by Anyta Sunday
His drink was served at the same moment he felt a presence draw up to his side. He didn’t have to turn to know it was Paul. He could almost feel the guy’s heat, and even if he couldn’t, the tangy scent of his aftershave would’ve given him away.
Karl sipped, rolling the liquid over his tongue before swallowing.
Paul pressed his back against the counter and resting his elbows atop. A casual lean, but this way he had a direct view of his face. “Tirone doesn’t think so much when he’s drunk. He’ll be kicking himself tomorrow if he remembers even half the things he’s said tonight.”
“And you’re telling me this because . . .?” Karl twisted the glass in his hand and watched the alcohol swirl.
Paul raised a brow. “Isn’t what he said why you shot over here?”
He didn’t answer, just picked up his glass and tipped it back. Fuck, now he knew. Would he chuck him out, tell him to get lost, spit in his face like his parents had?
Except, Paul’s pose didn’t look like that of an angry or even disgusted man. Actually, chilled came to mind. But then he was drunk; maybe the weight of what Tirone said would level on him come morning. Or maybe Paul would be too drunk to remember. Wishful thinking, no doubt. That’s it. He’d lost. Back to sleeping in the Lamborghini. Fuck.
“Is it t-true?” Now Paul cast his focus at his hands.
Karl held his breath a moment, then let it out with a “Yes.”
There was a pause. Probably no shorter than a couple of seconds, but by God were they the slowest. “Good—I mean, okay. Glad t-that’s cleared up.”
Karl looked up to see Paul flustered. He was embarrassed? Shit, alcohol could do some weird things, he was certain it should only be him crimsoning. He pointed to his glass. “Another.” But before the bartender poured, Paul rested a hand over it.
“We’ve had enough. C’mon,”—He leaned forward ever-so-slightly, his words slurred only a little—“let’s jet. I’m wiped. There’s no way I can keep up with Tirone, and I know from experience his night’s only starting.”
They rushed a goodbye and stumbled the five blocks to the hotel. He’d thought the air would help clear his head, but every step felt like it grew heavier. Even Paul looked like he was struggling.
Somehow, and through a bunch of laughs that broke any tension he’d felt earlier, they made it to the apartment.
Karl tripped on one of Charlie’s toys, and Paul steadied him, both hands clutching his waist. He whirled around to thank him, only to knock the guy off his balance. Paul’s hands gripped him to stay on his feet. Laughing, Karl slid an arm around him, stabilizing. Only now they were close, like nose to nose. Whoa. He went to step away but without warning Paul pressed his lips against his. It was too brief to have any other thought behind the kiss than, what the hell?
Paul, with what looked like equal amounts of shock and horror on his face, pulled away, and whispered, “I’m sorry. Shit. I was just—just curious.”
Karl did the only thing he could think of: pretend it didn’t happen and he hadn’t heard a thing. He dove for the incriminating toy—a wooden plane. “Okay, Charlie won’t be getting this back for a week. I think it bruised my foot.”
Paul visibly relaxed. “Make that two weeks. Water?”
“Just a gallon. And I’ve got to get out of this shirt; the tag’s been driving me nuts all evening.”
He stalked to his room, unbuttoning with unsteady fingers. The buzz still fired through him. Even more since that sort-of kiss. Paul was curious. Bi-curious, perhaps? Hmmm, and just how much? Although the shock-and-horror facial didn’t bode well. That lame-assed kiss had better not be it. That was nothing to judge by. Had he known it was about to happen, he’d at least have made it memorable. Good memorable.
A knock came at his door. For the second time that night, though this time it came more as a thump. The door opened, because Karl hadn’t shut it properly. Maybe that’d been on purpose. Shit, the mind was devious in this state.
Karl didn’t turn around immediately, rather continued shucking out of his shirt. It hit the floor and he grabbed a fresh T-shirt, turning to face Paul before diving into it. The guy was downright gorgeous, blushing and frowning at the same time. Paul ran a hand through his hair. “Uh, I saw the third dessert. Thought maybe you wanted to share it before crashing?”
Karl slowly pulled over his T-shirt. “Sure.”
