by Jayce Ellis
Speaking of the devil, Carlton spotted Lawrence lounging against the wood paneling separating two occupied booths, wearing faded jeans with a collared shirt and Chucks, and started in that direction. The man saw him and smiled, his grin wide and maybe a little tipsy.
“Carlton, my man, how are you?” Lawrence asked as he got close, straightening and dapping him up.
“Good. Good to see you.” He grabbed Deion’s wrist and pulled him forward to make introductions. Deion and Lawrence shook hands, Lawrence taking his time dragging his eyes down Deion’s frame before returning to his face. Lawrence had done the same shit with JaQuan when they’d met, but Carlton bristled now in a way he hadn’t then.
“I’ve heard so much about you,” Lawrence drawled, his thumb circling the inside of Deion’s wrist. “Carlton ain’t tell me his boy was fine as hell. It’s an absolute pleasure.”
Deion straightened, those locs grazing halfway down his back, and quirked one side of his lips up in a smile. He chuckled and shook his head. It was both shy and confident, and made Carlton think he was used to men coming on to him. Deion rolled his lower lip in, biting it gently in a way that could only be described as seductive, and Carlton was ready to throw hands.
“The pleasure is all mine.” Deion traveled up and down Lawrence’s frame as well, and his smile brightened.
Carlton’s stomach tightened watching them. Deion couldn’t possibly find this shit attractive, could he? Not that Lawrence wasn’t the consummate light-skinned pretty boy who wore the absolute fuck out of a suit, but still. Deion had better taste than that.
Like you? Hearing shit in his head was enough to make him spit out a terse “What you drinking?” To Deion before stomping his way to the bar. Like he didn’t have Deion’s top three drinks memorized. He got there and braced himself against the edge of the counter, his back to his friend, and gripped the edge.
What the hell was wrong with him? He and Deion had fooled around exactly one time—which was a really mild way of saying they’d fucked their way through a strip of condoms in one night—before deciding they were better as friends. Deion’d always been a bit more circumspect about his college hookups, but he hadn’t had any issues with the rotation of men Carlton brought to their room. As long as they stayed in private areas and Deion didn’t have to see used condoms lying around, he didn’t care. That’s what he’d always said, at least. They were friends. Carlton had no cause to get mad if someone else was interested. Hell, Deion was a catch, with that thick body and soft soul and a third leg and shit, and jealousy was not an emotion Carlton was acquainted with.
Carlton turned around and found JaQuan had showed up. He and Deion had hit it off immediately, if the wild hand gestures were anything to go by. Carlton snorted. Deion was so passionate, so animated when he spoke, and it was one of the things Carlton missed about their primarily phone and text convos. Some passion could only be conveyed face-to-face.
The bartender cleared her throat and plunked two drinks on the table and set off to their next customer. Carlton grabbed them and took a swallow of one, then weaseled his way back to where they were still standing.
“’Sup, Carlton?” Jaq’s smile was tight, a little bit too wide, more anxious than normal. No surprise since he was waiting for the guy he was fucking around with to show up.
“Bringing your boy out to meet the crew? Must be serious.”
Jaq coughed and shook his head. “It’s not like that.”
“Not yet, at least,” Lawrence cut in, and Carlton imagined that if Jaq could blush, he’d be doing it now.
* * *
Deion was trying; he really was. Stadium was Carlton’s idea, and these were his friends. Jaq was a sweetheart, and Deion could tell Lawrence’s “interest” was really just him fucking with Carlton. The annoying part was that it worked so well.
Three hours of Carlton’s grumbling and Deion was ready to pour his drink over the man’s head so he’d at least have a reason for his shitty behavior. Even Jaq, who could barely keep up with the conversation for checking in with a friend he’d invited, seemed to notice Carlton was off, if his darted glances and continual head-shaking were any indication. It didn’t help that Jaq was bordering on drunk, because said friend was supposed to be here at ten and it was nearly one. Deion’s heart ached for the guy. He wanted to commiserate, but didn’t know him well enough. Any of them well enough, and that was part of the problem. Carlton was supposed to smooth the way, make him feel like part of the crew. Instead he was like a stalking grizzly, and Deion wasn’t sure if he was going to growl at everyone, or simply piss on Deion’s leg to mark his territory or some shit.
