This time he did walk away.
Chapter Nine
With no idea in his head but escape, Eli headed west. His feet hit the pavement faster and faster, wind and speed and exertion making his nose run until he had to wipe it on his sleeve. No matter how far he got from the spot where he’d left Quinn, the words followed him. She saved my life. Quinn hadn’t been exaggerating. Eli could hear that in his voice. The only thing that had kept Quinn alive was the hold of that family.
Eli didn’t regret a thing he’d done or said to embarrass that asshole Peter, but when he replayed the way he’d acted, he knew he could have been less obnoxiously manipulative with the rest of them. Quinn should have told him.
He could have died. Quinn could have died. But that was years ago. Why should it matter? The feeling that kept Eli climbing up away from the harbor, driving him toward the bars, made no sense. Why should the idea that Quinn had almost died make Eli’s throat tighten around the sharp, quick breaths he was taking?
Eli hadn’t known him then, would never have known him.
His steps slowed as he approached Grand Central. That had been his plan. Hit the biggest place to cruise. Maybe find a different bed to sleep in to avoid the confrontation with Marcy. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d had sex with an equal interest in a place to stay the night.
He reached into his pocket for his wallet, took out his cell and reread the last two texts he’d gotten before Quinn tracked him down.
Careful. Kell told the crazy stalker where you were.
He went to lots of trouble to find you. That’s hot. I like him.
Eli tucked the phone away and went into the bar.
The Sunday night crowd was big enough to make Eli think he’d have competition from pros—if he meant to go through with it.
What was so bad about home? He’d go back to the apartment, tell Marcy he couldn’t make the rent and promise to be out in two weeks. And in two weeks he’d have—he stopped thinking about that and leaned into the bar, more than aware he couldn’t even afford a drink. A hand slid onto his back, followed by the weight and pressure of a taller body beside him. A signal to the bartender, and Eli had a rum and coke in front of him. He was going to thank the guy, get a look at him and decide what he wanted to do, when the hand on his back slid possessively down to the top of his jeans, a light circling pressure.
Eli let himself sink into a fantasy that Quinn had followed him, found him as irresistible as Kellan’s text suggested—rather than the truth that Eli was only an accessory to keeping the family happy. Quinn’s hand drifted over his ass, and Eli tipped his hips to meet the touch, skin tingling, a light buzz in his balls as he gulped enough of the drink to keep the fantasy alive.
The fingers on his ass dipped between his legs, a light brush forward, and then dug into the still-bruised crease as the hand gripped hard.
The fantasy evaporated. Eli wriggled free. “Thanks for the drink.”
Before he could get clear, the guy’s hand wrapped hard around Eli’s upper arm. “What’s your hurry? You were shaking your ass at me just fine.”
Eli got a good look at his face. Hard eyes, flat nose. Probably had it broken in a few fights. Grand Central attracted a lot of men who were only gay when they had a dick in their mouths, men who lived a straight life outside of what they managed to sneak off to get here.
“I said thanks for the drink.” Eli tried to pull free without turning it into some kind of shoving contest.
“Whore.”
“Mmm.” Eli sucked down the rest of his drink and leaned into the unsuspecting son of a bitch. “I like dirty talk.”
The man released his arm, and Eli’s hand shot down, grabbing the guy’s nut sac and giving it a twist so he had his attention. “I said thanks. If you’re looking for a whore, it’s going to take a lot more than a six-dollar drink to get over having to look at your face. I’m going to move on, and you’re going to let me. Clear?”
The man grunted, eyes squeezed shut, lips thinned in a grimace of pain.
“Thanks again.” Eli moved off to another part of the bar.
He’d inhaled the drink fast enough to get a little buzz but couldn’t seem to get into the spirit of things. None of the guys who made eye contact were hot enough, tall enough, or interesting enough for Eli to do anything but flick his glance away in apology.
He was thinking of taking out his phone and playing a game to kill time in case something better turned up later when someone crowded into him from behind as he watched a few guys shoot pool. If it was the same asshole from before, Eli was going to tear off his balls and feed them to him.
“You don’t seem like the type to just watch,” said a vaguely familiar voice in his ear while an interesting package pressed into the small of his back.
