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You English are so weird with your nicknames.” “I’m American.” “There’s a difference?” “There was a war over it and everything. Look it up sometime.”
It didn’t even feel all that strange to him. If there was a man who could make him want, it was this one.
He wanted him so badly. He wanted to eat Damiano alive, swallow him whole, consume him in ways that weren’t even possible.
“As you say, let’s cut the bullshit. You did it because you’re an emotionally stunted control freak who got a little bit attached and doesn’t know how to express his affections in a healthy way.”
I did what he paid me for. I owed him nothing more. Loyalty can’t be bought. And mine belonged to you, not him.”
“You’re smarter than that. No one trusts me, caro.” “I do.”
He loved it, he hated it, he hated this feeling so much. How could something feel so good, so perfect, and yet leave him feeling so empty? Missing someone who had never been his, who was still right there, was its own special kind of hell.
He’d never felt closer to another person in his life. He’d never wanted to be even closer. Was there a way to be closer? If there was, Jordan wanted it.
Damiano hummed and looked out the window. Jordan could no longer see his face, only the tight line of his sharp jawline. Then, his fingers moved, inching closer to Jordan’s, until they touched the back of his hand. His heart somewhere in his throat, Jordan stared at them before turning his hand and entangling their fingers. Christ, how could something so simple feel so intense?
“You look like you’re one step away from strangling me for daring to look at your man this way.” “He isn’t my anything,” Jordan said, his stomach clenching at the truth of those words. Damiano wasn’t his anything. He had no real claim to him. His sister’s gaze turned serious as she studied him. “But do you want him to be your something?” Jordan didn’t reply.
Don’t go, Jordan wanted to say. Come back to me, he wanted to say. I love you, he wanted to say. He said nothing, the words getting stuck somewhere in his throat, like a painful lump. His eyes wide, he could only watch as Damiano turned around and walked away.
“You were running from something,” Jordan said quietly. “I’m running toward something. That’s the difference. I can put up with a lot for him.” I can’t bear a life without him in it.
Jordan smiled at him, his blue eyes so very soft and pretty. “How can such an intelligent man be so dumb when it comes to feelings? I can’t live without you, you dummy. And I’m done with your hot-and-cold act. You don’t get to treat me like that, coming and going out of my life as you please. Fuck that. You’re stuck with me from now on.”
“You can’t,” he managed. “It’s dangerous, with who I am. You might die.” Jordan shrugged. “That’s true. But I might die in Boston too. I might get hit by a bus and die tomorrow. Life is a risk. And it’s one worth taking. I’d rather die happy with the man I love than miserable and alone.”
“You look like you’ve been hit by a truck. Surely you had an inkling about my feelings for you? I wasn’t exactly subtle. But I get it—it’s different to hear the words, isn’t?” He stroked Damiano’s cheekbones with his thumbs. “God, I love you so much. I didn’t know it was possible to love someone so much.” He smiled crookedly. “You’d better feel the same way or I don’t know what I’d do. I might cry. I’m such a mess without you, it’s embarrassing.”
Frankly, people weren’t wrong when they called him unfeeling, selfish, and heartless. He didn’t care about people. Most people were just tools for him. He felt no remorse about hurting people. Except this one. This one was precious. This one was his. This one made him feel.
“Love is always depicted as a nice, sweet feeling in the movies. What I feel for you isn’t sweet. It isn’t nice. Sometimes I almost hate you for turning me into this. For making me—for making me need another person. For wanting to be a better person than I am. I don’t like it—the way you make me feel.” “What way?” Jordan said, his gaze very soft. “Unbalanced and distracted—when you aren’t around. Obsessive, possessive, and out of control when you are. If this is love, it fucking sucks.”
“But is it enough for you?” The words were hard to say. His throat felt like sandpaper. Am I enough? Jordan looked at him seriously. “It is,” he said, his voice soft. “I’d prefer your fucked-up version of love to the sweetest, most conventional love lavished on me by another person. Because it’s you. And you’re more than enough. You’re what I need to feel enough.” Damiano tightened his arms. “I’ll do better,” he said roughly. “I’ll try for you.”