“What’s crawled up your ass?” Lawrence didn’t seem to care if he pissed Carlton off, and the question was almost cocky, like he knew the answer already. He didn’t divert his eyes even as he casually snagged Jaq’s drink and downed it in one gulp, effectively cutting him off. Jaq, bless him, just pouted and crossed his arms.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Carlton snapped, then clamped his mouth shut like it was all he could do not to say more.
“Don’t you?” Lawrence spoke the words so softly Deion barely heard them. But they were there, like a challenge.
Carlton narrowed his eyes, but Jaq picked that moment to punch the wood siding of the booths they were standing between. “He’s not coming,” Jaq slurred, then lilted to the side. Carlton steadied him with a firm grip, and Deion took up residence on his other side.
Carlton grabbed Jaq’s phone, which Deion noticed was unlocked, and checked the messages before looking over at him. “Where’d he say that?”
“Didn’t,” Jaq said, then thumped his head against the wood. He winced but didn’t move. “Didn’t have to.”
Oh. Jaq was drunker than Deion’d thought, totally in his cups, convinced this cat wasn’t going to show. Deion caught Carlton’s eyes briefly over Jaq’s head, then Carlton shook his head quickly and went back to the phone. What was that about? Deion wanted to pull Carlton away, hash out whatever was going on in his head, but they needed to get things straight with Jaq first.
They stood quietly for a few minutes before Jaq’s phone buzzed. Carlton still held it, and grabbed Jaq’s hand long enough to press his thumb to the Home button and unlock it. Deion craned his neck but couldn’t see anything, and Carlton started clicking away.
“It’s Matt,” Carlton muttered, and Lawrence, standing silently in front of them, blew out a breath. That had to be the guy Jaq was waiting on. God, Deion hoped it was good news.
A few minutes later, a tall man strode toward them, the deep frown and clenched jaw relaxing the minute he set eyes on Jaq. As for Jaq, the look on his face was nothing short of pure joy. Jaq introduced Matt to everyone, and damn, but Matt looked way more comfortable than Deion felt. He was wanted here, Jaq pressed as tight as possible to him, which was pretty close given how crowded the club was.
A table next to them vacated, and they slid into it. Jaq straight up nuzzled into Matt, and Matt looked down at him with an affection that Deion had only dreamed of. He glanced at Carlton, sitting next to him. His shoulders were stiff, his back slightly turned. Lawrence, sitting across from them, eyed Deion with something almost pushing pity, and he tried to grin and shrug it off. But Lawrence was way too fucking perceptive for the amount of liquor they’d all consumed, and he had to close his eyes against Lawrence’s too-knowing gaze.
Carlton shifted, glancing at Deion quickly before frowning and facing Matt. “So, what got you here so late?” he asked.
Deion raised a brow, one matched by both Matt and Lawrence. Carlton’s voice was strident, almost accusatory, like the protective big brother. Which Jaq deserved, but where was that energy for him?
Deion nudged Carlton gently and ignored the frown he got in response. “Don’t pressure him.”
Matt cleared his throat, then explained having some issues with his d
aughter that delayed him. After a beat, Carlton nodded, and Deion was reminded again that Carlton had a familiarity with parenting that Deion lacked. Jaq perked up mildly, and the conversation trended toward parenthood, especially with technically grown kids. Deion fell silent, watching his friend talk about the pressures of treading that line between giving advice and letting kids find their own way.
There’d been a shift in dynamics sometime in the last year, and Deion had missed it. He’d been slammed the year before and hadn’t been able to come out to visit. He’d missed Trey’s arrival, even though Deion had spoken to him multiple times during his calls with Carlton. But somehow, without seeing it for himself, Carlton had turned into a dad. A father, and Trey’s short time with him and departure to college hadn’t changed that. He knew Carlton had met both Lawrence and Jaq during Move-In Day, so they each had at least one. Shit, Deion was the only one at the table without kids, and fuck, something about that hit him square in the gut.
