by A. M. Arthur
“We’ve been out a thousand times.”
“As friends, yes, definitely. And last Saturday at the Pot doesn’t count because it was a group thing.” Nathan’s confusion was morphing into surprise, so James pressed forward before his nerves shut him up. Or made him sound like an idiot. “You and I kind of did this relationship thing backward, and I don’t want to fuck this up. It’s too important.”
“I don’t want to fuck up, either, Jay.”
“Then let me do this. You know me. The guy whose dick has an honorary proctology degree because he gave his heart away a long time ago and never wanted more than a physical release with the guys he picked up.” He cupped Nathan’s cheek, grateful when Nathan leaned into the touch, eyes focused and bright. “I’ve given you a lot of firsts, Nate. This is one that you can do for me.”
“Your first date?” Nathan nearly laughed the statement. “Most men manage to have one of those before they hit their thirties.”
“I always was an outlier. Hell on the grading curve in high school.”
“Liar. You were second in your class.”
James feigned irritation. “See? If this was a real first date, you wouldn’t already know that. I could tell you anything I want, and you wouldn’t know the difference.”
Nathan played along. “So you’d start our first date off with a lie?”
“Maybe a few minor obfuscations, so I wouldn’t come across as the overachieving, self-indulgent slut that I am.”
Every shred of playfulness left Nathan, and the hand loosely cupped behind James’s neck tightened. “Hey, don’t do that.”
“What?”
“Don’t put yourself down. I know you, James Taggert. I know you’re smart, and I know you like control. I also know you love sex, and that you avoid relationships like the plague. Who have you been bragging and/or complaining to for the last fifteen years? I know it all and I am still here.”
“Sometimes I don’t know why.”
“Clearly it’s because I’m insane.”
James laughed. “Clearly. But I love you anyway.”
“Don’t you forget it.” Nathan brushed a ticklish kiss across his nose, first with his lips and then his whiskers. “Tell me more about these dinner plans of ours.”
“Forget it. It’s a surprise.”
“Do you have any idea how scary it is when you say that?”
“Of course I do.” James kissed his cheek. “Come on, babe. Let’s go on a date.”
Chapter Sixteen
Nate’s eyeballs nearly fell out of his head when James led him into the Green Room at the Hotel du Pont—one of the fanciest restaurants in Wilmington. He’d driven past the location in Midtown Brandywine more than once, but never had a reason to go inside, much less eat at the Green Room.
He felt insanely underdressed as he followed James and the hostess into the grand dining room. Vaulted ceilings, gold chandeliers, crimson drapes, oil paintings, dark wood paneling.
First reservations were just being seated, so only a handful of other diners dotted the room. No one gave them a second look or stared overtly at his mangled face, not even the waiter who arrived promptly and introduced himself as Mario.
James ordered a bottle of wine while Nate stared at the prix fixe menu. Three choices of appetizer, three choices of entrée and a signature chocolate napoleon for dessert. He ignored the price. This was a date, and James was trying to impress him. Not like he needed to. Nate had been putty in his hands after the orchid.
Hearing James talk about first dates had given Nate a perspective of James that he wasn’t used to. That of a grown man who, in some small ways, was still a bumbling teenager trying to get it right.
“I can’t believe you got a reservation on such short notice,” Nate said.
“I have my ways.” James’s cheeky grin made Nate’s heart flip. “And I hear the food is excellent.”
“Everyone knows the food here is excellent.” And pricy. Nate leaned forward on one elbow and pitched his voice low. “Seeing as how this is a first date, Dr. Taggert, do you really think wine and expensive food is a guarantee that I’ll put out tonight?”
James laughed. “I was rather hoping my charming personality and irresistible good looks would tempt you into putting out tonight.”
“You’re only charming to people who don’t know you very well.”
“Touché. But I’m still good-looking, right?”
“Irresistibly.”
The waiter returned to pour their wine and take their order. James seemed to be having fun directing their night, so Nate let him order their food by pointing. He didn’t know what a beurre blanc was anyway, and had only a vague idea that tarragon was an herb. He was a city cop who’d grown up eating southern comfort food. French cuisine made no sense to him.
Nate’s only clue as to his upcoming dinner was a cheerful, “Excellent choices” from Mario.
“I’m going to keep seeing Dr. Sands.” Talking about his new therapist might not be the most fun dinnertime topic, but it had to be said. “I like her.”
“I thought you would. She’s little but she’s tough. And observant.” James swirled the wine in his glass. “And your other appointment?”
“Cleared for work on Monday. Danvers already told me I’d be on desk duty for a while, so it shouldn’t interfere with seeing Dr. Sands.”
“That’s good.”
Neither of them spoke, and the silence stretched between them. First dates were getting-to-know-you time. How were you supposed to spend a first date with someone you knew inside and out? They were practically an old married couple.
“So far so good with your mom,” Nate said. “I’ve followed her every day this week after work. Nothing suspicious, no sign of Price or anyone else watching her.”
“Which means she’s imagining it.”
“Possibly. It’s only been a week.”
“You know what my mother is like. She wants my attention.”
“Maybe, but you asked me to look into this.”
“As I recall it, you volunteered.”
