One thing Oz had noticed about hookups, the hotter the fuck the more awkward the aftermath. It was one of the reasons he’d been sure Joaquín was right for the long haul. They’d taken their time, six dates before they hit the sheets. Way too much time, according to Hal. Damn, Oz-man, that’s practically six years in gay dating.
But he and Jax had been out of bed for a while, and things still weren’t weird. Oz never felt the urge to grab his keys and hit the door. In fact, another go-round with this pretty boy and his hot ass sounded damned good. It wasn’t as if an opportunity like this was going to fall in Oz’s lap again anytime soon.
Jax dug through the fridge muttering, “I’m sure I’ve got something in here besides sport drinks and flavored water. Aha.” He straightened, then gave a sheepish chuckle. “Carbonated flavored water.”
“That sounds great. Or tap water is fine.”
After making a wide expression of exaggerated horror, Jax furrowed his brow. “Is that because you’ve inspected it?”
Why would Jax say—? Right, Oz had given him a business card. “No. I do structures, not the plumbing. But look.” He leaned over Jax to reach into the fridge, hand resting on his lower back. After pulling out a bottled water, Oz turned it so Jax could see the label, and then he read aloud, “Bottled in East Newark, New Jersey.” Handing it to Jax, Oz said, “I’ll take my chances with the tap.”
Rather than get indignant and make comments about Oz always having to prove a point, Jax just chuckled and opened the bottle. “Guess it’s all a crapshoot.” He took a long swig.
His throat bobbed as he swallowed, leaving Oz hypnotized, gaze full of the bare, smooth chest above low-riding sweats clinging to the sharp cuts at the narrow hips. Oz’s hand was still warm from that brief contact with the skin of Jax’s back.
The fridge-chilled bottle of carbonated pomegranate water Jax handed off cooled Oz’s palm, but not the itch to touch. Shit, it had been way too long. There were at least another ten minutes before the pizza got here. Oz shoved the plastic bottle onto the counter and reached for Jax.
He met Oz halfway, lips cold and wet from the water. Oz savored it, the shape, the feel, the taste, before pushing for more. Jax opened to the kiss, tongue drawing Oz’s into heat. Jax’s hands slipped around Oz’s skull. Fingertips rubbed and caressed. Warmth coiled around Oz’s spine, pooling in his thighs, an ache in his wrung-dry dick and balls.
Almost sweeter was knowing he could stand here and kiss this man until he wanted to stop. That in this instant, kissing Jax was the only responsibility Oz had. He slid his hands down the hard muscles of Jax’s back, then dove under the sweats to cup his ass.
Jax groaned rough and soft, and it echoed in Oz’s mouth. Oz lifted, spread the cheeks filling his hands, and the vibration got sharper. His hips pressed forward, nudging Jax against the counter.
Flesh smacked on the polished granite countertop followed by a heavy liquid thud on the floor. Oz already knew what it was as he jerked his mouth free and stared at the bottle of pomegranate soda water shuddering from its upright position on the ceramic tiles. Almost in slow motion, as if the bubbles were gathering themselves, rallying their supporters, the loosened cap popped, and the soda sprayed free, splashing onto their legs. One arc hit as high up as Oz’s forearm.
Jax started laughing. “As symbolism goes, that was a little on the nose.” He turned and stripped off a roll of paper towels. “Guess me and my security deposit are lucky that they didn’t add artificial color along with their artificial flavor.”
Oz grabbed some paper towels and knelt to help him.
The direction of Jax’s swipe across the tiles put his head right next to Oz’s. “I suppose if we start making out again, there’s a chance we could get stuck to the floor.”
Oz leaned back on his heels. “While that does have an appeal, the lube is in the bedroom.”
“There goes that plan, then.”
The doorbell chimed.
Jax bounced to his feet.
Oz looked up. A wet arc from the soda showed dark on the gray of Jax’s sweats from thigh to hip. And then there was all that skin above. The hard, flat nipples. Dark mouth. Flushed skin.
He looked well fucked.
Not without pride, Oz said, “You acting out your favorite porn?”
Jax froze for an instant. “Huh?”
“This where you tell the pizza delivery guy you made a mess and want his help to clean up?”