Across the table, Lawrence’s attention was diverted to something happening at the bar on the far side of the main stage. His jaw tightened, then his eyes narrowed, then his spine stiffened and he smiled. He rolled his knuckles across the table and stood. “I gotta go, guys. Have some business to take care of.”
Deion snorted. Yeah, right. “At two thirty in the morning?”
Lawrence winked. “Yes, at two thirty. Critical business, if I’m being honest.”
Carlton rolled his head back, the first time he’d looked at Deion since they’d sat down, the fucker. Then he laughed, like he hadn’t a care in the world. “He’s going to get his dick sucked.”
A quick pause, shrug, then “Let’s hope. Check you later” was his response. Lawrence tapped the table again before disappearing into the crowd.
Jaq nosed against Matt’s neck and sat up straighter. “I think we should follow his lead and bounce,” he said, and Matt’s grunt told Deion they were into something handsy under the table. Deion knew Jaq had been ready to leave from the moment Matt arrived, and from what he could tell, Matt had felt the same. Lawrence’s abrupt departure was just the excuse they needed.
Beside him, Carlton crinkled his nose. “And leave me here alone?”
Wow. What an unbelievable asshole. Matt, who didn’t know either of them, winced, then darted his eyes to Deion. Jaq frowned, like he couldn’t believe Carlton was being so rude. Or maybe he just couldn’t understand why he hadn’t left yet.
Deion had two options: to cuss him out the way he deserved, or wait. And as much as he wanted to ream Carlton a new one, he couldn’t do that to him. He’d be going home in a week, and didn’t want Carlton’s friendships here to change. He opted for playful irritation instead, and flicked Carlton’s ear. “What about me, you asshole?”
Carlton glanced over his shoulder at Deion and winked, but it wasn’t the playful, joking one Deion recognized. Hell, he didn’t know what the hell that wink meant.
Then he opened his mouth. “You don’t count.” He waved his fingers at Deion and turned away.
“Motherfucker,” Deion whispered, then blew out a breath and prayed Jaq and Matt didn’t see how deeply those three words cut. Of course he didn’t count. He never had.
Still, alcohol or not, Deion was going to lay into his ass. And Carlton was going to deserve every ounce of it.
Chapter Four
“What the fuck was that about?” Deion yelled the minute he slammed shut the door to Carlton’s condo. Carlton had acted like he was chill during the ride home, like Deion didn’t have nearly two decades of experience in seeing through that bullshit façade. It honestly pissed him off, and it was only the driver’s continual glances through the rearview mirror that held Deion’s increasing ire in check.
The asshole didn’t even turn around. “What are you talking about?” Carlton tossed his keys on the side table and strolled into the kitchen. If Deion didn’t know better, he’d think Carlton didn’t have a care in the world, but the stiff set of his shoulders belied his nonchalant behavior.
Deion followed, the simmering anger that had built at the club finally boiling over in waves. Why had he bothered coming here? It was always a special sort of hell being in any intimate place with Carlton, but watching Jaq and Matt tonight? Had made him want. Carlton’s behavior was like doing that Ice Bucket Challenge on Dr. Strange’s Time Stone, only without the goodwill and benefits that came with it. For him, it was pure masochism, and it needed to stop.
“You’ve been on about me coming out here for months. Talking about how much time we’re going to spend together, all that shit. And then you take me out and ignore me, act like you can’t be alone when I’m sitting right there next to you?”
“What, you mad because Lawrence didn’t take you home?”
Deion reared back, the vein in his temple throbbing. “The hell’s that mean?”
Carlton’s snort gave new meaning to the word indelicate. “Oh come on. You guys were all over each other until he chose someone else.”
“Are you serious?” Deion shook his head and groaned. He wasn’t nearly sober enough for this. “Lawrence is a flirt. He didn’t mean anything by it, and neither did I. He was trying to push your buttons, and he clearly fucking succeeded. Besides,” he continued, before he could talk himself out of it, “why do you care who wants to take me home?”
Carlton didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he opened the fridge and took out two water bottles, handing one to Deion and skulling back half the other. “I don’t,” he said, but his nose twitched the way it did in college when he was trying to convince Deion of some absolute bullshit.
