His Broken Angel (Heaven's Ballroom Book 2) Page 4

  I opened my mouth to ask him about it—exactly what was my type? But before I could, a blast of Billy Joel erupted from his pocket. The sha-la-la-las from “Brown Eyed Girl”.

  “Shit,” he swore softly, wiping his hands on his jeans as he fumbled to fish the phone out. “Sorry—fuck, I didn’t realize I’d left it on so loud.”

  “Not a problem,” I assured him.

  The deep red on his cheeks said otherwise, though. It was a problem for him.

  “What?” he said into the phone, glancing around to see if anyone else in the restaurant was looking at him.

  They were, of course. Just, not for the reason he thought they were. A gorgeous Omega like him out with a handsome fuck like me? They would’ve been crazy not to stare.

  I could hear the response come out of his phone’s speaker, shouted over loud electronic music. “Damon! You coming home soon? Your birthday party is pumping!”

  “Anders.” He said the name like it was a brand new four-letter word, pulling the phone away from his ear with a wince. “Come on, man. I told you, I need to study tonight.”

  “More like you need to get some dick tonight! How’s dinner with what’s-his-nuts? Did he show you his cock yet?”

  I didn’t think Damon could’ve gotten any redder—but in that moment, I regretted not ordering him a merlot. We could’ve compared it to his complexion. Perfect match.

  “Kill the party, Anders. Please. I wasn’t kidding about the studying.”

  “No can do, bud! If you’re not getting dicked down, we’re gonna—oh, fuck. Gotta go—Noah just showed up with a fuckin’ ice luge!”

  Suddenly, the bass pumping from Damon’s phone went dead as his friend hung up the phone.

  “Interesting friends,” I commented, blowing on a slice of pizza before taking a bite.

  “Ugh. Spare me, Garnet.” Damon tucked his phone into his pocket, then settled his elbows on the table so he could bury his face in his hands. “I’ve got midterms tomorrow. There’s no way I’m going to get any studying in at this rate.”

  “You know…” I said slowly, seeing my in. “I’ve got a nice quiet apartment up on Fifth Avenue. Comfy couches. Wi-Fi. And…” I grinned as I offered up the pièce de résistance, “it’s quiet. Perfect for studying.”

  He brightened a little at that, the red on his cheeks fading to pink. “You wouldn’t mind? I mean, normally I wouldn’t ask, but—”

  “I was in college once too,” I said with a laugh, waving over the waiter. “Besides, you’re not asking. I’m offering. We can box up the rest of this to eat back at my place—study snacks.”

  Damon breathed a sigh of relief—but no sooner than he’d exhaled, his eyes narrowed at me again. “Just studying, though. I don’t want you to think that I’m some kind of—”

  “Slut?” I suggested. “Mr. Bishop, I’d never.”

  “Good,” he said with a soft smile. His first of the night. “In that case…lead on, Mr. Garnet.”

  I slipped my wallet out of my pocket, passing my black AmEx off to the waiter. “Please, Mr. Bishop. The pleasure’s all mine.”

  6

  Damon

  Wherever I’d thought that night was headed, the last place I expected to end up was at a study session at Nathan Garnet’s place.

  And yet…

  There I was.

  “This is…opulent.” It was the only word for it. As I moved through Nathan’s penthouse, my eyes searched for something that looked even remotely middle class and failed to find it. Oil paintings in gilded frames hung in the entryway. Beautifully painted vases—I was no art student, but I could guess they were Ming—stood like porcelain soldiers on a bookshelf down the hall.

  As I took a few more steps in, it occurred to me that I needed to take off my shoes. I stopped abruptly, the perpetually be-glittered sole of my sneaker hovering precariously over a rug that probably cost more than I made in a year—and Nathan bumped into me from behind, sending my foot plummeting down onto the rug’s pristine surface.

  “Shit, sorry,” we said at the same time.

  I turned to meet his eyes. Somehow, we both ended up laughing at the same time too.

  “Nothing to be sorry for,” Nathan assured me. “I’m the clumsy one, apparently.”

