by J. M. Colail
The sound Julian made when he did that was something between a groan and a mewl, and it went straight to Jack’s cock. He needed to hear that sound again—preferably louder. Working on the general assumption that if one was good, two was better, Jack took his other hand from the truck and wound it in Julian’s hair as well, then ground their bodies together, breathing hard through his nose. Julian gasped his way out of the kiss, knees sagging noticeably as Jack moved his teeth over an earlobe. “How’s this?” he growled quietly, nipping at his neck.
“Uhh,” he felt Julian swallow against his lips, “I’d say this proves my interest pretty conclusively.”
Damn. “I’ll have to agree with you.” Jack licked a line up Julian’s neck to his chin and closed his mouth around it, feeling Julian’s prick jump against his leg.
“Maybe we should—”
The sudden slam of the complex door startled them both into stillness, and Jack dropped his hands almost automatically from Julian’s hair, stepping back and taking long, deep breaths to try to calm himself. Forgot about Marianne. Luckily, engaging the lock on the big steel door made a surprising amount of noise.
Julian blinked at him mutely for a moment, then turned slightly away.
Jack could’ve killed himself for acting like he’d been doing something wrong; Marianne probably would never have seen him anyway. Still, he had been comfortably in the closet for twenty years. He saw no reason to change that now. “Continue this later?” he suggested, watching Julian’s body language closely.
Julian’s shoulders hunched, like he was expecting a physical blow. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” he said.
“You were pretty sure a minute ago.”
Julian leveled an unfathomable gaze at him, eyes narrowed, posture defensive. “I’m sure we’ve all done things we regret in the heat of the moment,” he said flatly. “Goodnight, Jack. See you tomorrow about those stitches. I noticed they’re getting a little raggedy.”
God, when had he had a chance to notice that? Jack was sure that now wasn’t the best time to wonder about it. He didn’t even manage a reply before Julian was in the truck, driving away.
Chapter Seven
JULIAN LOOKED down at the folder in his hands and pinched the bridge of his nose. He had purposely planned to be out of the office when Jack came in today so that Dr. Matheson could take out his stitches instead. That had backfired, of course; Dr. Matheson’s oldest girl had a swimming competition in a neighboring town, and he had swanned off an hour early, leaving Julian with the arguably unenviable task of removing the stitches from Jack’s leg and checking that it had healed properly.
Fantastic. At least this was his last patient of the day.
Julian pushed open the door to exam room one, tossed the folder onto the counter, and threw himself onto the rolling stool. “Hi.”
He bit his lip a little. He’d meant to be hostile, but the greeting had come out sheepish instead. Julian exhaled slowly, rubbing his nose again. “Sorry. It’s been a long day.” Mostly because he’d been dreading this visit since last night before bed.
Jack didn’t seem to be much more at ease than he was. He was even still wearing his pants. “Long couple of days,” he admitted. “Sorry, Doc. Apparently I’m as skittish as you are.”
All the tension seemed to drain from Julian’s body. He could hardly blame Jack for backing off, since he himself had been behaving particularly bipolar around him lately. He was trying desperately to take Roz’s advice and have a little fun, relax and let himself work through a casual relationship or two. The thing was, he just wasn’t wired that way. Whether it was because he’d been orphaned at a young age or just because he was naturally prone to getting attached, Julian had never been very good at casual relationships. Right from his very first relationship, he had craved commitment. He didn’t always get what he wanted—actually, that first relationship was pretty much a case in point—but after that first year, he found that he just wasn’t able to settle for less. He’d had a few one-night stands afterward, and even a casual fling or two, but they always seemed to leave him unsatisfied.
He knew damn well that Jackson Strange just didn’t want the same things out of a relationship that he did. In fact, the word “relationship” might even have been a stretch. That didn’t stop Julian from wanting it all the same.
“Don’t worry about it,” he sighed finally. “Well, come on. I’d better get those stitches out before they permanently become a part of you or start rotting. Then I’ll have to cut you open to get them out, and that won’t be any fun for either of us.”
