Page 132 of The Sinner's Sanctuary

He frowns at me, and I don’t miss the concern.

“What are you worried about?”

He sighs. “Look—I’ve known you awhile, and I’ve never seen you with the same person more than twice. I know I’ve given you shit for it, but I assume there’s some reason I don’t know about?”

“Could be I haven’t found the right person.”

His forehead lines deepen into a scowl. “Could be…”

“Could be something else, too,” I say with a look that I hope he interprets as I don’t want to discuss this over peanut butter and jelly.

He gives me a small nod, getting the message. “Maybe one day you’ll tell me about it.”

“It’s a long weekend,” I say. “Maybe I will.”

The idea of talking about Trinity doesn’t feel as daunting as it once did. I’m not sure when that changed—maybe I just needed to tell one person to get the words out, and it’ll be easier now. I won’t know until I try, so I’ll leave the door open.

“Whatever you need, we’re here for you, Chris,” Jericho says. “I hope you know that. I get that hanging out with a bunch of couples probably isn’t always the most fun for you?—”

“You guys are great. Trust me, I feel really lucky.”

“Good. But you get to do you. We love you all the same. And for whoever you bring around, we’ll be equal parts awesome and embarrassing.”

I’m laughing when Olivier straggles into the kitchen and attaches himself to Drew’s side with a sleepy hug. Drew takes his husband’s head in his hands and kisses his cheek softly. “Morning, peach.”

“Mmm…” As they move into a full on hug, I go to the refrigerator to find the mayo.

37

GIBSON

Sunday is the Fourth of July, and the day starts off misty and foggy. I’m out front, lying on a porch swing and reading a mystery I found in Larry’s library yesterday afternoon while Christian was still puking.

I wanted to stay and help him, but he made me leave, so I wandered. Now, halfway through the book, I’ve decided it’s either very poorly written or genius because for the life of me, I can’t figure out who the killer is. Full from the early brunch we all had together and buzzed from mimosas, I feel a morning nap coming on.

I turn at the creak of the screen door, hoping to see my favorite face, but it’s another beautiful young man instead.

Olivier Arnaud was once a well-known, trouble-making socialite living in one of The Eastmoor penthouses. I knew of him peripherally as someone who was often in the tabloids and at every major event with the usual suspects on the Upper East Side. Once wild and attention-seeking, he caused the ultimate uproar by abdicating his inheritance, writing a tell-all, and running off to Brooklyn to live in wedded bliss with his doorman.All I see when I look at him now is a young man who found where he belongs and doesn’t take it for granted.

He gives Christian a hard time for his close friendship with Drew, but anyone can see Drew’s own jealous affection for him. Not to mention the sexual tension. They disappeared for over an hour while we were sailing yesterday, and Olivier returned with a red neck and the beginnings of several hickeys on his chest. He’s wearing a shirt at the moment, but the bruises on his neck aren’t subtle.

Interesting.

I haven’t dabbled much in breath play—again, afraid I’d do real damage, but I wouldn’t mind someone—Christian—trying it on me.

“Am I interrupting a good part?” he asks.

“No.” I sit up, leaving him room to join me on the swing, which he does, sitting criss-cross to face me. I get the immediate impression this won’t be a casual chat. He’s clearly got something to say. “What’s up?”

“El and I were talking last night, and I wanted to bring something up with you if it’s okay. I don’t want it to seem like I’m meddling or whatever, but in the interest of Drew’s obsession with Chris’s well-being, I feel like if we’re all gonna be friends…”

“Go ahead,” I tell him. There’s no sense beating around the bush. This is either going to be about the club or Marianne, and he may as well spit it out.

“I haven’t really been part of the Uptown scene for awhile now, but El and Mal still go to a lot of events and follow the gossip. I assume you know Avery Lawther?”

I set the book down and fold my arms over my chest. “I do.”

“Right, well, she talks a lot. So everybody knows her husband cheated on her, and she’s got some plan to take him for all he’s worth.”

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