Dreamspinner Press Year Three Greatest Hits

by Jenna Hilary Sinclair

  Trace grimaced, dropped the washcloth, and picked up the can of shaving gel to get started shaving as his brain continued to pick apart his problem. Why turned on? Because he looked… incredible in that suit. And handsome. Very handsome. Why is that affecting you now? I don’t know. Proximity? Our friendship is getting closer? He’s my best friend? Be honest. Fuck. He… turns me on. And I have no clue what to do about it.

  Tossing the razor in the sink a couple of minutes later, Trace met his own eyes in the mirror. Does it really change things? Yes. For the worse? No. Are you sure? Very sure. For the better? I know David will be my friend no matter what. Maybe, just maybe, he could be something more?

  Chewing on that idea, Trace went to get dressed, coming to some sort of peace with it, if not with the execution of it.

  I’ll just have to wait and see. Maybe I’ll feel differently later.

  Feeling much more stable, Trace shrugged off the uncertainty and went to join David in the kitchen. “Cofffffffeeeeee,” he moaned, holding his arms out and walking stiffly like a zombie.

  “Fucker.” David swatted at him playfully as he passed, and Trace shuffled along, grinning and shifting his hips in an unsuccessful effort to miss David’s swipe. “You already abused my scotch. You better savor my coffee, or I’ll be sending you out to McDonald’s.”

  Trace noticed his favorite sections of the newspapers were folded next to his plate. David had also toasted two bagels, and the cream cheese was on the table waiting for Trace to spread it on both of them. Spreading cream cheese was one of the things they’d discovered was almost impossible to do one-handed.

  “Well, McDonald’s coffee isn’t quite so bad since they went to the new stuff. But if you want really, really good coffee? You go to Waffle House.” Trace mmmm-mmmmm-ed to reinforce his point as he pried open the small tub of cream cheese and started spreading it. A lot on his bagel, a little on David’s.

  “Heathen!” David accused. “How dare you compare my fresh-ground French roast to Waffle House slop?” Taking a bite of his bagel, he disappeared back behind his paper, shifting down in his chair and propping his feet on the seat of Trace’s, his bare toes burrowing under Trace’s thigh for warmth.

  Good-naturedly shifting to allow for David’s toes, Trace took a bite and shrugged, at the same time acknowledging the tiny zing he felt. “Who’s the food critic, hmmm? I’ve had coffee all over this city. I should know,” he said, thumping the newspaper next to his plate with a knuckle.

  Almost two hours flew by as the two men did David’s physical therapy exercises, made their way through most of an eight-cup pot of coffee, and read all three newspapers, passing sections back and forth in silence other than the occasional exclamation. Folding the last section and pulling his laptop forward, David sighed. “I guess I should get a little writing done before the guys show up. Are you gonna stick around for poker tonight?”

  “Ooo, is that an official invitation?” Trace asked with a grin, pleased by the idea. It had been awhile since he’d done something really social, and he was missing it. “I’m still no good at poker, but I’ll hang around awhile… if only for another chance at that scotch,” he said, waggling his eyebrows. Then he smiled warmly. “I’d also like to meet your friends.”

  David glowered back. “I don’t know. If Matt sees you guzzling his four-hundred-dollar-a-bottle scotch, he’s liable to shoot you. At the very least, he won’t help you escape Katherine’s clutches at this year’s bachelor auction. But yes, if you think you can behave, I’d like to have you come.”

  Trace affected a chastened look. “I’ll be good, I promise!” he said earnestly, eyes sparkling, lips pursed into a smile as he tried to hold back a laugh.

  “Good. Think you could make it to the grocery store this afternoon? I’m still not supposed to drive because of those damn blessed pain pills, and if we leave it to the guys to bring food, we’ll be drinking dinner.”

  “Sure. I’ve got a few hours in the office and an interview at a gallery downtown this afternoon. I can go after that. What do you want me to get?” Trace asked, leaning back to sip his last cup of coffee. It struck him, out of the blue, how domestic this all seemed. It made him smile. Who’d have thought it would feel so good?

