On Duty

by A. R. Barley

  “Last night was...”

  “Amazing.” Alex’s hands traced Troy’s skin, leaving skid marks in the suds and making his dick wave a greeting.

  “Damn straight.” Troy grinned. He didn’t know what he’d been so worried about. Connie was right. They’d been practically dating already. With the addition of sex, it only made sense to define their relationship.

  “That’s why I think we should be friends with benefits.”

  Something cracked inside him. His skin felt numb to the harsh water. Shampoo dripped into one eye. “Friends with benefits?” he echoed.

  “Roommates with benefits?” Skin puckered around Alex’s eyes. “What did you call it with Ian?”

  “We didn’t—” Troy swallowed hard. “We were friends, and then we were sleeping together. We never really gave it a name.” He’d just assumed that adding sex to their relationship meant it was something more. He wasn’t going to make the same mistake with Alex. “I don’t think we should be friends with benefits.”

  “Guess you were only looking for a one-night stand after all.”

  Forget being sneaky. Troy reached down to grip Alex’s chin. He’d never had a problem charging into the middle of the action before, whether he was facing enemy combatants or an out-of-control warehouse fire. Why was talking about his feelings so damn hard? “I’m not a benefit. I’m the main attraction.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I don’t want to be the guy you only fuck when you don’t have any better options.” Troy crossed his fingers for luck. “If we’re going to do this, it’s a relationship.”

  Alex’s jaw fell open. “Seriously?”

  “Serious as a heart attack.” Troy’s hand was cramping, and Alex hadn’t lunged for the door. He uncrossed his fingers. “You going to say something?”

  “I can’t. You know I can’t.”

  “I don’t need a commitment right now.” Troy swallowed, hard. His stomach churned. He’d spent years dancing around with Ian under the cover of darkness. Part of him still thought he shouldn’t expect any more, but there was something about Alex that made him want to start shopping for matching rocking chairs and cocker spaniels. “Take as much time as you want, but I’m not hiding how I feel.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Alex’s fingers tingled as he jiggled his key in the apartment’s lock. Would Troy be home? “Take as much time as you want.” That’s what Troy had said, but in Alex’s experience people didn’t really mean that. He wanted commitment. He wanted forever. The door swung open.

  “I want to go shopping,” Troy said.

  “Shopping?” Alex’s hands were sweating. Troy was right. It was time the apartment reflected more of his style. “Just paint and pillows, or did you have something special in mind?”

  Troy blinked. “What are you talking about?”

  “The apartment?” Alex frowned. They could use some new pillows, but if it was anything bigger then they’d have to move things around to make room. Hell, he might even have to get rid of something. The thought had his stomach in knots. The apartment might only be four hundred and fifty square feet, but it was his four hundred and fifty square feet. He’d spent every penny he had renovating it into a home.

  One that he’d agreed to share when he invited Troy to move in as a paying roommate.

  And if they weren’t just roommates? If they were sleeping together—or more—Troy needed to know he was welcome.

  No matter how much it hurt.

  “I want to get some new clothes.” Troy tugged at his T-shirt, something plain and cotton that had probably been white when he bought it. “When we dropped off all that stuff with Sammy, it made me think. He looked nice.”

  “My sisters have good taste.”

  “I look like a slob.”

  “Slob’s not the right word.” Alex didn’t have a problem with how Troy dressed. “You just need a little color.”

  “I want your help.” There was a small pause. “I’ll buy dinner afterward. Dumplings from that restaurant you like.”

  “Shopping and dumplings? Be still, my heart.” Alex slid his keys into his pocket and straightened his back. Clothing was definitely something he could help with. They wouldn’t even need to make room for it. Troy’s existing wardrobe only filled up half the storage space built into the base of the daybed. “Did you have anything special in mind? We could go uptown, hit Macy’s. The city is your oyster.”