Jax glanced down, and his cheeks flushed darker before he laughed. “You’ve seen that one too, huh?”
He ducked in the bedroom and came back out, tugging down a skintight T-shirt that only made him appear more ready for a porn shoot. The bell chimed again.
Oz wiped down a cabinet door. “If he’s hot, go for it.”
“I’ve seen that one too.” Jax paused in the archway and turned back. “I mean—I travel a lot and sometimes I don’t get to—”
“Can I get you a shovel to help dig that hole?”
Jax barked a “Ha.” Nothing like the smooth laugh Oz had been hearing. Which was the fake?
“I think I’ll just stop digging.”
As Oz searched under the sink for something to take care of the soda residue, he heard the front door open, the murmur of voices. He located a container of bleach wipes and started finishing the job.
The box Jax carried back in smelled so delicious it overrode the bleach drifting up Oz’s nose. His stomach rumbled like a tanker on an open grate bridge. Either he hadn’t noticed how hungry he was, or Pellizzari’s made damned fine pizza.
“Only the pizza was hot.” Jax slid the box onto the countertop and opened it.
“Seems like a shame when you were dressed for the part.” Oz dropped the wipe in the trash.
Jax shuddered. “Not really. He couldn’t have been older than sixteen.”
Oz was reaching for a slice when he realized he’d forgotten to pay for his share, acting like they hung out regularly. He headed for the bedroom to get his wallet out of his jeans.
“Sudden allergy to mozzarella?” Jax’s question followed Oz out.
Oz found a ten and made his way back to the kitchen. “Nope. Not to the company either.” He held the ten out.
“A tip?” Jax peeled off his shirt and swung his hips in a slow, sexy circle.
Oz pulled the sweats away from Jax’s hips and stuffed the ten in. “Yeah, I got your tip here: don’t quit your day job.”
Jax straightened, expression tight and closed. “Thanks.”
Jax couldn’t seriously believe Oz had given him money for sex. If he was, Jax was severely underpaid.
Oz leaned closer. “Oh, baby, if I ever did pay for it, you’d be worth a fuckload more than ten bucks.”
Jax gave him a faint version of the usual bright smile.
“Besides, it was for the pizza,” Oz said.
“Oh.” Jax reached for the bill, but based on the way he jiggled his leg and hopped, it must have slid inside his sweats. It dropped onto his foot, and he scooped it up. “My treat.” He tried to pass the ten back.
Oz held his hands out to the sides. “Where am I going to put it?” He indicated his boxers.
“I know exactly where I want you to put it.” Jax’s voice deepened, and his smile was back.
“I’ll be interested in hearing about that.” Oz pushed the money back toward Jax. “After a little food.”
Jax put the ten on the counter near the pizza box without more discussion and after a little scrutiny, selected a slice.
Oz half expected Jax to make a production of scraping the toppings off the evil carb-laden crust like Joaquín would have, but Jax just folded his pizza and stuffed it into his mouth.
That was what Oz needed to do, stop digging up past mistakes and enjoy what he had. Hal was always complaining Oz spent too much time obsessing to make the most of the present.
He grabbed a thin slice and folded it into his mouth, both of them leaning over the counter, no worries about setting a bad ex
ample for the girls. He almost pointed that out to Jax before remembering Jax didn’t know the girls. Wasn’t going to. This was just a moment Oz got to have.
His present moment dropped his remaining arc of crust into the box with a wistful sigh before staring down at Oz with those very pretty blue eyes.
“It might be corny, but I can’t help it.” Jax leaned in and wiped Oz’s chin with a thumb. “You had a big string of cheese there.”
Jax opened his mouth and licked and sucked his thumb clean with deliberate intent. As if he wasn’t hot enough simply standing there. Adding the sucking was criminal.
Oz heard the intonations of a wig-wearing barrister on one of the British PBS crime dramas his mother loved. M’lud, the accused acted with malice aforethought.
Oz was going to see that the accused paid the fullest penalty under the law. Ignoring the throb in his dick, Oz tucked into his second piece, using a paper towel to wipe his mouth between bites.
