Oh my god, shut up, Denny!
“I’m using this exact moment as justification during my murder trial.”
“That sounded a lot like, ‘You’re right, Shep, that’s just insane. Can I please stay the night? I promise not to molest you at two AM…or maybe I don’t.’”
“Huh. That sounded nothing like that, especially the last part.”
“Our lines are definitely getting crossed then,” he says seriously.
“I’m not going home with you, Shep.”
“What if I promise not to get frisky with you at two AM?”
“Or three…or four…or five, for that matter.”
“Well, shit.” He sighs. “There goes my whole plan for the night.”
“Creep.”
“You love it.” He pokes my cheek. “But, seriously, Den, stay the night. We can sleep in separate bedrooms. It won’t be weird at all. It’s late, and by the time we get back, it’ll be after midnight. I’m sure you’re tired. Stay.”
He’s right. I am tired. Sure, he claims we don’t live too far from each other and I probably wouldn’t get murdered on the ride home, but I don’t want to risk it.
There’s just the unpleasant matter of staying in Shep’s domain for an entire night.
That part might be tricky.
“We’re friends, right? This is something friends would do.”
“Would friends also make out in the back of a truck like horny teenagers?”
“Totally.” No hesitation from him.
“Shep…”
“Just say yes,” he insists.
I want to say no. I should say no. It’s on the tip of my tongue…
“Yes.”
I’m going to regret this in the morning, I know it already.
“You coming?”
I glance up at the looming building, unsure I want to walk inside.
When Shep said we live close to one another, he wasn’t kidding.
He just forgot to mention that while I live in the nice part of town, he lives in the fancy as fuck part.
“I’m coming.”
“Oh, you will be.”
He chuckles then grunts when I whack him with my patched-up duffle bag.
“Good lord.” He rubs at his shoulder. “What do you have in that raggedy-ass thing I’m pretty certain once belonged to a homeless person?”
“It did not!” I look down at my bag, which has seen better days. “It’s just well loved.”
“That’s one way of putting it.” He snatches it from my hands and leads us into the building, nodding at the security guard in the front lobby. “Evening, Jim.”
“Mr. Clark, you’re back late. Lookin’ mighty sharp too. A date?”
“Gala.”
“Oh goodness. Those things are always so stuffy.”
“We raised a hundred thousand for charity, so it wasn’t all bad.”
“We did?” I say, surprised.
Shep ducks his head, refusing to meet my eyes. “It’ll go to a baseball camp for kids with diabetes.” He waves a hand. “It’s no big deal. We donate all the time.”
“We?”
He nods shyly, which is weird because shy isn’t a word I’d use to describe Shep. “Me and a couple of other guys. I don’t usually attend the events, but I always donate to them.”
“I…I didn’t know that.”
He shrugs. “You didn’t ask. Now move it. I have things to do.”
“What in the world could you possibly have to do at almost midnight thirty?”
“Take care of Steve.”
“Who’s Steve? A neighbor?”
He guides me inside the elevator, ignoring my questions. “Good night, Jim.”
“See ya later, Mr. Clark.”
The elevator doors close, and the fact that we’re alone suddenly hits me.
Panic begins to claw at my throat.
I’m going to Shep’s apartment. I’m staying the night with him—willingly.
Am I insane?
The doors open and we step out of the elevator, turning left, not stopping until we reach the end of the hall.
I can’t help but smile when I see the number on the door.
“23?”
He smirks, pushing the key into the lock. “I asked for it special.”
It’s been his jersey number for years. He used to say it was his lucky number because everything good in his life happened on the 23rd.
He was born on the 23rd.
His parents were married on the 23rd.
Rose met Jack on the 23rd.
He was 23 when he was drafted to the MLB.
He texted me on the 23rd.
23 is his version of fate.
“Take your shoes off, please.”
He disappears down the hall as I walk into the entryway, surprised Shep is one of those no shoes in the house kind of people, and toe off my slip-ons.
His apartment is just as I pictured it. Dark gray hardwood floors cover the majority of the space, nicely contrasted with light gray paint on the walls. The furniture is all black, sleek, and modern.
It’s clean, welcoming.
There’s a scratching along the floors, a skittering that can only belong to one thing.
“Steve!” Shep shouts just as the puppy comes barreling around the corner, sliding right on top of my feet.
“You have a pug!” I stare down at the smiling dog, laughing as his tongue flops out of his mouth. “I’ve always wanted a pug!”