“Pedant. Whatever. I’ve worked enough stalker cases where the victim was told by family and friends that they were just being paranoid, right up until said victim landed in the hospital or the morgue.”
James frowned, tracing the rim of his wineglass with his finger. “Point taken.”
Mario arrived with their appetizers. Grilled corn and leek soup with some kind of oil drizzled on top.
“Truffle honey,” James said. At least he’d read the menu and paid attention.
The soup was divine—leaps and bounds better than the canned stuff Nate usually ate—
and it gave them both a good excuse not to dig around for small talk. Mario whisked away the empty bowl far too soon, and then his entrée landed on the table.
At first Nate wasn’t so sure about a Frenched chicken breast, but holy hell the lobster-whipped potatoes were heaven. Nate could have eaten a bowl of them, and he was certain every moment of pure bliss showed on his face. Even the beets were delicious.
With his own plate fairly empty, James leaned forward. “You keep eating like that and I’m going to have to walk out of here sporting a hard-on.”
The comment sent a flood of heat through Nate, and he grinned. “Like what?”
“Like you want to make love to your food.”
“I would if I could, believe me. This is amazing.”
“It’s worth it to see you enjoying yourself so much.”
“I am.” Nate didn’t even glance around before sliding his left hand across the table to squeeze James’s. “Thank you for this.”
James turned his hand so they were palm to palm. “You are very welcome.”
“So?” Nate leaned in closer. “What’s next?”
Part four of the date was a late movie. They spent more time making out in the back row than following the plot, but James didn’t care. The whole point was the amusing novelty of doing something together as an actual co
uple, outside the house.
Part five, however, required a return to Nathan’s apartment where James walked Nathan to his doorstep, and then planted the mother of all good-night kisses on him. The kiss turned into groping, and they finally went inside.
They shed clothing all the way upstairs and into the bedroom, until they were able to fall into the bed totally naked. Hands touching and groping. Lips sucking. Teeth grazing.
Choreographed chaos that resulted in Nathan on top of James, their hard cocks aligned, rubbing between their taut bellies. The rightness of it, the pure bliss of doing this with Nathan, speared James in the gut, and he shouted through his release. Nathan came not long after, and they dozed awhile, their bodies sealed together with come.
It was fucking perfect.
Until James’s left leg cramped, and they resigned themselves to leaving bed long enough for a long, hot shower. James added an impromptu number six to his date plans by turning Nathan toward the spray and washing his hair.
Thick, silky black hair that had grown out over the past few months. It glided between James’s fingers, helped along by the shampoo. Nathan relaxed into the tender massage to his scalp and neck, temples and jaw. Around the shells of his ears. Tension seemed to melt away, washed off by the soap and water, leaving Nathan droopy-eyed and swaying while James turned him again to rinse the shampoo. He ignored the semi that had awoken, too tired to do much about it tonight.
“Feels so good,” Nathan whispered.
“I like taking care of you.” James dropped a kiss on the tip of his nose. “Don’t ever want to lose you again, Nate.”
“You never lost me. I just…hid for a while.”
“No more hiding.”
“Not for either of us.”
James tensed. “What?”
Nathan opened his eyes and blinked away the peace the massage had left behind. He watched James with an expression stuck somewhere between annoyance and grief. “Why did you need those drinks last night?”
James was a little surprised it had taken him so long to ask. And confronted with the question, he couldn’t make himself lie or minimize it. He didn’t have to with Nathan. “I was restless. I couldn’t sleep.”
“What about the nights you came over and we went straight to bed?”
Shame heated his skin, which was already hot from the shower. “I keep a flask in the trunk.”
His dark eyes flickered. “I didn’t smell it.”
“Breath Savers.” That shame dug deeper, making his insides curl. “I already use them when I smoke. I didn’t want you to know.”
“You didn’t have to hide it before I came back.”
James couldn’t stop a derisive snort. “Babe, I’ve been doing this for years. You really think I’ve been able to handle my mother’s depression parties stone sober?”
Nathan tried to step back, but he ran into the showerhead. James took pity on him by retreating to the rear of the tub, the cooler air chilling his wet skin. Instead of replying, Nathan turned off the water, then reached beyond the curtain for towels. He tossed one at James and used the other to dry his own hair.
Always his hair first, then down his face. He skipped his torso and did his legs next, dragging the terry upward to capture falling water. Odd method, but he’d always done it. Even in the college dorm showers. A little quirk that made Nathan Wolf the man James loved more than his heart could contain.
James took his time. Nathan was in boxers and a T-shirt by the time James made it into the bedroom, towel cinched around his waist. Nathan stood by the window, arms crossed, staring out into the night. James kept his distance.
Have I wrecked this already?
“Talk to me,” James said.
“I don’t know what to say.” Nathan spoke to the window, and the inattention hurt.
“Years?”
“You said yourself that I drink myself into a blackout when bad things happen, and that I’ve done it since college.”
“That’s not having a drink every night just so you can sleep. This is a completely different kind of addiction, Jay.”
James flinched. “I don’t know when weekend partying leaked into the work week. I really don’t.”
