Accidentally Yours: A Friends-to-Lovers Gay Romance (Superbia Springs Book 3)

by Rachel Kane

  But Alex wasn't alone. The man who stood facing him was tall, taller than Alex, taller than Judah, dressed in a fitted jacket that clung to a thin waist, the sort of couture thing Noah might wear, except this guy was much, much larger than Noah.

  His features were chiseled to perfection, almost like a human version of the lions downstairs. His brow was wide and clear, his hair carefully pushed back. Put-together, that’s how he looked. Assembled from a Perfect Man kit.

  The man laughed, and reached out. Did Alex flinch? Judah couldn't tell from here. The man brushed something from Alex's shirt, and straightened his collar. And patted his shoulder.

  Real handsy, this guy.

  Alex said something he couldn't hear, and the man laughed. He turned to Bray at the desk, pointing at Alex, then gesturing at the house. Bray nodded, and began typing something into the computer.

  Well, don't keep yourself in suspense forever, he told himself, and walked out into the lobby.

  "Judah!" said Alex.

  "Good morning," Judah said, beaming in a way he hoped covered the discomfort coiling in him. The tall man turned to see who Alex was talking to, but his eyes hardly seemed to register Judah at all. Judah knew that feeling. That immediate disregard. You don't matter. Next. That feeling.

  "I don't suppose you could drive me to work," Alex said. "I know you guys are busy."

  "What, no, of course I can," Judah said.

  Just then, Liam emerged from the office. "Oh, Judah, there you are. Could I see you a minute? I need you to—"

  "I was going to drive Alex into town."

  Liam shook his head. "Sorry, it's an emergency. Bray, can you find someone to drive Alex?"

  "I'll do it," said the tall man. He wasn’t alone, Judah realized. A companion had been on the other side of the lobby, studying the great window at the top of the staircase.

  They looked like twins.

  Sun-kissed twins.

  Judah's chest clenched.

  Alex looked hopelessly at him.

  "No, really, I can help," Judah said.

  Liam crossed his arms. "Judah, please. This is a computer issue."

  "Can't it wait?"

  But Liam shook his head.

  Alex touched his arm as he passed, but his face was an expressionless mask now, his eyes on the tall man.

  Something dark and angry slithered around the core of Judah.

  Something that felt like jealousy.

  19

  Alex

  Henry James had a quote for everything.

  A horrible embarrassment had Alex in its grasp—the fear he would stammer, the fear his cast was dirty. Ian and Bastian were so bright they practically cast shadows around the room, and when they turned to regard him in their golden glow, what came to mind was a ghost-story James had written, The Turn of the Screw.

  The governess in the story comes upon one of the children she will protect, and she says:

  He was incredibly beautiful, and Mrs. Grose had put her finger on it: everything but a sort of passion of tenderness for him was swept away by his presence. What I then and there took him to my heart for was something divine that I have never found to the same degree in any child—his indescribable little air of knowing nothing in the world but love.

  That was the worst part of this, the look of sweetness on Ian’s face, his joy at seeing Alex.

  Alex had thought he might be saved by Judah. It would have been the perfect heroic moment, had Liam not stolen away his rescue.

  Now Alex was alone with the two men on earth he wanted to see least.

  Not totally alone. The guy at the desk was still there, preparing a packet with a keycard for Ian.

  Because Ian was going to stay here.

  In the same house Alex was in.

  I wonder, if I stamp my foot hard enough, would it hurt enough to kill me, just so we can get this over with?

  “Ian, what are you doing here?” A humiliating little laugh bubbled in his throat.

  “It’s just as I said,” began Ian, before the man at the desk waved the packet at him. “Ah yes, thank you so much dear, Bastian, would you take the key, that’s wonderful of you.”

  The man at the desk said, "Do you have any luggage we can carry up—”

  "No, no. We’re quite self-sufficient. Bastian says I don’t get any exercise from writing, and so he makes me take the bags up and down. But Alex, I could ask you the same thing, why are you here, instead of at that charming little book-stall you operate?”

