by A. R. Barley
He grabbed his cue and leaned into the pool table. His aim was true, but his hands were shaking. He finished his turn quickly, righting himself as Ian stepped up to the table.
“A boy, huh.” Troy elbowed him in the side. “Lucky you.”
“Can you imagine me with a little girl?” Ian grinned like an idiot. “All that pink and girly shit. At least with a boy I’ll know what goes where.” It wasn’t just the unbuttoned jacket. Ian’s shoes were untidy. His T-shirt was stained. He looked off center. “I stopped by the apartment earlier,” he said, his voice deep and gravelly. “You took all your stuff.”
“You’re the one who gave me five days to get out. I was just following orders.”
“You took the flat screen.”
“I paid for the flat screen.”
“Right.” There were dark circles under his eyes. “Where’s your new place? You never told me where you were moving.”
“Do you really care?”
“Of course I do. Remember that rat hole you stayed at before I was discharged? I needed a tetanus shot just walking through the door.”
Troy grinned. “I liked that place.”
“You have god-awful taste.”
“Yeah, well, I’m staying with Alex. It’s like living in a magazine spread.”
“Alex?” Ian gave Luke and Hoyt a long look, like he was trying to remember if either of them were called Alex. “You mean Blondie?”
“Do I look like a cartoon housewife?” Alex snarled.
It was going to be a long night.
Chapter Eleven
For a dive bar Smoke & Bullets had a surprisingly nice bathroom. The toilets were clean. The lighting was good. It smelled like lavender and lemons. Alex splashed cold water onto his face. Maybe he could stay here. It wasn’t like anyone would notice.
Luke and Hoyt were too busy playing pool—with a hundred-dollar bill wagered on the outcome—and Troy was talking to Ian like nothing had ever happened. It was unbelievable, even if neither of them could mention the wedding or the baby. Troy kept talking about the investigation into the warehouse fire and Ian... Ian kept trying to bring the subject of the conversation back around to Troy.
Asshole.
He was the one who’d kicked Troy out after a major injury. He didn’t get to ask questions or pass judgment. He definitely didn’t get to look at Alex like he was something he’d scrape off the bottom of his shoe.
Time to go back out there. One more whiskey and maybe he wouldn’t mind Ian’s attitude. Whatever Troy’d ordered was good. It wasn’t Lagavulin, but it was a well-aged single malt with an unpronounceable name. It deserved to be savored. He’d downed three glasses in the last hour.
At first the burn in the back of his throat was enough to take the sharp edge off his thoughts and let him enjoy the evening. Then Ian made an inside joke and Troy laughed.
Fuck, it shouldn’t have hurt so much.
Troy and Alex weren’t dating. They hadn’t even been friends for long, not really.
So why did it feel like he’d been punched in the gut?
The door handle was cool against his palm. He yanked it open, stepped through, and slammed into a wall of cotton-covered muscle. He tilted his head up, and up, and up to where Ian’s lips were twisted into an ugly sneer.
Oh, damn.
“Hello, Blondie.” The detective’s distaste was audible. “Sorry, Alex.” His eyes were glaring. His expression was harsh. “What the fuck are you doing with Troy?”
Oh, yeah, this was not going to be pleasant.
Alex straightened up to his full height. Unfortunately, that was still only five feet nine and a quarter. He’d been short his entire life. It had stopped bothering him years earlier. Mostly.
He shook his head. “You kicked him out on the street—”
“He could have stayed.”
“For five days.” Alex refused to back down. “He had smoke inhalation damage, his stitches were tearing, and you told him he had five days to get out. He needed a place to stay. I’ve got a kick-ass sofa bed.”
Ian didn’t need to know he’d bought it especially for Troy.
“Why do you care anyway?” The floor was sticky under his sneakers as he shifted his weight from foot to foot. All the alcohol meant his head was swimming. The lights behind Ian made it hard to focus. He took a deep breath. “You’re the one who told Troy to leave.”
“Just because we’re not roommates anymore doesn’t mean I don’t care about him. I—” Ian’s voice caught in the back of his throat. He swallowed hard. “Things between us were bad for a long time, years, but Troy’s a stubborn fucker. He gets a thought stuck in his head, and it doesn’t matter how many hints get dropped. It’s like trying to punch your way through a mountain. Sometimes the only option you have left is to throw a damn grenade.”
“A baby is a pretty big grenade.”
“I didn’t want to hurt him. It just happened.” Ian’s shoulders hunched forward. His voice dropped a little lower. “Troy can’t stay with you. You’re—” He waved his hands around vaguely in a way that was probably supposed to mean something but didn’t. “People see you with Troy, they’re going to start getting ideas. They’re going to think things about him that aren’t true.”
“Of course they’re true.”
“And you know that from personal experience?”
Alex gave up on trying to appear taller—it wasn’t going to work—and leaned against the doorjamb. “Careful, Ian. You’re acting like a jealous boyfriend.”
“I’m not gay.”
“You just like having sex with gay men?” He didn’t give Ian time to object or explain. Frankly, he didn’t care. “Where you stick your dick? That’s your business. I don’t care if you’re gay, straight, or have a fetish for double-jointed leprechauns. I’m not in the business of outing assholes, but you’re a liar.”
