Page 23 of Set Fire to This Cardhouse

“Could have fooled me,” Mike grits out.

“I do not blame you.” Toby fights his own body that wants to close the gap between them, every nerve cell firing away. “We made a mistake. Let’s move on.”

“You sure aren’t acting like you’ve moved on.” Mike sounds openly derisive, and it’s so at odds with his usual relaxed air and easy smiles that it stings, just a little. Toby lifts his chin.

“I’ve been busy.”

For a long second, Mike doesn’t move. They’re staring at each other, unblinking, too close, far too close. Then Mike takes an abrupt step back, all his warmth gone from one moment to the next. Toby almost reaches for him and balls his hands into fists instead.

“Fine,” Mike says, low and even. “I guess we’ll just never speak of it again, then.”

“Fine,” Toby says.

“Fine.” Mike puts heavy emphasis on the word.

Toby runs a hand through his hair before he makes himself straighten up, his legs a little unsteady. His heart is sprinting nowhere, fast. Fucking Mike. How did they end up here?

By way of a single bad decision, that’s how.

“Let’s just...” Toby clears his throat, staring back at Mike, who’s watching him with an unreadable expression. “Let’s be professionals, all right?”

“Professionals.” Mike sounds as though he tasted something vile.

“Professionals.” Toby nods quickly, taking a half-step forward. When he glances down, it’s to find Mike’s hands white-knuckled around his racquet. “We work well together, don’t we?”

Mike inhales deeply—and then Jesy knocks against the glass wall. “Sorry I’m late,” she calls. It’s slightly distorted, bouncing off the walls and the inside of Toby’s skull.

The silence lasts for two seconds, no more than that, but it feels like forever. Mike ends it.

“Sure, whatever,” he tells Mike, then turns away to face Jesy with a smile that is very, very close to believable, but his grip on the racquet has yet to loosen. Steady voice, though. “No worries; I kept him entertained.”

Jesy narrows her eyes, quick glance flicking back and forth between them. “Thank you,” she tells Mike, “for your monumental sacrifice.”

“My pleasure.” Mike doesn’t look at Toby as he says it, moving to hold the door open so Jesy can enter, then slipping out himself after handing over her racquet. “See you around,” he calls over his shoulder.

“See you,” Toby echoes weakly, disappointment over nothing a heavy coil in his stomach. Breathe through it.

By the time Jesy steps into the serving box with a determined expression, he feels almost normal. They’re fine. Or at least they will be.

***

Jesy beats him with embarrassing ease. As Toby can’t very well explain that it’s Mike’s fault that his reactions are slow, his mind not on the game, he demands they schedule a rematch. She mocks him only a little before she accepts, her dark eyes laughing at him.

Toby showers and changes into his suit, only to decide he’s had enough for the day. He goes home to an apartment that’s half moving boxes, digs out a pair of black pants and a top to match, and changes again.

The club welcomes him with heavy bass and a cloying mix of sweat and cologne, men in varying amounts of clothing on the dance floor, or reclining against the bar in the middle. It doesn’t take Toby long to find a suitable candidate—and if the guy happens to be tall, slender and dark-haired, with eyes that are almost too light for his type...

Well. It’ll get it out of the system.

***

Sneaking out in the early hours of morning isn’t a chivalrous way to end a one-night stand in anyone’s book. Toby hasn’t done it in a while, but sneaking about is something he’s actually trained for, and there’s an odd, dirty thrill to shutting the door behind himself, stepping out onto an unfamiliar street with the first light of day just brightening the eastern edge of the sky. His limbs are aching comfortably, a light, pleasant tiredness clouding his thoughts.

He goes home to shower and change into an office-appropriate outfit, leaving his clubbing clothes in a heap on the bathroom floor. Once at the office, he stops briefly at his own desk before he goes to find Mike.

It’s early still, and Toby wasn’t sure he’d find Mike in already. He is, though, and he looks up sharply when Toby raps his knuckles against the doorframe. Toby enters without waiting for permission.

Mike’s gaze fixes on Toby’s face, flickers down the length of him, and back up. His eyebrows draw together. “Morning, Brown. What can I do for you?”

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