  “I’ve got a place in mind.” Troy pulled on his plain black peacoat. He looked good, but for the first time Alex noticed the coat’s generic lines and the way it was just a little too big. The fabric was not quite wool. It kept him warm, but it definitely wasn’t a sartorial choice.

  Alex straightened his own coat and tucked his scarlet scarf in tight around his neck. “Let’s go.”

  Troy moved slowly, with purpose, like he was headed out onto enemy terrain. He led the way out of the apartment, down the stairs, and across the street to the small boutique with the elegant window display. He pushed his way through the door with a hitch in his breath. This was important.

  The store was clean and spare. It was the kind of place where they only had a dozen pieces out on display and Troy would need to ask the clerk to pull out stuff in his size. If they even had stuff in his size.

  “Are you sure about this? We can find someplace else. Somewhere—” Alex coughed “—a little less expensive.”

  “I can wear anything I want now.” Troy reached out to touch a T-shirt in one of the racks near the front of the room. The jeweled tones of the combed cotton fabric practically gleamed under the warm lights. “This is what I want.”

  “Okay.” Alex brushed a hand against one of the brightly colored shirts. “We’re going to need someone to help us. I don’t know what they’ll have in an extra large.”

  A bright mohawk appeared from behind a screen. There was a man underneath it, Alex felt sure, but he was too busy staring at the hair to pick out any particular features. It was practically radioactive.

  Mr. Green Hair’s gaze flicked over him before settling on Troy. “You’re going to need an extra extra large. I’m not sure what we’ve got in stock. I’ll have to look in the back.” He took a half step forward. “What were you thinking?”

  “Everything,” Troy said.

  “You’re not getting a new wardrobe in one night,” Alex said. Not in a place where there were no price tags on the merchandise. Shit. This was going to be expensive. “What’s the most important?”

  For a minute it looked like Troy was going to argue. His jaw clenched tight. Then he nodded. “These shirts are nice,” he said. “Maybe a pair of jeans if you’ve got something long enough.”

  Mr. Green Hair nodded. “I can do that.”

  “And the coat in the window. The blue one.”

  “Yes, sir.” The shop clerk grinned and headed for the back of the store.

  “You were lying earlier. You don’t need my help picking anything out.” Alex leaned against the shop wall. The coat was beautiful. It was a peacoat, but that’s where its similarity to the jacket Troy was wearing ended. He’d been lusting after it since it had appeared in the window display two months earlier. Of course, that didn’t mean he’d ever ask to try it on. “Are you sure you can afford this?”

  “Worried about my finances?”

  “You’re the one paying rent.”

  “I’ll be fine.” Troy shrugged. “I haven’t done much in a while—years. Home. Work. The gym.” He sighed. “That’s going to change—I hope—but I’ve got enough for a coat. No matter how much it costs.”

  Forty minutes later Troy’d tried on everything he asked for—and more. The blue jeans hadn’t fit right in the inseam, but he’d finally settled on two T-shirts, a cashmere sweater, and the peacock-blue peacoat. There was a discr
eet rack of underwear near the cash register—boxer briefs in primary colors with contrasting trim. Troy added two pairs to the pile and paid with a swipe of his credit card.

  It was more than rent, but Troy was smiling. Hell, he was laughing.

  “You going to regret this in a few days?” Alex asked.

  “Not a chance in hell.” Troy pulled the new coat on over his muscular arms. The bright blue fabric fit him like a glove, emphasizing his broad shoulders and narrow waist. The rest of the clothes went into a bag. His old coat went into the trash can. He turned around and strutted—just a little. “What do you think?”

  “Good.” It wasn’t just the clothing. Troy was grinning. He looked bright—happy. Something fluttered deep in Alex’s gut. “Really good.” Absolutely freaking gorgeous. “Forget about the dumplings. Let’s go home. I want to take it off.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “You’re late.” Luke was sprawled across one of the firehouse’s big sofas, reading a mystery novel, waiting for a call. Hoyt was sitting across from him eating a bag of chips. Neither of them seemed particularly bothered by Troy’s tardiness. “Better hope the chief didn’t see you come in.”