This whole conversation made no sense, and Deion was too tired to dwell on it. He took a seat, unscrewed his own bottle, and drank, watching Carlton carefully. The way his light blue shirt, shot with streaks of silver, stretched across his chest. The way those slacks clung to his thighs, a sight Deion had always appreciated.
Yeah, he’d spent far too much time fantasizing about this man’s touch, and it wasn’t fair. To himself, and damn sure not to Carlton. He couldn’t keep letting his far-flung hopes and dreams get in the way of what they had—a deep, meaningful friendship that meant the world to him. Which they could have from anywhere.
And after his failed attempts at dating, he knew beyond any doubt Bev was right. Not a damn thing was keeping him in Chicago. He could start over in an entirely new place, where he knew no one, but that wasn’t his style. He damn sure couldn’t live this close to Carlton without driving himself mad. That left...
“You know,” Deion said, like the idea had just popped in his head and wasn’t something he’d debated for a month, “I’ve been doing some thinking. I’m moving to London at the end of the year.”
“What?” Carlton straightened up so quickly Deion had to wonder if he’d been drunk at all. Then he gripped the counter like it was the only thing keeping him from becoming one with the floor, and shook his head. Yep, still wasted.
He shrugged. It was no big deal, and it didn’t change anything between them. “I’m on sabbatical, I’m not seeking tenure, and there’s no reason for me to stay in Chicago. Ma’s been begging me to move for years, and why not? I’ll stay with them until I figure out what I want to do.”
“Well, shit, I’m all for you leaving Chicago, you know that. But if you’re starting over, come here. Stay here. Don’t go all the way the fuck off to London.” The earnestness in Carlton’s voice? Even knowing it was likely more Henney-based than anything, almost broke him.
Deion shook his head. “Carlton, we both know I can’t stay here.”
“Why the hell not?” Earnest to indignant, just like that.
“You know why.”
“Do not.”
Carlton was going to make him do it, wasn’t he? He’d stand there, stubborn and petulant, and make Deion say the words that he’d kept neatly tucked away since before he was old enough to drin
k. Fine. He leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees. “You know how I feel about you, right? How I’ve always felt?”
Carlton paused, his nearly empty bottle halfway to his lips. The crinkle of plastic was overloud in the quiet space, underscored only by the subtle hum of the refrigerator. He cleared his throat. “I’m, umm, I’m not sure what you mean.”
This was a terrible conversation to have drunk, one they wouldn’t be able to erase in the light of day. But Deion was too far gone to stop now. He set the bottle on the table, then stood and closed the distance between them. From here, less than a foot separating them, he saw the hint of perspiration at Carlton’s brow, the way he bit just the top of his bottom lip. Deion smelled the cologne, warm and rich, and sweat or liquor be damned, he wanted to touch.
“You do know how I feel, don’t you?” He had to repeat the words, in almost the same way, to keep Carlton from shifting the conversation. He excelled at weaseling out of answering a question, but Deion couldn’t afford to let that happen. Not this time.
Carlton looked at the ground, over Deion’s shoulder, anywhere except at Deion himself. “You didn’t say it. I mean—” he tightened his grip on the bottle and the plastic crackled under the pressure “—you stopped saying it.”
Deion laid a hand on Carlton’s hip and swallowed his groan, his urge to squeeze, to touch. Instead, he whispered, “Do you want me to tell you, Carlton? How I feel? How much I love you? Have always loved you?”
Carlton’s intake of air was so sharp it sucked the oxygen clear out the room. “I didn’t know.”
Deion laughed without a single stitch of humor and stepped back. “Sure you did, but as long as I kept my mouth shut, it was easy to ignore.”
“I wasn’t trying to ignore it,” Carlton protested. “I just don’t, I mean—” He cut himself off and tugged on his scalp.
“I know, baby.” And Deion did know. He’d been painfully aware Carlton didn’t feel the same way, didn’t love Deion as more than a friend. And that was okay. Deion had handled that. Carlton may have created the friendship barrier, but Deion had insisted on the distance one. He was many things, but masochism wasn’t his kink. He couldn’t live 365 days a year in this town, with this man, and not push for more. Hell, ten days was going to kill him. Especially now.