Nathan pressed his forehead against the window frame. He looked small and upset, and God, James wanted to hug him. But he didn’t think his touch would be appreciated, or even welcome. Nathan’s mood had never been so hard for James to read, and he couldn’t blame it all on the hair and beard. The assault had changed Nathan. Maybe more than James wanted to acknowledge.
Maybe more than even Nathan could see. Changes that had nothing to do with being in a gay relationship.
I wanted tonight to be perfect. The joke’s on me.
“Do you want me to leave?” James asked.
Nathan’s head jerked, as though he’d been lost in thought. He blinked owlishly at James.
“Why would I want you to leave?”
Seriously? “Because we’re talking about my excessive drinking while you’re standing on the other side of the room, except we aren’t talking. You’re staring and silent and it’s freaking me out a little bit.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you admit to being freaked-out before.”
“Well, I freaked out more than a little bit that night at the hospital, and probably several times daily for at least a week after.”
Nathan’s eyes flashed with pain. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize for something that wasn’t your fault.”
“A better friend would have noticed.”
“You’d just been beaten up and stabbed. You were in no position to notice shit about me, even if you’d let me see you.”
Nathan waved both hands in the air. “Not then, Jay, before. I should have noticed the drinking problem.”
“That was kind of the point, Detective. I was a pro at hiding it.”
“You’re my best friend. I thought I knew all of your secrets. How could I not see the signs of alcoholism?”
Ice skated down James’s spine. He abhorred that word. “I’m not an alcoholic.”
“I’ve been a cop almost as long as I’ve know you. I can’t believe I didn’t see it.”
“I’m not an alcoholic.”
“If I asked you right now to go one solid week without a single alcoholic drink, would you be able to?”
The idea of facing his mother without that barrier, of trying to sleep without the pillow of numbness, made James’s insides squirrelly. He didn’t know because he’d never tried. He’d never had a reason to try. The nightcaps were part of his routine, something he didn’t think about. It only seemed a problem when he blacked out.
“I’ll take your silence as a no,” Nathan said.
“I don’t know if I could. Don’t you have to want to quit?”
Nathan winced. “Yeah, I guess you do.”
“What if I promise to cut back?”
“I don’t have the right to make you promise anything. Like you said, Jay, you have to want to do it.”
“If it makes you happy, I will. I’ll do it for you.”
Nathan walked to him, his shoulders hunching a bit more. He stopped just out of arm’s reach. “Don’t. If you’re going to quit drinking, you need to do it for you. No other reason.”
“But—”
“No. I don’t ever want you looking back on that decision and resenting me for forcing you into making it. For you, not me. Okay?”
James nodded, his throat tight.
“I will ask one thing, though,” Nathan said.
“Anything.”
“Don’t hide it from me anymore. No more flasks in the car, no more breath mints. If you’re ashamed of it, don’t do it, but don’t fucking hide it.”
He didn’t want to make that promise because sometimes the need for a drink did shame him. Infuriated him on occasion. He wanted to be stronger than that. Stronger than his addiction, and Jesus Christ, what if he was an alcoholic?
I do not deserve
this man.
“I promise,” James said.
“Thank you.” Nathan deflated even more. “Let’s go to bed.” The soft way he said it meant bed and nothing else.
James didn’t blame him. He was too turned around to even think about sex. Turned around and confused in a way that would normally have sent him off to the Rusty Nail or Pot O
Gold in search of a mojito and a willing guy to fuck. He burned away his emotions with liquor and sex, but there was no quick fix to this problem. This time the fix was his problem.
He put on boxers and a T-shirt before sliding into bed, feeling too damned naked to go bare skin like Nathan. They didn’t spoon. Nathan faced him, his cheek cushioned on a pillow, the very picture of exhaustion. James stroked a light touch over his chin, hating that Nathan thought he had to hide behind the beard.
Like you hide behind the bottle? And your mother? And your job?
Nathan closed his eyes first. James watched him in the dim room. Watched his breathing even out and sleep steal him away for a while.
Nate woke to an empty bed, confused and exhausted from the previous night’s confrontation. He hadn’t intended to bring up James’s drinking, not after such a spectacular date, but the hair washing had let his guard down. It had slipped out. He’d hated seeing James so caught off guard and angry, but it had cemented something for Nate: James had a problem, and he didn’t want to fix it.
In his job, Nate dealt with addicts of all stripes. Meth, cocaine, heroin, speed, E, alcohol.
He’d seen sniffers, huffers, smokers and people who would drink cough syrup for a high because nothing else was available to them. Experience warned him that the user had to want to get clean, or no amount of rehab or AA meetings would help.
James was a functioning alcoholic. He went to work, helped his clients, hung out with his friends, and then he went home and drank. Not always into a stupor, but Nate had given him enough rides home from clubs and parties to identify the pattern.
Why didn’t I see it sooner?
He hadn’t wanted to see it. From the day they met, James had been the center of his attention, the fun best friend who understood him better than anyone, and who just happened to be gay. In some ways he’d worshipped James—the guy who lived his life by his own rules, truly cared about his friends and did everything he could to help his patients. It wasn’t a total shock that he’d been blind to James’s worst secret. He wouldn’t have wanted to see the gray parts.