by Jay Hogan
Michael paused and waited for Josh to pull away, but instead he tugged Michael hard against his chest and started up that whole rocking thing again. Goddammit. The guy was the definition of a sweetheart and probably wanted to save Michael from himself, just like Simon. But fuck if it didn’t just feel so insanely good, and with that he buried his face in the man’s neck instead and let his pain drift.
“You’re a good man, Michael Oliver,” Josh breathed the words softly into his ear. “None of us get it perfect or even get close 99 percent of the time. Do I think you were an arsehole to Simon? Probably, yes. Do I understand why you did it? I think so. You were hurting bad and swimming in the crazy pool, trying to deal. There wasn’t much chance you were going to get anything right from there.”
Michael gave the barest of nods. Josh was taking things way too easy on him. Michael appreciated it but knew the truth was much harsher.
“So, yeah, you fucked up,” Josh continued. “But it shouldn’t define you. I wish you could see what I see. A strong, sexy, crazy-smart, and talented guy who wears snark like fucking armour to hide something special on the inside.”
Yep, another would-be saviour. The man was certifiably insane if that’s what he saw. “Well, I’ll trust you to keep those misguided insights a secret,” he joked weakly. “Wouldn’t do to have my man whore rep dented in any way, yeah?”
Josh chuckled. “Okay, pretty boy. You got it. But don’t think I didn’t hear that bit about me being a wrench in your thinking.”
Michael buried his face in Josh’s shoulder. “Oh God. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. I just… well, right now I’m a bit confused… about us… but I guess you got that bit, huh? I, um… I just don’t know what I feel about you anymore, just that this thing between us, it’s getting to be—”
“More than just fuck buddies?” Josh pulled Michael’s head back and looked deeply into his eyes. “Damn right it’s confusing. I get it, Michael. I’m right there too. I just… don’t know quite what we should do about it. Not to mention you don’t technically even live in New Zealand. What happens when your time’s up?”
Michael breathed a sigh of relief. “Me neither. So, it’s not just me, then?”
Josh kissed the tip of his nose. “No. It’s not just you. But… can we take it one day at a time? I have Sasha to think about and… I don’t want to leap into anything heavier until I’m—we’re sure.”
Michael pressed a soft kiss to Josh’s lips. “You read my mind. Knowing we’re both flailing around but on the same page is enough for now.”
MICHAEL WOKE a few degrees short of self-combustion from the inferno of flesh glued to his back along with a serious hard-on pressed tight to his ass. He glanced at the clock: 7:00 a.m. Five hours’ sleep. Not too bad considering a nightmare usually put paid to any further rest, period. Josh had indeed summoned those elusive sleep bunnies as promised.
He smiled to himself. The man was an idiot in the best possible way. Zen sex. Who knew? And Michael had every intention of copyrighting it, play by play. Fucking breathtaking. Best part? Zero urge for a glass of Jack to deal with the nightmare.
Josh shuffled behind him, nudging Michael’s crease once again with that gorgeous thick cock, although the drone of soft snores pointed to him being far from awake. Michael wondered what was going through that pretty, sleeping head, hopefully the same thing that currently had Michael’s cock twitching, half-hard against his thigh.
Josh’s bedroom had come as somewhat of a surprise. It was nicely decorated in a shabby chic beach theme. Soft blue and brown furnishings, driftwood-framed family photos, a soft cream linen duvet, and enough distressed wood to keep the feel masculine. Paperbacks were stacked in crooked piles on the whitewashed bedside tables, and floor-to-ceiling wardrobe mirror doors stole miles of light from the outside, keeping the interior bright and fresh. The whole room felt fresh and inviting, as if its occupant wasn’t enough of a dynamite draw all on his own.
It had been a crazy-ass twenty-four hours, including some downright freaky and inexplicable oversharing on his part. Jesus Christ. And yet, after everything, Josh apparently still wanted Michael in his bed. Michael shouldn’t feel so dopey happy about that, but that train had already left the station. God, had he only known the man a couple of weeks? It was insane.
