Brett was betting more on anger, remembering all those times when his boy’s voice would sink into low, cock-hardening depths that challenged Brett’s inner Dominant and sadist into reining him in.
Either way, now was not the time to have a very public argument with a very drunk man who was not only very angry at him—rightfully so—but who now also towered over him and outweighed him.
Brett turned to the server, who stood there frozen and staring and all but drooling over Kodie’s admittedly lickable six-pack, which was visible through the gap left by his open jacket, and waved his hand at her to get her attention.
“Another vodka and cranberry juice for Mr. Kirk, please.”
She nodded and nearly broke her neck trying to keep her head turned so she could watch Kodie’s abs for as long as possible as she hurried away.
When Brett turned back to Kodie, Anders was already trying to turn Kodie toward him and drape an arm around his shoulders.
Brett side-stepped, forcing Anders back a step, and got right into Kodie’s personal space, as if they were two old friends having an intimate conversation.
Which, technically, they were.
Brett forced a smile as he draped his arm around Kodie’s shoulders and turned him away from Anders. “After your drink,” he whispered, “please, come with me and talk. Alone. Okay?”
Kodie wouldn’t look at him. “Why should I?”
Oooh, yes. Definitely anger. “Because once we’re alone,” Brett whispered, “I’ll let you say or do whatever you feel you need to, for as long as you need to. Hell, I’ll even let you kick my ass, if that’s what you want. But not here, and not in front of everyone. Please? My job is to help make your show a success. Okay?”
Kodie’s brown gaze narrowed in suspicion. “Your job. That’s all I am to you now, isn’t it? Nice to know how you feel.”
“In private. Please. I want you to succeed and not end up a TMZ tabloid story.”
Kodie finally nodded, filling Brett with a modicum of relief. In a past life, he would have known exactly what buttons to push, what looks to give his boy, to immediately take him in hand in public without anyone else being the wiser.
But that had been when they were both kids, and when he still stood an inch taller than Kodie.
And he’d never dealt with Kodie drunk, either.
This man, no matter how hot and lickalicious he looked, no matter how intimately Brett had once known every inch of his flesh, was, in essence, a stranger to Brett now.
Except something deep inside Brett desperately cried out to take Kodie in hand again. Insisted that the pain burning bright in Kodie’s eyes was one that only he could heal.
That Kodie’s pain was a perfect mate to the agony deep within his own soul, and that both of them could be soothed.
But…
Yeah. There was the whole problem that Kodie had every right to feel angry with Brett and hate his guts for leaving him.
Then, to add to the fun, Brett spotted Ryan Ausar walking over.
Fan-fucking-tastic.
Just what he needed on top of an already volatile situation.
Ausar smiled at him as he walked up. “Hello, Brett. Once again, I want to thank you for taking over this project for us. I was so glad when your father said you were available.” Ausar reached out to shake with him, and Brett transferred Kodie’s shirt into his left hand to stick his right hand out.
“Thanks. Nice to be working with the network again.”
“Lincoln, how are you doing tonight? Enjoying yourself?” Ausar asked, and another of those jealous rages washed through Brett, shocking him with its intensity.
Kodie nodded back, but Ausar didn’t offer to shake hands with him.
Thankfully.
Ausar did, however, drape an arm around Anders’ shoulders. “You are just the man I was looking for. I want to introduce you to one of our senior producers, who will be working with you…” And herded him away.
Shocked, Brett blinked, standing there and unable to believe his good fortune.
The server returned with Kodie’s drink, offering him a shy smile as she presented it to him. “Here you go, sir.”
Brett also realized he wasn’t feeling jealous over the girl.
Because you know Kodie’s gay, dumbass. He probably didn’t fake his way through sex with women all these years, either.
But the thought that his boy had been with another man—or men—brought back that burning, possessive anger with a vengeance, forcing him to take a breath.
“Thanks.” Kodie shot a glare at Brett as he took the glass, but then he turned his back to the room, and Brett turned with him. Now they were looking out through the floor-to-ceiling windows at the Miami skyline, and Brett stood on Kodie’s left instead of his right.
Kodie took a long swallow from his drink, downing half of it in one go. When he next spoke, his voice still bore the low, rough edges of his anger. “I don’t owe you jack shit, you know.”
“I know.”
Kodie swayed a little on his feet, and Brett wondered how hard the drinks were hitting him, and if he’d even be able to get Kodie up to his room without assistance.
Hopefully Ausar would help him if he needed it, because he’d have to be on fire before he’d ask that goddamned gorgeous Viking for help with his boy, and he didn’t trust anyone else, as weird as that sounded.
“Hope your life turned out the way you hoped it would, asshole.” Kodie’s tone also sounded tight, like he might even be on the verge of tears. “Hope you made Daddy proud of you.”
Heat filled Brett’s face, but he didn’t rise to the bait. He deserved it—every bit of it—and more.
* * * *
Lincoln knew that the only thing keeping him from taking a swing at Brett—or breaking down in tears, or even possibly dropping to his knees in front of him and making a complete goddamned fool of himself—was the fact that he was still just sober enough to know he couldn’t create a drunken spectacle in a room full of network VIPs.
