KEEP (Men of the ESRB Book 2)

by Shiloh, Hollis

  I glanced at his face now, alert to the unusual vibes he was sending off, arrested in my ruffled haste. "What?"

  "Nothing." He gave his head a slight shake, but he was watching me, his eyes somehow predatory. He was enjoying this; his was a lazy, self-satisfied look like you'd see on a well-fed big cat.

  I stopped, eyes narrowing, and moved to stand in front of him. "Is this your 'I told you so' face?" I asked, poking him in the chest none too politely.

  He didn't mind, just crinkled his eyes a little more and looked away from me.

  I stared at him for a moment, at the twitch of his mouth, feeling the laughter inside him, even if he hadn't let any of it escape.

  "Hmph," I said sourly, and turned away, a bitter twist to my mouth. "I bet you find it very easy to keep somebody," I said, goaded by his assessment of my relationship skills.

  So, yes, I was kind of poor at the moment. I had restless energy, a crappy rental, and I tended to run off at the mouth and have zero verbal filter. But really, he didn't have to laugh about it.

  "Not especially," he said, coolly unruffled.

  He ran a hand back through his hair. The coffee machine began to gurgle and make ominous hissing sounds. "Coffee?" asked Jeff blandly, reminding me.

  "Get your own." I moved into the next room quickly, not quite stomping.

  When I returned with my notebook with addresses written in it, he was sitting calmly at the scarred old table and sipping coffee blandly, as if he'd always been there. He looked too big, too real in my small place.

  "So where do you live, a palace?" I asked.

  He opened his eyes at me wider, as if the slurp of coffee he'd just taken had been hot enough to scald. He put down the mug. I searched his gaze and he stared back at me, little expression on his features now.

  "You wanted my help," he said at last. "So don't start a fight."

  I was surprised by the cold anger, and blinked, taking a step back. I raised my hands, notebook still in one. "Hey, you're the one who was looking down on my crappy home. You move on, and I will."

  And okay, part of my smoldering resentment was his grin about Fergus leaving me. Because yeah, Fergus was a bit of an ambulance chaser and not a very nice guy overall . . . but all the same, he'd left me.

  I hadn't had a flash of insight. I'd been hurting and in a cast and just wanted somebody to stay and baby me and not decide it was time to pack his bags and leave.

  Of course, this had been back in the nice apartment, when I'd still thought I'd be able to handle all those stairs and keeping a boyfriend. Soon after that, I'd had to move.

  "I didn't say anything about your house."

  "Whatever, man." I dismissed the argument, turning away and waving a hand.

  As soon as I wasn't facing him, I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to shove back the memory. It wasn't a good one. Me, at the top of the stairs, loopy on painkillers, hurting and hobbling, calling down to Fergus. "Is it the music? I can change it."

  I tried to push the pain out of my expression, to go back to being bright and cheery before I faced Jeff again. I don't like letting people see me vulnerable. Even Jeff.

  Especially Jeff.

  "You can have some coffee too, you know," he said. He was watching me closely, not grumpy or triumphant or self-satisfied, but very aware and watchful. The not-honest thing about him was still there underneath, but this was . . . something. What?

  I twitched a shoulder, although I knew I really should have some. I needed to stay alert for whatever came next.

  "So, no new boyfriend?" asked Jeff, too casually.

  I froze in the midst of pouring myself a mug of brew. There was a whole new pattern to this conversation now. He wasn't pushing about the house, didn't want me to get onto the subject of the house . . . but he wanted to know about my sex life. A little bit too much for it to be casual interest.

  I turned around quickly and casually to face him, and raised my eyes and face to him as I pushed my hair back, almost in a little flip. My grin was my most sexy and infectious, pure charisma. "Why? You interested?" I twinkled at him.

  Jeff's dark eyes watched me for a moment, steady and assessing and somehow reassuring. "Sure," he said at last, his dark eyes unfathomable.

  "Really?" I was so startled I almost dropped the coffee. I'd figured — hoped — we'd someday have sex, if only because of certain vibes I'd gotten off him. And all the times I'd come on to him, he'd been more amused and flattered than pissed off. Hell, he hadn't punched me once for the suggestions I made. But I hadn't expected him to suddenly say yes like that.