Not to mention Michael wasn’t entirely sure what they were anymore. Not just fuck buddies, apparently. But not quite boyfriends either. Taking it slow. That part he got. Michael had a bagload of fuck-up potential left, and no right to lay it at Josh and Sasha’s door. Even he knew he was a piss-poor bet. Taking it slow was the only way to go. If he were Josh’s friend, he’d be advising him to make it glacial pace. There were no guarantees, and Michael still wasn’t sure exactly how much more he wanted with Josh, only that he did want… more. But then there was Sasha to consider. He couldn’t afford to play around with anyone’s feelings here.
Michael reminded himself that he’d enjoyed his life before Josh. Hadn’t he? He’d savoured the excitement of casual sex, the chase, the high, the walk away? No strings, no deep chats, no responsibility. Pump and dump had a lot going for it. If things fell through with Josh, going back to that wouldn’t be so bad, would it?
Josh’s lashes fluttered against Michael’s shoulder and a set of lips pressed against his neck. “Morning, gorgeous.”
Michael shivered despite himself, his cock leaping to attention. Yeah, right. Not in a million years.
JOSH GLANCED at the clock over Michael’s shoulder: 7:20. He was kind of surprised to find Michael still in his arms, expecting the man to have hotfooted it out of there before dawn after those middle-of-the-night confessions. Not Michael’s usual MO, and Josh felt some pride that Michael had trusted him enough to let him in on what must have been a really shitty, low point in his life.
It explained a great deal about the confusing man. The girl’s death was one of those crappy, fucked-up life shit-fests that you couldn’t plan for or predict your reaction to. There was nothing Michael had to blame himself for as far as Josh could see, but that often meant crap in reality, and Josh knew that first-hand.
He pulled Michael hard against his chest, resting his chin on his shoulder. The wriggle back on his groin confirmed the man was awake and interested. Josh smiled but that wasn’t what this was about, yet.
“About a year ago we had a meth house to clear, a P factory on the North Shore,” he began. Michael turned his head slightly to indicate he was listening. “A couple of dog teams were tasked to help, we were one. The wife of one of the two cooks turned them in, pissed about her husband cheating on her. It was a good bust, a huge production. Slowed the market a fair bit, for a while.
“Anyway, when we landed, the other team caught one of the cooks making a break and set about chasing the runner down. It wasn’t the husband of the informant, even though his car was parked in the driveway. So while the other team was off, Paris and I swept the place, three times, top to bottom. We found no trace of the second cook, the husband, the one who owned the car. In the end we called it a miss and settled for what we had.
“Later that evening the missing cook/husband paid a visit to his wife and shot her and her two-year-old daughter as they watched television. The kid wasn’t his. We finally caught him attempting to hightail it to Australia. He told us he’d been in the house the day we searched, in a ceiling cutout above the kitchen. I’d missed him, and two innocent people died because of it.”
Michael twisted in his arms and kissed him gently on the lips.
“Shit, wolf-man. Sometimes the universe is just such a fucking bitch, isn’t it? I’d say you’re mad to let something like that get to you because you did your best, but I’m no poster boy for that advice, as you know. Which I’m guessing is why you told me.”
Michael snuggled in, and Josh buried his lips in his hair. He smelled of cologne, last night’s pizza, and sex. Josh grinned. Hell, he could’ve smelled of old tractor tyres and Josh wouldn’t have given a shit.
>
“You okay, about last night,” he said. “What we talked about?”
Michael nodded. “Yeah. You?”
“Fine.”
Michael shifted and blazed a smouldering look Josh’s way. “So, awkward conversation done with, I’d offer to take that sweet hard-on of yours currently banging away on my thigh and show it a place to call home,” he teased, “but three times in twelve hours might be pushing it a bit if I intend to walk sometime in the next year.”
Josh laughed. “Jesus, I’m glad you said it. I thought I’d have to lie back and think of England to avoid losing my man card. I’m sure as hell not twenty any longer.”
Michael rolled his eyes. “Tell me about it. So, how about I race you to the shower instead. Winner gets to top next time round.”