Jax shrugged and smiled, before turning to the fridge. He came up with a bag of celery sticks and tore into one with his luminous white teeth. Maybe he wasn’t only body obsessed for show, but because he was a model and it was part of the job. Now that Oz had fucked him, he’d see Jax grinning down at him from a billboard or staring up from the pages of a magazine. Oz imagined jerking off to a Jax in an underwear ad—such a flashback to adolescence Oz swore he felt the pimples pop up on his cheeks.
Jax was employing that malice aforethought again as he drew a celery stick in and out of his mouth.
Oz leaned a hip against the counter. “Do you always start your workouts with such low resistance?”
Jax stopped working over the celery in confusion, then took it out of his mouth to study it before his gaze zeroed in on Oz’s crotch. “I’m ready for something more challenging.”
“Prove it.”
Jax tossed the celery into the sink and stepped in front of Oz. “Just so you know, the whole personal-trainer thing is my favorite porno.”
Rapid-fire metallic percussion on a merengue beat grated against Oz’s ears. His phone. Joaquín’s ringtone. Like he fucking knew Oz was about to get his dick sucked. But he and Joaquín were past playing the jealousy game. This had to be about the girls.
Jax pressed his forehead against Oz’s. “I’m guessing you have to get that.”
“Yeah. Sorry.”
“No problem.” Jax headed toward the room he’d indicated was the bathroom.
Oz had to chase the sound into the bedroom and pull his phone from his jeans pocket. Unwilling to talk to his ex-husband in the room where he’d been fucking Jax, Oz went back into the kitchen. A static rush of water from a showerhead offered a curtain of privacy, and Oz appreciated the courtesy, though he couldn’t make himself offer Joaquín more than a “Yeah?”
After a sputtered Spanglish protest that Joaquín had been watching and it wasn’t his fault, he got to the point. “Regan is sick.”
“What did she have to eat?”
“Popcorn. That’s it.”
Oz found that hard to believe, though enough of it coated with that topping crap could have triggered her upset stomach.
Then there were some murmurs and his baby was on the phone, her small-voiced “Daddy, I threw up,” making Oz wish he had her in his arms already.
“What did you have to eat?”
“Popcorn and some of Ayla’s candy.”
“And before the movie?”
“Chicken nuggets.” There was a breathy pause. “And french fries.”
Oz tried to keep the frustrated edge out of his voice. “That’s a lot of stuff that makes you feel sick, honey.”
“But I like it.” Regan’s last word stretched into a wail, and then Ayla had the phone.
“I didn’t get to see the rest of the movie because she had to go.”
“I’m sorry. We’ll see how she feels and go back tomorrow.”
“But it’s not fair. I’m not sick, why couldn’t I stay?”
“Because I bet you were being a good big sister helping Papi take care of Regan.”
“I had to go in the bathroom with her, and it smells so bad I almost threw up. I don’t want to be a big sister anymore. It sucks.”
Oz took a deep breath. “Put Papi back on, please.” As soon as he heard Joaquín’s breath, Oz said, “Where are you?”
“Home. Where are you?”
There was so much wrong with that sentence that Oz didn’t know what end of it to grab on to. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“How long is that?”
“As long as it takes.” Oz disconnected and saw Jax hovering in the doorway. The towel around his hips hung even lower on his hips than the sweats, and water dripped from the ends of his hair. Lickably wet and so suddenly off-limits Jax might as well have been a picture in a magazine. One single night—no, an evening. But apparently that was too much to ask for.
“You’re not staying.”
“I’m sorry.” Oz went into the bedroom to dress. He shoved his phone back into his jeans as soon as he zipped up. “If I can catch a break, maybe I could call you.”
“I wouldn’t mind. But after next week, I’ll be in California.”
Oz pulled on his shirt. Then after that was Halloween, and Thanksgiving, and Christmas. Double time, double duty for a single dad. He might catch that break in about ten years.
“Right.” Subletting the house, a rental car. Nothing permanent. Not that Oz had been looking for permanence. “So. Good luck with that babysitting.” Or whatever it was Jax was up to with that doll.
The smile Jax wore looked softer, more real than any of those grins he’d been flashing. “If I don’t blow it, I’ll owe it all to you. Here.” Jax handed back the ten. “You can get it next time.”
