In the Middle of Somewhere (Middle of Somewhere, #1)(69)

I nod, imagining Rex as a little boy acting out scenes from movies with his mom. The picture that keeps asserting itself, though, is Rex as a firm-chinned Sam Spade type, even as a kid.

“She was always finding things at work to bring home for me,” Rex continues. “That’s how I started fixing stuff, actually. She would bring home junk that was broken and I’d mess around with it. She worked as a secretary for an office supply company for a while when we were in Houston. So she’d bring clocks and staplers and microwaves that got damaged and I’d take it all apart and put it back together again. I would spend hours on it. Once, for Mother’s Day, I made her an alarm clock that hooked up to a miniature coffee machine and would start the coffee brewing like one of the expensive ones with a built-in timer. Turned out to be a bad idea, though, because she could never remember not to slam her hand down on the snooze button, which would make a big mess.”

“Wow,” I say. That’s pretty impressive for a kid.

“And anyway, she always had boyfriends she spent a lot of time with. From work, usually. I don’t know; later I figured out that most of them were probably married. Then, once we moved to California, they were always guys who wanted to pretend she didn’t have a kid. I’d stay in my room when they came over, or just wander around.”

Rex trails off, seeming embarrassed that he said so much. I smile and lean over until I’m kind of lying on top of him, my head on his shoulder. He starts running his hands up and down my back, then up into my hair and down over my ass. I can feel his cock start to fill beneath me, and I lean up for a kiss. It’s an amazing feeling, having my whole body in contact with Rex’s. We kiss lazily, just enjoying it. Rex pulls my shirt off and kisses my neck softly, his warm mouth moving over every inch of my skin. I lean down and lick a line up his throat to his stubbled chin, nipping at it. Rex moans and starts to sit up, his muscles tensed.

In her spot in front of the dying fire, Marilyn perks up. At first I think she’s staring at us, which is slightly awkward. But then I hear the door open. Rex pushes himself up, swearing.

“Get your ass out here and f*ck me hello, Rexroth!” a voice booms into the near-dark of the cabin.





Chapter 10


October



IN THE time it takes Rex to struggle to his feet and pull me up by my armpits when he displaces me, the following thoughts run through my mind in no discernible order.

1. Rex’s boyfriend just got home. Rex has a boyfriend. Partner? Lover? Whatever. Some dude just told Rex to f*ck him, ergo: bad news.

2. You are such a f*cking idiot. How could you possibly trust him? All the sweet talk, gentle touches, and soft kisses were just to mess with you, or to get in your pants, or both. Oh god, you let him f*ck you. You told him about Colin. About Richard. Seriously, could you possibly be more f*cking gullible?

3. Rex is short for Rexroth? How did I not know that?

Then a fourth thought fights in, and it’s in a voice that sounds a lot like Ginger’s. It says, Don’t jump to conclusions. You don’t know what’s going on yet. Give Rex a chance to explain. Rex is not Richard. But that thought doesn’t have a chance because Rex walks over and flips on the lights and this guy is… beautiful.

His face is Scandinavian perfection and he’s dressed like a model. He has high, sharp cheekbones, a perfectly straight nose, ashy eyebrows over blue-gray eyes, a square jaw and delicate chin, and a pouty mouth. He’s about my height, but he seems taller. His blond hair is longish and tousled and he has a tiny beauty mark over his lip and another next to his eyebrow, as if he were the model for beauty mark piercings. He’s stunning and I hate him on sight.

I can’t f*cking believe it. I confess to Rex how I found Richard with another man; Rex’s… someone shows up right after. It really couldn’t be clearer. If I were teaching the book of my life in class right now, I would use this moment as an example of irony. I’ve got to get the f*ck out of here.

“Oops,” he says, looking at me, his eyes sparkling. “Didn’t know you had company.”

“You didn’t see the car out front?” Rex asks, tilting his head. The model gets a mischievous expression on his face and smirks at Rex, then looks back and forth between us.

“Maybe,” he says. “But I figured it was yours. Not like you ever have any company except me.”

His voice is deeper than what I’d expect from someone so pretty. He’s not feminine exactly, just kind of androgynous in a rock star/model sort of way. He doesn’t seem fazed in the least. I realize I’ve been staring at him with my shirt off, so I extract it from where Rex shoved it between the couch cushions and pull it on. It’s inside out, but I refuse to acknowledge that. I can only hope that my expression right now is the unimpressed one I give the lead singers of bands who assume I know who they are, the rich guys who slum at the bars in my neighborhood, sure they can pick up anyone, and the students who think they’re getting one over on me.

My brain has kicked into survival mode and all that matters right now is making it out of this house without either Rex or this guy realizing that they’ve had any effect on me whatsoever. Show nothing. Reveal nothing.

“Hi, Marilyn,” the man says, looking right past me. Marilyn trots over to him and lets herself be pet. He bends down and rubs her belly. So, if he knows Marilyn, he’s been around pretty recently—at least since this summer when Rex rescued us.