Page 17 of Key Change

“I picked the place,” Cillian countered.

“I don’t need charity.”

Ah, his pride was getting in the way. Was his pride also stopping him from getting laid?

“When you pick the place, you can pay.” Cillian smiled. The bill wasn’t extravagant—his budget didn’t run to that. One bottle of wine, some pizzas, and garlic bread. He’d chosen this place because it wasn’t expensive, and it served great food.

Anthony nodded and Cillian was sure he was thinking of places to take him to, to even the score. It was easy to imagine him ten years ago. The ambitious young man swept up in the thrill of success. At the edge of his mind the question lingered, would he do it again? While Anthony claimed he didn’t want to go back to prison, that wasn’t the same thing as staying on the right side of the law.

And it really wasn’t any of his concern.

“Drinks or no drinks?” Cillian asked, keeping his voice light, even though he wasn’t sure what this was anymore. Anthony’s lack of enthusiasm hadn’t killed the lusty hope coursing through his body.

Was he asking too much?

“I’d like a drink…”

That was progress. “But…? If I’m not what you like in men, please say it and save the awkwardness.”

Anthony shook his head. “You are gorgeous, but I don’t know what you like.”

Cillian shrugged. “So come with me and find out.” He didn’t want to discuss his sexual preferences in the restaurant. “Unless there’s something you need to tell me?”

“It’s been a long bloody time.”

“So you said.”

Anthony drew in a breath.

Was it a performance issue? Not hard or too fast? Anthony needed to give him something to work with. “It’s up to you… or I can drive you home.”

And then get himself off and never message Anthony again.

Except for the other issue. Fuck, he’d made a mess of this. No, he’d made the mess years ago, and since he hadn’t managed to clean it up on his own, he needed help.

Anthony glanced away as the waiter placed the bill on the table.

Cillian picked it up and stood. “Why don’t you tell me when we reach the car?”

Perhaps he needed to make a confession and couldn’t find the words with so many people around. The hot and cold was killing him. There was heat in Anthony’s gaze, even as he physically drew back.

They got up and Cillian paid the bill before they stepped out into the warm evening air. Anthony’s hand brushed against his as though seeking a connection. For a heartbeat, Cillian considered keeping some distance and saving his sanity, but he didn’t. He let Anthony’s fingers lace with his.

He couldn’t remember the last man who’d held his hand. There wasn’t usually this level of closeness or affection, or at least not in a while. He wanted to pull free. Anthony didn’t get to jerk him around because he was dealing with some shit.

They reached the car and neither of them pulled away.

He didn’t want to make the first move this time. Anthony needed to step up. “So…”

Anthony watched him, his eyes dark, the streetlights catching in them like stars. “So, if I fumble this… tonight… is there a second chance?”

Cillian sighed with relief. It wasn’t him. “You’re thinking that far ahead?”

“I’m being realistic. I want you. I have no idea why you want me. I might… I might be shit.”

Cillian leaned in and kissed him to silence the doubts. “Every time I get on stage, I wonder if this will be the time my fingers freeze, and I forget how to play.”

“How could you forget how to play?”

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