  “Clumsy one of what?” I took a step back, stooping down to unlace my shoes before I stepped on anything else pricey or priceless.

  “The beautiful relationships blossoming between us, obviously.” As I wobbled, trying to keep my balance, Nathan reached a hand out to steady me.

  “Obviously,” I scoffed. “I’m just here to study, remember? Nothing more.”

  “Mm. Whatever you say, Mr. Bishop.” He moved around me, not bothering to remove his own shoes as he headed out to the kitchen portion of the open floor plan just beyond the entryway. “What’re you drinking tonight? I’ve got some especially good Mezcal around here somewhere…”

  “How do you know I like Mezcal?” I blurted out before I realized how I really should have answered. Quickly, I added. “Not that I’m drinking. That sip of wine at dinner was enough.”

  Over the kitchen island, Nathan grinned. “I did my research, of course.” Popping open the fridge, he continued, “How about a La Croix with some ice and bitters, then? I’ve got some fresh mint in here I could muddle it with. Tastes like a cocktail, but it’ll help you keep your head. Or…hmm. Tea? ”

  La Croix with ice and bitters. God, even the refreshments he offered his guests were too bourgeois for me to handle.

  “Tea would be nice, I guess.” It was what my Omega father offered guests back home—iced in the summer, hot in the winter. And either way, sweet enough to rot your teeth out.

  “Tea it is. Chamomile or chai?”

  I laughed as he popped open the kettle and filled it up at the sink. Didn’t he have anything normal in all those kitchen cabinets of his? “Black, if you’ve got it.”

  “Mm. Back to no fun again, Mr. Bishop.”

  “Studying isn’t meant to be fun, Mr. Garnet.” I padded delicately across the floor into the living room. White couches—for fuck’s sake. I wasn’t going to be able to do anything in this place without worrying about ruining it. “Besides, you seem like you have enough fun for both of us.”

  “I am the fun one,” he mused.

  “In this—how did you put it? Blossoming relationship?”

  “In general. But I’m glad you’re finally warming up to the idea.”

  I eyed the couch a final time, then gave up and collapsed into it with my book bag. If Nathan was rich enough—or crazy enough—to buy white couches, then he was rich or crazy enough to replace them when the poverty that was intertwined in my DNA inevitably ruined them.

  “What’s the subject tonight?” Nathan called out over the bubbling kettle with what must have been faux interest.

  I let out a little groan as I hauled the textbook out of my bag. “Anatomy.” I glanced up at him, seeing the shit-eating grin spreading across his lips, and stopped him before he could start. “Not mine and not yours, might I add.”

  He shrugged. “Can’t blame a man for trying.”

  The book fell open on my lap, nearly every line on its pages highlighted. “Trust me. I can.”

  To Nathan’s credit, after that he mostly left me to my own devices. I’d been expecting another clever ploy to get me into bed with him—throwing some wood into the massive fireplace that adorned one of the living room walls so I’d be tempted to take my shirt off, maybe, or slipping a little whiskey into my tea. To my surprise, however, when the tea arrived it was only doctored up with milk and sugar—organic and GMO-free, I was sure, but delicious nonetheless.

  “Let me know if you need anything,” Nathan said after handing off the mug. “I’m going to tackle some work of my own—but I’ll do it quietly in my office. Just down the hall.” He pointed me in the right direction. “Don’t be afraid to interrupt.”

  With that, he disappeared just like he said. It was strange, being in such a f
ancy apartment all on my own—strange, but not unwelcome. The quiet got to me at first. Living with Anders in Riley’s old place didn’t exactly provide me with a lot of silence very often. But as I dove into my studies, for the first time in a long time I was finally able to focus. The couch was comfy, the tea was hot, and bodies in the diagrams on the pages of my textbook were technical and featureless enough that I didn’t have to worry about getting turned on by surprise dick pics or handsomely sculpted chests.

  I lost myself in the little black lines and attached labels of the muscle groups I was memorizing. The deltoid. The trapezius. The levator scapulae and the supraspinatus. One hand traced the diagram’s various connective tissues while the other scribbled away at my notes as I came up with mnemonic devices, clever rhymes and silly acronyms to lodge into my brain until tomorrow morning when I had to sit down and prove to my professor that I was good for something other than taking my clothes off for money.