“You’re on.” Josh leapt out of bed and they fought their way to the en suite, elbows juggling.
KATIE RETURNED during breakfast cleanup, making no attempt to hide her surprise at finding Michael looking very much at home in Josh’s kitchen. Josh knew she’d be fair chomping at the bit for details once they were alone. As it was, she spent a few seconds running her narrowed gaze back and forth between the two men before planting herself at the table.
“So, you two, here together,” she said.
Michael smiled, gesturing for Josh to take point. Josh sent him a glare. “Yep.”
Silence.
“That’s all?” she pressed.
“Let me think. Ah, yes, yes, it is.” He sent her a cheeky grin. “How was your night, sis? Been a while since you did the walk of shame.”
The deep red blush that flew from Katie’s neck to her forehead surprised the hell out of him. Oh, well… damn. He’d really only said it as a joke. Katie hadn’t had a serious guy in a while and his sister was no one-night stand.
“Stop that,” she warned. “I know what you’re doing. Two can play at that game.”
“Have at it, sis.”
“It’ll keep,” she answered with a wicked smile and then added, “You’re an evil son of a bitch, Josh Dudley Rawlins.”
A snort of laughter broke from the other side of the kitchen, followed by choking coughs.
Josh scowled at Katie. “Bitch.”
Her eyes went all wide and innocent. “Oh, sorry. You hadn’t mentioned your middle name?”
Michael appeared beside him, a Cheshire grin plastered across his face. “Dudley, huh?”
Katie burst out laughing, and Michael kept up with that maddening grin.
Josh drilled him with a glare. “It’s a family name, and Oliver, I swear, if you ever call me that, I will personally see to it that your balls are fed to the sharks, still attached.”
Michael pouted and leaned in to place a peck on Josh’s cheek. “As if I would do something like that.”
Josh rolled his eyes but couldn’t keep his lips from quirking up. “As if.”
Michael held his gaze and bit his lower lip, something that never failed to do funny things to Josh’s insides, and then he turned to Katie. “Hey, lovely lady,” he said. “Thanks for letting me stay at your house, but I won’t be putting you out any longer. Mark’s given me the all-clear to head back to my apartment, so I’ll just grab my stuff and be out of your hair.”
Josh frowned. “You talked to Mark?”
“He called while you were out back with Paris. Seemed to think it’s safe enough. The new locks and security system are in place and apparently word of the ID washout has spread well enough for the heat to be off me. Makes no sense for them to risk another attack for nothing. He just told me to be careful. I told him it was my middle name.”
Josh rolled his eyes.
Michael ruffled Katie’s hair. “I’ll throw those pesky sheets in the washing machine for you before I go.”
She slapped his butt. “Make sure you do. I don’t want any of those gay-boy cooties hanging around.”
“God, no!” He saluted her and headed to the back door, nudging Josh as he passed. “I’ll see you in an hour, at practice.” He ghosted his lips across Josh’s and headed out, leaving Josh craving more.
Katie punched Josh on the arm as she made her way to the refrigerator. “We’re so gonna have that talk.”
He sighed. Shit.
JOSH FOUND time to corner Mark at softball practice and check the detective’s take on Michael returning to his apartment, not that he didn’t trust Michael, but he suspected he might be a bit of a maverick.
Mark reassured him. “Our informant got close to that kid, Bradley Kennan, the driver of the car. Kid’s a slim spit away from taking an all-expenses-paid trip to Paremoremo Prison. A nice-looking, skinny little fucker like that wouldn’t last half a day in there before being farmed out to some high-ranking gangbanger. Didn’t take much pressure to get him to spread the word, and it seems the heat is off your man, for now at least.”
“He’s not my man.”
Mark stared at him. “Yeah, right. And I don’t wish Tom Daley was in my apartment getting naked for me.”
Josh’s brows peaked in disbelief. “You have a thing for Tom Daley?”
Mark shrugged. “Doesn’t everyone?”
“Ah, no?”