Eli wasn’t making the same mistake twice. He turned.
“Jesus.” Round blue eyes under sandy lashes blinked in surprise.
“Fuck me.” Eli knew his own eyes had to be bugging out of his head. “Peter.”
Peter recovered first. “I was thinking about it.” As his wide mouth curved in a smile, Eli was furious with himself for noticing the full lips, the lazy blink of those eyes, the broad solid shoulders, everything that would have made Peter hot enough to fuck if he weren’t Quinn’s slimy, cheating, closeted ex.
Eli wished for a wall at his back, protection and room to breathe as Peter filled in the space Eli had made by turning around. “Does your wife know where you are?”
“Does Quinn know what a little slut you are?”
“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time he’s made that mistake.” Eli managed to get his back against a post supporting a partition. It felt a little safer. “But Quinn and I have an understanding.”
“Liar. He’d never go for that. Tell me really.” Peter leaned in so his lips brushed Eli’s ear, and maybe getting his back to a wall had been a mistake. “You’re one of his students, right? He paid you.”
Eli laughed and turned his head, hoping the ends of his hair whipped Peter’s face. “I’d have paid him. God, remember his cock? The way he moves it. Mmmm.” Eli licked his lips, only half faking the enjoyment of the memory.
Peter’s hands landed on the post above Eli’s head. “Who do you think taught him that?”
Eli laughed again. “Not you.” As much as Peter deserved to have his nuts twisted, Eli would have to settle for just fucking with him. He reached up and put his hand around Peter’s neck. “You’re aching for a dick in you. Bet you’re dying to suck me off.”
Peter leaned down, liquor-soaked breath strong on Eli’s cheek, leg sliding between Eli’s. “Yeah. I’ll blow your fucking mind.”
Eli moved his hand until his thumb pressed against Peter’s lips. As he sucked, Eli ground his dick onto Peter’s leg once and then shoved him away. “In your fucking dreams, asshole.”
Peter’s eyes narrowed.
“Oh. And see you Tuesday. I’ll try to remember to bring your wife a strap-on.”
When Eli insisted he’d find a ride and meet Quinn at his house on Tuesday, Quinn anticipated a disaster. An over-the-top outfit with sequins. A see-through mesh top with matching pants. A kilt and a bright blue mohawk. But opening the door to Eli’s knock, Quinn found something worse.
Eli wore a suit. Navy blue, a blue dress shirt and a red-and-blue-striped tie. His hair was slicked back from his face, and as he made a nervous adjustment to his tie, Quinn could see his nails were free of polish. One hundred percent conservative by anyone’s standards. The problem was Eli looked like a fifteen-year-old in his school uniform. Remembering there was a sexually active man long past the age of consent under those clothes set up a battle between lust and shame in Quinn’s body.
“What’s wrong?” Eli’s brow furrowed, a vulnerable confusion Quinn never would have seen with his hair hanging over his eyes.
Quinn swallowed back the response of Everything and tried concentrating on anything but how much better that silken tie would look binding E
li’s wrists, teasing his cock.
“The tie’s too much. I knew it.” Eli fidgeted with it.
“What—why?” Quinn managed.
“You asked me to tone it down.”
The sickest feeling wasn’t because Eli’s suit made Quinn feel like a dirty old man, or that it drew more attention to Eli’s age and slender body than if he’d been wearing the kilt and mohawk, it was that Quinn had forced Eli into something so wrong on him.
“I didn’t ask you to turn it off. You look—wait. I’m fucking this up.” Quinn moved so Eli could step into the house.
Eli nodded.
Quinn shut the door and turned back. Running a finger along the tight collar of Eli’s shirt and smoothing his tie, Quinn said, “You did this for me. Because of what I told you.”
Eli smiled. It still looked wrong. Quinn missed the self-confidence behind the grin that showed that one slightly crooked tooth.
“Now that’s the kind of response that will get you a blowjob, Mr. Maloney.”
Quinn controlled the urge to shudder. “Christ. Please don’t call me that.” There was the grin he’d been looking for. “In the interest of time, I’ll settle for a kiss.”