They each sat on their own sofa, spoon in hand, with the crème brûlée between them. Karl did the honors and started. Paul followed suit. Half-way through, he dropped his spoon on the coffee table and stretched himself horizontal, legs flung over the edge of the sofa.
“Look, man,” Karl said, “I know you’re piss-ass drunk the same with me, but you’ve got to tell me, do I get the job?”
Paul looked at him, confused. “What the heck are you on about?”
“The trial period. It finished today. So?”
“Trial period? Oh, that. Nah, I knew you’d be here since that first day when you had Charlie hanging over your shoulder and laughing.”
The nerves that’d jiggled him all day in various amounts of strength, calmed. Karl didn’t know whether to be happy or a little pissed. “Couldn’t you have told me that any earlier?”
“For you having been the biggest prick in my life, we’ve gotten on real well. I thought it was obvious.” Paul mimicked his position on his own sofa. “You didn’t seriously worry about that.” He faced him. “Did you?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“You’re the best”—grin—“Girl Friday I’ve ever had, why in the world would I let you go? If anything, it should be me worrying you’ll find yourself a better job.”
Karl schooled a smile that came remembering when Charlie had ‘she-sha-ed’ that he would stay around a long time. “It’s not so bad.” It really wasn’t. Except maybe cleaning out the shower drains. Ick. And they were all guys.
“What are your plans for the weekend?” Paul asked.
Karl shrugged. “Sleep in. And I’d like to check some menus around town. You?”
“Ah, nothing much. I have a date tomorrow night.”
Oh. “Nice.”
“But before that I thought about getting some things for Charlie’s birthday next Saturday. Then I’d better get onto ringing his friends’ parents and decide on some party details. Damn, I should’ve asked him who he wanted over.”
“Got that list already. Charlie’s been hyped-up about this for weeks. I’ve talked to most of the moms already. All of his friends, except for Johnny, can make Saturday.”
Paul propped himself on an elbow, and studied him, his brows raised with surprise. “Thanks . . . Did you want to maybe . . . ”
“Maybe what?”
“Never mind. I thought maybe you’d come shop with me. But you don’t need to be working on your weekends.”
Karl sat up and helped himself to another spoon of dessert. The idea of spending more time with Paul made his head light. “I wouldn’t consider it work.” Besides, he wanted to get the monkey something, too.
Paul smiled and rested his head on a pillow, staring at the ceiling. “Hope your night out wasn’t too bad. I swear Tirone will ring tomorrow apologizing out his ears.”
Before, Karl had been livid at the guy, but considering how the evening had progressed, he wasn’t too upset about it anymore. Curious. “I wonder what gave me away.”
“His brother’s gay, and I’m not sure Tirone hasn’t been there once or twice himself.” He paused, and then, “Do you find him hot?” Oh yeah, curious.
“Sure. He reminds me a little of my first boyfriend.”
Paul folded his hands over his chest and shut his eyes. Karl wished the lights were on to tell if his cheeks were flushed or not. He liked watching Paul’s reactions, trying to make sense of them. Paul’s chest rose, and then, “Have you ever been in love?”
“Thought maybe with my last partner, but no, in the end. No.”
“Love is beautiful.” Paul smiled, as if
reliving a memory.
Karl hesitated, then asked in a quiet voice, “Is it hard not having it anymore?”
Paul re-opened his eyes and turned his head. “Sometimes. Laura was my rock, my best friend in high school. She helped me with my st—she helped me so much. I wanted to thank her so bad, it came out a proposal. She was my first everything, you know. She got everything about me. Well, almost.” That sounded interesting, but Paul had already moved on. “She was there every day since I was fourteen. And then, just like that, she was gone. No warning, nothing. I wish there was someone to blame. Someone I could imagine beating the shit out of for taking her away. Sometimes I think that’d be easier.”
Karl’s foot, hanging over the side of the sofa, was closest to Paul. He moved it to the left and nudged him. Sorry was too trite. “I bet she was beautiful.”
Paul stared at him, his gaze slowly, calculatingly, drifted over the length of him. He lowered his eyes to the coffee table. “Yep.” The word came out almost a sigh. “She was.”
They were silent after that. Karl didn’t think any more words were necessary. Either that or he was really at a loss as to what to say. A bit of both, probably. He took one last look at Paul draped over the sofa, and shut his eyes. Before he knew it, sleep claimed him, and he dove into a dream.
