and shrugged. “I bought a ticket, and the cops wouldn’t find shit on me. You’re the one who told me you come here to talk to the announcer.”

As if on cue, Grady’s voice sounded over the speakers. “Did you know that the High Towne Theater was the first in the city? You can stop by any concession booth and purchase a history pamphlet to learn all about what major stars used to frequent the area back in Hollywood’s most glamorous era.”

Frey snorted. “Who buys that shit?”

“I did,” he admitted. He had. Grady had once said that no one ever would, and he was being a shit that day, so he’d gone down there just to purchase one. Grady had ripped the cover off, framed it, and stuck it on his desk in the home office.

It was still there, he was pretty sure, but Renato didn’t really go in there anymore.

“I fucked up again, didn’t I?” Frey asked. He took two steps closer, then three. Then he was in Renato’s row, and he sat. “Are you going to leave again?”

Renato nodded. “I always leave.”

“Because you’re here to talk to that guy,” Frey said, even softer now. “You know him.”

“I knew him. He was my husband. He died eight years ago.”

Frey winced and glanced to the side. “I thought you were divorced.” He settled into his seat and crossed his arms.

Renato blinked at him. “Are you angry with me for not telling you?”

Frey scoffed. “No. It’s none of my business, and…” He was cut off when the lights began to dim, and Grady’s voice sounded over the speakers again. It was a long, flowy advertisement about the concession stand and the theater and how to find the fire exits.

Normally, that was when Renato would get up and leave. He’d whisper a quiet goodbye and listen to the final word Grady spoke, and then he’d leave and carry the sound with him for the next six days. Then—assuming work allowed it—he’d start again the next week.

But he felt rooted to his seat. Frey wasn’t actually blocking his exit, but his stretched legs felt like a mountain too impossibly tall to climb.

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