“Gee, Doc, you really know how to sweet-talk a guy.” Jack stood and had removed his jeans before Julian had even had a chance to suggest that he leave the room.
“What can I say? It’s a gift.” Julian tried to ignore the display and snapped on a pair of gloves, rifling through a drawer for a sterile-wrapped pair of scissors and tweezers. “You’ve been keeping this mostly dry except for the shower yesterday, right?”
“It was tough to get the hockey pants on with the damn thing bandaged, yeah, so I guess I forgot.” Jack didn’t look too concerned about it, and Julian privately thought he’d probably had enough stitches in his lifetime to know what he was talking about.
Grasping the tiny knot with the tweezers, Julian reached in with the scissors and snipped the suture. Carefully, he pulled the thread through its tiny holes, then deposited the somewhat grungy-looking thread into the biohazard bin. “Gentle enough for you?” he asked mildly, reaching for an iodine swab.
“Your bedside manner is excellent,” Jack said, straight-faced. “Oh, that’s cold!”
Julian couldn’t help the wicked grin that crept up on his face. “And we all know the reaction you have to cold.” He didn’t bother checking if Jack was indeed getting hard; he was pretty sure, but didn’t want to be caught looking.
“I’ll let you in on a secret.” The other man leaned forward, his face inches from Julian’s own. “It’s got nothing to do with the cold.”
Julian’s lips twisted into a wry grin, but his stomach fluttered. “Not much of a secret,” he said, not as steadily as he’d hoped. He finished swabbing the cut, then applied some generic Polysporin and a bandage. He managed to keep himself in check by reminding himself that Jack’s mother was going to die and hadn’t told him—and that the secret was legally his to keep. That would cool off just about anyone. “All better. Keep an eye on it to make sure it doesn’t get infected, and let me know if you have any difficulty with movement, but it should be fine.”
“It was a bit sore this morning,” Jack admitted, “but then so was the rest of me. You don’t pull your punches.”
Flushing a little, Julian protested, “I never punched you.” Still, he knew a lot of people found it odd that a doctor would be such a physical hockey player. “Sorry. I tend to get caught up in the moment when I’m on the ice.”
Jack gave him a teasing smile and reached for his trousers. “It’s all right. I think the accidental hit did the most damage. I hurt everywhere; not just my leg.”
Julian found himself contemplating offering a massage, and then lapsed into imagining said massage in vivid detail, Jack’s powerful back under his fingertips, the contented noises he’d make, the way he’d tense up when Julian brushed his hands too close to his ass. He snapped out of it, relieved he’d worn his lab coat today rather than scrubs. “Try the hot tub at the rec complex,” he suggested. “They can work wonders.”
Jack’s hazel gaze met his own, heavy with suggestion, and Julian could have kicked himself for bringing up a second provocative image of his patient in less than twenty seconds. It had to be some kind of record. For a minute, he thought Jack was going to make another offhand comment, but miraculously, he didn’t. “Look, Julian, there isn’t really a great way to say this, so I’m just going to lay it all on the table. I’m attracted to you, and it’s pretty obvious that you feel the same when you let yourself. This isn’t really the greatest venue on
Earth to explore that attraction, but that notwithstanding, I think we could be good together. Let’s just take it easy and see how it goes, yeah?”
Julian breathed in sharply at that, heart racing with hope and confusion. Jack was looking for a casual fling, he reminded himself—by his own admission. He released the breath slowly. “Yeah, all right,” he conceded, hoping his face didn’t look as warm and flushed as it felt. He tried valiantly to ignore the little voice inside him telling him what a terrible idea this was, that he would get hurt just like last time. It wouldn’t be like last time, he hoped. He’d manage to go without the attachment that he’d always thought was so integral to a relationship. He could do it. Hell, he needed to, unless he wanted to die of sexual frustration very soon. “Anyway, it’s time to close up for the day. I’ll see you when I see you, okay?”