  "Why?" I asked, before I could stop myself. I didn't need to sound as if I didn't think anyone would want me. Let's face it, people did. I'm hot. Just not hot enough to put up with long-term in general.

  Nobody's perfect. But it turns out my brand of not-perfect is the kind that makes guys who start out liking me want to punch me in the face, run, or do both after dating me for a while.

  Jeff grinned now, lazy and sensuous, as he rose from his seat, stalking me like a predator. The bottom dropped out of my stomach and fluttered. I put down the mug carefully, my mouth gone dry.

  "You looking for compliments, or you want to have sex?" he asked in a husky voice.

  "Sex," I said, mesmerized by him, unable to tear my eyes away.

  "Okay, then. Point me towards the bedroom, unless you want me to bend you over the table."

  I shivered.

  His grin widened, dangerous and hot. "Table it is."

  "No, the bed's fine," I said quickly, thinking of condoms and lube and all the safe procedures that would be a lot easier if I wasn't spread-eagled up against my 1970s kitsch kitchen table, fingers clawing for purchase on the Formica surface.

  He nodded, still grinning, and gestured for me to lead the way.

  I did so, feeling his heavy hand settle on one ass cheek and hold on as I walked. "What changed your mind?" I asked in a croak.

  He gave me a little swat. "Finally caught you between boyfriends, I guess."

  That wasn't it. I'd been between boyfriends a lot.

  I jumped a little as he swatted me again, feeling uncomfortably hard already, squirmy and desperate and turned on, and a little nervous. He was a lot bigger than I was.

  This was Jeff. A friend, a guy I'd admired from afar for some time. We did work together. I needed him to keep on liking me. The sex needed to be good — safe, awesome, and hot — and we had to maintain some kind of relationship afterwards so we could at least keep working together. I needed his help sometimes. Plus, I just liked the guy. I liked joking with him. I liked having an excuse to see him.

  "Got the stuff?" he asked, his voice a little more strained than I'd expected, as if he was nervous, too. Maybe for the same reasons, maybe for different ones.

  "Sure," I said.

  "You okay with this?" he asked. "I won't call you a cock tease if you back out." I turned to look at him, and his gaze was steady and honest, boring into me. "We can stay friends."

  "Can we, even if we . . . ?" I gestured towards the bed, one hand fluttering that way, indicating all that might take place there.

  "Sure," said Jeff. "But don't be tough with me. If you were kidding around, or changed your mind, it's fine. Say so."

  I smiled then, a real smile, devoid of almost all nerves. I stalked towards him and reached up, laced my arms around his neck and pulled him down for a big, sloppy kiss. "You can fuck me anytime, big boy." I reached down and gave his ass a swat, too.

  His gaze lit, and his eyes smoldered, and he reached down and pulled me closer, lifting me off the ground and kissing me roughly and lengthily.

  #

  I lay in bed, heart still thumping, lungs still struggling for enough oxygen. We were both messy, the room smelled like sex, and he lay beside me, blowing smoke towards the ceiling.

  "That was nice," he said casually — too casually.

  I didn't look at him. "Yeah." It had been nice.

  There'd been a certain fumbling aw
kwardness the way there is any first time, between people who are still figuring it out and don't want to be embarrassed or hurt each other. But once we got going, it was great — some of the best sex I'd had in ages. He was good in bed, and I found him hot enough that I probably could've gotten off just looking at his naked self.

  He didn't ask me for that, though. His hands were all over me, and he fucked me like he knew what he was doing.

  I was kind of jealous of whoever he'd practiced with to get that good. Hell, why hadn't he given in to my charms before this if he found me so fuckable?

  Maybe he didn't. Maybe it was a one-off. Or worse, he was just going for the easy lay because of something wrong in his life, and he'd never want to do that again.

  Still, it had been pretty good, we'd both enjoyed it, and the awkwardness was only slight even now, afterwards. As long as we didn't stay here too long or get too emotional, it should be fine.

