by Lisa Worrall
Scott gazed up at him over the top of his sunglasses and shook his head slowly. "Are you certifiable? I'm not drinking that. I'd rather feel like shit."
"Think of someone other than yourself for once, Turner. We can't just coast through this interview. We have to get in." Will shoved the glass into Scott's hands. "Either you do it yourself or I pour it down your throat. The choice is yours."
"I am glaring at you right now. I just want you to know that. I'd do it for real, but my eyes would probably dribble down my chin." Scott took the glass and looked at the two yolks bobbing in a sea of clear viscous fluid. "Are you shitting me or does this really work?"
"It really works," Will insisted with a nod of his head. "I read it somewhere once. Down the eggs, swallow them whole, and then knock back the juice. The eggs are protein and the juice is full of fructose which will burn the alcohol out of your system quicker." He glanced at the clock, frowning at the amount of time they didn't have. "Come on, hot shot. We need to get you sober or we're gonna be fucked."
Will watched, thoroughly enjoying Scott's discomfort as the man closed his eyes, held his nose and put the glass to his lips. He couldn't help but grimace as Scott swallowed the eggs then slammed the glass down on the table and grabbed frantically for the juice, knocking it back in three gulps and motioning to Will to pour him more. After his third glass, he burped inelegantly, dry heaved, and laid his head down on the desk. His voice was muffled as he said, "I just want you to know, for the record, I hate you."
Snorting, Will sat down in one of the empty chairs and pulled his notes out of his pocket. "Hah, you hate me now—wait 'til you live with me."
Chapter three
An hour and another carton of Passion Fruit juice later, Scott was quite surprised that he felt halfway human again. He'd also visited the bathroom six times but considered that a small price to pay. Scott could feel Will's eyes on him as they sat at the table in the boardroom, but he didn't lift his head as he studied the notes in front of him.
"So, are you ready to do this? All the lights on? Raring to go?" Will's voice was heavy with sarcasm.
"What do you want to do, practice making goo-goo eyes at each other?" Scott retorted, not even looking up. He ignored the muttering that came from the other man and picked up the sheet of paper in front of him. "Okay, so according to Jules' chicken scratch, we met at a book signing. What if they ask you what books you write?"
Will stabbed at the paper in Scott's hand with his forefinger. "It says there, dumbass, children's books."
"I know that, cheese dip," Scott bit back. "Don't they have a name? What if they wanna know the title?"
Will frowned and Scott watched a slow smile eventually lift his lips. "I'll tell them I write Pogo's Adventures under a pseudonym. I know enough about that series to cope with any questions," he said, quoting the title of a series of children's books. At Scott's raised eyebrow, he flushed slightly. "You're not the only one who's an uncle. I've got a nephew."
"Huh," Scott replied. "Okay. So, we met at a book signing. I brought Ella to meet you and it was, love at first sight?" he finished incredulously. "Are they trying to kill us? I can't believe we put our lives in these women's hands on a daily basis." He groaned.
"So, Ella is your niece?" Will wrote the name on his notes. "How old is she?"
"Four," Scott replied, looking up. "What's your nephew's name? In case they ask."
"Why would they ask that?" Will met Scott's gaze in surprise.
Rolling his eyes Scott yawned. "What if they ask me what inspired you to write Pogo's Adventures? What am I gonna say? 'Gee, I don't know, but he likes it doggy style?'" Ignoring the narrowing of Will's gaze he continued, "Look, I can tell them that you just made up a story to tell your nephew at bedtime and he loved it so much you were encouraged to write it down." He glanced up at the clock to see how they were doing for time. "Come on, Stretch, we've gotta go in thirty. Keep up will ya?"
"His name is Scottie and he's six," Will replied grudgingly. "And don't call me Stretch. When did you know he was the one? Gimme a break. We are never gonna pull this off."
"Why? It's just one big game of pretend," Scott drawled, leaning back in his seat, feeling better now that his stomach had stopped threatening to empty its contents at any moment. "You pretend to like me. I pretend to like you. How hard can it be?" He stood, about to make his seventh trip to the bathroom before they left. As he passed Will's chair, he couldn't resist the temptation and a small, wicked smile curved his lips. Reaching out his hand, he gently brushed his fingers through Will's short, blond hair, biting back a laugh as Will's head turned so quickly the man was in danger of whiplash. "See—I know how to pretend," he murmured huskily, leaving Will staring after him with his mouth open as he closed the door behind him.