“I’m not gay. I love Nicki—”
“Even worse, you made Troy lie too.”
Ian’s eyes narrowed. His teeth gleamed in the shadowy light. His expression was savage. “The world’s not all unicorn farts and rainbows. The way we met—sometimes you just need somebody to hold on to. Maybe that’s not someone you ever thought you’d be with, but it’s bright and exciting. It all gets tangled up inside. That’s a chapter of my life I’m putting behind me. It’s called discretion.”
“There’s being discreet, and there’s being a coward.”
“Careful,” Ian growled. “That’s not a line you want to cross.”
Time to shut up. Alex swallowed hard. Had he really just accused a former member of the United States armed forces of cowardice? The air was full of sour beer and sweat. Humidity puddled against the brick walls and brought with it a cool green moss scent.
Ian’s sneer had been replaced by a dark smile. He took a short step forward. It was the same move Troy had pulled earlier, using his bulk to herd him through the bar’s dark interior. Had they learned it in the army? Except with Troy the move had been almost playful. Ian made him wish for witnesses and bulletproof glass.
To hell with it.
“I don’t care what you were going through or how hard it is to talk to the man you’re living with,” Alex said. “You lied. That makes you an asshole.”
“I love my fiancée.”
“Uh-huh, did she know you were sleeping with Troy at the same time? Was it only the two of them?” An awful thought struck him. “Tell me you used condoms.”
There’d been no condoms with Nicki. Safe sex didn’t end in pregnancy and a shotgun wedding, at least not unless something went seriously wrong.
Alex’s hands balled into fists. He’d never gotten in a fight in his life, but at the moment he was feeling pretty homicidal. To hell with Ian.
“Don’t worry about s
omeone putting two and two together to make four,” he warned. “Worry about your next fuckup. We both know it’s going to happen. It’s only a matter of time.”
Cymbals crashed.
Either that or a punch like a mule’s kick landed solidly on the side of Alex’s head. Hell. The force of the blow sent him stumbling backward. His feet came out from underneath him. His ass hit the floor.
Bells rang out.
Lights flickered.
He was drunk and tired and now he had a possible concussion. Fan-freaking-tastic.
“What are you doing?” Troy’s voice echoed in the narrow hallway. A short scuffle sounded out and he shouldered his way past Ian, a crevice like the Grand Canyon on his forehead. His eyes were depressingly sober.
For a moment Alex thought he might side with his former friend. Then a strong hand wrapped tight around his wrist. “Get out of here, Ian, before you do any more damage.”
“That pansy was asking for it—”
The touch was electrifying. Over the past few days he’d touched Troy dozens of times, but Troy had touched him less than half a dozen times.
Troy’s fingers were callused. Had he noticed that before? They were rough from carrying fire hoses and lifting weights in the station gym. His palm was warm.
His grip tightened. Weight shifted. Alex lifted off the ground. Muscles strained. He swayed but made it all the way to his feet.
Troy let go.
Alex’s knees wavered. Without the other man to lean against, he was a hell of a lot less steady. He leaned back and hugged the wall. His eyes flickered shut. He concentrated on his breathing while the two men argued in front of him.
They were really loud.
Not that they seemed to say much. Ian was too busy with his own self-hating delusions. Troy could barely get in a word edgewise other than some generic cursing.
“Look at me,” Troy said. “Come on, Alex, look at me.”
“He needs to get some better insults.” Alex cracked open his eyes. The light had seemed dim before, now it made him squint. Haloes of color radiated out from around Troy’s face. “‘Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries.’”
“Is that original?”
“Monty Python. It’s still better than calling someone an idiot. More creative.”
“‘Your father smelt of elderberries.’” Troy leaned forward to take a better look at the damage. “What the hell were you thinking, talking to Ian like that?”
“You heard?”
“Enough.” There was another touch, a subtle brush of fingertips against his cheek like butterfly wings at the Museum of Natural History. “There’s going to be an early sunrise.”
“I don’t even know what that means.”
“You’re going to have one hell of a shiner.”
“Will I look like a pirate?”
“Not even close.”
Too bad. He’d always wanted to look like a pirate. Johnny Depp not Penzance. He tried to blink away the pain and failed. It was too loud, too crowded.
The little hallway next to the bathroom might be empty, but he could still hear the echoing voices from the bar. Dozens of people were out there all drinking beer and hanging out like nothing had happened.
Most of them were friends of Ian’s.
If he walked back in there would they all want to hit him too?
Alex forced himself to smile. It hurt. “You know, this isn’t the first time I’ve taken a punch. When Connie was four, she had one hell of a left hook.”
“It’s official,” Troy announced. “You’re a badass.”
“That’s all I’m saying.”
“Way better than a pirate.”
The click-clack of pool balls was audible along with the clink of glasses and beer bottles. “Tell me there’s a back way out of this place.” Alex sighed. “It turns out bars really aren’t my thing.”
“I thought we were having a good time.”
“Sure, right up until your ex decided to use me as a punching bag.”