  “I’ll make you a list while you grab a shower. In case you hadn’t noticed, it’s almost ten.” David laughed as Trace jumped up from the table.

  “Damn it!” Trace exclaimed as he took two steps, then two steps back to put down the coffee cup, and rushed out of the kitchen.

  Chapter 9

  DAVID MOVED around the kitchen, setting out glasses, brewing a pot of coffee, and filling the ice bucket. Trace had dashed through the door minutes ago, just barely ahead of the other guys. He was in the bedroom cleaning up.

  Keeping busy to resist the urge to join him and catch a glimpse of the body that had been on his mind all day, David opened a bag of cheese cubes that had a zip closure, grateful that Trace seemed to have picked things in packages he could open, since he was still wearing the damn sling after almost a month. He didn’t technically need it all the time, but tonight he didn’t want to deal with an aching shoulder.

  He poured the cheese into a black stoneware bowl and tossed the plastic in the trash before adding the bowl to the lineup of other food on the counter, where they’d eat buffet style when the steaks were done. Before he could pick up a jar of olives to carry out to the bar in the dining room, he heard Trace’s voice from the back of the house.

  “David? Have you seen my red shirt? It’s not in the closet, and I’m sure I left it here.”

  “Yeah,” David shouted back, moving toward the laundry room. “I threw it in the wash. Just a sec. I’ll get it.” Snatching the hanger off the rod where he’d hung the shirt out of the dryer, David walked down the hall and into the bedroom with the requested item. “Here you go.”

  Trace was standing with his back to the door, pulling up his well-fitted black pants over clinging boxer briefs. “Thanks,” he said distractedly as he settled the pants on his hips, leaving them unfastened so he could tuck the shirt in. He turned around to reach for it.

  David gulped. Trace had pulled off his tie and white dress shirt, leaving himself bare-chested as he turned around. David’s eyes lingered on the muscled chest and the enticing line of dark hair traveling down from Trace’s belly button to disappear beneath his underwear. Forcing his eyes back up, he watched with fascination as Trace’s nipples hardened under his gaze.

  Whatever this was that was happening between them definitely wasn’t one-sided, and that knowledge spread warmth through David’s body. He glanced up, and Trace met his gaze steadily. Taking the shirt off the hanger, David stepped forward, intending to drape it around Trace’s shoulders just as the doorbell rang. Catching Trace’s eyes with a regretful look, he shrugged, turning away to answer the door.

  Trace went still as he saw David looking him over frankly, and a zing rippled through him. He blinked and tilted his head. So last night wasn’t a fluke caused by scotch. He shifted his weight to move forward when he heard the bell, and the regret on David’s face was clear. Trace wondered what David would have done. “David.”

  David’s heart, racing from his intimate examination of Trace’s chest, skipped a beat as Trace spoke his name. It sounded husky, low, and full of promise, but…. One side of David’s mouth curled up in a smile. Just ask, he thought. Ask me to stay, and I’ll ignore the door and the people on the other side forever. “I’d better get the door,” he murmured after a long moment of mutual quiet.

  Trace took two steps to stop at David’s side and lifted the shirt from his hand before he could leave the room. Reassured by David’s appraisal and the husk in his voice, Trace smiled slowly. He’d have never thought that discovering a man was aroused by him would feel so good. “Thanks. Go on,” he said. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

  Head still back in the bedroom with Trace, David wandered down the hall and to the kitchen to open the door for Patrick and John. He c
ould see Jared pulling into the driveway. Matt would be late; he always was.

  John’s eyebrows pulled together in concern as he shrugged out of his suit jacket, looking David over and noting the sling. “You okay?” he asked.

  David smiled to put his friend at ease. “Leave your doctor’s bag in the car, John. I hurt my shoulder few weeks ago. It’s just now healing and is still a little tender.”

  “Tender? You broke it,” Trace commented in amusement from where he’d stopped just inside the room. David looked. Trace had finished getting dressed, including tucking the red shirt in, which with the black belt only emphasized his trim waist. But he’d left the top two buttons on his shirt undone, looking cool and stylish with his hair finger-combed behind his ears. He’d fit right in, since the other men were arriving in suits in various states of disarray after long days at work.