  “Left-handed, huh?” Nathan reappeared from his office suddenly, what must have been at least a few hours later. I hadn’t heard him coming—the acoustics of his apartment were too perfect to even make footsteps carry, and his wood floors were too expensive to creak. “I didn’t notice earlier.”

  “You wouldn’t have,” I said, straightening my posture and reaching back to rub my own levator scapulae. “It’s hard to tell when you’re eating pizza.”

  He held a hand up, wiggling his fingers. On his other hand, he had a tray balanced. “I’m a leftie too. Guess we were meant to be.”

  “Keep guessing,” I said with a little laugh. “What’s on the tray?”

  “Charcuterie. You didn’t eat that much at dinner. Thought you might like a little snack.” He placed the tray down on the coffee table in front of me. It was laden with thinly sliced meats, a soft wheel of brie, bread and crackers and grapes and olives.

  “You know, charcuterie is just supposed to be a meat spread, right?” I fought back a smile as I realized I knew something that the illustrious Mr. Garnet didn’t.

  But of course, when Nathan saw an opening, he went for it.

  “I’ll spread your meat,” he said, that shit-eating grin I’d fended off earlier finally forming fully on his lips as he sank down onto the couch next to me. But as raunchy as his comment was, his shoulders were relaxed and his gaze seemed more focused on what I was reading than my body. “How’s the studying going?”

  “Better than I expected. Your apartment is living up to all the hype.”

  He leaned over my shoulder to peer at my textbook. As I felt the warmth of his exhale pool over my collarbone, I found myself holding my own breath.

  “Complex stuff,” he commented idly, popping a grape in his mouth.

  “Not really. Just lots of memorization.”

  “Yeah?” Suddenly, his eyes lit up like a traffic light. Green means go. “Teach me, then.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “How?”

  He rose abruptly, popping the first two buttons of his shirt open then reaching behind his back to pull it over his head. “Show me.”

  My mouth went dry. Sure, I went to the gym, but judging by Nathan’s six-pack, he lived there. The muscles of his chest rose and fell like the city skyline, a thick smattering of dark hair curling across them that I was tempted to reach up and run my fingers through.

  Not that I was going to.

  This, I quickly realized, was another ploy on Nathan’s part to make me hot for him. Not that it wasn’t working—just, I didn’t intend on giving in.

  “You can’t be serious,” I croaked, swallowing hard.

  “Why not? Old study technique. The best way to learn something is to teach it—” He turned, showing off the rippling muscles of his back as he winked at me over his shoulder. “And people learn best with visuals.”

  I leaned back, holding my breath and considering it. He wasn’t wrong—I’d heard the advice before. But trying to teach Anders anatomy was like trying to teach a teenage boy about the reproductive system. Sooner or later, everything just turned into another dick joke.

  Somehow, I suspected if Nathan decided to remove any more of his clothes, this wouldn’t turn out that much different. Only this time, it wouldn’t be a joke—and I highly doubted I’d be laughing.

  “Come on,” Nathan urged, sensing my apprehensiveness. “I won’t bite. Are you a physical therapist or aren’t you?”

  I sighed, rising to stand behind him. “Just promise you’ll keep your pants on.”

  He snorted. “I’ll do my best. So, teach. Where do we start?”

  His skin was warm against my cool fingertips as I hovered over his spine, then ran a touch down its length. He shuddered deliciously, a low growl rising up from his throat.

  “Your spinal muscles,” I explained. “The large ones, like your trapezius—” I brushed against the muscle over his shoulder blade— “Attach to your vertebrae. Anchor there. They help keep you stable. Allow other muscles to move.”

  “Handy.”

  “It is,” I agreed. “Then you’ve got your smaller muscles—your spinalis, for instance—that only connect between vertebrae. Keep the joints in line.” I pressed gently on the muscles along the spine, feeling out the knots that had formed there. “You’ve got shitty posture, you know.”