  I cast him a glance, feeling an odd desire to pull the sheet up and guard my exposed chest, to shield myself from him. I felt extra naked coming down from the high of sex with him.

  What would it be like? Would he still like me as a buddy? Or would he always have this to hold over me, that all he had to do was snap his fingers and I'd hop into bed with him? Would it give him something to smirk with his friends over, something to feel superior and disdainful about?

  Tapped that.

  No, he wasn't that kind of guy. He wouldn't feel the need to reassure himself of his own masculinity by putting me down. Right?

  "You're thinking too hard," he informed me, putting out the end of his cigarette against the battered little table beside my bed. I watched him, but didn't make a move, and didn't tell him not to. It would leave a burn mark.

  My ass was kind of burning, too. And my bedroom would probably stink of cigarettes for days. But I didn't give a shit. I just watched him.

  He turned back to me and smiled. "Hey." He reached up and ruffled my hair, his grin affectionate and nostalgic. "Don't be so serious."

  "Okay." I managed to grin back at him then. He reached down, stroking a hand onto my chest, gave me another pat. Then with a groan he got out of bed and padded towards the restroom. "You still have that work to do, or can it wait?"

  "Um." I tried to think of something besides his naked body, looking so good right now. Even though I was shagged out pretty well. I couldn't stop staring.

  He stopped in the doorway and looked back at me, raising an eyebrow. He had as strong an eyebrow game as ever. "Well?"

  I shook my head to clear it. "I'd better rest up a little if I want to be convincing as a tough guy. Or maybe it could wait for an hour?" I grinned and waggled my brows back at him, reaching down to stroke my cock lazily. I wasn't hard, but I thought I'd be up for another round if I had a few minutes to recover. Maybe more than a few; maybe less.

  He grinned and shook his head, one dimple showing. "If you want another round, you're feeding me. And something more than cheese and crackers, hotshot."

  I laughed aloud in pure happiness. Yes!

  He went into the bathroom and started peeing. I rolled to face the bed, mashing my head against the pillow to hide my glee. Yes, yes, yes! I thumped the bed with one hand in my restless happiness, kicking my feet once. Then I made an effort to get out of bed and find something he'd consider fit to eat.

  I felt the echo of sex in my muscles, the ghost of his cock in my ass as I walked. I swaggered, feeling awesome. Even if he was just getting me out of his system, I felt pretty good. It meant I'd gotten into his system in the first place. And a second round meant the first had been good for him, too.

  Maybe he'd fuck me even harder this time.

  Chapter two

  I slipped sunglasses onto my face as we sat in the car, facing the street where we were expecting him: the stalker dude.

  He was kind of pathetic looking, with scraggly hair and a frame a little too skinny to be quite natural. Whatever he was on was probably affecting not just his physique but his brain. I drummed my fingers on the wheel.

  Jeff sat cool and distant beside me, not even his eyes smoldering. He'd been great in bed. But he'd clammed up again, not wanting to talk or joke. And I was jittery because of the guy over there that we had to go and confront.

  As long as Jeff backed me up, it would be fine. But he seemed a bit erratic to me. That always sets me on edge and makes me uneasy.

  Jeff reached over and closed a big hand over mine on the wheel, squeezing. "Stop it."

  "Fuck off," I said, twitching my hand. He didn't move, just clamped down harder. It was starting to hurt. I turned and gave him an indignant look. He'd been great, and now he was going to be a shit to me?

  He took his hand away, gave me a cold look, and pulled out a cigarette. "You're driving me up the wall."

  Oh.

  Oh. Of course I was. That was my M.O., wasn't it?

  I faced forward, my face shutting down all emotion, hardening. You'd think I'd be used to it by now. You'd think I wouldn't have expected something to come of the friend-sex with Jeff.

  I always managed to drive people up the wall. I was so good at it.

  I felt a little sick now, over the thoughts I'd had about making it work, dating, long-term happy times with Jeff, sharing a life together, making concessions and closet space for each other. Maybe even moving in together.

