by A. M. Arthur
Dating seriously never worked out, so he didn’t. He’d been a cop on the night shift, and now that he was a detective, his schedule was even more erratic. Living alone and fucking on the side was easier.
Another one of the many ways he and James were brothers from another mother.
He froze in place with his hand on the coffee carafe. Brothers didn’t kiss each other on the mouth like James had kissed him last night. Jesus fuck, he must have been out of his mind for not pulling back the instant James had put his mouth on him. For letting it deepen into what it had. James had just finished telling him how he’d wanted to forget about Price, and what did Nate do to his very, very wasted best friend?
Fucking messed with his already addled brain, that’s what.
Nate couldn’t blame the whiskey for that bad decision. Two shots wouldn’t make him drunk, even on an empty stomach. Holding James while he’d worked through his anger had stirred up the part of himself that wanted to protect James, to keep him safe until the demons inside him settled again. That had been as natural as breathing. The kiss, though…he’d been too startled to pull away immediately, and the entire thing had left him confused. Quick to tell James it had all been in his head.
He’d lain awake for hours, plagued by events he hadn’t thought of in over a decade.
Memories of their kiss at that party. He and James never talked about it beyond Nate boasting about the awesome sex he and Paula had had thanks to that kiss. Nate hadn’t known how to ask James if he’d gotten a funny feeling inside when they kissed, so he never did. He hadn’t known what to do when he caught himself wondering what a real kiss with James would be like. He’d even had a few dreams starring James in various states of dress and undress. On one particularly memorable morning, he’d woken up with a raging hard-on after dreaming of James sucking his dick.
The whole thing was so damned confusing, because it wasn’t guys. It was James. His best friend James. They’d studied for finals together, played video game marathons together, deconstructed Fight Club together. And Nate hadn’t wanted to fuck up their friendship by saying anything, so he’d pushed the whole thing aside as a fluke reaction. He’d dated Paula for a few more weeks and then dumped her when the “gay best friend” jokes got to be too much.
He’d moved on. Found another girlfriend. And then another one.
Last night’s kiss had stirred up that same funny feeling in his gut, and he had no idea what to do with it. The kiss had been hot and awkward and strange and familiar—nothing that made any real sense, because he wasn’t attracted to guys. Sure, he appreciated a nice six-pack, but that wasn’t the same thing. And he’d pulled away before those feelings became something real. Something he wasn’t entirely sure how to handle. Telling James it was all a dream was easier than risking fifteen years of friendship based on a nebulous feeling he couldn’t even define.
Something he’d felt with James once before.
The toast popped. Nate munched on one piece dry while he set the coffeepot with water and ground beans. The toast stuck in his throat, so he helped himself to a swig of orange juice from the jar.
A loud groan from the living room reminded him that his guest was still there, probably waking up with his hangover. Determined to play the whole thing off as if it was nothing, Nate grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and padded into the living room. James was sprawled on his back in the middle of the sofa bed, one arm across his eyes, the other flung off to the side.
The sheet was rucked up around his armpits with his bare feet sticking out the bottom.
The liquor bottle was emptier than it had been when he’d gone to bed.
“Don’t you have to be at work?” Nate asked, mostly to be an ass.
And it worked. James sat up straight, hands flailing, mouth open. “Shit, I’m late, aren’t I?
Do I have patients? Fuck, my stomach.” He flopped back down, hands flying to his middle.
“Jesus Christ.”
“Sorry, Jay.” Nate pressed the cold bottle against James’s cheek, earning a sharp yelp.
“Fuck you.” James snatched the bottle but didn’t drink. He blinked up at the ceiling. “I think I took the morning off. Rescheduled an appointment to this afternoon. Pretty sure.”
“That sounds like you.” As emotional as he could get, James was also one of the most organized people he’d ever met. After he got the news about Price, James had probably planned on a big night and adjusted his work schedule accordingly.
“What about you? What time is it?”
“I already called in and took the morning off.”
“You did?” James frowned. “Why?”
Nate arched an eyebrow at him. “You’re sleeping one off on my couch. I needed to be here in case you started barfing on my furniture.”
“So considerate.”
“I really like this furniture.”
“Like every other guy who catalog-shops from La-Z-Boy.”
“Oh fuck you.” Nate snorted, no ire in his voice or heart. James was forever ribbing him about his lack of decorating skills. “I’m not a shrink who makes enough money to buy furniture from Restoration Hardware.”
James’s eyes sparkled with amusement. He still looked hungover but nowhere near as bad as last night. “I always knew you were jealous of my craftsman table.”
“Whatever, man. You want toast or something?”
“No, just coffee.”
Nate pivoted, intent on the kitchen and the sputtering coffeemaker.
“Hey, Nate?”
He glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah?”
“Is my car here?”
Nate allowed the rest of his body to turn around. “Last night a little fuzzy?”
“A lot fuzzy.” James rubbed his palms over his eyelids. “I remember leaving the Pot and being pissed at how I acted inside. I remember having some smokes. I called you, right?”
“Yeah, you asked me to pick you up.”