“Sure thing, Doc.” Jack’s expression was utterly unreadable, but he seemed… what? Disappointed? “I’ll see you around.”
Julian waited until he’d closed the door behind himself, then slumped against it, eyes closed. Great, he thought, fists clenching. What now?
“WEAR THE black jeans!” Roz’s voice echoed from her bedroom down the hall. “Don’t even think about the ones with the holes in them, mister. And for God’s sake put on some underwear.”
Julian stared into his closet, utterly bemused. It never ceased to amaze him how Roz could read his mind, even after twenty years as her brother. He could swear she should have been a psychic. “We’re just going to the pub,” he pointed out with a grumble, following her advice anyway. If there was one thing he’d learned about Roz it was that she had impeccable taste. “Yes, mother,” he yelled back, just to tease her, and wriggled into a pair of boxers.
The jeans were sitting on the end of his bed, having been washed but not yet put away.
“Watch your mouth!”
Grinning, Julian zipped the fly. Hmm. Was he losing weight? Probably the lack of shitty, greasy hospital cafeteria food. Maybe a belt would be a good idea. “Hey, Roz—”
“The white one,” she said from the doorway. “Retro suits you. Black socks. No, not those ones, they have holes. Honestly, why didn’t you just throw them out?”
Julian flopped backward on his bed and waved his bare toes at her. “Roz, we’re just going to Brenda’s. You know everyone there has seen me in scrubs with two days’ worth of stubble, right?”
“Just humor me,” she sighed back, tossing a pair of shirts at him from the closet. “There’s live entertainment Saturday night and you haven’t done anything on a Saturday night since you got here. That emergency house call to Mr. Bender last week does not count. Besides, you’re gonna need the dressing practice if Jack ever actually takes you on a date.”
A small smile fought its way onto his face in spite of his protests. He’d hated to prove Roz right, but there were some things he just couldn’t quite keep entirely to himself. That day when he’d come home from the clinic, she’d pounced on him the moment he’d opened the door and had wrangled the whole story out of him in less than a minute. “I’m starting to regret spilling the beans, you know.”
His black leather watch smacked him in the stomach and he sat up. “This, too,” Roz decided, flinging a surfer-style beaded necklace in his direction. Julian caught it left-handed. Then she disappeared down the hallway, no doubt to put the finishing touches on her own pub wear. “And wear the black Chucks, Julian!”
Sitting up, Julian resigned himself and followed her instructions to the letter. The white cotton belt went first, then the white long-sleeved shirt, followed by his red Tragically Hip tee. Julian didn’t understand the point of wearing a long-sleeved shirt under a short-sleeved one, other than that it would keep his arms warm, but then, Roz was the fashionista of the family. By the time he’d finished with his socks and shoes, Roz was standing in his doorway again in a soft sweater that he had to admit fit her perfectly and jeans that might as well have been painted on. “You hussy,” he teased, standing. “Well, do I pass?”
Roz looked him up and down critically for a few seconds before taking a step forward and running her hands through his hair. Too late, he noticed they were slick with some kind of product. “Roz! I can do my own hair!”
“Prove it,” she said dryly, ruining the effect by pinching his cheek. “Perfect. Let me wash my hands and we can go.”
Rolling his eyes, Julian snatched his wallet off the bedside table and stuck it in his pocket, heading downstairs to find his jacket and keys.
Julian slid into the driver’s seat and started the truck, flipping on the defogger and the heated seats. Damn, leather got cold early in this part of the country. He flexed his fingers, wondering if he should’ve brought his gloves, but by the time he thought of it, Roz had hopped into the passenger side and was already buckled in. “Let’s go.”
He wondered if Jack would be there. He had said that he helped out on Saturday nights, though Julian wasn’t sure what with. Maybe he helped set up the sound equipment for whatever live band was playing tonight. He was an engineer after all; he was probably pretty savvy with the electronics. Julian figured he’d probably be busy all night, which was fine with him. He wasn’t sure what he’d say at this point, anyway. Yeah, I’m still attracted to you. So, how about the Flames?