  “Do I?” Instinctively, Nathan straightened. “Don’t tell my etiquette tutor that. He’d have my hide if he found out.”

  “You sit a lot for work?” I aligned my thumbs to either side of Nathan’s spine and dug in, moving them along the natural lines of his muscles.

  “More than I’d like. Sterling Enterprises manages a lot of big investment accounts. Lots of gawking up at big screens overhead then peering down at little screens on our desks.”

  “Mm. I can tell.” I worked my way a little higher up his spine to the back of his neck, enjoying the warmth of his skin there “Semispinalis capitis. Yours is wound tighter than—”

  “You?”

  I laughed. “I was gonna say tighter than a ten-day clock.”

  “They even make those anymore?”

  I smirked. “My grandfathers have one in their parlor. Big old beauty. Most expensive thing they owned. Used to help them wind it myself.”

  He shrugged, easing his shoulders back as I worked them over beneath my thumbs. “You’re the expert. What do you suggest I do differently, then?”

  “Ever heard of a standing desk? Office culture is terrible for posture, and as tall as you are, it’s probably twice as bad for you. Desk probably isn’t the right height to begin with. Screws with your whole system. My professor—she says humans invented the chair out of laziness, but we were never meant to sit in it.”

  “Smart professor.” He exhaled slowly. “Fuck, that feels good.”

  “It ought to. You’re long overdue for a massage.”

  “Guess I’m lucky I met you, huh?” He let out a low moan.

  I paused, suddenly backing away from him. The cologne on his skin was faint, but intoxicating. The scent beneath it—pheromones, maybe. Something entirely him—was even better. Which, when it came to keeping my wits about me tonight, made it even worse. I could have worked over every muscle of Nathan’s perfect body and still found myself wishing for more of him to touch.

  It was infuriating. It was dangerous.

  “I think that’s enough studying for the night,” I said softly, letting my hands fall away from his skin.

  “You sure?” He turned, thumbing his belt. “We could always travel a little lower if you needed more…research.”

  The way he ran his thumb across the leather, so tantalizingly that for a moment, I was so sure he was the devil incarnate, left my breath still and stuck in my chest. He was gorgeous—beyond gorgeous. Like a something in a museum that I wanted so badly to reach out and touch, despite all the signs posted warning me against it…

  “I’m sure.” I laughed, collapsing back into the couch. I snagged an olive from his so-called charcuterie board and popped it into my mouth, relishing the wa
y its salt exploded onto my tongue when I crushed it between my teeth. “Very sure, in fact.”

  Nathan shrugged. “Your funeral. Want me to pop on a movie, then?” He grabbed a remote off the coffee table and pointed it toward the fireplace. A screen began to descend from the ceiling. Behind us, a projector whirred to life. “A little break never hurt anyone.”

  I should have said no. I knew I should’ve turned him down, sure as I knew the sun would rise in the morning and that I’d never forget the names of another muscle of the back again. Not after seeing them flexing beneath Nathan’s skin, so tight and taut and well-defined.

  “I’d like that,” I said instead, cuddling a little deeper into the plush cushions of the couch. “What’ve you got?”

  He beamed. “Ever seen a Kurosawa film? They’re legendary—if you don’t mind that they’re in black and white.”

  “Sounds interesting. Put it on, then.” I found myself smiling softly, turning toward him and fighting back a yawn as he placed himself on the couch next to me again. To my surprise, I felt strangely comfortable with him like this. Warm and safe and at ease. With another flick of his remote, the lights lowered the room into darkness. He kept his distance—just close enough that I could touch him if I wanted, but far enough away that I didn’t have to—as the movie flickered to life on the screen. A title card, then a picture blooming there in black and white.

  7

  Nathan

  He fell asleep on my couch.

  Not just my couch, though.

  On my shoulder.

  One minute, Damon Bishop been sitting there, upright and attentive as the samurai on the screen burned down the bandit village; the next, he’d slumped to the side, resting his head on the side of my arm and cuddling in with a familiarity that I hadn’t been expecting—especially not from him.