Page 12 of Teach Me To Sin

He scoffs and wraps his hand around my face, smashing my nose. “Shit, what a hard question. How about you imagine the most perfect man you know, but he’s naked in your bed. Give it like sixty seconds and we’ll check back in, ‘kay?”

Breaking out of his grip, I try to push him off the desk backward as he dissolves into hoarse giggles. “You’re a jackass.”

But it’s too late–my brain spills over with Benji’s smooth, tan body arching as he stretches, the subtle valleys of his muscle and bone, his mouth curling into a smile so intense I feel like I’m being held underwater. I don’t need to think about him in bed with his cock out; I don’t even want to. It’s more than enough to picture my hands cupping his neck and the soft shove of his wet lips against mine. When I stop fighting and let him all the way in, it scares me how viscerally my body and soul react.

The sound of Victor’s whistle snaps me back to the musty office. He snags a bit of ice from his cup and pops it in his mouth as his eyes pry me apart. “God, you love to do everything backward. You’re over here asking me whatgaymeans when you’re already head over heels for some boy.” Reaching up with a small smile, he swipes his thumb through the dampness under my eye. “Get yourself under control and figure your life out.”

“Slow down.” I shake him off with a weak laugh. “I have no idea what to do now. I need to think.”

“Okay, but this time I’m not letting this shit go on for three years.” He snaps his fingers under my nose. “Fuck Ethan’s rules; there’s nothing he can do to me that won’t turn me on anyway.”

This time I rest my hand gently on his head, his soft curls tangling around my fingers. “I promise.”

I can never rewind the years where I watched my dad hurt him, when we were both confused, terrified boys controlled by men who seemed like gods to us. But we’ve lived so much since then—laughter, tears, more than a few fights, and more hope than either of us knew was possible. He’s my reminder that the darkness isn’t all powerful, that good can win in the end. But today, as I think about blowing up the peace we’ve built to chase impossible things, maybe that hope is a dangerous thing to lean on.

Alek

I don’t feellike driving to the restaurant, so I walk to the nearest light rail station and take an escalator to the underground train that delivers me downtown. As I follow the map on my phone to The Dock Club, the crowds of business people and tech employees finish their lunches and head back to work, leaving the sidewalks quiet enough to hear birdsong above the rumble of the city. It’s the first nice afternoon following days of rain. A soft, watery sunlight glows off the windows of the buildings and the rising heat makes me wish I hadn’t worn a jacket.

I needn’t have worried about finding the asshole lawyer; as soon as the trendy restaurant comes into view, I spot him lounging at an outdoor table with one leg crossed over the other. Even from a distance, his jet-black hair and the cocky angle of his shoulders give him away. Instead of a suit, he looks effortless and expensive in a charcoal button-down with the sleeves rolled up and the top open just enough to show a hint of chest hair. When he reaches for his sparkling water, a silver chain glints on his wrist. My khakis and blue polo feel shabby and sad by comparison.

Ducking under the patio railing, I sidle up to the table and hesitate, like I’m not the one who called this meeting. When my shadow falls across the white tablecloth, Colson glances up and leisurely removes a pair of tortoiseshell sunglasses that might be worth four figures.Why the hell do I keep meeting men who look so good in sunglasses and slide them off like it’s an act of foreplay? I only accepted I was gay an hour ago; I don’t need this shit.

“Welcome,” he offers coolly, waving two lazy fingers toward the chair opposite me and gesturing for a waiter. “Did you want something to drink?”

“Iced tea with extra lemons please,” I blurt at random as I sit down, thrown off balance by the way he’s taking charge. Colson asks for a roasted artichoke hearts from an appetizer menu I didn’t have time to read, and we both watch the staff member bustle away.

Finally, I nod at his outfit. “I picked this place because I assumed you worked at one of the law offices around here, but you don’t look dressed for work.”

“No.” His eyes flick over the wrinkles in my top, which I keep in a desk drawer for times when a sweat-stained t-shirt isn’t good enough. “I’ve taken an indefinite leave of absence to…” He glances away, hunting for words. “...see what else life has to offer. I’ll be leaving in a month or two to sail around the world and find somewhere to settle down.”

“Hold up.” My seat creaks as I lean forward. “You’re retired?”

He just raises an eyebrow irritably. All the frustration I felt two days ago flares up again, hating his superiority and the way he barged into my world to make judgments about things he doesn’t understand.

“Why are you going around offering legal help when you’ve stopped practicing law? I don’t know what Ethan said, but I’m not some charity case. I can hire an actual lawyer if I need to.”

“Good question.” He shrugs one shoulder with a tight, slightly dangerous smile. Our staring contest doesn’t falter when the waiter plonks a plate of steaming vegetables on the table between us. “Maybe I have nothing better to do. Maybe I wanted to watch you realize you can’t actually‘do whatever the fuck I want’–” he makes air quotes with one hand “–and ask me very nicely for help.”

When my jaw clenches, amusement flickers in his eyes. Victor’s friend Gray is such a relentlessly, almost annoyingly good man who cares too much and puts everyone else before himself. I can’t understand how he ever ended up married to this cocksure piece of work.

“Icamehere,” I snap, bolstering myself with a mouthful of iced tea, “because I’ve decided that this is one hundred percent happening. I thought you might have some advice on how to handle it.”

“You already heard my advice: don’t do it. Not if you care about what you’ve built.” Tilting his head back, he closes his eyes like he’s praying for patience. “You think there’s any lawyer who can protect you from the backlash if you tell the press that the son of Clint fucking Simmons is hunting for young, promising swimmers to ‘coach’? Continuing the family legacy?”

“Okay, fuck you.” Shoving my chair back noisily, I stand up and dig in my wallet to tip for the drink. “There’s more than one lawyer in this city. I’m sure many of them don’t compensate for their insecurities by being a massive prick.”

He doesn’t move, just smiles as he watches me. “You don’t know what kind of lawyer you need, or what you want them to do. You just want someone in a nice suit with an impressive degree to pat you on the head and tell you everything will be fine.” Picking up an artichoke heart between two fingers, he studies it and pops it into his mouth. “It won’t be fine,” he offers, chewing thoughtfully.

Scoffing, I slide a five-dollar bill under the corner of my glass so it doesn’t blow away. “I wanted to meet because you’re supposedly brilliant at what you do, and I thought you might have something halfway useful to say. Since you won’t help me—”

“Ican’thelp you with this shitshow.”

“—then I’ll figure it out on my own.”

I expect him to toss out a parting insult, but he just tilts his head with a slight frown, his eyes flicking between mine so intently that it feels like he’s rifling through my brain for answers. And I can’t seem to walk away. Slowly, he leans forward and rests one broad palm flat on the table in front of my seat. “Sit down for a minute.”

Shade from the elm branches over our heads flickers across the back of his hand with its defined tendons and dusting of dark hair. He looks too young to be forty like Gray, but his hands are mature and strong, all man. Dropping back into the chair against my will, I shoot him a sullen glare. “Do you need to have the last word?”

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