They wasted ten minutes in the parking lot arguing over which car to take. Will's almost brand-new SUV, or Scott's 1982 Camaro. Finally, after words like, nouveau riche, bucket of rust, and ass-wiping shithead, were thrown around, they settled it like men. They flipped a coin. Which is why they were driving out of the parking lot with a smiling Scott behind the wheel of the bucket of rust and a very sullen looking ass-wiping shithead beside him.
They were five minutes into their thirty-minute journey when Will couldn't contain himself anymore. He knew that Scott was only trying to get a rise out of him in the boardroom, but if the moron thought that this was going to be a chance to make Will as uncomfortable as possible, he could think again. "What the fuck was that in the boardroom?" he asked, turning in his seat to glare at Scott.
"What?" Scott said, not taking his eyes off the road as he eased into the traffic on the freeway.
"Why did you touch my hair? What were you trying to prove?" Will huffed.
"I wasn't trying to prove anything, Captain Paranoia," Scott replied, opening his window and resting his arm on the door. "Did it not occur to you that we may have to touch each other? Haven't you ever heard of PDA?" Scott glanced at Will. "For God's sake, even an uptight prude like you must hold pretty little Amanda's hand when you're out together. How are we gonna convince them we've been in love and living together for the past two years if there's a ten-foot gap between us?"
"Shit!" Will hissed. PDA hadn't even crossed his mind. He was too busy trying to fathom how the hell he was going to manage spending time in the same house as Scott, now he had to touch him as well? Will someone please just wake me up? "No, it hadn't occurred to me—" The words stilled in his throat and he swallowed hard before continuing. "Exactly how much PDA are we talking about?"
"How the fuck am I supposed to know?" Scott scrubbed a hand over his face, making his opinion of this conversation clear. "Let's just play it by ear. Now please shut the fuck up. I don't want to walk in there with bruised knuckles where I've punched you in your stupid face."
"Eat me," Will retorted and turned away to look out the window. Why did Turner insist on antagonizing him? It was hard for them both. Why did he have to make things worse? It was bad enough that he had to work with the moron, live with the moron, now he had the specter of public displays of affection hanging over his head. This is fucking torture.
After another ten minutes of total silence, Will heard Scott's sigh and glanced over at the stony faced 'love of his life', who growled, "So, tell me more, who are we meeting at this interview?"
Leafing through the file he pulled out of the briefcase at his feet, Will scanned the paper in front of him, grateful for the distraction from the heavy silence hanging like a fog in the car. "We're going to be interviewed by one half of each of the four remaining couples in Laurel Heights. They're the self-appointed Residents' Committee. Jay Randall, David Taylor, Marcus White, and Cal Perry, whom we've obviously already met.
"The interview is being held at number one, which is the Randall and Walker house. Jay Randall and Erik Walker are the architect and designer that built Laurel Heights. So, this little "community" is their baby."
"Tell me more about Cory and Jon."
> "Cory Philips, twenty-four, the son of prominent businessman Arthur Philips. He never worked a day in his life. Never needed to, had a trust fund bigger than your ego. Jon Webber, twenty-two, similar story. Wanna-be artist living off Mommy and Daddy," Will stated, not missing Scott's eye roll at the slur upon his character, or the raised eyebrow of condescension.
"That's a shitload of silver spoons. How long were they together?"
"Um, three years," Will replied. "They met at some retreat or other, which I think is just rich speak for 'I sit around on my ass all day'. Apparently, they were inseparable from that moment on. They'd been living in Laurel Heights for just over six months before the shootings." Will closed the file and put it back in his briefcase, shutting it with a snap. Half-turning in his seat he gazed at Scott, a frown marring his forehead. "I talked briefly with Jon's father yesterday. They're all shell shocked, Scott. It seems Damon and Cal aren't the only ones who thought they were the perfect couple. In fact, both families are so convinced that Cory didn't shoot Jon and then himself, they're thinking about filing a Civil Action suit against the community."