“Okay.” The question in his eyes said he didn’t remember anything else. At least not clearly.
Nate didn’t know if he should cheer or be annoyed. “I picked you up, brought you back here. You told me what was happening over a few shots of whiskey, got it out of your system and then we went to bed. Judging by that bottle over there, you had a few more nightcaps by yourself.”
James puzzled over the words, probably testing them, making sure he didn’t recall anything differently. Finally he shrugged. “Okay. Thanks.”
“Not a problem. The department’s been at me to use my earned sick time, so you did me a favor by tying one on.”
James flipped him off. Nate laughed, then went to fetch the coffee. He poured two mugs with shaking hands. James had blacked out the kiss. Things were better this way. No morning-after awkwardness to deal with. James had a life he liked where he fucked whoever he wanted, and then moved on. Nate was finally in a good place professionally, he loved his job and he’d accepted he would probably die a bachelor, just like James.
So why had Nate allowed a kiss that stirred up all of those feelings that he couldn’t explain? Why was he thinking about all of the times he’d caught himself staring at James’s ass, legs, face, any part of him because all of him was amazing? What was he supposed to do with that?
Nothing, that was what. Life would go on as usual while he helped James deal with the new reality of Stephen Price on the streets.
Nate drizzled some half-and-half into his coffee, then carried the pair of mugs into the living room. James had managed to sit up. The sheet bunched around his waist, leaving his chest bare. Nate pointedly ignored the expanse of tanned, hairless skin, and handed James his coffee, black.
James sipped at the steaming liquid. Grimaced. “I am such a douche.”
He almost choked on his coffee. “How come this time?”
“Hardy-har, funny guy. Last night. With Ezra? I told you about that, right?”
“Yeah, you did. And yes, it was kind of fucked-up, but you were drunk and in
a bad place, and you stopped. No more beating yourself up over it.”
“I should apologize.”
“Yes, you should. Apologize, make amends and then move on.”
“You’re right.”
“Aren’t I always?”
“You wish.”
“Drink your coffee, then go take a shower. I have to be in by noon.”
“Yes, dear.”
Nate hid his smile with the coffee mug. He returned to the kitchen with his coffee and stayed there until he heard the rush of the shower down the hall. His half of the tiny duplex only had one and a half baths, which meant the only shower was in the master. Nate went into his office—a closet-sized room that could barely fit a desk and bookshelves.
He booted up the laptop, then went about checking his emails. A few things related to a burglary case popped up in his work account. Nothing that couldn’t wait until he went in later.
With the crime rates in Wilmington climbing every year, it seemed as though he always had a dozen active investigations happening at any given time. He wasn’t the only city detective, obviously, but they were all stretched thin.
Curiosity got the best of him, and he opened a new email from one of his street
informants. He skimmed the contents and found nothing useful to the case. Last week, he’d been called in for a burglary. An apartment in Hilltop had been broken into and three thousand dollars’ worth of video equipment and DVDs were stolen. So far nothing had turned up in local pawnshops, and his informant knew a handful of street fences who dealt in stolen equipment.
The chances of recovering the owner’s stuff was slim, but the department had to go through the motions and at least file the proper paperwork saying they’d tried.
With his email checked, his attention refocused on the shower running less than twenty feet away. Over the years, James had crashed at his place more times than he could count. He’d showered at James’s place just as often. So why did the mental image of James naked in his shower suddenly make something inside his belly twist up tight?
He couldn’t let his mind go back there. Not with James still in his house. Nate opened up Solitaire and played until the water shut off. A few minutes later, James appeared in the office doorway. Wet hair was plastered against his head. He’d put his super tight black jeans back on, along with one of Nate’s college sweatshirts, and he looked more awake than he had fifteen minutes ago.
“You brewed your coffee too weak,” James said, “so I poured the rest of it on your bed.”
“Thanks, bro.”
“No problem. Are you going to sit there all morning in your underwear or drive me back to my car?”
For the first time in his life, Nate pushed away a surge of self-consciousness at sitting around in his boxers. He hadn’t even noticed it until James pointed it out, and he fought to keep his expression neutral. “My underwear is a lot more comfortable than my dress slacks.”
“Then drive me in your skivvies, as long as we’re on the road in twenty minutes.”
“Why twenty?”
“Because I still have to go home, change into decent work clothes and then get across town to my office by eleven forty-five, and it’s already after ten.”
“Okay, okay. Fuck.” Nate made a show of getting up slowly. Stretching his arms over his head. Mostly to mess with James.
James stared at his stomach, bared when his T-shirt rose above the hem of his boxers.
Shit. Post-kiss Nate wanted to yank the shirt down and hide what James seemed to be admiring.
But so far James didn’t know they’d kissed, so he had to do what Pre-kiss Nate would do. He made a show of scratching his stomach. “A few more crunches and a little less alcohol, and maybe you’ll have a pack like this.”
James didn’t have an extra ounce of fat anywhere on his body, but the joke did the trick.
It broke the oddness of the moment and shoved them both back into comfortable roles. “Eat me, Wolf.”
“You’d like that.”