  Gulp.

  “I’m staying here,” he said, his voice clotted. “Just until my leg heals. The owners, they’re good friends.”

  “Delightful!” Ian said. “Bastian has been so worried about you.”

  Bastian did not look worried. He studied Alex flatly, the way a shark studies a school of fish.

  “Well, as you can see, I’m fine. Now I suppose I’m off to work. You boys have fun.”

  “Fun? Fun? Darling, is that what you think we’re here for? Do you think we came for relaxation? No, a thousand times no. We are here to help. Bastian, start the car, won’t you? We’ll take you to work right away, Alex. You don’t want to be late, I’m sure!”

  "No thanks," Alex said. "I'll make my own way to the store."

  "Making your own way, you always did like doing that."

  How do you express a boundary when other people are around, and you don't want to make a mortifying scene? The desk man was eyeing them uncertainly, as though he weren't sure whether to intervene. "Mr. Roth, if you need a ride—"

  "He does not," said Ian smoothly, putting his hand to Alex's elbow. "You must understand, young man, that Alex and I are the oldest of friends. Walk with me, darling."

  “You don’t have to do this,” Alex said.

  “That’s the marvel of being wealthy and famous, dear, I don’t have to do anything! I only follow my heart, and my heart says you need the two of us right now! Look at that cast! When’s the last time it was changed? And those pants! The ripped stitching…” Ian swung back around to the desk. “Young man! I need the name of the finest tailor in town!”

  Bray—Alex finally remembered his name—swallowed, looking as nervous as Alex. “Tailor? I… Let me call the manager…”

  “Nonsense! We will take the opportunity to tour your lovely town and find the tailor. Surely there is someone with a facility at mending. Alex, to the car!”

  At a certain point you realize you can’t fight back anymore. Tidal waves, earthquakes, Ian’s generosity; there were just some natural disasters you couldn’t withstand.

  The gravel path of the driveway led to the small car-park set unobtrusively behind tall hedges, concealed from sight. As they approached, Alex had the strangest feeling that for all of Ian’s cheerful bonhomie, he might brain Alex with a tire iron when they were out of view of the house. Nobody could be this happy and perfect without also being a little insane.

  Alex felt his heart beat faster at the idea of that isolation. No one could see them. He glanced around in a panic. Well, they were visible from one set of windows. Hopefully if Ian was going to murder him, someone would witness it? He peered at the window to see if anyone was there, but the morning sun played tricks with reflections, and the house's window was a blank rectangle. Judah, come save me!

  Well. That was a dumb thought, wasn’t it? Why Judah, rather than any of his other friends? Just because they were sleeping together, didn’t mean Judah actually felt any special way toward Alex. Friends, right? That’s all they were.

  If anything, Ian’s presence proved that’s all it was, friendship. Because Ian had had a relationship with Alex, and had moved on like nothing had happened. He’d leaped from Alex to Bastian the way a chess-piece flies from one square to another, and with no more thought than that.

  I’m not the sort of guy people miss, he thought. Nobody’s ever going to feel very strongly about me one way or another.

  Judah was having fun now, but eventually he’d find a real boyfriend, and then Ale
x would be alone again.

  Alone with his books.

  His guilt.

  All of it.

  "Look at you," Ian sighed. "I suppose I should be polite and say you look well...but you don't, Alex, you really don't. No one is taking care of you."

  "I can take care of myself, thanks."

  "You never could. I remember that time with the cold—do you remember that? All your coughing and sniffling, and you were refusing to do anything about it."

  Alex grimaced at the memory. Ian rushing in with medicine, eucalyptus oils, boxes of tissues. When all Alex had wanted was to be sick in peace. "I would've been fine."

  "Possibly, but your stubbornness could just as easily have turned it into bronchitis. No tea, no soup? Not even an ibuprofen? I was surprised to find you so careless with your own health. But who took care of you? Me, darling, that's who. You should have called to tell me about the accident. Your broken foot. I had to find out from friends."