  But really, how well did I know the guy? And he was already fed up with me, acting tough and irritable like he just wanted to get away.

  It hadn't been a good idea. But since when did that stop me?

  I wanted to put my head down on the wheel and groan in frustration. I resisted.

  I had a job to do.

  #

  There was a knock at my door. I stumbled out of bed, accidentally kicking an empty beer bottle and almost taking a tumble and planting myself face-first on the dingy carpet. "Shit."

  I scrambled for the door, more awake now, nervous of falling and gashing my face open on something sharp. Everything in me ached. Despite four hours of sleep, I was more exhausted than I'd been when I fell into bed. It wasn't so much the confrontation — although that had been about as fun as such things usually are, since the guy wasn't good at listening to reason and had eventually taken a swing at my jaw, and connected.

  I was still in a hurry to get to the door. In spite of everything, and the way we'd left it, I hoped it was Jeff.

  Jeff. He'd been annoyed with me after it was all over, since he'd ended up defending me, using a bit of a strong-arm tactic on the guy. Exactly what he'd said he didn't want to do. If he hadn't exactly beaten the guy to a pulp, he'd definitely let it be known that was a future option.

  Then, when we were driving off, he'd had a few hard, choice words for me, letting me know I shouldn't act pathetic to get him to be the tough guy.

  Well, I hadn't let myself get punched on purpose, whatever he said. And yes, it really hurt. Still hurt, after some sleep, painkillers, and beer. I hadn't been acting weak so he'd protect me. Fuck him for thinking that.

  I hoped it was him now, come to apologize.

  As soon as our little talk was over, he couldn't get away from me fast enough. He'd had me let him off at the nearest bar and made it more or less obvious I wasn't welcome to follow him. He'd barely looked at me as he got out, and then I left in a cloud of hurt, self-righteous minivan exhaust, my jaw aching.

  I really hoped he'd changed his mind and had decided to come back, to talk more reasonably, maybe to kiss me and say sorry and could he stay the night?

  I opened the door, heart thumping with misplaced, hopeless hope. I wanted it to be Jeff. Jeff, with his hot body and his dark eyes. The way I could hardly tell what he was feeling sometimes, and it just made me want to know more, more, more.

  I opened the door, an awkward but pleased smile on my face, tentative and uneasy.

  The smile fell away as I saw who was at the door. A man in a suit, looking patient and a bit bored. "Hello? Are you Peter Durphy?"

 
My heart dropped away out of my chest, and sank, further and further. My smile died. The chill of night off the creek swept over my half-clothed body. The edge of the door felt cheap, rusty, and cold under my hand. I had no smiles left in me as I faced whatever sort of legal or bill collection action came next. I felt small, bleak, and useless against the uncaring onslaught of the world.

  I gave a short, sharp nod, firming my mouth up to face this reality. "Yes. That's me."

  "Here." He fumbled with a paper, handed it over. "I've been trying to get in touch with you for a few days, but you never seem to be home."

  Polite, well-spoken, personable and professional. Hm. What was going on here?

  I looked down at the paper. It was too dark to see right, and my eyes were filmy with sleep. I wiped at them. "What is it?"

  He looked almost offended that I didn't already know. "It's a summons. You're to appear at the following date and time for ESRB testing and rating. If you score high enough—"

  I cut him off before he could give the droning-on spiel about what a great job I'd get, working for some police department or government agency. What a laugh.

  "I was already tested," I told him. "I didn't score high enough for any sort of rating."

  A zero-point-one, I think they said. Humiliating, but maybe not unexpected. Just because I could get a good read on people didn't mean I actually was capable of any extrasensory perception.

  I didn't necessarily like having it shoved in my face again, though. I glared at him and pushed the papers back, getting out my handy self-righteous indignation. It hurt less than being disappointed it wasn't Jeff.

  Not like I'd expected it to be Jeff, anyway. Not really. Hope and expectation are two different beasts.

  "Ah, yes, but that was a few years ago. There have been some updates to the tests, and many of the people who previously didn't register are now able to be detected. You're on the list to be retested, for a more accurate result that will reflect your true abilities, or lack thereof."