  “Uh-huh.” Troy poured himself a cup of coffee, took a gulp, and started pacing. The room where the firefighters gathered and relaxed was a good twenty feet across. It took him six long steps to cross the space and turn. Luke didn’t look up from his book.

  At least Hoyt was paying attention.

  Maybe.

  Sometimes it was hard to tell.

  Hoyt frowned. “Nice coat. That new?”

  “Yup.” The wool was thick and prickly—the kind of thing that Troy would have hated as a child—but it would get softer with age. Wear would break down the fibers and grind in the lanolin. In a year or five it would be perfect.

  And there was nothing discreet about it.

  If he was going to be Alex’s boyfriend then he needed to stop being discreet about things. Alex deserved better, and Troy deserved a little color in his life. He might not be ready to paint his toenails green, but he could wear the jacket he liked without looking over his shoulder.

  Luke put down his book. “I talked to my dad last night. He wanted me to ask if you’ve got any updates on finding Sammy a place to stay.”

  “No one’s stepped up,” Troy said.

  Hoyt tossed the empty chip bag in Troy’s direction. The foil package didn’t get far. It floated before hitting the ground. “You could move. Find a two bedroom to share with the kid.”

  “Because two bedrooms are so easy to find.” Troy sighed. Moving might be an option, except...there were all those cream walls with the matching furniture and the renovated kitchen. “I don’t think Alex would move.”

  “Things are getting pretty serious between the two of you?” Luke leaned forward and waggled his eyebrows. “I want details. I’ll tell you about the guy I hooked up with last weekend. He had a tongue ring.”

  “Sweet Bahama mama.” Hoyt stuck his fingers in his ears. “Na-na-na. I can’t hear you.” He didn’t let up until Luke’s mouth was shut. He swallowed hard and dropped his hands. “I’m not interested in hearing about your freaky sex lives.”

  “Nothing freaky about it,” Luke said. “Not unless you count the thing Leo did with the mango.”

  Troy didn’t want to know.

  That was a lie.

  He waited for Luke to keep going.

  Luke didn’t say anything for a long moment, then he chuckled. “You guys—you should see your faces. Really.” His dark eyes danced. “Your turn. You’re sleeping with Alex.”

  How the hell did he know? It had been less than twenty-four hours since the blow job in the living room and then the night together in bed...less than twelve hours since he’d given Alex time to think about it.

  “It’s none of your business.” Troy rubbed at his face. Crud. He needed to think. He needed to prove to Alex that he was going to be there for him, and not because he was jealous of some asshole at a bar.

  More important, he needed to prove to Alex that having a full-time boyfriend wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

  Heavy footsteps sounded on the staircase. Troy ignored it. Men were always moving about during a shift.

  “I like him. I mean, I really like him.”

  The footsteps got closer. “Who do you like?”

  Ian. Damn it. Troy tried to think of something useful to say and failed. He turned slowly.

  Whatever downward spiral his ex-roommate had been in at Smoke & Bullets, he’d pulled himself out of it. He looked good. Really good. His hair had been cut in the last day or so, and...had his shirt been ironed? Ian hadn’t ironed a shirt in his life. Being with Nikita definitely agreed with him.

  “You here to ask us more questions?” Hoyt asked. “Want to know what color underwear we’re wearing?”

  “Sorry if our questions have been intrusive.” It was a rote statement. Ian didn’t give a damn. “We’re closing in on a suspect.”

  “Sometime soon?” Troy asked. “Or are we going to have to deal with a few more warehouse briquettes first?”

  “Soon.” Ian’s gaze swept over him. Lingering just a little too long on his arms? But, no, he was happy with his laundry-doing baby mama. “That’s a nice coat.”

  The knot of tension in Troy’s gut was so familiar, he was thinking about giving it a name: Spot or Duke or Ian. “You don’t think the color’s too loud?”

  Ian shrugged. “I don’t think I get a say.”

