Page 102 of Say It Again

“Stop.”

“Stop here? Okay.” Daniel winked and pressed Call, switching to speakerphone. “The Italian it is.”

“My, my, my,” a man answered after a few rings, his words heavily accented. “Well, isn’t this a pleasant surprise.”

“Aww,” Daniel said with a smile at Aaron. “Miss me?”

The guy’s deep laughter cut through the kitchen. “Every damn day. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I’m glad you asked,” he said, holding Aaron’s gaze. “I’m thinking of starting a little side hustle. Curious if you’d be interested.”

“What kind of a side hustle?”

“Hmm. Let’s put it this way. It involves you and that beautiful uncut cock—”

Aaron snatched the phone, ended the call, and stuffed it into his back pocket.

“What’s wrong, Aaron? Does that not feel so good?”

Aaron stared at him, wide-eyed. “No, it didn’t feel good. In fact, it felt manipulative, intentional, and cruel!”

“Give me my phone.”

“The difference between you and me is I don’t try to hurt you.”

“Yet you still do. Every single day. And you can’t even tell me you love me?” Tears tried to sting his eyes, but for once he had more anger than sorrow coursing through his body, and it wasn’t about to let them fall. “You can’t say that to me? Just once?”

Aaron’s lips parted as his face crumbled in pain.

“Say it to me.”

“I—” Aaron’s eyes darted around the room in panic as if the words he needed were written on the walls. He hunched his shoulders and rounded his spine, like he could suddenly throw up. “I-I-I can’t. I need more time.”

“Time’s up.” He charged Aaron’s pocket. “Give me my phone.”

“All I do for you. Every day. I’m so fucking good to you.” Aaron dodged his grasps, fighting him off. “I take care of you.”

“Keep it.” Daniel stormed off toward the bedroom, calling back over his shoulder, “And you take better care of your clients than me.”

Aaron trailed closely behind. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means—” Daniel whipped around, and Aaron nearly ran into his chest. They hadn’t been this close since he got home, and he could almost feel the heat on Aaron’s skin as they both labored for breath, standing way too near and way too still not to feel it.

It—whatever it was—ignited between them almost dangerously. Like a calm pool of gasoline inching toward a molten inferno.

“What?” Aaron hissed, bending his head to grip his gaze. “It means what? That whatever I do to help you goes unappreciated? Because you’re an ungrateful fucking brat?”

Daniel heard his own teeth scrape together. “Just like whatever I do to help you also goes unappreciated. Because you’re a materialistic cash king.”

“I’m sorry you’re a starving artist, sweetheart, and wealth makes you uncomfortable.”

“I’m sorry you have to make your living by the grace of more successful men. That must be a hard pill to swallow.”

Aaron’s placid expression contrasted against his wild eyes in a way that made him look unrecognizable. “It’s not. By comparison, you make me feel pretty good about my living.”

“Oh? Because of how ‘starving artist’ mine is?”

“Because I could buy that studio out from under you. Tomorrow if I wanted.”

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