  In Alex’s hands, the pads of the crutches felt hot and slick, like they might slide out of his grasp. He held them closer with a useless instinct for self-preservation.

  “Ian…I’m fine. As you can see, I'm very well taken care of. We talked about this, when we broke up, remember? You have a boyfriend, and I don’t need saving. Look, Bastian’s staring at me grumpily. He misses you.”

  “Bastian understands true friendship!” Ian declared. “He agreed right away that we should see you! Now, hop in…or…I suppose hopping is out of the question. Let me help you into the car, and drive you to work."

  "Ian, no. I'm calling Toby. He'll drive me."

  "Ah, good old Toby. Such a dear. How is he? Is he still running that quaint little watering-hole?"

  Don't answer his questions, Alex reminded himself. To do so was only to get deeper and deeper into a conversation and a connection that he did not want.

  This was why it had taken so long to get over the break up. Every time he’d thought he had recovered, Ian would be back, concerned, worried, and he'd suddenly be swept into a wide-ranging, rambling conversation that never quite reached the point he needed it to, where he never managed to say the things that were on his mind. Ian had a sixth sense for when bad news was coming, and an uncanny ability to avoid it. Part of how golden his life was.

  "I have such fantastic news about my trip to LA. It's happening, Alex. It's really happening. I told you just a little of it on the phone. A series—a limited series, as they say. Inspector Kestrel, coming to screens around the world! Now, none of this happens right this second, you know. My agent tells me these things can take far longer than you realize. But it's happening, and who do I have to thank for that? You.”

  “Me? Aren’t you forgetting your boyfriend?”

  “Bastian understands perfectly. It was you who helped me bring Inspector Kestrel to the world!”

  Alex shook his head, mind boggling. "Ian, I...I don't have time to go over the past.”

  "I thought, with the way my hard work is finally paying off, that I really needed a reward. Not just a financial one, although you should see the figures, Alex. I'll never have to work again. And we heard about your accident, and then heard about this charming villa in the middle of nowhere—oh, my, that was unkind, you don’t need to chide me for that, I know your town isn’t nowhere, a mere slip of the tongue, I’ve learned my lesson!”

  The window of the car slowly rolled down. “Dear,” said Bastian, “is everything okay?”

  “Alex is putting up a struggle, just as you said he would.”

  Bastian stared at Alex. “Maybe he doesn’t want a ride.”

  Yes, thank you. You’re absolutely right. At least Bastian understood that there should be tension between exes.

  “It’s nice to see you two again,” Alex said with a finality he hoped was clear. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

  The gravel was so hard to walk over with the crutches. Little bits of rock kept trying to give way, making him capsize.

  Ian was right behind him. He reached for Alex, just a hand to his shoulder, but Alex flinched away, and in an instant, Alex realized that flinch had been the wrong thing.

  He had two choices. He could grab for Ian, or he could fall.

  No, that wasn't true, he had no choice at all, his instinct not to fall, not to reinjure his leg, was so great that he immediately reached out.

  “There there!” said Ian. “My goodness, it’s worse than I imagined! Bastian, he’s unsteady on his feet! I can only assume neurological damage!”

  “It’s just the damned gravel,” Alex groaned. Ian helped him back up, and his hands were so different from Judah’s.

  Judah’s hands were strong, certain. They were hands, Alex came to realize, that knew what they wanted.

  Ian’s weaker hands fluttered, as though Alex were being held up by a flock of sparrows.

  Not the same at all.

  He surrendered. What was he going to do, crawl back to the house? Get on his hands and knees, in front of the Perfect Duo? He cringed at the thought, not just because of the injury to his dignity, but the knowledge of how it'd feel to have his cast bumping the ground, each move tweaking that fracture just a bit more. He could feel the pain now even before it happened, knew exactly how it would go from pounding to the most sharp and excruciating pain.

  “Okay. Drive me to work,” he said.