  Damn straight. That didn’t stop Troy from slipping off the offending jacket and dropping it on the end of the couch. “Is there a reason you’re here?”

  “My parents called. They’re coming into town next week. They’re going to miss you.”

  “I’ll miss them too.” The Sinclairs were good people. Salt of the earth with an addiction to cruise vacations and tacky souvenirs.

  “They want to meet Nicki. I was hoping you could come—”

  Not a chance in hell. Troy did everything possible to keep his expression neutral. If Ian’s reaction—a quick step back—was any indication, he wasn’t successful. “I’m pretty sure we stopped being friends when you punched Alex in the face.”

  Luke blinked in surprise. “Seriously, Sinclair? You hit a paramedic.”

  Ian flushed. He jammed his hands in his pockets. “You couldn’t keep your mouth shut about that?”

  “I didn’t know it was a secret.” One more lie to add to the ever-expanding pile. The knot in his belly grew. How many lies had he told for Ian over the years? To his friends, their bosses, Ian’s family. It was enough to make him sick.

  They hadn’t been dating.

  They hadn’t been a couple.

  Their relationship had only ever been in Troy’s head and, now that he had a chance at something real, he was still letting Ian screw things up for him. He couldn’t get the image out of his head: Ian standing over Alex with his fist closed, and Troy hadn’t done a damn thing. It had been such a surprise. There’d been no time for him to react, so he’d just stood there like an asshole.

  Damn it. He should have done something.

  It wouldn’t have been discreet, but frankly he didn’t give a damn.

  Not anymore.

  “I should have done this the other night.” Troy’s feet shifted, taking a stance that would have made his drill sergeant proud. His arm hauled back almost of its own accord. He was only going to get one chance at this. He needed to make the most of it. Luckily, muscle memory had already taken over. He put a smooth right cross straight into Ian’s face.

  The sound of cartilage crunching filled the room.

  Ian’s eyes were wide. Blood flowed from his broken nose. He didn’t even make a fist to defend himself.

  Hoyt and Luke we
ren’t as slow. Hoyt grabbed Troy’s arm first with Luke reaching his other side only a second behind. They hauled him backward hard. He didn’t struggle.

  “You’re an idiot,” Hoyt said.

  Luke chuckled. “I love you, man. You’re my hero.”

  “Thanks.” Troy shook his hand. His fingers stung like a son-of-a-bitch. It had still been worth it. He’d accomplished what he wanted.

  Bells sounded in the belly of the firehouse. Troy shifted uneasily in his friends’ grip. “You going to arrest me, Ian?”

  Ian grunted. He’d finally reached up to touch his face. His nose was definitely broken. He’d probably end up with a black eye too. “You going to hit me again?”

  “Not unless you’re asking for it.”

  “Then we’re good.”

  “Time to get to work.”

  They hit the stairs one at a time, racing for the locker room where their gear was stored. Halfway through getting ready, the bells took on another tone. Ambulances were being dispatched at the same time. This was going to be a bad one.

  Troy double-checked his gear to make sure it was secure, and climbed up onto the back of the fire truck. A moment later, Luke stepped up beside him. He was still laughing. “Seriously, man. First the Tarzan routine with Sammy, and then you go all vigilante on Ian Sinclair. You’re my freaking hero.” The truck’s engines roared to life and wheels spun underneath them. The candy apple–red vehicle pulled out onto the street. “I hope it’s not another warehouse.”

  Two quick turns. A left and then a sharp right. Four blocks total and the fire engine squealed to a stop in the middle of a pack of other emergency vehicles.

  Smoke and flames poured into the air overhead, turning the twilight skies a strange mix of lavender and burnt orange.

  It wasn’t coming from a warehouse.

  This time it was an apartment building, twenty stories of warrenlike New York apartments all stacked full of people. Hoses spun off the fire engines. Men and women still dressed in the day’s business suits raced out of the building’s front door while men in yellow uniforms raced inside.