“Ian’s a jerk.” Troy reached out to grab Alex’s hand, tugging him forward. He didn’t release his grip when Alex started moving. Their fingers threaded together. “You’re going to need an icepack for your face. You want to get some dinner first or go straight home?”
“You’re not staying?”
“Like I said earlier, I’m here to get a drink with friends.” His grip tightened, the motion sending a rush of heat through Alex’s body. “You’re my friend.” He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and started texting. It took Alex a few seconds to focus on the glowing words.
I’m out of here.
There was a slight pause then a throbbing ellipsis. Luke answered: Is Alex staying?
Troy dumped the phone in his pocket without answering. “Let’s go home.” He threaded an arm beneath Alex’s shoulder and helped him down the hallway. The difference in their heights made the angle awkward but Alex settled into the bulky warmth like he belonged.
At the end of the hallway was a door he hadn’t noticed. In his defense, the ugly beige color blended with everything else. Troy elbowed the metal push bar with his free arm, and it swung out on the hinges.
The air outside the bar was crisp and cold. The sky was black. How long had they been inside? Stars twinkled somewhere overhead, but the lights made them hard to see. A couple of model types in short skirts strutted past. Troy didn’t look at them either. A homeless man in army greens was sitting with his back to the wall of a nearby tenement.
New York City in all its glory.
The cool air and the noise from the street cut through the alcohol-soaked batting wrapped around Alex’s head. Unfortunately, it didn’t help with the stinging pain. He reached up to rub at his cheek. “You really let that guy fuck you?”
“Not everything’s about sex.”
“A lot of things are about sex.”
“We were friends before we ever went to bed.”
“Friends?” Alex couldn’t see it. Troy was smart, funny, and loyal to a fault. He’d seen hard things in his life, but nothing could change his underlying personality. Happy. From what Alex had seen around the firehouse, he was always happy, whether he was trading shifts so another firefighter could catch his kid’s T-ball game or settling in on the couch to read a borrowed mystery novel. “Why?”
“It was the army. In the sandbox the guy next to you is your best buddy—or else you’re dead.”
And that was something Alex really didn’t want to think about: Troy dying somewhere harsh and alone without any loved ones to keep him company. He hurried to take a breath, dragging the sour stench of New York City down into his lungs to distract him from the sudden panic. “You don’t have anything in common.”
“Sure we do.”
“Liking to take it up the ass doesn’t count.”
Troy’s snort was sharp and immediate. Like his sexual relationship with Ian had never been that egalitarian.
“Makes sense,” Alex said. “Any guy who hates ‘the gay’ as much as Ian isn’t going to let himself get fucked.”
Of course, that meant Troy was the bottom in their relationship.
Now Alex couldn’t get the thought out of his head. Troy sprawled out on his bed, his fingers slick with lube, stretched and ready. Asking for it. No, begging. When it came to sex, Alex was open to pretty much anything—in a Tab A-Slot B world, he didn’t see the point to limiting himself to being either a tab or a slot—but he’d always imagined Troy on top, using all those pretty muscles to pin him to the bed while he eased into him inch by hard inch.
Now, he had a whole lot more to fantasize about.
Feet pounded against hard cement. They passed the subway entrance but didn’t even slow down. That was okay. It was a beautiful
night and his apartment was only a twenty-minute walk away.
Forget discretion. Alex wanted details. “Tell me he at least gave head.”
Troy refused to meet his eyes. “Ian liked things a certain way. Lots of toys. Hand jobs. He’s very tactile. He likes touching everything.”
So Ian was a love god. Alex’s nostrils flared. Maybe he didn’t have a bucket full of toys at home, but he had plenty of other talents. He might not give the best blow job in New York City, but he was in the top ten. Definitely better than some cop with a truncheon up his ass. “Have you ever had a decent blow job?”
“I’ve had a blow job.”
That really didn’t answer the question.
Alex’s head swam. From the alcohol he’d imbibed earlier or the heat from Troy’s body? It didn’t really matter. Either way, he was caught in the undertow. A sharp current tugging him downward onto his knees.
No. They weren’t dating. They weren’t lovers. He wasn’t going to be part of Troy’s rebound, no matter how much he wanted to open the other man’s zipper like a kid with an oversized present on Christmas morning. With that done it would be the work of the moment to tug Troy’s boxers down, and then he could tongue his way across all that golden skin...
Not going to happen.
A blow job was out of the question, but they could still have fun. “Was he a good kisser?”
That same little shrug and the downcast eyes. “It’s not like I have a lot to compare it with.”
Like hell. Alex stopped short. “He’s the only guy you’ve ever kissed? What about the guy in the Philippines?” Unacceptable. He quickstepped around so they were face to face. “We’re not dating.” That needed to be clear. “We’re not even friends with benefits, but I refuse to let that jerk face be the only guy you’ve ever kissed.”
Alex shoved himself up onto his tiptoes, fisted his hands in Troy’s T-shirt, and slammed their mouths together. Heat seared him from the inside out. Troy tasted like whiskey and water. His lips were giving without being soft. His heartbeat was like a jackhammer, thump-thump-thumping away hard enough for Alex to feel.