Written in Scars(10)
“You don’t know what–”
“Don’t say it,” Sam said, putting a hand on top of his. “After everything I’ve been through, I know exactly what I want.” He squeezed his hand. “And I want you.”
Chapter Four
Inexplicably nervous, Logan needed a drink. A stiff one.
He couldn’t remember when he last had a man back to the house. Casual sex, dating apps and all that went with them were not for him. He didn’t want strangers dropping by to offer their bodies and leave without a scrap of conversation. There was no pleasure in that. One-night stands were okay now and then, but he preferred to indulge in those while he was travelling. It seemed less invasive taking a guy to a hotel than having them here in his home.
So why am I doing this?
Because married or not, Sam Radcliffe is the sexiest, most charismatic man you’ve met in years.
No arguing with that.
“Do you like bourbon?” Logan asked.
“I do,” Sam said. “With coke if you have it.”
Logan pulled two crystal tumblers and a bottle of Jack Daniel’s from his drinks cabinet, before heading to the kitchen, indicating that Sam should follow. It was the room in the cottage he was most proud of. All his own design with real oak units, painted butter-milk, and dark, rainforest granite surfaces, the kitchen had been created to his exact specifications. He compromised on nothing.
“Nice,” Sam said, taking a seat at the centre island, and looking the room over. “It beats the narrow galley I have at home.”
“Do you cook?” Logan asked, dropping handfuls of ice into the tumblers. He half filled them both with bourbon before topping up with coke.
Sam nodded. “Nothing fancy. There are a few staple meals I know how to do well. Spaghetti bolognaise, chicken curry; that kind of thing. Guy food. I can manage a pretty decent stew with dumplings too. Most of my meals are done in the slow cooker. I don’t have the space for much else.”
Logan had an image of Sam, in his narrow kitchen, busying himself with dinner while his husband screwed around. Sam’s efforts languishing in the pot while he waited for the cheat to come home.
“What’s Johan like?” he asked, setting down the drinks, not really sure he wanted to know. “I mean what does he look like?”
Sam sighed. “He used to be lovely. Really cute. But he’s spoiled his looks if I’m honest.”
“With drugs?”
He shook his head. “Botox. Fillers. Fake tan. Steroids. You name, he uses it. He’s incredibly vain.” He took out his phone and flipped to the picture gallery. “Do you really want to know?”
“Go ahead.”
Sam handed him the phone. The man in the photo was a typical poser: he had a shiny face and was wearing make-up, he pouted at the camera while arching an overly plucked eyebrow. He was shirtless of course, displaying hairless pecs, ripped abs and zero body-fat. His dark hair was styled into a gleaming quiff. Logan suppressed a chuckle. It was the kind of photo that cluttered up a million social media and Instagram profiles. The same as all the other attention seekers.
“He wasn’t always like that,” Sam said, flipping through the album to show him another image. Barely recognizable as the man in the first picture, it featured a smiling, fresh-face boy with rosy cheeks and twinkly eyes. His hair was naturally wavy then, hanging loose over his forehead.
“When was this taken?” Logan asked.
Sam looked at the photo, nibbling his top lip. “Five, maybe six years ago. He messed with his face and body after his twenty-sixth birthday. That’s when he began to stress about turning thirty. He became obsessed with his looks, with going to the gym, eliminating fat from his diet. He wasn’t doing it for my benefit; I hate that fake, in-love-with-yourself rubbish. But he wanted guys to like him and comment. Updating Instagram all the time with his progress and development. I guess that wasn’t enough either, cause then he started with dating apps, looking for more validation.”
Logan sipped his Jack and coke, keeping quiet. In his opinion Johan was a loser, a total dick, but it wasn’t for him to tell Sam that. They were married after all. He couldn’t bash his husband when they’d only just met. Maybe Sam was into that stuff too. He only had his word he wasn’t. And whose idea was it to come back here? Sam’s. Maybe he liked to play around as much as Johan. Who knew what went on in their relationship? They might be swingers. Or get off on making each other jealous.
But he knew that wasn’t true.
He was being guarded. Trying to protect himself.
He’d always been a good judge of character and his instinct told him this wasn’t bull-shit. Sam was genuine.
“Why do you put up with it? With that kind of behavior?”
Sam snorted. “I ask myself the same question. A lot.” He reached for his drink and swallowed thoughtfully. “When we got married, I thought it would be forever. I wouldn’t have married him otherwise. He wasn’t always like this. I met him when I was seventeen, not long before I was attacked. He didn’t have to stick around, but he was brilliant in the aftermath. He looked after me and helped with my recovery. Mentally and physically, he brought me back to health. Who knows what might have happened if I wasn’t injured. We might only have stayed together a little while, maybe a few years, it’s impossible to know, because it was such a unique situation to be thrust into. We were kids -just seventeen-looking out for each other.”