A dark place became warm. It was just the two of them, side by side, so close they were almost touching. Paul whispered, touching his wrist, What does your burn taste like? And then his mouth lowered, covering the moon of skin. His tongue traced around it, slowly. Do you feel it in your thigh?
—Do you want it to?
Paul levered himself on top of him. Among other things.
A pressure startled him awake. Karl looked up to see Paul tucking a blanket over him. He jammed his eyes shut again, feigning sleep until Paul’s steps had disappeared to the other end of the apartment.
Well, that was interesting.
7
Out of the Gutter
NEVER AGAIN. Why’d he always forget how shitty a hangover was? The room spun and his stomach lurched in rhythm as he dragged himself to the bathroom. He sat on the toilet, because, frankly, he was too dizzy to aim. He chuckled at the small irony that Will never managed to force this habit on him. Huh, the guy obviously hadn’t tried getting him piss-ass drunk.
Washing his hands, he eyed his reflection in the mirror. The drinking certainly took its toll. Pale skin, with greenish rings under his eyes, and his worry lines looked so much deeper. He wasn’t quite twenty-eight, but his reflection could’ve fooled him. At least he kept in shape; well, come Christmas he might be a touch—cuddlier. Stupid pecan pie. Mmmm, pecan pie. This year with a cinnamon and chili twist.
His stomach twisted again. Best not to think of food right now. He rested his palms on the marble sink top, waiting for the nausea to pass. Through the door came Paul’s snoring. Shoot, that was loud. Alcohol didn’t do him any favors, either. Except the whole loss of inhibitions thing. That was good. Karl touched his lips where Paul’s had lingered. Really good.
And then that dream. He hadn’t been so turned-on in months. Karl glanced at his burn. That thing had never been sexy before, but now, looking at it, well damn. The details of the dream flooded back, and his blood flooded downward. Karl barely hesitated, threw off his shirt and boxers and jumped in the shower.
It’d been close to six months now since Will. A small flare of loss mixed in his already unsettled stomach. There was still a lot of anger in him whenever he thought about the guy, but there were some good times. Hot times. Caring times, too. Like the god-awful soup he’d made when Karl had been cooped up in bed with the flu.
Karl lathered his hands in shampoo; his shoulders slumped forward at the very welcome first touch. His thoughts darted from Will over the kitchen table with only a Santa Hat on and socks (because the guy always complained of cold feet), and then to that moment when Paul had met his gaze in the bar. It was only a look, but the effect was far more erotic than anything else he could possibly think of. He wrung out an orgasm, the back of his head and shoulders hitting the wall, water lightly spraying his face.
These thoughts completely went against the employer/employee relationship they were supposed to have. But he wasn’t a saint, and the guy was hot. And curious. He was sure of it. And if Paul wanted to, ah, experiment, well that would be fine by him.
Karl stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel, feeling the frown pushing his brows together. This wasn’t really him. He didn’t usually go for something casual, he’d always done the dating thing. In fact, he never did casual. Unless that make-out session with what’s-his-face when he was eighteen counted. Other than that, he’d been pretty picky about the guys he went out with. Maybe it was because he was a safety-freak and liked to know the guy’s history before jumping in the sack. Anyone throwing themselves at him the first time they met, well, it turned him off.
So what was different this time that the idea of touching, kissing, fucking (hopefully) Paul with no strings attached, actually made his heart beat faster? Maybe it was an early midlife-crisis. He was getting older, babysat for a living, and wasn’t one step closer to his dream of becoming a chef. His family hated him, and other than Paul, the boy he’d bullied, he didn’t have a social life either.
Christ. He was pathetic.
Of course, maybe something casual with Paul didn’t disturb him because he knew the guy a little.
Karl quickly dressed in a pair of faded blue jeans, and a brown long-sleeved T-shirt that matched his eyes. Will had told him he looked good in the color. Huh. Why did his ex keep popping to mind, recently? And why did he feel a little guilty when it happened?
Karl furiously rubbed his hair with the towel. Truth was, he knew what bothered him. It was Paul. Paul’s upstanding-ness. Just like that, he’d forgiven Karl and given him a chance. When Will apologized, on the other hand, Karl had doled him out a punch and a string of hurtful words.
