Page 61 of Breathe
He had a moment to feel guilty, but then decided he was right to be angry. In fact, he was livid.
He couldn’t get over the fact that Real thought he had offered up his ass because he was grateful.
Crude, yes, but accurate.
“I’m better than that. I’m better than the way you think of me. I want a man who supports me for who I am trying to be. I don’t need someone who runs on assumptions and makes up shit,” he said, clenching his fists.
“Az…”
“Stay the hell out of my way from now on!” Azrael had heard about seeing red, but now he knew what that meant.
He stalked up from the bed and walked naked into the bathroom. He took great pleasure from slamming and then locking the thick door. Breathing hard, he grabbed the counter and stared at himself in the mirror. He looked like a wild man.
Thank god Real didn’t try to prevent him from leaving the room because Azrael would have stabbed the guy.
And chances were that he would have killed him.
And while that thought was kind of appealing, he really didn’t want Real dead.
Real stared at the closed bathroom door for several long moments with his mind racing.
Rubbing a hand over his mouth, the five o’clock shadow scraped at his palm. He strode from the hotel room and ended up in the hallway.
Every step he took away from Azrael grew slower and slower.
“I’m grateful to Dave but I wouldn’t crawl into his damn bed!”
Real stabbed one finger at the elevator button, Azrael’s angrily spat words kept punching like flashes through his head.
Oh, he’d seen Azrael angry before. The young assassin was a spitfire, but he had never seen Azrael as pissed as he was now.
“I’m better than that. I’m better than the way you think of me.”
Another punch to the gut.
Real found himself in the lobby with no memory of traveling down in the elevator.
“I want a man who supports me for who I am trying to be.”
“God damn it!” Real muttered and ran both hands down his face as he walked out into the bright sunshine.
A coffee shop sign caught his eye and he reached for the door. It was the hotel’s shop with an entrance from the street as well as inside the lobby. He pulled open the street entrance and stepped inside. Ordering a black coffee, he walked to an empty table and sat cradling the hot brew between both hands.
“I don’t need someone who runs on assumptions and makes up shit…so stay the hell away from me.”
Azrael’s words had hurt like fucking hell.
They stung.
They burned.
But they had also forced open a crack of something inside of him.
His hands shook, and his throat tightened.
He fucking had it bad. That was the first thing he admitted to himself. He wanted nothing more than to be with Azrael in every way possible.
They needed to talk. He needed Azrael to clarify things. Yeah…like the shit he’d just said wasn’t clear enough?