Eli leaned in and Quinn hunched down to meet him, but all he got was a light brush of lips. Quinn caught Eli’s face in his hands and held him, drawing back enough to see Eli’s face. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t understand the point of revving the engine if you’re not going to drive somewhere.”
“You are the opposite of romantic. Did anyone ever tell you that?”
“I am full of romance. I like sunsets and the ocean and beaches and flowers and love songs and Shakespeare in the park and all that kind of shit.” Eli’s cheeks flushed. It was adorable on him. “I don’t get what any of that has to do with sex.”
“I’m not talking about sex, Eli. I’m talking about a kiss.”
“Fine. I’ll kiss the romantic fuck out of you.”
Quinn stepped his legs out and bent his knees to get to Eli’s eye level and waited.
Peeling Quinn’s hand away, Eli licked his lips and wrapped his arms around Quinn’s neck. The kiss was a brush of lips and tongue, slow and deliberate. Quinn kept his mouth soft, waiting. Eli took a more determined grip on Quinn’s neck and kissed his lower lip, his upper lip, gentle sucking pressure. When Eli’s tongue darted out to flick at the corner of Quinn’s mouth, he had to reach out for Eli’s hips to keep from grabbing for his head and taking control.
Eli’s kiss grew more determined, pressure increasing, a hot wet tickle from his tongue teasing sensitive corners. Quinn’s hands slid around to Eli’s back, holding him, fighting the urge to lift him close and tight. Quinn forgot what he was trying to prove. Calculated or not, Eli could kiss. The fingers on Quinn’s neck tightened, and he lost himself in Eli’s taste, his breath, the smell of his skin and the slide of lips. When Quinn opened his mouth, Eli didn’t take any more ground than the inside of Quinn’s lips, a tingle that echoed down to his ribs, making Quinn’s breath catch.
Eli eased back enough to breathe words onto Quinn’s mouth. “Well? Romantic enough?”
“My heart’s aflutter.”
Eli sank away. “All the fluttering is in my balls.”
Quinn loosened the knot of Eli’s tie and slid it free. “Here. Save this and…” he palmed Eli’s crotch lightly, “…that for later. I’ll be right back.”
Upstairs, Quinn exchanged his jeans for slacks, keeping the green sweater with the wooden buttons at the V-neck. As he came back down, he caught Eli with his thumb on his lips and confusion in his eyes.
Eli dropped his hand. “You didn’t have to change for me. I’ve never cared what other people—”
“I care.” Quinn tucked his arm around Eli’s waist and tasted his mouth again. “God, much as I want to fuck you, I could stand here and kiss you for hours.” He coaxed Eli’s tongue to follow his, let the kiss get hotter until Eli elbowed him.
“Bastard.” Eli pressed his hand into his crotch. “Now I’m going to have to think about your ex fucking his wife so I don’t flash a tent pole half the night. Or…” he pressed himself against Quinn, “…you could help me out. It would only take a minute or two.”
“Later. I’m not showing up smelling like sex.”
“If they turn blue and fall off, I’m taking yours,” Eli muttered as he slid into the car.
Quinn followed directions and parked down the block so Dennis wouldn’t see the car. Alyssa met them at the door. “Oh my God, Eli, what happened? Did you let Quinn dress you?”
“No. I had a job interview and there was no time to change,” Eli explained.
Quinn looked at him with raised eyebrows, but Eli wouldn’t give him an answer.
Alyssa led them into the kitchen. “I thought you liked your job at that paper, what was it?”
“The Charming Rag. I love it. But you know how the economy is. I’m freelancing now, and I need some regular income.”
Another lie to explain the clothes or was Eli really having problems? Why didn’t Eli tell him about it? Because as soon as you see him you’ve got your tongue or your cock in him. Or you’re whining about your own problems. He tried to hold Eli back with a hand on his shoulder, but Eli wriggled free and escaped to the family in the kitchen. Claire stepped away from the stove to kiss them both on the cheek.
“Chrissy’s feeding the baby now. Everyone is out back since fixing a board on the porch is the excuse to get Dennis here. I don’t understand why he’s being so difficult.”
Because thirty-five feels a lot older than thirty-four, Quinn wanted to explain. And it feels embarrassingly ancient when you can’t keep your hands off a not quite twenty-three-year-old.
