by KC Burn
He’d been halfway home before he realized he didn’t know if Dallas expected them to eat dinner together, or even when Dallas intended to show up. Not wanting to risk looking like an old fool, Will ordered pizza when he got home, making sure to order enough for both of them, just in case. He also showered quickly, just in case.
After eating and putting the extra pizza in the fridge, Will paced some, uncertainty and desire clawing at him. Finally, after about an hour of watching TV—he couldn’t recall which show to save his life—Dallas showed up at his door. Wearing jeans and a T-shirt, no less. He didn’t even know Dallas owned clothes like that.
The sex had been explosive. Every bit as phenomenal as the other two times, even though there was no chance of getting caught, and they were doing it in a bed. His desire for Dallas showed no sign of abating, but neither could he see any sign of such in Dallas.
He settled into a sleepy, postorgasmic doze. Maybe they could do it again, after he recovered. But he’d no sooner thought that when Dallas wriggled out of his embrace and began gathering his clothes.
“Where are you going?”
Dallas grinned at him. “Surely you aren’t suggesting we spend the night together? I wouldn’t have a suit to wear, and then there’d be questions.”
God. Will had been expecting them to spend the night together, but there was no good reason for that. This could only be sex. Sex that no one at work could know about. Not when he knew this was temporary. But he couldn’t deny how incredible it felt having Dallas at his side, and he hadn’t wanted to give it up.
Dallas dressed in front of him, and Will admired his smooth, lean belly. He’d had his mouth and hands all over Dallas’s body, and especially that fine dusting of dark hair below his navel, leading to his cock. Dallas was beautiful all over, hardly a blemish, and not for the first time Will thought he could easily have been a runway model.
Then he frowned. “I thought you’d had surgery.” Damn it. The kid had lied to gain Stefan’s sympathy. Maybe that was why Stefan didn’t want to fire him. He rose up out of bed.
“I did.”
“There isn’t a surgery scar on your body. And I should know.” Anger welled up, hot and fetid. He didn’t enjoy being angry, or fearful, or distrustful, or any of the things he’d been over the past two years, but he wasn’t sure he remembered how to be anything else.
Dallas’s eyes narrowed. “When was the last time you had surgery? The Dark Ages? There’s this little thing called laparoscopic surgery. Five tiny cuts was all it took, and the scars are there if you look close enough. But I’m young and I heal fast.”
Had Dallas emphasized “young” on purpose? It had felt a little like a slap on the face, not that Will didn’t deserve it. He was so ready to assume Dallas was constantly deceitful, when in reality, the only thing he’d been was ambitious. Perhaps callously so, but he hadn’t lied to Will’s face. But Will couldn’t seem to get past the sense of betrayal. He wanted to trust Dallas but didn’t dare. Because he hadn’t seen his comfortable life coming down last time; he wasn’t going to get caught by surprise again.
“Sorry. I’m sorry.” He didn’t sound very remorseful, even to his own ears.
Dallas stepped close, T-shirt in hand, and pointed to the five tiny pink lines, barely visible. “Believe me now?”
Before Will could respond, Dallas left the room. The sheets tangled around Will’s legs as he tried to give chase, but before he’d extricated himself, he heard the front door slam.
Well, he’d known this was only temporary. If he’d kept his big mouth shut, it could have lasted longer than a day, though.
Bitter regret burned his nose and made his eyes sting. He shouldn’t even care that Dallas was gone, that Dallas had been hurt. Hell, he didn’t even know what had happened to Dallas to require surgery, or asked him even once how he was feeling, and that made him a bit of a shit.
He rolled over and buried his nose in the pillow, inhaling the lingering scent of coconut and lime Dallas had left behind.
Would Dallas have stayed if he’d asked? Would he have stayed if Will hadn’t accused him of lying?
GOING IN to work the day after having had sex with an employee was an oddity. Will felt more relaxed and refreshed than he had in a long time, but he spent the whole day wondering if Dallas was going to do or say something that would tell everyone—or Kyle, at least—that they’d had sex. Three times in the past four days. Officially more sex than he’d had since Christmas. Last year. Not that he lacked in opportunity, but he just hadn’t had the energy. Last night, though, he’d slept the sleep of the dead, satiated.