“Hello? Earth to Julian? We’re here.”
Blinking, Julian unbuckled his seat belt, wondering how on Earth he’d managed to get them to Brenda’s without realizing it. Doing his best to ignore the butterflies in his stomach, he grabbed the keys and locked the truck. “Here goes nothing.”
ROZ PUSHED open the door to Brenda’s, and Julian was more than a little surprised to see how packed the place was. It was only a quarter past eight, but most of the tables were full, with just a few spots left at the bar. The makeshift stage had been set up in the back corner like he remembered from when he was a kid, with a tall barstool and a microphone; in the back there was an amp and a couple of guitars on stands. He didn’t see Jack anywhere, but that wasn’t completely unexpected.
Julian and Roz grabbed the two barstools closest to the stage. “What can I get you?” Brad asked, polishing a glass.
Julian ordered a Keith’s—it seemed a little early for vodka seven—while Roz flirted a bit, finally deciding on a rum and coke, and turned around to watch the room. “Quite the turnout,” he observed. “Who’s playing?”
Roz turned an amused glance his way, sipping her drink delicately. “You mean you haven’t guessed yet?”
Oh, you’re kidding, Julian thought, managing not to groan out loud. He’d figured on Jack being busy enough that there would only really be time for a short conversation or two. What he hadn’t planned on was having no reason not to stare at Jack all night. This could be bad news. “Roz, I’m going to kill you.”
His sister gave him a sweet smile. “You wouldn’t do that. You still need me to dress you.”
“It’s okay. I can go back to dressing like a depressed rodeo clown. I’ll even give you a ten-second head start. Ready? Ten—”
“Depressed rodeo clown?”
Roz’s smirk was infuriating. Julian felt the flush rise up across his cheeks and ears and sighed a little resignedly. “Jack. If you could just look away for a moment while I murder my sister, I’d be much obliged.”
“Sorry, no can do. Murder’s bad for business.” Jack waved over at Brad, who brought him a couple of bottles of water, and Julian took the time to admire the man. He was wearing dark blue jeans that fit him just right and a yellow T-shirt that proclaimed he’d try anything twice. Five o’clock shadow covered his cheeks, emphasizing a bone structure any movie star would kill for. “Thanks.”
Julian resigned himself to a night of being uncomfortable. “When you said you helped out Saturday nights, this isn’t exactly what I had in mind.”
“Well, I think we can agree it’s not my fault you got the wrong impression.” Jack winked at Roz, who just grinned and took a sip of her rum and coke.
“I
have been so set up,” Julian realized. He was about to say something very rude when he luckily glanced down for a moment and noticed the girl standing slightly behind Jack. “Hello. You’re very young for eighteen.”
The little girl laughed. “You’re funny.” She looked up at Roz. “Hello, Miss Piet!”
Roz waved hello, then fixed a gaze on Jack. “They just keep getting younger.”
Julian put two and two together. “You must be Hallie. My name is Julian.”
The little girl stuck out her hand to shake, face solemn. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Julian.”
Julian managed to keep from laughing—barely—as she pumped his arm enthusiastically. “The pleasure is all mine.”
“Actually, that’s Dr. Julian, kiddo,” Jack corrected, scooping the girl up. It was obvious that the two of them were very close. “Now, where’s your dad? Is he about ready to start yet?”
“He had to take a leak,” Hallie informed them.
Julian put a hand in front of his mouth to keep his smile from showing. Roz put down her drink quickly, like she was afraid she was going to squirt some out of her nose. At least that explained what the eight-year-old was doing in a bar.
“Your dad’s going to kill me,” Jack sighed. He set the girl down on the barstool beside Julian. “You stay here, and don’t say that again when your daddy’s around, or I’ll be in trouble, okay?”