Eli went through a brief recap of an explanation for his suit with Claire, the variation being her response of “I’m so sorry. It’s a terrible time for young people especially.”
Quinn had been straining his ears for the familiar sound since they arrived, trying to tamp down the spread of cold fear in his stomach. No jangle of tags. No click of claws. Hubert was probably out on the porch. He was just too stiff to come in to greet Quinn, smart enough to know Quinn would be there in a minute. Hubert would whine and sit at Quinn’s feet and give him the where-have-you-been look with his big brown eyes.
He made his way out onto the screen porch, but Hubert wasn’t there. The dread that had been waiting launched itself into his throat, burning into the back of his skull as he searched the living room, checked under the dining room table.
“Quinn.” He heard Peter call him back, and then Chrissy put her hand on his arm.
“I’m so sorry. We had to put him to sleep. I thought Peter would have told you.”
Quinn was out of the house before she finished talking, down the block, leaning against his car and trying to get air in past the icy fingers squeezing his lungs shut.
He knew who was behind him without turning. Eli wrapped himself around Quinn’s back. The heat from the palms flattened on his chest loosened Quinn’s breath.
“I’ve only seen him twice since Peter moved out.”
There was a minute of silence and then Eli said, “After ten years, you should have been there.”
Quinn turned in the circle of Eli’s arms, leaning against the car. “Yes.” Eli got it. It wasn’t that Quinn wanted to, but that he needed to. To lay hands on Hubert and tell him it was okay. To say goodbye. Somehow, Peter’s cheating, his betrayal, his leaving, nothing felt as deliberately cruel as denying Quinn that goodbye. And what was worse, Quinn knew it was nothing more than Peter’s selfishness and his need to hide the past from Chrissy that had made Peter’s decision for him.
Eli moved them into a comforting sway, the warmth of his understanding thawing the anger that was all that held Quinn together. He tried to step away, but Eli held on.
“I can’t. Not now.”
“So we’ll leave.”
“I can’t do that either.”
“Don’t let
him fuck with this too.” Eli pulled Quinn in tighter.
Quinn took a deep breath and put his head on Eli’s shoulder, let the gentle rocking drag out a few tears, relax a little of the pain radiating through a tightly clenched jaw.
“Thanks,” Quinn said as he lifted his head.
Eli shrugged without letting go. “That’s what boyfriends are for.” He pressed up and kissed a tear from Quinn’s cheek.
Quinn shared the taste with a quick brush of lips. For a guy who couldn’t see the point of a simple kiss, Eli was acting like… “Mr. Romance,” Quinn said aloud.
“Don’t let it get out. I have my reputation to think of.”
They’d straightened up, but Eli still had his arms locked around Quinn’s hips when Dennis appeared over Eli’s shoulder.
“What the hell, Quinn. I don’t get what’s going on with you. You’ve never acted like this—”
Eli spun around, stepping in front of Quinn like when Peter had confronted them in the bathroom. The idea of Eli taking on someone Dennis’s size in Quinn’s defense should have been funny, but the thump in Quinn’s chest had nothing to do with amusement.
Eli stepped closer to Dennis. “Quinn is dealing with your brother’s shit. Again. He came here expecting to see their dog. The one Peter forgot to tell him was dead. And then Peter sent you out to stir up more trouble.”
Dennis looked to Quinn for confirmation. Quinn’s nod might have satisfied Dennis, but the exchange only made Eli angrier.
“I’m standing right the fuck in front of you, Mr. Laurent. You could at least look at me.”
“Look, kid. Whatever the fuck you’re doing with Quinn here doesn’t give you the right—”
“No, you look. And open your fucking eyes when you do. Your brother is an asshole of epic proportions, and the way you all let him get away with it is only making things worse. If someone doesn’t step up, Quinn isn’t going to be the only one dealing with the fallout.”
Eli stomped off toward the house, but then turned back. “And that thing Quinn and I are doing is called sex. Quinn is gay. Gay, gay, gay. Your friend fucks guys. You may have been enjoying some kind of straight-guy denial so far, but get that through your head. Quinn likes cock.” With that, he strode up toward the house.
Bad Boyfriend Page 10