  Ian clapped his hands, those sparrow-fluttering hands. “Victory! Now you take the front, I think you’ll find there’s plenty of leg-room, or should I say cast-room—”

  With one more look back at the house, Alex assented. No one came to save him. Maybe he didn't need to be saved. Maybe Ian would just talk for a few hours, a few days, and it would be like all the other conversations, seemingly interminable but survivable. And at the end of it, Alex would call Judah and tell him all about it, and they'd laugh.

  Ian tapped him on the shoulder from the backseat, a satisfied smile on his face. "Now, let me tell you about this meeting in Hollywood!"

  20

  Judah

  "Would you stop staring out the window and listen to me?"

  Judah kept his back to Liam, and peered again through the glass. "I think Alex just got into the car with that guy."

  "So? He needed a ride, now he has one. But look, the reservation system—"

  "Who is he? That’s Alex’s ex, isn’t it? He just checked in."

  Liam sighed. "It's not for us to decide who Alex asks for a ride, Judah. Maybe it’s his ex, how can I possibly know? Or maybe they hit it off and are going to hook up. It's none of our business."

  It was a cruel thing for Liam to say. It hadn’t been that many nights ago since Judah had admitted his crush. But then, Liam’s mind was totally on work, and not at all on anyone’s emotional state right now.

  It's my business! thought Judah. Who else's could it be?

  “It’s not a hookup,” he said. “That’s definitely his ex…and his ex’s boyfriend. What are they doing here?”

  And why did he feel so jealous?

  Was that even the right word?

  Small. That’s how he felt. Three inches tall, next to those guys. They’d been so…vast. Not big, not like Mason, but extremely tall and angular, like models.

  Much, much prettier than Judah would ever be.

  Why did Liam have to pull him away at just this moment?

  "I need you to pay attention," Liam said. "When I choose next month on the reservation system, it locks up."

  Can't you see there are more important things going on?

  "I'll get to it."

  "Yes, you will. You'll get to it now. I've got people making calls all the time, people who want to stay here. I've got people asking whether we host weddings. And I can't do a thing without your system working. This is your responsibility. Bigger than towels. Damn it, Judah, will you stop looking out the window?"

  The bug was deep in the code. Deep enough that he couldn't wear a suit to figure it out. He got out of his work clothes, and into a Cuphead
t-shirt and some ratty jeans whose hems were coming apart, but which were soft and cozy. Soda was also required, and on his way through the kitchen, he went into the fridge and pulled out a few energy drinks, which had been slid all the way to the back to make room for the more gourmet stuff the resort served.

  He took his laptop out to the back garden and started to sort through the debugging. It wasn't like he had written every line of this. Coding is as much copying and pasting as it is figuring things out yourself, and sometimes one teensy bit of stuff you've copied doesn't quite work with another teensy bit, and even though you test, you don't find out until things are live, and then you've got to really think about things. Even if you don’t want to think. Even if you have other things on your mind, like whether Alex was going to wind up in a threesome with The Nordic Twins.

  Yet the bug was hidden, it was subtle, and without quite meaning to, he got lost looking for it. It was the first time he'd gotten this absorbed in a system for a long time.

  A little vacation from his thoughts. He didn't have to think about Alex or Ian anything else. Didn't have to struggle to put names to feelings. What you felt about code wasn't nuanced. When it worked, you felt good, and when it broke, you felt frustrated or mad, or better yet, fell into this almost meditative state where emotions didn't matter at all, where thousands of pieces all link up, and you can practically see them all in your mind, all at once.

  When he looked up, hours had passed. The aluminum cans next to him were empty, but his bladder was full. He stretched, his back making the kind of noises that made him sound like he was eighty years old. He grabbed his laptop and the cans, and went in to tell Liam that the system was fixed now…after a trip to the bathroom.

  Except that he didn't make it that far, before running into the tall men again.

  He'd been cutting through the gallery, expecting it to be empty, so he could rush upstairs to his own bathroom. Should've been simple. Should've taken no time at all.

  They were staring at a painting. The taller one—Ian, that’s the ex—glanced over at Judah and raised an eyebrow, then broke into a smile.