Shep already knows this.
Am I the reason he got one?
“Bucky, meet Steve Rogers Clark.”
My eyes snap to Shep. “You named your dog Steve?”
He lifts a shoulder. “What? A guy can’t name his dog after America’s first Avenger?”
“Uh huh,” I say, unconvinced that’s why he did it. “Can I hold him?”
“Best I take him out to the balcony real quick so he can pee. I have one of those fake grass pads out there to train him.” Shep scoops the puppy up. “Make yourself at home. I’ll be right back.”
He carries the pup outside, leaving me standing there. I notice then he’s taken my bag somewhere, so I go in search, beyond ready to head to bed.
There are only three doors off the hallway, so I try the first one—bathroom.
I try the second—guest room, but no bag in sight.
Which means…
No. No, he did not.
I push open the door, and yes, just as I expected, Shep has put my bag on his bed—his very big bed, I might add. Other than the small tables on either side and the all-leather headboard, it’s the only thing in the room.
Like hell I’m staying in here with him.
Although…it is very inviting.
I walk farther into the room, stepping up to the bed and pushing down on the mattress.
Oh fuck.
It feels heavenly.
Without thinking, I flop down beside my bag, sinking into the comforter and never wanting to leave.
“I’m moving in.”
“I mean, if you really want to, you can, but you’re gonna have to chip in for your portion of the rent. I accept sex, sex, and lots of fucking sex as payment.”
I groan, pushing myself up to my elbows to find Shep standing in the doorway, holding Steve, and watching me with an amused smile.
Long gone is his suit jacket, and he stands there in a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled up to elbows.
He looks lickable.
I hate that I think he looks lickable, but Shep and no clothes is all I can think about since he kissed me.
Shep kissed me. And I let him do it.
What was I thinking? I can’t let him kiss me.
But…it wouldn’t feel so right if it was something so wrong…right?
“Comfortable, Den?”
“I love your bed.”
“I do too, but since I’m still feeling really goddamn charitable, I’ll let you take the bed and I’ll take the guest room.”
“Deal.”
His brows lift. “No arguments? That’s a new one from you.”
“I only have one condition.”
He chuckles. “Of course you do. Name it.”
“Steve stays with me.”
“You’re stealing my pug from me? Who am I going to snuggle with?”
“Use your imagination, Shep. Hand him over.”
With reluctance, he nods. “Fine. Let me say good night first.” He nuzzles the dog, letting him lick kisses all over his face. “I’m so sorry I’m leaving you with this crazy lady, Steve, but dad’s gotta do it, okay? I’ll make it up to you later with an extra long W-A-L-K and a bonus T-R-E-A-T.” Another nuzzle. “Good night, bub.”
He sets the pug down on the bed beside me, and Steve immediately trots up and rests on a pillow.
When I look questioningly at Shep, he shrugs. “What? That’s his pillow.”
I laugh, but it falls short when Shep fits himself between my legs, which are hanging off the edge of the bed.
Perfect fit.
Ugh.
He leans down, caging me in with his arms on either side of my head, holding his weight off me.
The thump thump thump of my heart is so loud it can probably be heard from miles away.
“W-What?” I whisper.
He pushes himself down farther, his nose connecting with the exposed base of my throat.
I bite down on my lip at the contact, doing everything I can to stifle the moan trying so desperately to leave my mouth.
Slowly, in the most painful manner you can imagine, he runs his nose up the column of my neck, not stopping until he’s right under my ear.
There, he places the gentlest of kisses.
“Good night, Bucky,” he murmurs in my ear.
Then he’s gone, leaving me with a mess of pent-up frustration and a new realization.
No matter how much I know I should, there is no way I’m going to be able to walk away from him.
12
Six years ago, November
Denver: Look, I’m just going to say it, okay?
Shepard: Um…okay?
Denver: What is your goddamn deal with me?
Shepard: What do you mean?
Denver: Don’t give me that bullshit, Shep. Things have been off for weeks—since Halloween, actually.
Denver: Did I do something wrong?
Denver: I want to know because I want to fix this.
Shepard: You didn’t do anything wrong, Denver.
Denver: You sure about that? Because you’re making me feel like I did.
Shepard: You didn’t. I did.
Denver: Oh goody. Riddles. I love those.
Denver: So we are clear…^SARCASM.
