Page 25 of Sinful Sharing

So Jude was right, after all. Taylor is gay. Damn. I don’t envy his position. There is a reason his parents got together, and it had nothing to do with love. Not really. Natasha and Lucas are two sides of the same coin, both willing to sacrifice everything to make it big.

“So, what’s the plan, then?” Jude asks.

Taylor doesn’t answer. He keeps staring at the fire, his shoulders stiff with tension.

“Are you going to marry a woman someday?” Jude presses. “Live a lie for the rest of your life?”

“If you have another plan that doesn’t involve getting me ostracized, I’d love to hear it.”

Jude’s voice comes out barely above a whisper. “Believe me, there are far worse things than being ostracized.”

“Such as?”

“Such as getting your soul broken.”

At least he admits something’s wrong. Progress. For years, Jude has buried every wound beneath sarcasm and poor decisions. Maybe this is the first step toward getting help. God knows I don’t want him ending up bitter like me.

“I’d rather have a broken soul,” Taylor mutters.

Jude snorts. “Take it from me, you don’t.”

He shifts closer. My stomach drops as he reaches over and brushes a strand of hair from Taylor’s face. The gesture is gentle. Tender. Far more intimate than anything I’ve ever seen from him.

“You’re too pure for that kind of darkness,” Jude whispers.

“My mother would disagree about me being pure.” Something changes in Taylor’s voice. It’s more vulnerable, the kind of thing a man only shows someone he trusts.

Jude inches closer. Taylor doesn’t move away. The air thickens. My pulse starts hammering.

No.

No, no, no.

I know exactly what’s about to happen. And for reasons I can’t fully explain, the thought makes me furious.

Their heads tilt. Jude’s eyes drop to Taylor’s mouth. Taylor leans forward. I clear my throat, and they launch apart. Taylor almost slides off the couch. Jude grins sheepishly at me, running a hand through his hair, which pisses me off even more.

“Taylor.” I move toward the couch.

He stands, his face resembling a ripe tomato. “Y-yeah?”

“Go to your room.”

His eyes widen. For a second, I think he might argue. Instead, he lowers his gaze. “Okay.”

Without another word, he disappears up the stairs. The second he’s gone, I turn toward Jude. The look I give him could freeze hell itself.

Jude raises both hands. “What?”

I don’t trust myself to answer, not without saying something I’d regret. Turning on my heels, I head straight to the kitchen, where the warmer still holds my dinner. I yank the door open harder than necessary. The smell of beef stew fills the room, and it usually makes my mouth water. Right now, it could be stewed cardboard for all I care.

Grabbing a bowl, I fill it, trying to understand why I’m so angry, why it feels as if I can’t breathe, why the image of Jude inching toward Taylor keeps replaying in my head.

Then it hits me.

The realization lands with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. I’m jealous. Not protective or concerned. I’m fucking burning with envy.

Because Jude is free to do what I can’t. He can flirt with Taylor, touch him—hell, he could fuck him if Taylor wants it. Nobody would call it inappropriate or accuse him of betraying a trust. I don’t get that luxury.