Barely sober enough.
That’d be plain stupid, to ruin this chance over, what, an ex who he should have gotten over long ago?
He took in Miami’s skyline and tried not to focus on the man now standing at his left side.
The man who still owned his fucking heart.
The man he still compared everyone else to.
The reason that Linc was forced to admit he was still single.
The boy who’d grown into a gorgeous fucking man, and who Linc still wanted to kneel before, even if Brett was no longer taller than him.
And I’m going to have to work with him.
Not just that, the very success of his fledgling show likely meant he’d have to find a way to be polite to him.
He wasn’t sure how to do that, not when his emotions quickly vacillated between wanting to slug him for the pain he’d caused him, and wanting to drop to his knees and suck the man’s cock down his throat in a pitiful attempt to try to win him back.
God, I am really fucking drunk.
He took another sip of his drink and hoped Brett was paying attention to him and didn’t make him repeat himself. “Married with a shit-ton of kids now to make Daddy happy, probably, huh?” He didn’t give a shit if it made him sound bitter and petty. “Wife with perky little tits and, let me guess, who comes from a really rich family, too? To make Daddy even happier? What’s her name? Brittany? Mackenzie? Jessica? Kimberly? Something nice and country-clubby, probably was a cheerleader in high school and in a sorority in college, right?”
Linc felt bitter and petty. That he’d had to scratch and claw his way to success—alone, basically—and Brett had buried his nose up his dad’s taint and coasted his way to whatever cushy position he likely occupied.
That Brett had chosen a deep, dark closet full of easy money, instead of their love.
That Brett hadn’t chosen him.
That, one more time, someone who’d claimed to love him had abandoned him, this time not just
emotionally, but physically, as well.
“No,” Brett quietly said. “I’m single. No kids.”
Linc glanced down, staring at the drink in his hand but more so he could glance to his side and try to read Brett’s expression.
He found Brett’s gaze was squarely focused on him.
It made his cock twitch in his briefs.
Made him briefly panic when he realized he was wearing briefs, before he remembered this guy had walked away from him.
No rules for Linc to follow anymore.
No one looking out for him like that.
No one who gave a shit about his daily routine, outside his friends and coworkers.
He could wear underwear if he wanted to, or free-ball it if he wanted to, without asking permission or worrying about repercussions, either way.
Linc took another swig of his drink. “And now you’re fucking stuck with me, huh?” The bitter snort escaped him. “Who’d you piss off to land this gig? I’m guessing they don’t know about us.”
“Had I known it was you, I would have taken it even if I hadn’t been specially requested by the network,” Brett said, now looking right at Linc, even though Linc wouldn’t meet his gaze. “I didn’t have your name when I took over the assignment from the last guy, but I would never turn down a chance to work with you.”
“Right. Work. Sorry, I forgot. This is strictly business for you, I’m sure.” He swirled his drink in his glass a little too hard, the ice clinking against the sides as his anger and pain swirled through his soul and collided with his heart.
I really should see a counselor or something.
It was obvious that, no matter how well he thought he’d disguised his pain, or how well he thought he was doing, that he was only kidding himself.
He was in no way anywhere close to being healed from his loss.
At all.
And he honestly wasn’t sure how to live without the pain.
Chapter Six
Brett didn’t want to unceremoniously drag Kodie out of the party and make a scene. Instead, he started incrementally easing him toward the exit, letting him stop and chat and take selfies with people who approached him as they moved through the room, making introductions for Kodie when Brett knew who the person was, and introducing himself first when he didn’t, so he’d know who these people were. Especially in case he needed to know who they were later, if he had to deal with them while promoting the show.
That took longer than Brett was comfortable with, though. Partly because of the way Kodie and his gorgeous damned bare chest and abs were being hungrily ogled by women and men. But mostly because Kodie had managed to snag himself another glass of champagne from a server’s tray when Brett wasn’t looking, and then had the balls to stick his tongue out at Brett before downing it in three swallows.
Oohhh, he’s soooo getting my belt across his ass later.
The larger man was staggering pretty badly by the time Brett herded him into an elevator and the doors slid closed behind them.
Brett rummaged around in Kodie’s pockets for his key card. “What room are you in?”
Kodie jerked away and jabbed a finger at him, scowling as he apparently had trouble focusing on Brett. “I have a-a f-few words f-for you.”
Brett kept his cool and remembered his boy was completely blitzed, while he was totally sober. “I’m sure you do, but let’s get you back to your room first. Then you can say or do whatever you want. I meant it when I said that.”
“Whatever I w-want?”
“Whatever you want. What’s your roo—”
That’s when Kodie fisted the front of Brett’s shirt with one meaty hand and hauled him in for a kiss.
God help him, Brett’s cock instantly hardened. “What fucking room are you in?” he mumbled against Kodie’s mouth, not wanting to lose the contact with him.
“I don’t remember.” He sucked on Brett’s lower lip. “Upstairs, somewhere. Tenth floor? Twelveteenth? I don’t remember.” His other hand reached down, grabbed Brett’s ass, and he started grinding his hips—and very fucking hard cock—against Brett’s.