“Not even on your best day.”
Nate chuckled and elbowed his way through the office door.
“Twenty minutes,” James shouted at his departing back.
“Twenty-five,” Nate countered as he shut his bedroom door.
After a very cold shower, Nate dressed in his usual work suit and tie, then hustled James out to the pickup. They weren’t running late, but for the first time in, well, ever, he couldn’t wait to get away from James. He wanted to fall headfirst into work today and forget about the awkwardness of last night.
“You in the side lot?” Nate asked.
“Yeah.”
The side lot was a public parking lot a block away from Pot O Gold. Nate had patronized the place once, the night he and their small group of friends went out to celebrate James’s thirtieth birthday. The bar had been an intense scene. Their friend Elliott had ribbed Nate incessantly until he agreed to dance a few songs with them. He’d had fun, despite being groped a few times by some of the regulars who seemed to know James and were eager to buy his straight BFF a shot or six.
Speaking of friends, he needed to call Elliott and see how Doug was doing.
Nate pulled into the public lot. James’s black hardtop was easy to spot among only a half dozen vehicles. He stopped behind the fender. It was his last chance to tell James the truth about last night’s kiss. He hated lying. Except if he did tell James they’d kissed, he’d have to lie and say it been a drunken thing that meant nothing. Nate wasn’t entirely certain what it meant, other than a possible end of their friendship as he knew it.
He valued that friendship too much to risk it. The kiss never happened. No feelings involved. Period.
“Look, Jay, you ever need to vent about Price, you know how to get me, okay? That’s heavy shit to try to deal with on your own.”
James nodded slowly. “Thanks. Seriously, for everything.”
“I’ll put it on your tab.”
With a smile and a laugh, James got out. Nate waited until he’d unlocked the door before leaving the lot and heading for the station. He only got halfway there before his phone rang with the work tone.
“Detective Wolf,” he said. “I’m ten-eight. Go ahead.”
“Possible one-eight-seven at the corner of Anchorage and Lower Oak Street, behind the old tannery. Adam-422 already on scene.”
“Ten-four. I’m about seven minutes out.”
“Acknowledged.”
Perfect. Only eleven in the morning and his day was starting with a homicide. He pulled his dash light off the floor of the passenger side, slapped it down and turned it on. He hated that thing, but he’d need it to get on-scene in less than ten minutes. Not that the body was going anywhere, but the longer it laid out the greater chance of evidence being destroyed.
He found the old tannery easily enough. A big brick building that hadn’t had an actual tenant in decades, decorated on most sides by graffiti that no one cared about enough to wash off. Anchorage was little more than an alley running behind the tannery. He parked near the city police car already on scene. On the street behind him, a few people were hanging out on their stoops, curious about the police activity. He pulled a pair of latex gloves and a few plastic baggies out of his glove box.
Two city officers were standing on either side of a crumpled male body. Nate recognized them by face, but had to glance at their name tags. Dennis and Pfieffer. The body lay facedown, curled on the sidewalk like someone who’d given up walking and decided to take a nap. Only trouble with that scenario was the guy was dead, and he was also naked.
“Who called it in?” Nate asked.
“Nine-one-one from a lady named Becky Sturgis,” Dennis replied. He was the older of the pair, his belt a little tight around his gut. He carried years of experience in his gray hair and wrinkles. “Lives across the street there. Said she spotted him from her porch and figured it was a good idea to report a naked person sleeping on the sidewalk.”
Nate grunted as
he snapped on his gloves. He squatted near the dead man’s head, trying to ignore the faint odor of rot. No need to check the pulse. Skin had already settled into a mottled greenish-purple color on the bottom, pale on top. The body had released its waste there. Fixed lividity. He guessed the time of death had been at least six to eight hours ago. No blood pool. No obvious signs of trauma, either.
Nope, that wasn’t quite right. He gently lifted one of the body’s wrists. The stiff limb resisted. Bruising there, as if he’d been restrained. The other wrist had similar discoloration. No marks on the throat, so strangulation was out. Possibly poisoned or asphyxiated.
“I’m assuming we haven’t found any clothing nearby?” Nate asked. “Anything with
identification?”
“I took a look around the area, sir, but nothing,” Pfieffer replied.
The sir made Nate glance up. Pfieffer was young, probably only a few years on the job.
Shorn blond hair, narrow face, eager to please. He was in the make-it-or-break-it part of his career, when new officers either decided to switch jobs or to absorb all the ugly that came with it and keep going.
“Coroner’s on the way,” Dennis said. “So is forensics.”
Nate put baggies over the body’s hands, just in case anything useful was under the fingernails. He’d have to wait for forensics to get back to him on a cause of death. While he didn’t prefer the sight of a body riddled with gunshots or knife wounds, it made certain aspects of investigating easier.
“Who are you?” he whispered. “And why are you dead?”
Chapter Three
James was making it through his half day at work with very little finesse. His assistant, Gina Alfonso, kept him supplied with coffee and Rolaids, and she didn’t question him when he sent her off for a bowl of egg drop soup to help settle his stomach.