Shepard: Golly, glad you cleared that up, smartass.
Denver: Just stop playing games. I’m not into those.
Shepard: I’m not trying to.
Denver: You have one more chance to answer me or I’m finally going to block your ass.
Shepard: FINE.
Shepard: I… FUCK.
Denver: You fuck? Uh…congrats?
Shepard: No. Well, I mean, yes, but no. That’s not it.
Shepard: This is just hard for me to say because it’s really fucking stupid and I hate looking stupid.
Denver: I’m not going to judge you, Shep. I’ll never judge you. You should know that by now.
Shepard: You will about this.
Denver: Try me.
Shepard: Fine. Okay.
Shepard: First…you didn’t figure out how to take screenshots yet, did you?
Denver: EYE ROLL EMOJI. No, I didn’t.
Shepard: Good.
Shepard: I was jealous.
Denver: Okay. Of?
Shepard: Your Halloween photos.
Denver: Because I looked way hotter than you?
Shepard: Quit making me laugh. NO.
Shepard: It’s all those photos I was seeing with that guy’s arm around you.
Shepard: I wanted to break it off and shove it up his ass.
Denver: That’s…vivid.
Denver: You have nothing to be jealous of. That guy meant nothing.
Shepard: It didn’t look like nothing.
Denver: I promise. It wasn’t anything. He was just some guy I met that night. All we talked about was comics.
Shepard: So something you two have in common that we don’t.
Denver: Quit your bitching. You and only you will always be my Captain.
Denver: I have to ask you something and I need a straight-up answer.
Shepard: I already know what you’re going to ask.
Denver: Let me do it anyway?
Shepard: Okay.
Denver: Do you like me, Shep? Like as more than a friend?
Shepard: Yes.
Shepard: And it’s really, really fucking annoying.
Shepard: I didn’t mean to like you.
Denver: I know.
Denver: Told ya you were falling for me.
Shepard: Bucky?
Denver: Yeah?
Shepard: Shit up.
Denver: Give me your address.
Shepard: No. You’re probably going to send me something weird.
Denver: It will only be as weird as you make it.
Shepard: Fine, but if you send me something weird, I’ll have your address by that point and I’ll send you something equally as weird.
Denver: I promise it’s not weird. It’s a Christmas present.
Shepard: We’re doing gifts?
Denver: We are now.
Shepard: Christmas isn’t for another month!
Denver: LESS than a month. Better start shopping.
Shepard: I’m sending you coal.
Denver: DOWNLOAD ATTACHMENT
Denver: ^I’ll take that, please.
Shepard: I’m not buying you a puppy.
Denver: Not just any puppy…A PUG!
Denver: Do it and I’ll be your friend forever.
Shepard: Keep dreaming.
Denver: Fine.
Denver: DOWNLOAD ATTACHMENT
Shepard: That is a $1,500 purse!
Shepard: I like you, but not that much.
Denver: Wow. I didn’t know there were price limits on love, Shep.
Shepard: I said LIKE, not LOVE.
Denver: Keep telling yourself that.
Shepard: I will. It really helps me sleep at night.
Shepard: Speaking of sleep…I need to hit the hay. Apparently I need to get up early and hit the pavement if I want to get a job so I can afford your Christmas present.
Denver: I’ll take a tan or black pug. I’m not picky.
Shepard: In the words of Aerosmith…DREAM ON.
Denver: Fine. Just make sure the purse is purple, you ass.
Denver: Good night, Cap.
13
Shepard
“Oh, fuck me,” I mutter as I peer out the balcony door.
Denny’s standing in the cold, the morning sun outlining her figure as she stares out over the horizon.
Steve sits at her feet, staring up at her like she’s a goddess.
Watch it, Steve. I called dibs a long time ago.
She must have rooted around in my drawers because she’s wearing one of my t-shirts—the number 23 stamped across her back is a dead giveaway—and a pair of my shorts that are way too big on her.
Guess she forgot pajamas in that Mary Poppins bag of hers.
Not that I mind. Seeing her in my clothes…well, it makes my already aching cock really fucking sorry it’s not buried inside of her right now.
It could be, though.
I could march out there, scoop her up into my arms, and carry her back to my bedroom then spend the entire day inside her.
We both know I could do it. We both know she would let me.
And I want to…so fucking bad.
But AJ just called, and he and Allie want to do breakfast with their best man and maid of honor.
Texting (The Complete Series Page 73