Will recalled his conversation with the victim's father. The older man had been distraught, not that you would have been able to tell from his stance. Jon Webber Sr was an astute businessman and he remained stoic throughout the interview, apart from the almost imperceptible shaking of his hands.
"Shit, what did you say to that? That sort of crap could make it difficult for us to find out anything." Scott took the next exit and Will listened to the monotone of the voice on the sat nav as it told them there were four more minutes to their destination.
"What do you think I did? I put them onto Hall. He managed to convince them to wait and see whether we come up with anything before they file papers with the court." He leaned against the headrest and shrugged. "But I'm inclined to believe them, you know? Something just doesn't sit right. Those boys had everything to live for, money, good families who accepted them and their relationship. Jon's dad even told me Cory had asked him for Jon's hand in marriage two days before the incident. I just can't see him pulling the trigger."
"Well, let's hope we find out. We're here," Scott said, pulling up to wrought iron security gates. Will craned his neck and noted that behind the gates were five large, opulent houses situated in a semi-circle. "Jesus Christ," Scott mumbled, the expletive drawing Will's gaze from the houses and back to his partner. "It's like Knots Landing. How the hell are we gonna pull this off?"
The gates opened with a rumble and a moan—their arrival had obviously been noted. Trying to cover his own nervousness, Will snorted in reply, "Getting cold feet, Turner? I thought you could pretend. Well, you're not the only one." Will reached out, and a ridiculously childish urge to pay Scott back for the hair thing had him caressing Scott's thigh. With satisfaction, he felt the muscle jump beneath his fingers and intoned in a voice as sweet as molasses, "Come on, honey, we don't wanna be late." He removed his fingers and dropped them into his lap, staring at his hand as though he had never seen it before. Why were his fingers tingling? Why had a spark of something he had no intention of thinking about, shivered up his spine? This was Scott 'would you like to be a notch on my bedpost' Turner. He couldn't stand him… right?
"Dick," Scott muttered and steered the car toward the first house in the semi-circle.
Will mentally berated himself as Scott straightened his tie and climbed out of the car. By the time Scott had walked around to the passenger door and opened it, he was quietly reminding himself of all the things he disliked about the man waiting for him to get out.
"What are you waiting for?" Scott hissed through his teeth.
Will glanced up at the easy smile on Scott's face and swallowed hard. He pasted a smile that he hoped matched Scott's and clambered out of the car, nudging the door closed with his hip. Will's eyes widened as Scott's hand came up to fiddle with the knot on his tie, long fingers brushing against his throat. Desperately trying not to slap Scott's hand away, he clenched his jaw and grinned. "What're you doing?"
"We have an audience," Scott countered, directing Will's gaze to the big bay window beside the heavy oak front door. "It's show time."
Will wasn't expecting Scott to kiss him so soon, and he thought the fact that he hadn't punched his lights out, showed marvelous control on his part. But he was expecting even less to feel Scott's lips against his after it was over. If you could even call it a kiss. It was barely there, a mere brushing of skin against skin, but Will's thighs had trembled at the contact. He just hoped Scott hadn't noticed.
They didn't have a chance to ring the bell before the door opened to reveal a tall, handsome man with piercing blue eyes and hair so black it had a blue sheen in the sunlight as it fell across his forehead. "You must be Will and Scott. I'm Jay Randall," he said, a welcoming smile on his face as he held out his hand, his gaze traveling appreciatively over Will, much to Scott's annoyance. "Wow, Damon said you had muscles. He wasn't exaggerating."
"I need the muscle to make sure this one doesn't get out of hand," Will chuckled lifting his arm and laying it across Scott's shoulders. "Nice to meet you, Jay. I'm Will Harrison." Scott almost rolled his eyes at the open adoration on Jay's face when Will flashed him one of his one hundred-watt smiles. Luckily, he managed to stop himself.
"And you must be Scott Turner. IT Consultant extraordinaire." Jay grinned, clasping Scott's hand in both of his. "Damon was right about you, too."