Mark rolled his eyes. “Pfft. And you call yourself gay.”
Josh shook his head. “You are so full of shit.”
The detective hauled Josh onto the field and dumped him at first base. “Come on,” he muttered. “You gotta admit, the guy’s freaking cute.”
Josh couldn’t contain his laughter any longer, earning himself Mark’s middle finger. He stayed afterwards for a beer with the team, careful to keep a bit of distance between Michael and himself. Wouldn’t do to be chubbing up randomly every time he so much looked his way. Not that Michael was helping any. Every time Josh caught his eye, the man sent enough heat his way to power a small Alaskan town.
After one beer, he headed out to collect Sasha from her grandparents, and that’s when Josh’s day went to shit.
THE PHONE call he’d received the previous evening had been from a very upset Sasha. So when Josh arrived to pick his daughter up, he sent her ahead to the car so he could have a little chat with his parents, alone. The issue prompting Sasha’s call had concerned a comment from Josh’s parents about him dating, not that Josh was. But it had stemmed from the family background interview and Sasha mentioning she wanted Josh to fall in love and get married like everyone else.
His parents had immediately scoffed at the idea, no surprise there. The words “unnatural” and “gay nonsense” had then entered the conversation, goddammit, and of course, his daughter wasn’t about to let that one go. Half of him swelled with pride at her ballsy defence of him, but the other, exhausted half just wished she’d let it go. He’d calmed her down during the call, but it wasn’t something he could ignore, hence the chat. Just what he needed.
What had been said was inexcusable and wasn’t up for discussion as far as Josh was concerned, and in as many words, he told them so. They either stopped with the derogatory gay comments or they wouldn’t see Sasha at all, unless he was present. It went down as expected, like a fucking lead balloon.
They argued the right of any grandparent to “correct” any shortcomings in the parenting of their grandchildren, including, in their view, the ridiculous notion of homosexuality being in any way “normal.” It was a lifestyle choice, no different than if being a “hippie or druggie.” The conversation went downhill from there.
The comparison was so irrational and bizarre that it left Josh momentarily speechless and only served to highlight just how far his parents were from any real progress on the issue. He rallied for a bit, trading blow for hurtful blow, but then came to his senses. There really was nothing more he could do other than make good on his threat.
His parents seemed to sense they’d maybe gone too far and attempted to mollify him toward the end, agreeing to avoid any future discussions with Sasha on the “gay issue,” as they called it. Not that their acquiescence implied any approval, they w
ere quick to add. Whatever.
Josh was just happy the whole thing could be shelved for another day, although noting his daughter’s rigid posture and barely contained fury on the drive home, he knew Sasha’s patience with his parents’ bigotry had worn transparently thin. And who could blame her?
When Michael called in as promised later that afternoon, Josh had been glad for the distraction. Sasha had beaten him to the door, greeting the man like a long-lost friend before dragging him into her bedroom for a whirlwind indoctrination into an eleven-year-old girl’s terrifying world of books, toys, reality shows, and netball. Josh didn’t even try to intervene. The doc was on his own, sink or swim.
Thirty minutes later, the poor man reappeared holding Sasha’s hand and wearing a somewhat bemused expression. The two of them commandeered the couch, chatted loudly and animatedly about the latest Star Trek movie, the merits of buttered popcorn over salted or, good God, sugared, and whether the Sony PlayStation was better than Xbox. Observing them from the kitchen, Josh couldn’t help the tug at his heart. It was reminiscent of the banter Sasha used to have with Jase, something she must have missed when the man left.
They’d shared toasted sandwiches for dinner, followed by a rowdy game of Monopoly, won by his daughter in what Josh deemed to be blatant disregard of the spirit of the game. She and Michael had teamed up in a successful partnership to bankrupt him and stop him from winning.
Still, the doctor learned a valuable lesson regarding the preteen female mind in the process. Namely, that they were cunning as a fox with the charm of a siren and the determination of a badger. They could smell blood in the water at a distance of light years and had an uncanny ability to home in on any weakness in their opponents with ruthless precision.