Dallas had been perfectly professional all day. Maybe even a little standoffish. Will had found himself granting Dallas access to another part of his system, just to see if that warmed him up any. It had gotten him a very formal thank-you, but no hint that Dallas even remembered being sweaty and naked together, or any indication he wanted to do so again.
Now he was home again, and he had no idea where he stood. Stupid of him to care, and he certainly couldn’t ask Dallas at work. He’d made the rules, and if he was going to break them, it certainly wouldn’t be in front of Kyle.
Will pulled out his phone but wasn’t sure if he should text. What would he say? Stop by for dinner? Another round of sex because I’m a dirty old man and I haven’t had enough yet?
Having sex two nights in a row just seemed greedy, now that he considered it carefully. They’d made no promises to each other, and Dallas certainly wasn’t at his beck and call whenever he was horny. And he shouldn’t be horny after these past few days, but somehow it was worse than it had been before. Like the celibacy had imposed a low-grade amnesia, making him forget how fucking awesome fucking was. Or maybe it was just Dallas who made sex spectacular.
A sharp knock at the door made him fumble his phone, almost dropping it. He stuck it in his pocket and pulled the door open without checking the peephole.
Dallas, in his suited glory, stood framed in the doorway. Will blinked a couple of times, not sure if he was maybe hallucinating.
“Going to ask me in?” Dallas gave him that cocky grin he’d been missing all day, warming Will like sunshine after a thunderstorm.
“Come in.” Will opened his mouth to ask about dinner, but Dallas gave him no chance, kissing him like they’d been apart for days or weeks instead of an hour.
Then Will forgot about food, too engrossed in stripping Dallas out of his staid suit and prim dress shirt.
ONCE AGAIN, with a limp Dallas at his side, Will marveled at how great the sex had been. He didn’t want to chase Dallas away again with careless words, but neither did he want the silence to stretch into awkward territory.
“I’m sorry about… what I said about your surgery yesterday.” So far so good. Dallas just nodded into his shoulder. “I, uh, should have asked. What happened? Was it your appendix or something?”
Uh-oh. Dallas stiffened slightly beside him. “Why?” The slight venom in Dallas’s tone told Will he’d fucked up the previous day even more than he’d realized.
Will shifted them so they were on their sides, facing each other. “I know I expressed myself poorly. But don’t think I haven’t noticed that you’re thinner than I remember. I’m just concerned.” Will stroked one of those cheekbones, still more prominent than they’d been, although not quite as shockingly so as the first day he’d seen them at Idyll Fling. And he’d done a piss-poor job of expressing that concern too. Too damned angry to be a reasonable, caring human being. His parents would have given him hell, if they’d known.
Dallas bit his lip. “Ulcer. Bleeding perforated ulcer.”
Will raised his brows. “Aren’t you a little young for that kind of stress?”
Dallas rolled his eyes. “God. For a tech guy, you’d think you’d never heard of the Internet. Most ulcers aren’t caused by stress, you know. Bacteria. The problem was that I ignored the issue and did a few things that made them worse. I get headaches—tension headaches. I ended up
taking too many anti-inflammatories, and way overdid the coffee. Masked the problem with antacids.”
Will bit back an exclamatory shout. He knew he hadn’t fucked up that coffee order. The surgery explained all the herbal tea; Dallas probably couldn’t drink coffee yet. But he’d definitely look it up later, because he didn’t want to risk Dallas having any sort of relapse.
“So what made you finally decide to have surgery?”
“Uh, keeling over at work from severe anemia.”
All of Will’s elation drained away. “You seriously passed out at work?”
Dallas dropped his gaze, staring at the spot where he idly caressed Will’s arm. “Yeah. It was stupid of me to let it get that bad.” He shook his head. “But I’m fine now. You don’t have to worry.”
He levered himself out of bed and gave Will a shy smile. “Got to go to the bathroom.”