Shaking Jay's hand, Scott slid his other arm around Will's waist and huffed out a laugh. "Really? What did he say, only good things I hope?"
Jay beckoned them into the foyer of the house. "It depends on whether or not you consider the fact that he thinks you have the most beautiful eyes he has ever seen and cock sucking lips to die for good things."
If Jay was testing the water to see whether he was going to shock them, he was in for a surprise. As was Scott when Will lifted his hand and swiped the flat of his thumb across Scott's lower lip. Scott's gaze widened momentarily before he regained control as Will said softly, "Trust me, Jay, they really are."
Jay guffawed as Scott playfully nipped at the pad of Will's thumb. "I like you two already. Come on in, guys, and meet the others." Walking ahead of them down the hallway, Jay did not bear witness to Will elbowing Scott in the side for the nasty nipple twist he'd received in retaliation for the lip remark. When they reached the door at the end of the hall, he turned and Scott quickly pulled Will into his side, noting the way Jay's gaze took in the way their hips brushed as they walked. "We're in here. It's all pretty informal." Jay opened the door and they followed him into a large living room with deep burgundy carpets and cream walls.
"Wow," Will murmured, gazing around the room. "You have a beautiful place here, Jay." He scanned the room, taking in the huge ornate fireplace surrounded by a marble mantle. The room housed four plush, cream couches and on two of them were the other members of the Residents' Committee.
"Let me make the introductions," Jay said and led the two men to the occupied couches. "Okay, here we go. David Taylor lives with Brent Miller at number two. Marcus White lives with Todd Campbell at number three and finally, Cal Perry who, as you know, lives with Damon Hall at number five. Guys, this is Scott Turner and Will Harrison, who are hoping to join our little group."
Scott and Will walked the length of the sofa and shook the hands of each man, both accepting a hug from Cal as if they were long lost friends.
"I'm glad you could make it, guys," Cal grinned, waving a hand toward the cream sofa opposite the one the Residents' Committee was seated on. "Sit, sit, and make yourself comfortable. Damon sends his love and his apologies. He wanted to be here, but the studio is booked solid today and he just couldn't get away." Cal leaned back against the cushions beside Marcus. "By the way, he told me to tell you that the photographs he took of you last week will be ready tomorrow."
Scott smiled at the other man, reassuring him with a glance that his message had been received and understood. Da
mon Hall was one of the most sought-after photographers in White Plains and Cal had obviously told the Laurel Heights' residents that they were old friends. "Great," he enthused, lifting a hand and putting it on Will's thigh. "We've been anxious to see how they turned out. Haven't we, honey?"
Will placed his fingers on top of Scott's, squeezing them a little tighter than was necessary. "Absolutely, babe." Turning, he addressed the rest of the room. "Damon took some standard shots for us as Christmas presents for our families. Along with some more," he chuckled softly, "personal shots, just for us."
"I wouldn't mind seeing those," David drawled, his gaze traveling the length and breadth of Will's body, leaving Scott wishing he hadn't noticed the way the man's gaze, lingered on the taut muscles of his abdomen and the impressive bulge in his pants.
Scott kept his face as impassive as he could when Will stiffened beside him under the weight of David's gaze. Torn between wanting to punch David for leering and trying to remain nonchalant, he was surprised to find his hand turning beneath Will's, palm to palm, locking their fingers together. Staking your claim, Turner? It's just pretend—remember?
Jay sat down next to Marcus and picked up a small clipboard, attached to which were several sheets of paper. "I live here at number one with my better half, Erik Walker. We're responsible for Laurel Heights. I'm the architect and Erik is the designer. We've been partners for ten years and we've experienced all kinds of prejudice toward our life choices, as I'm sure all of us have. Anyway, after one particular incident, we decided to set up our own development and rent them exclusively to couples on the same life path as us. We wanted an environment where we were free to be ourselves and not have to conform to what," he air-quoted, "normal people wanted us to be."
"God forbid, we should ever conform," Marcus interrupted with a chuckle. His ice blue eyes studied Will and Scott, and he smiled softly. "What Jay is saying is there are no closets in Laurel Heights. What you see is what you get. We tend to be in and out of each other's houses and we all manage to get along well. So far, anyway."