  The glare David shot in his direction was filled with more fondness than anger. “Yes, tender. Let’s go into the dining room. Guys, this is Trace. Trace, John and Patrick.” Unconsciously, he stroked his hand over Trace’s middle as he walked past, his fingers curling around Trace’s side just above his belt before dropping back to his side.

  As they moved toward the large, round black and grey marble table, Patrick pulled David to the side. “New lover?” he asked, one eyebrow raised in a peaked arch.

  A chill settled around David’s shoulders. He hadn’t considered his nosy friends’ take on his relationship with Trace. Their not-so-thoughtful teasing could ruin something as gentle and new as what was building between them. “Aw hell. No,” he answered casually as he picked up a bottle of liquor to add to the bar. “You’ve seen my type. Trace is one of my closest friends, and he’s just helping out. More than I can say for you fuckers, who never stop by or even call until it’s time for poker night again.”

  Turning to watch the others pass, Trace bit his lip when he heard David’s easy response to some too-quiet question, one he could easily figure out. It wasn’t what David said to answer it that confused him or, much less, bothered him. It was the twinge of disappointment he felt upon hearing it.

  Trace blinked as he recalled how his body had responded to David’s focused gaze. Wow. He could feel the tension zipping between them—something that had been growing for a while now. And Trace knew he didn’t want it to end. He’d gone still as he saw David looking him over boldly, and a flash of desire had rippled through him.

  Trace blinked and tilted his head. It wasn’t just a fluke of circumstance—he was feeling it again and again, and more often. He rubbed his hand over his belly where David’s hand had touched him. They were still best friends, he reminded himself. No matter what.

  With that determination, Trace picked up the ice bucket David had filled and carried it into the dining room, where a couple of the guys were finding seats, drinks already in hand, joking and laughing as Jared shuffled the cards. Trace was about to return to the kitchen to see if there were any more bottles that needed to be put out when a voice stopped him.

  “Trace! What a surprise!”

  Turning halfway around, Trace grinned. “Hey, Matt. Welcome to the party. I hear you trounce these yahoos regularly. I didn’t know you were handy with anything but a camera.”

  “Oh, I have many talents. Just ask David.” Matt shot David an exaggerated leer, spurring roars of laughter from the guys who were used to Matt and David’s innuendo and flirting. Trace enjoyed the playful banter. This was hardly any different from a night out with some of his own friends. He could handle this.

  “Including catnapping?” Trace asked.

  “Catnapping?” Patrick asked.

  Matt laughed as he sat down and waved Patrick off. “I was just an accessory, I promise. But I do have skills.”

  “Punctuality not being one of them. Shut up and deal,” David ordered, everyone taking their seats after making drinks and loosening collars. He cocked his head, looking at Trace when he took a seat on the opposite side of the table.

  “Don’t deal me in. I’m just an observer,” Trace said easily, accepting a tumbler of vodka twist from Matt.

  “That don’t fly with this group. We don’t do observers. If you stay, you play,” Patrick teased, patting a chair beside him. “I’ll help.”

  With a doubtful smirk, Trace shifted over next to him. “All right, but I’m warning you. David tried to teach me the basics, and it didn’t go well.” He glanced up at David as he settled back down.

  “I’m a much better teacher than David. Right, fellas?” Patrick said. A chorus of jeers answered his comment, and they all contributed chips to the newcomer.

  As he leaned over to talk to Matt, David felt a niggling of unease as Patrick’s attention focused on Trace, the physical therapist angling his chair so that their knees had to be touching. Other than Matt, Patrick was the only other member of their group that had any interest in men. He wasn’t gay, but he was definitely bi, and Trace was downright gorgeous tonight.

  Trace watched Matt’s and David’s heads close together, making him wonder. No. Not Matt. Trace would have noticed before. Besides, David had said they had a history. Not a “now.” He shifted his attention back to Patrick, who leaned closer to him with one elbow on the table while talking about strategy. Trace was certain Patrick was flirting with him. Lips twitching, Trace listened to Patrick murmur a question about the cards. No harm in a little flirting, after all.

