Page 58 of Edge of Control

He leaned in and we shared a soft, passionate kiss. Someone down the hall unlocked and opened the door, causing us to separate much sooner than I would have liked.

We went our separate ways, me heading toward the elevator, him turning back to his door. I glanced over my shoulder once, caught him watching. My heartbeat kicked. I gave a short wave and disappeared behind the sliding doors.

As the elevator descended, I stared at my reflection in the metal. My face looked tired, but there was something else there—hope, maybe. Tomorrow, or whenever we next met, we’d tackle dinner plans, maybe get lost in mindless jokes. We’d try normal.

And for two men used to shadows, that sounded like one hell of a dream.

Chapter 22

Jace Holloway

The restaurant,Highland & Park, was a classy affair. Located in the West Village, just a couple streets down from the main gay bars that were much cheaper and approachable than this place. It had dim, golden lighting that made everyone appear about five years younger than they actually were. The walls were a sleek onyx black that complemented the dusty blue marble of the bar and the slate-blue chairs around smooth walnut tables, decorated with golden plates and silverware that was perfectly arranged on top of a clean blue napkin.

“Nice, huh?” Benji asked as we sat down at the table.

“Extremely,” Mason answered. He looked around the space, blue eyes reflecting the flickering light from the candle in front of him. “Thanks for the invite.”

“Of course,” Benji said. He’d been the one that put this last-minute Stonewall dinner together. “I think Zane should be… ah, there he is.”

We all turned at the same time as Zane Holden entered the restaurant. He was the owner of Stonewall Investigations, a charming guy with an easy smile and a slightly intense gaze. He wore a slightly oversized black T-shirt that had a falcon on the front with the name of what appeared to be some kind of sports team across it. A gold Cartier bracelet wrapped around his wrist, matching the gold necklace he had on.

“Sorry I’m late. Lily had soccer practice.”

“Not a problem, not a problem,” Benji said.

Zane sat next to him, his expensive cologne filling the room. The waitress came around for drink orders as we settled in.

This was the man I owed quite a bit to. Not only did he open this agency and help out hundreds of people who needed it—through his New York branch and the other Stonewall locations as well—but he was also the one who took a risk on me and hired me when I needed a job more than anything else. He saw something in me. What it was, I still wasn’t entirely sure of. Finding my own self-worth was always one of the more challenging aspects of life. I tended to dim my own light, whether valid or not, and I always had a difficult time finding the switch to make it brighter. Especially when outside factors compounded my internal depression and angst. It was in those moments, when the nights were the darkest, that I didn’t feel worth anything at all.

I had been nearing that point. I’d been jobless, loveless, moneyless, maybe soon-to-be homeless. My thoughts circled back to the darkest moments in my life, when Ithought ending it all would be the best option. It was a close call. But Zane came in riding his Stonewall horse and grabbed me before I could truly fall.

And he likely didn’t even realize it, just how big of an impact he had on me.

It was nice, this little group of friends meeting for dinner. Most of my life was me as a loner. I had a best friend in high school who moved to London after graduating, and so I barely ever spoke to her, and I didn’t go to college, so I missed out on all the socializing that happens around kegs and beer pong tables. Adult life was notoriously difficult to make friends in; coupled with my depression and general lack of motivation really meant that my loner streak continued. I didn’t know many people I could go out and have a casual dinner and drinks with.

So this? Yeah, it was nice.

Really fucking nice.

We fell into an easy conversation as the drinks were brought out. Zane spoke to us about how he and his husband, Enzo, were going to take a family vacation to Disneyland next week to celebrate the opening of a new Stonewall branch in Los Angeles. Hearing about him and his family was fun. Made me believe it was something possible for me.

Maybe for me and a particularly handsome and tattooed gentleman who I couldn’t pry out of my head even if I wanted to.

Theo Glass, Theo Glass, Theo motherfucking Glass.

I tried focusing on the conversation, but Theo just kept playing on a loop in my head. How had a man been able todrill himself directly into my skull the way he had? At first, I thought maybe it was just the sex—because holy fuck was the sex good—but now, I began to realize it was way more than that. It was in the way he walked, what we talked about, how he could grin and brood at the same time, how he had a passion for watches and clocks that I found interesting, how he talked about his cat like he was his son.

And yes, also how good his ass felt when I was inside him. How his cock would leak as I pounded him, how my name would fall from his lips like smooth honey from a golden honeycomb.

There was something else, something deeper. He had facets to himself that I’d yet to discover, which made me excited. It made me want to get to know him more and more. Made me want to make him mine, officially. Maybe it was time to have that conversation? I was supposed to see him tonight after dinner. If the drinks were strong enough here, then I could see a serious conversation occurring in my future.

“And how’s your Nevermore case going?” Zane asked, intense gaze turning to me.

I swirled my whiskey sour and tried to hone back in on the conversation. The candle on the table flickered, almost as if even just the mention of Nevermore was enough to cause it to be snuffed out.

“It’s a tough one,” I answered. As much as I’d been obsessing over Theo, I’d also been obsessing over the case. Although—admittedly—Theo was proving to be a difficult distraction to overcome. I liked to think of him as a way to keep me sane, but I also found myself leaning towardhim when I was becoming overly frustrated with the empty leads I was getting.

After my meeting with the mayor, he was able to send me a small folder with what he had on Marielle Rodriguez. I had her photo, had an address, a job history, and a decent idea of who she was. I’d tracked down her old landlord, who said that she had lived with her brother, but the guy’s name wasn’t on the lease, and he gave me the flimsiest description of him. Marielle’s previous employer, a manager for a local nonprofit, only had good things to say about her.

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