“That’s helpful.” Brett punched the button for six, his floor. “Fuck it, we’ll go to my room.” He hooked a hand around the nape of Kodie’s neck and took control of the kiss, shoving him back hard against the wall of the elevator with his body.
Was he really going to do this? Even with Kodie drunk as shit, and without sitting down and talking this out first?
Better fucking believe he was.
No way in hell was he turning his back on his boy, drunk or sober, happy or angry.
Fuck, even if he wasn’t single.
Brett no longer cared about finding out those little details.
They didn’t matter to him.
Not anymore.
All that mattered to him in this moment was reclaiming his boy. They’d work out the rest later.
Besides, Kodie had kissed him first.
That meant game motherfucking on.
When the doors slid open on his floor, Brett first stuck his head out and glanced up and down the corridor to ensure they were alone before grabbing Kodie’s hand and dragging him down the hall. Thank god he had a room at the far end of the corridor. He already had his key card out and ready when they reached the door, and he shoved his boy in ahead of him once the lock clicked over to green and he could wrench the handle open.
After putting out the do not disturb card, he closed the door and flipped the deadbolt and the security bar so no one could get in.
When he turned, he spotted the same hunger burning in Kodie’s eyes that was currently devouring his own soul.
Finally, he registered he still had Kodie’s shirt wadded up in his hand. He held it up. “Hold on.”
He took it into the bathroom and rinsed the stain as best he could with cold water. Then he closed the sink stopper and ran cold water in the sink, along with dumping in the whole damn bottle of hotel shampoo to let it soak.
When he turned, he found Kodie standing in the bathroom doorway.
“Bed, boy,” Brett ordered, completely reverting to Dom-tone, and damn, did it feel good. “Now.”
* * * *
Linc wasn’t so damn drunk that his cock couldn’t stand up and howl at hearing the dark, dominant tone in Brett’s voice.
Honestly? It was a tone he never again thought he’d hear.
Ever.
And it was a tone he craved to hear, like his soul had been completely parched and on the verge of crumbling into dust and Brett’s voice was a long, tall, cool drink of desperately needed water.
Linc yanked off his jacket and dropped it to the floor, backing out of the bathroom doorway and toward the bed, his gaze never leaving Brett. He was almost afraid to take his eyes off him out of fear this would turn out to be some really weird alcohol-induced dream. That Brett would disappear, or it’d turn out that drunk goggles had totally fucking backfired on him in a horrible way, and it wouldn’t actually be Brett he was desperately about to fuck.
Linc toed off one shoe, then the other, his hands fumbling with his belt when he felt the bed pressing against the back of his legs.
Brett was also stripping as he walked, dropping his clothes as he moved. He was still the same height he’d been the last time Linc had seen him, but he’d filled out some, hard, slenderly sculpted muscles, like he ran, or maybe biked or something. A dusting of hair across his chest, with a light treasure trail that disappeared under the waistband of his slacks.
Damned if that fucking goatee and mustache didn’t look hot as fuck on the man.
By the time Brett reached the bed, he was down to nothing but his slacks. He reached out and planted a hand in the middle of Linc’s chest and shoved, hard.
Linc landed on the bed and Brett pounced. He climbed on top of Linc, straddling him, kissing, nipping, biting, and sucking his way down Linc’s body, up again to kiss him before leaving another trail of bites down his chest and abs, to just below his navel.
Brett hadn’t just been his first, but his best.
The man he could never evict from his heart.
Dammit, not for a lack of trying on his part.
Brett grazed his teeth over Linc’s left nipple, drawing another shiver from him. When he looked up at Linc, those smoky brown eyes resembled hot embers with a hotline to his soul.
When Brett repeated the action with Linc’s right nipple, Linc grabbed Brett’s head and tried to get him to do more, to suck, to bite him the way he used to.
To draw blood, if he wanted.
To mark him and leave proof this happened, that it wasn’t a dream.
Only Brett sat up again, carefully pulling free and putting Linc’s hands up, over his head, pressing them against the mattress.
“Stay, boy,” Brett whispered, and Linc whimpered in return.
When Brett eased back down Linc’s body, his fingers started working on Linc’s belt. Linc must have tensed, nervous despite logically knowing he shouldn’t be, because Brett paused.
His gaze narrowed as he stared down at him. “What’s wrong, boy?”
The answer automatically fell from his lips. “Nothing, Sir.”
Brett dragged his nails down the front of Linc’s slacks, down the outline of his rigid cock. It drew a strangled moan from Linc as his stiff member throbbed when Brett cupped his fingers around the shape of Linc’s erection through the fabric.
“Hmm.” Brett squeezed, making Linc fist his hands—but he didn’t break the position Brett had put him in. “That feels like a boy wearing briefs without permission.”
Faster than Linc processed it, Brett had unfastened Linc’s belt and opened his slacks.
“Tsk.” But the fire burned brighter in Brett’s eyes now, and Linc loved knowing he was the one getting that reaction from him.
That his Sir still seemed to want him as much as Linc wanted his Sir.
Real or Not Page 5