Will flopped onto his back. Would he be able to convince Dallas to get back into bed? Will’s stomach grumbled. When Dallas got back, Will would offer to order takeout. Something without too much grease. Will had noticed, alongside the herbal tea, that Dallas didn’t eat a lot of crap or spicy food. Probably more dietary restrictions from his surgery.
Dallas returned, but instead of getting back in bed or getting dressed, he wandered over to the narrow bookshelf beside the dresser.
Dallas held up a framed photo. “Hey. Here’s you in a kilt. But it’s not the same one you were wearing at the auction. Where is this?”
Will had to concentrate on Dallas’s words, because he’d been utterly mesmerized by Dallas’s lean back and pert ass.
“That one? Oh, that was at my last Ren faire before I moved to Florida. I have a couple different kilts to wear at them.”
Dallas laughed ruefully. “I remember hearing you talk about the Ren faires. I had thought, you know, tights or something. So you went often enough to need more than one kilt?”
Will did his best not to glare. It wasn’t—completely—Dallas’s fault that Will’s life had changed so drastically, and getting pissed off about it wasn’t going to convince Dallas to get back in his bed.
“I used to work them. Like, I’d audition, go to rehearsals, then play an authentic part for the few weekends it was on. When I was younger, I’d participate in a number of them, varying distances from home, but once I got a boyfriend and the job at Savron Dynamics, there wasn’t as much time.” More than he had now, though.
“Really? So is there one down here you joined?”
Dallas put the photo down and ran a finger along the battered books that made up Will’s most favored collection, so he didn’t see Will’s grimace.
“Uh, no. Haven’t had the time, and I’ve missed auditions for this year already. But maybe—” Will cut himself off before he could offer to take Dallas to check out the nearest local one, the one Will had thought he’d join when he’d first moved down. Sex had apparently softened his brain. There was no way he and Dallas would be still doing this in another month. Hell, they might not even be talking to each other by then.
“Maybe what?” Dallas turned around again, the sight of his front even more distracting than his backside.
“Uh.” Will’s stomach chose that moment to grumble. “Maybe you want to stay for dinner? I could order in.”
An indecipherable expression crossed Dallas’s face before he shook his head. “No, I can’t. I actually have to get going.”
Before Will could compose any coherent argument against it, Dallas had slipped on the bare minimum of his suit to be decently covered, gathered up the rest, and left with a tiny, sad smile.
Again, Will had no idea what had happened, and rationally, he knew Dallas leaving was the smartest thing, but it didn’t change the fact that something about it felt… wrong. Will just couldn’t figure out why.
Chapter NINE
DALLAS GOT out of his car, glad he’d worn one of the other clubbing outfits instead of the jeans and T-shirt Jaime had assured him would be fine. Apparently, the restaurant where they were meeting Raven and Caleb was relaxed, but judging from the various groups of people hitting downtown Orlando on a Saturday night, he’d have felt far too underdressed in jeans.
He hadn’t had much time or energy to explore his new city, and he’d never even been to Florida before, but he’d been surprised that downtown Orlando wasn’t anywhere near the theme parks. Even just the sheer sprawl of the city, and how far one had to drive to get anywhere, had been a bit of a shock. That was one of the best things about living with his brother. He would have plenty of time to figure out where would be the best place for him to find an apartment. Knowing him, if he’d done it sight unseen, he’d have picked a place that was an hour’s commute from Idyll Fling. He’d have assumed downtown was close to the studio, and he’d have been so fucking wrong.
Nerves—and intense humidity—made sweat spring up all over his body. Better get to the wine bar and find out why Jaime wanted to meet him before dinner so he could stop fretting about it. They hadn’t had much time to talk at the dinner they went to after the auction. Jaime had gotten called in to work early, so he’d gotten his half-eaten dinner wrapped up, paid the bill, and left. But his request to meet early spoke of some unfinished business from that night, as had the couple of calls he’d missed while naked in Will’s bed over the past few days.
The moment he walked in the door, Jaime waved at him. The temperature had to be at least ten degrees cooler than outside, maybe more. If he’d been wearing his glasses—not that he did that in public—they’d be fogging up something fierce. At least it would help deal with the flop sweat.