Oz took it. Next time. Right. Not fucking likely.
Jax looked at him as if Oz was supposed to have an answer for their frustrated libidos.
It was selfish, but if he couldn’t have the whole thing, settling for just a taste would choke him. Ignoring Jax’s obvious play for one, Oz ducked away from the finality of a good-bye kiss.
Chapter 5
TUESDAY EVENING, Cliff’s number lit up Jax’s phone and he eyed it morosely. He’d been dreading this call, almost as much as he was dreading his next emergency sprint to the bathroom. Given that he felt like he’d spent most of the past seventy-two hours in there, that was an epic amount of dread.
Man, these postexposure pills were the opposite of fun. If it weren’t for Dane’s threat to force them down his throat, Jax would have stopped them already. But Dane saw through Jax’s best acting, even on the phone. There was no way to lie to him or avoid him.
The pills had added a Very Special Episode edge to his performance at the audition, one of a guy desperate to find the can before his bowels exploded. And now Cliff was calling to ream Jax out for having wasted everyone’s time.
The thing was, he had taken it seriously. It wasn’t a cattle call either. Only him and two directors and the reader. He’d almost shit himself from realizing who the episode director was. Hanson Rede. Jax had been dying to work with him forever.
That was never going to happen now.
He picked up the phone.
“I told you, right?” Cliff said, in his agent-knows-best tone.
“Yeah, you told me.” Jax wasn’t in the mood for a list of the ways he’d fucked up. He’d just agree from the beginning.
“See. If you’d listen to what I line up instead of—” Cliff interrupted his self-congratulations, suddenly sounding confused. “What’s wrong with you? Your dog die?”
“I don’t have a dog.” He’d wanted one when he was a kid, already had a name picked out: Bailey. He knew he could afford it, but his mom had explained how much trouble it would be to have a dog on the set and how much time he would spend away from Bailey. The dog became one of the many things even millions in his bank account couldn’t buy. Like a cure for his mom.
“Then what are you so mis
erable about when you got the part?”
“I what?” Jax choked on the sports drink he was downing to combat dehydration.
“Hanson called. They loved you. Said you had everything they were looking for.”
They were looking for a guy full of shit? This business was bug-fuck crazy. Jax would never figure it out. “That’s great. Thanks.”
“Yeah, whatever. Don’t break anything being happy about it. You still want everything on paper, or can we do an e-sign for this?”
Jax’s mom had always been firm on it. Even though that had been two agents ago, Jax still was. “Paper.” Because really, how secure was all that stuff online?
“Of course. Why rush to join the twenty-first century? Could you at least get over to the agency’s Manhattan office to sign it, or do I need to express it?”
“I’ll head over tomorrow.”
“Great. They need you back a week from tomorrow.” Cliff’s tone shifted from all business to cajoling-crazy-actors soft. “You know they say Hanson’s going places. Could get his own show, make a jump to the big screen.”
“Yeah, I heard.”
“Then you hear what I’m saying. He loved you. Let’s keep that going for us.”
Right, because Jax made a habit of alienating everyone on set. Wasn’t he the one who didn’t get a dog because it would be too much trouble? His costar Blaze had kept snakes in his trailer. Big snakes.
“I’ll try not to set off a stink bomb in the on-set kitchen.”
“Was that you?”
No, that had been Konnor Long, his in-show younger brother, but Cliff had stopped listening.
“Anyway, nice work, Jax. We’ll be able to build on this. You’ll see.” Cliff disconnected.
After dealing with his body’s idea of celebration—which was another sprint to the bathroom—Jax let the elation sink in.
They’d wanted him right from the first. He’d nailed the audition. Despite the churning in his guts, despite not knowing what end of a baby was up, Jax had gotten the part. And he got to work with Hanson Rede.
If there was one time he could afford to celebrate with carbs, it was now, since nothing stayed with him long. He could call Mr. Broadway Producer Theo and point out that no matter what New York Theater thought of Jax, he was going to be working with Hanson Rede, in Manhattan, thank you. Theo was probably on the set of his latest show or on his new boyfriend, but Jax might be able to pry him away for a celebration dinner. Though who Jax really wanted to share the news with was Oz.
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