The Architect (Nashville Neighborhood Book 3) by Nikki Sloane (top e book reader .TXT) 📗

He’d essentially said he wished they’d never become friends, and it was so hurtful, I felt it deep inside. It was worse than any strike of a paddle and more damaging than the tail of a whip.

But the hurt and the destruction didn’t show on Travis’s face. It was only his tight shoulders and flexed muscle along his jaw that gave away how he was feeling. “Okay, then.” His voice was bitter like he couldn’t stand the taste of his words. “Let’s correct that.” He got out of his seat and pushed the chair in with a loud thump. “See you around.”

And when he left, he took part of my heart with him, and any chance of our trio surviving.

My body was locked up, becoming an immobile cage. I simply stared in disbelief at Clay while my anguish ripped me apart. It wasn’t until the front door slammed closed and the security system chirped that I was able to move.

It must have been the same for him because he took off his glasses, tossed them down on the table with a clatter, and pitched his face forward into his hands. Frustration seeped from every pore of him as he raked his fingers through his hair.

I couldn’t tell if he was speaking to me or himself. “It wasn’t supposed to go like that. That’s not how I planned it.”

He cared more about his design than anything else, and right now I couldn’t care less. I sucked in a sharp breath, wiped a tear from my cheek, and placed my hands on the tabletop to push myself up onto my feet.

“You’re leaving?” He had the audacity to look betrayed.

It was spoken in my voice, but it sounded distant and cold. “You said it yourself. There’s nothing left to say.”

TWENTY-SIX

When I came out of Clay’s house, I discovered Travis’s SUV was gone.

No, not gone—it’d been moved.

He’d parked in my driveway and was sitting in the driver’s seat, looking deep in thought. The moment he saw me, he got out and concern filled his face.

It was dark outside, but he was illuminated by the exterior lights on my parents’ garage, and I watched him strangle back the desire to rush forward and pull me in his arms. I’d told him I loved him, but also that I loved another man, and he wasn’t sure where he stood now.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to walk out on you, but I needed to get out of there. Nothing I said was going to help.”

“No, I get it.” I didn’t blame him for leaving. “But he doesn’t mean it. I know he cares a lot about you, so I don’t know why he said it.”

Travis grimaced. “I do.” He nodded toward the gate that led to my house. “Can we talk?”

“Yeah, of course.”

He’d been in my place before. The night of Cassidy’s birthday he’d stayed over, but we’d both been tipsy and the moment we’d made it through my door, he’d been calling Clay so he could watch us. We’d both had to be up early for work, and Travis hadn’t stayed long the next morning.

Tonight, he looked around the space like he was seeing it for the first time. He gave a half-smile at the laundry basket that was overflowing with scrubs, understanding the never-ending battle to keep them clean.

He took a seat on one side of my couch in the living area, and his gaze sought mine. He hoped I’d join him, but I was too frantic inside to sit still. Instead, I paced around the room, wanting to escape my emotions but not sure how.

When it was clear I wasn’t going to join him, Travis sighed. “I told him he was scared, but it’s not just that. I think he’s freaking out.”

Irritation directed towards Clay glanced through me. “Because he doesn’t like when things don’t go according to plan?”

“That’s part of it, yeah. He likes being in control and maybe he thinks he’s losing that. But he’s mostly freaking out because of . . . well, me.”

I pulled to a stop. “What?”

Travis wiped a hand over his mouth, hesitating for a moment, before giving in. “The first session I did with Clay wasn’t sexual. BDSM can be non-sexual kink, but he didn’t have experience with that. So, since we were both straight, we decided one of the goals of the scene would be to gauge our comfort level. Which, as it turned out, was high.”

I drifted closer, pulled in by the gravity of him.

“We had our conversation after it was over, and I tell him I’m good if he wants to try more. I felt like I was, I don’t know, expanding? Two years ago, I wasn’t into anything beyond vanilla stuff, and now I can’t seem to get enough. I want to learn everything, which made me wonder. What if there’s more out there? Stuff I didn’t think I’d like, but then it turns out, I’m into it?”

I sank down on the couch, blown away by what he was saying and how freely he was willing to share with me.

“I told him I was . . .” He searched for the right word and then found it. “Open.” His shoulders lifted with a heavy breath. “He said he was comfortable with that, so our next session was more intense—and sexual. He made me jerk off, and if I didn’t come fast enough for him, he showed me what a riding crop felt like.”

Oh, fuck me.

I squeezed my knees together and tried to stop the image in my mind, but it was unavoidable. I saw a naked Travis standing in front of Clay, who impatiently tapped the riding crop on the palm of his hand as he watched the other man pleasure himself.

“I enjoyed the scene,” he said, “and it was obvious he did too, but I think that scared him. He didn’t want to like it. He was fine that night, but the next day he was weird.”

I remembered what he’d said when we’d