Jaime didn’t think this was a real date, did he? It would be flattering, and Jaime was hot, but the only thing Dallas really knew about dating was that he only wanted to date Will.
Dallas slid onto the chair across from Jaime at a sleek, tiny black table. An enormous bell of a wine glass sat in front of Jaime, but it contained no more than six ounces of red wine. There had been a time when Hugh had tried to “educate his palate,” somehow thinking he’d succeed where Dallas’s own father had failed, but Dallas had never cared for the pretentious wine snobs his father spent time with, and he’d never really acquired a taste for wine of any sort. Or beer.
He did, once upon a time, enjoy a good single malt Scotch, but that probably came from the fact that none of his friends, when they’d been indulging in underage drinking, had access to anything but the best hooch. One of the guys always brought eighteen-year-old Scotch to parties, and the burn and warmth had appealed to Dallas more than anything else on offer. And there were the occasional tropical, fruity drinks he’d liked too.
Not that it mattered now. Alcohol was off the menu, even if it wouldn’t be forever.
“You look great,” Jaime said with a big smile. Then he waved down a waitress. “What did you want to drink?”
“Uh.” He looked at the waitress helplessly. Water didn’t seem quite right, but what else did they have at a wine bar? “Do you have anything nonalcoholic?”
Fortunately, he mustn’t be the only to ask that because she merely smiled. “We’ve got the normal assortment of soft drinks, if you’d like, but we’ve also got a great line of sparkling fruit juices.”
Oh. That could be fine. “What kinds?”
“Peach, apple, blackberry, pear, and grape.”
“Apple, please.” He’d know soon enough if it was too acidic for him, but if it wasn’t, it might be something he’d have to look into buying.
After the waitress left, Jaime frowned. “I’m sorry. I guess I didn’t realize you didn’t drink at all. We could have met up somewhere else.”
Dallas squirmed, but in their brief time at the diner, he’d found out Jaime was an EMT. He didn’t mind telling the truth about his aversion to certain foods and drinks, because it shouldn’t require too much additional explanation. “It’s no big deal, really. Just… recovering from a perforated ulcer.”
Jaime’s eyes widened. “Oh, wow, that’s shitty.
I shouldn’t have taken you to the diner either. Not much on the menu there that’s not full of grease.”
“I found something, didn’t I? Is the restaurant tonight safe?”
Jaime rolled his eyes. “Oh, yeah. You’re going to get along great with Raven. He doesn’t drink hardly at all, and he’s obsessed with healthy eating. You can be sure 90 percent of the time, he’s going to a restaurant that’s got something good for you.”
For all that Jaime sounded and looked exasperated, it was obvious that he also took good care of himself.
“So, Raven doesn’t drink?” Not that one’s looks should cause anyone to assume anything, but if Dallas had to guess, he’d have assumed Raven partied hard.
“Not much.” Jaime took a sip of his wine, closing his eyes in enjoyment. “He doesn’t talk about it often, but it’s not a secret either. Since you work at Idyll Fling, I’m actually surprised you haven’t heard about it already. Raven used to own a motorcycle. A drunk driver clipped him, and his recovery… took a while. He gets squirrelly—and rightly so—when people drink anything and drive.”
Dallas narrowed his eyes. As an EMT, it made sense that Jaime didn’t believe in drinking and driving, but… “And you’re here, hiding your wine drinking… why?”
Jaime laughed, a deep laugh that crinkled the corners of his eyes. He’d be a great catch for someone.
“I’m not hiding it, exactly. But neither am I driving anywhere tonight. I’m going to crash at Raven’s condo, which is walking distance from here, assuming I don’t….” Dallas hadn’t known Jaime long, but he’d had an air of self-assurance, an ingrained sense of his own self-worth. That alone had made Jaime incredibly attractive, over and above the sexy Latino packaging. For the first time, that self-assurance vanished.
Whatever was coming next had to be the whole point of this predinner drink.
“So, I’m assuming, from a number of little clues, that there is no intention of making this a real date, right?”