  John had just called a bet and tossed in some chips when out of nowhere Mabel jumped up onto the table, scattering chips and cards everywhere. Patrick and Matt just barely managed to save their drinks from toppling over.

  “Mabel!” Trace chastised as he stood up and tried to reach across the table to capture her.

  “Mabel?” Jared echoed.

  “Ah. Catnapping,” Patrick said knowingly.

  “Oh Lord, I am still scarred,” Matt moaned. David threw some cards at him.

  Mabel hissed and swiped, just evading Trace’s hands and slinking around the table to hop down into David’s lap, where she settled and started licking her paw.

  Matt slowly grinned. “So. That’s how it is.”

  “She likes him better,” Trace complained, sitting down with a thump.

  “I didn’t know you had a cat,” John said as he tried to straighten up the chips.

  “He doesn’t,” Matt said at the same time as David said, “She’s Trace’s.”

  John and Jared started chuckling as Patrick said, “Doesn’t look like she’s Trace’s anymore.”

  Matt snickered. “David stole himself a woman.”

  David smacked Matt in the chest with the back of his good hand before he went back to petting Mabel.

  “At least she has good taste,” Trace muttered, and Patrick, mid-swallow, about choked on his drink as he started laughing.

  “All right, that hand’s out,” Jared pronounced as he started dealing.

  Trace noticed that Mabel didn’t look like she was going anywhere anytime soon, and he sighed as he recognized that little bit of jealousy turn to longing as he watched David’s fingers slide through Mabel’s fur.

  DAVID’S DISCOMFORT, which had started when Patrick began “helping” Trace with his cards, grew over the next couple of hours of poker and a dinner break, once Jared finished grilling the steaks. Patrick’s attention was clearly focused on Trace and had not wavered all night. It was really starting to get on David’s nerves, and he knew that by all rights it shouldn’t. But that didn’t really help much.

  A foot kicked David’s shin, and Matt leaned close to his ear. “You need to find your poker face. You’re not winning anything tonight,” Matt warned. “And the guys are starting to notice.”

  David tossed his cards into the center of the table for the fourth hand in a row. “I fold.” Poker took concentration, and all of his attention was centered on the two men flirting on the opposite side of the table. Patrick had folded earlier and was currently draped over Trace’s shoulder helping him play his hand.

 
“Time for dessert. Come help me, David,” Matt said, throwing in his cards as well, pushing out of his chair and nudging his friend.

  David rolled his eyes. Matt wasn’t known for his subtlety. He got to his feet anyway. If he didn’t follow, there was no telling what Matt would say or do. He picked up the empty ice bucket and followed.

  Once in the kitchen, Matt turned on David, his voice hushed. “Is something going on between you and Trace?” he asked flat out.

  “Doesn’t appear to be,” David stated, opening the refrigerator and pointing at a box displaying a label from The Cheesecake Factory.

  “Only if you’ve got your eyes shut,” Matt retorted as he pulled the box out and set it on the table. “There’s sparks flying off the two of you like fireworks. And Patrick is just eating it up, since you’re doing your best to ignore it.”

  “Maybe hanging around me has opened Trace’s eyes to the possibilities of attraction to men. He certainly is looking at Patrick differently than he would have a month ago.” David busied himself setting out saucers one at a time, trying to be nonchalant about the conversation.

  “Hanging around? Since when has Trace been hanging around, anyway? And why were you out to dinner that night? That was a pretty spiffy dinner for two ‘friends,’” Matt needled. “How come you never talk about him?”

  “We’ve been friends for a long time, and I hang out with him at different times than I do with you all.” David said, knowing that sounded crazy. “I told you I hurt my shoulder, and he was already here. He’s a good friend.”

  Matt tilted his head to one side, studying David. “I shouldn’t have to say this to a Fulbright scholar, but hanging around to take care of super-grouch you for four weeks is a little more than just friendship. So spill. He’s more than a good friend, isn’t he?” he asked.