Now, though, all he could see was Layla walking into Qhuinn's room and letting that white robe fall down from her shoulders, her breasts and her belly and her thighs revealed to his mismatched stare. She'd be in his bed and under his body in the blink of an eye.
And Qhuinn would do her right. That was the thing, at least when it came to sex: He was generous with his time and his talents. He'd be all over her with everything he had, his hands and his mouth--
Right. No need to go there.
Toweling off, it occured to him that maybe Layla was the perfect partner for the guy. With her training, she would not only please him on every level, she would never expect monogamy from him or resent him for his other exploits or push him for emotional connections he didn't feel. She would probably even join in the fun, because it was obvious by the way she walked that she was comfortable with her body.
She was perfect for him. Better than Blay, for sure.
Besides, Qhuinn had made it clear he was going to end up with a female . . . a traditional female with traditional values who was preferably from the aristocracy, assuming he could find one who would take him even with the defect of those mismatched peepers.
Layla totally fit that bill--nothing more old-school or highbred than a Chosen and it was clear she wanted him.
Feeling like he was cursed, Blay went into his closet and changed into nylon shorts and an Under Armour shirt. No way was he going to sit here and cozy up with a good book while whatever was going down next door went down--
Yeah. Didn't need those pictures either, even in the hypothetical.
Stepping out into the hall of statues, he rushed down past the marble figures, envying them their calm poses and their serene faces. Sure as shit the everything's-cool routine made being inanimate seem like a good deal. Whereas it meant they felt no joy, they didn't have to go through this burning pain, either.
When he got down to the foyer, he shot around the banister's curling end and ducked through the hidden doorway. In the tunnel to the training center, he struck up a jog as a warm-up and as he emerged through the back of the office closet, he didn't slow down. The weight room was the only place he could stand to be right now. Good hour or so on the StairMaster and he might not feel like peeling his own skin off with a rusty spoon.
Coming out into the corridor, he pulled up short as he saw a lone figure propped against the concrete wall.
"Xhex? What are you doing here?" Well, other than clearly staring a hole in the floor.
The female glanced over and her dark gray eyes seemed like hollow pits. "Hey."
Blay frowned as he walked up to her. "Where's John?"
"He's in there." She nodded at the door to the weight room.
Which would explain the dull pounding he heard. Somebody was clearly running the shit out of one of the treadmills.
"What happened?" Blay said, putting her expression and what John's Nikes were doing together--and coming up with a whole lot of oh-shit.
Xhex let her head fall against the wall that was holding her body up. "It was all I could do to get him back here."
"Why?">
Her eyes flicked over. "Let's just say he wants after Lash."
"Well, that's understandable."
"Yeah."
As the word drifted out of her mouth, he had a sense he didn't know the half of it, but it was clear that was as far as she was going to go with the commentary.
Abruptly, her storm cloud-colored stare sharpened on his face. "So you're the reason Qhuinn was in such a bad mood tonight."
Blay recoiled, and then shook his head. "It's got nothing to do with me. Qhuinn is usually in a bad mood."
"People going in the wrong direction will get like that. Round pegs just don't fit in square holes."
Blay cleared his throat, thinking symphaths, even ones who were arguably not against you, were not the kind of thing you wanted to be around when you were raw and exposed. Like, say, when the male you wanted was doing right by a Chosen who had a face like an angel and a body built for sin.
God only knew what Xhex was picking up on from where his head was at.
"Well . . . I'm going for a workout." Like his rig wasn't a dead giveaway.
"Good. Maybe you can talk to him."
"I will." Blay hesitated, thinking Xhex looked a little too much like he felt. "Listen, not for nothing, but you're clearly spent. Maybe you could go up to a guest room and sleep?"
She shook her head. "I'm not leaving him. And I'm out here waiting only because I was making him crazy. The sight of me . . . isn't good for his mental health at the moment. I'm hoping that's no longer true after he breaks this second treadmill."
"Second?"
"I'm pretty damn sure the flapping and the smell of smoke about fifteen minutes ago meant he ran one of them into the ground."