Maybe he should take Paul’s example? Karl narrowed his gaze on the cell on the dresser. Picked it up. The time flashed 9:17. He unlocked. Paused. Relocked. Not today. He was no way near as generous as Paul.
But he could make a mean smoothie to help nurse both their hangovers. Karl sauntered to the kitchen where he whipped up a batch of the mixed fruit and ice. He knocked on Paul’s door.
A mumble came from the other side. Welcome enough. He let himself in with the large glass and rested it on the side table. Paul, sprawled over most of the bed, lifted his head, then promptly dropped it back to the pillow.
“Drink this,” Karl motioned to the glass, and Paul’s eyes begrudgingly followed. “It’ll help.”
“Rather not see pink vomit thanks.”
“That bad?”
But Paul’s disheveled hair and clammy skin was answer enough. Karl opened a window to let in some cool fall air. Paul inched himself into a sitting position. “Huh, could be worse. Maybe I will try that drink.” He motioned toward the glass. It was clear he wasn’t moving any further to pick it up.
Karl handed it to him and said with a grin, “Want a straw?”
Paul threw him a dirty look and drank deeply.
“Right,” Karl took the glass away again, his grin only widening, “Ready to go birthday present shopping?”
* * *
Pitiful Paul. Yes, that was the best way to describe the man glued to the passenger seat of his Lamborghini. The least Karl expected was for the guy to show an ounce of enthusiasm for the sweet ride.
Paul groaned again as they went over a second set of speed bumps in the department store’s parking lot. “Just park it here.”
“Less chance of anything happening to this baby if we go up the top.”
Paul muttered under his breath. Nothing friendly, he could imagine. Karl wasn’t exactly feeling the best, either, but at least he kept it together. Paul was just that much bigger than him; surely he shouldn’t be quite so . . . yeah, pitiful.
As they turned onto the next ramp, Paul suddenl
y lurched forward. “Fuck. I think I’m going to chuck.”
Well that’d do it. Karl pulled into the closest free spot. “Out.”
Paul dared to laugh as he unbuckled and heaved himself from the car.
“Don’t do it near the tires.”
Paul rested his arms on the roof of the car, his head atop. “This is much better. Guess I don’t need to after all.”
A slight glint in his eye made Karl suspicious. Damn, he’d just been played. Paul would pay for that. He locked. Double checked. Then dragged His Pitiful’s ass into the department store.
It took them three hours to find a couple of suitable gifts for the boy, with two stops at the food court for much needed sodas.
Slurping the last of his lemonade, Karl caught sight of a red and gold sign he knew all too well. He dumped his cup in the trash and wound his way to the store. Paul caught up to his side. “Okay, where are you off to?”
Karl pointed and strode into Culinary Heaven, selling top-of-the-line, restaurant-quality cooking equipment. He eyed the show-cased pots and pans, wiping his mouth to check he wasn’t drooling. ’Cause inside, he sure was.
He moved to the German product section at the far wall. Oh-yes, he’d give up sex for those pots. Okay, maybe not entirely, but he could go without for months. Make that weeks. He scanned the pricing and wished he hadn’t. On sale they went for $200 apiece. Add up everything he had earned the past few weeks, minus his other debts, and he wouldn’t be able to afford so much as half a pan. Bugger it.
A hand gripped his elbow, leading him back out of the store.
“What?” Karl said.
“I don’t want to know the overheads that store has. Selling a pot for a couple hundred bucks? —anyway, we’re looking for Charlie.”
“But maybe I was looking for Charlie. You know, something he could start with to get an appreciation for the fine art of—”
Paul arched a brow, a quiver at his lips. Damn it was hot. Especially the way he attempted to keep his amusement under control.
He muttered under his breath and continued with Paul to the next store. Karl glanced at Paul as he paid for some Lego sets. He looked so much better than earlier, hair no longer stuck to fine sweat on his forehead, rather it was mussed—untidy, but suiting him. He’d slipped out of his jacket almost as soon as they hit the air-conditioned shops. Karl most certainly appreciated the clingy, threadbare T-shirt Paul had put on, doing wonders to outline strong shoulder blades and toned stomach—