He frowned, thinking of who had keys to his studio.
Ethan, of course, since they had keys to each other’s places for emergencies and if one of them was out of town.
And…Damien.
“Ah, you’re done for the day. That’s good. We need to talk.” Damien walked through the bottom half of the studio and looked up, grinning as if he were in his element and didn’t have a care in the world. As if he were only there to be helpful. But that was never the case. Damien was good at his job because he always got what he wanted. And Lincoln didn’t always mind that because the other man wasn’t cruel about it. But he sure as hell wasn’t in the mood for whatever Damien had to say at the moment.
Lincoln sighed and wiped his hands on his towel before walking toward Damien. “I thought the key was only for emergencies,” he said, a little annoyed. What if he’d actually been working? Someone opening the door like that would have thrown him right off track.
And while Ethan had a key, he never used it. He always let Lincoln know when he was coming by, sending a text so it wouldn’t bother Lincoln until he saw it.
They had rules, and when you worked out of a studio in your home, boundaries were important.
That wasn’t something that Damien understood, though.
And while he might be Lincoln’s agent, might’ve helped him get to where he was today, it was still really annoying.
The fact that Lincoln had slept with Damien a few years ago didn’t help. Things had gotten weird. Lincoln had thought that things were fine. That they had calmed down. But they still seemed a little odd.
Or maybe that was just him.
“The key?” Lincoln prompted again.
Damien waved that off. “Oh, it’s just me. I’m practically family.” He winked. “Okay, not too much like family. Don’t want to get too Southern, if you know what I mean.”
Lincoln didn’t say anything. There really wasn’t anything to say. Damien did what he wanted to, said whatever he liked, even if it was cruel and derogatory. But he knew the art business inside and out—and he knew Lincoln’s work. So, it felt like, sometimes, Lincoln had to make a deal with the devil. And Damien really wasn’t that bad.
Even though he shared a name with the little Antichrist from that movie.
Something that Ethan mentioned often.
Lincoln really needed to get Ethan out of his head.
“So, what are you working on?” Damien asked.
Lincoln was grateful that he had closed off a section of his studio so nobody could simply walk through. He had rules about his art, something that Damien usually followed: no one saw it until he was ready. But Damien always asked anyway.
Always.
“Work. As you know.”
Damien just frowned. “Okay, if you say so. Now, I know you went to that art show a few months ago with your little friend, but you have something coming up soon. You’re going to need to have someone on your arm that people want to talk about.”
Lincoln pinched the bridge of his nose. He hated this. Hated that Damien called Ethan his little friend.
Lincoln growled about it. He so didn’t want to get in the middle of this. So, he wasn’t going to.
Fuck it all.
“You know what, yes, I went to the art show. It was nice, but I don’t really need to go to another one. Not until I’m ready for my next show. And that’s not for a bit yet.”
Or until he felt like it. He had some pieces ready, but he wanted to get this commission done first. He just needed to get Ethan off his mind so he could concentrate. But that wasn’t easy when people kept bringing him up.
Damien just rolled his eyes and went to the fridge to get out a sparkling water for himself. He didn’t even bother to ask or offer Lincoln one. Not that he wanted one, but still…Damien just made himself at home wherever he went.
Which was never a good thing.
“Well, I signed you up for one. You have to go, or it’ll make you look bad.”
Considering that he hadn’t been the one to book it, he wasn’t sure how that was even an issue. Jesus Christ, he was already tired, and it wasn’t even noon yet.
The more he thought about it, though, he usually had a good time at those things, even if he didn’t like being forced to go. And he could celebrate and aid other artists, and that usually made up for any annoyances that came with Damien’s pushing. I love art, he reminded himself.
“Fine, but I’m bringing Ethan.”
Damien scowled, making his all-too-pretty face look harsh. “The man knows nothing about art. I don’t know why you force him into it. He doesn’t have any fun, and it makes you look bad.”
Again with the looking bad. “Who cares what other people think? And he has fun, and I have fun when he’s there. He’s been my best friend forever. Don’t start.”
Damien set down his sparkling water and held up his hands. “I’m not starting anything. I’m just saying what everybody else thinks. You need to dump that little guy.”
Jesus fucking Christ. Little guy?
“We’re friends, Damien. And, besides, you really don’t have a say. You’re my agent, nothing more.”
“I was more once.”
“That’s it. I’m done. I have things to do. Is there something else you wanted?”
“Just to tell you about the upcoming show and to check in as always. No need to get angry. Now, you know your deadline’s coming up. So, no pressure but…pressure.” He laughed as he said it, and Lincoln’s pulse began to throb in his temples.
Dear God, he was never going to be able to finish this project, and even if he did, he might end up strangling Damien or some random passerby in the process. He was tired, annoyed, and had no idea what he was going to do about this art piece—or Ethan, come to think of it.
“I need to get back to it. I’ll help you find the door.”
Damien narrowed his eyes at the slight insult, but Lincoln really didn’t give a flying fuck right then. He was tired and really just wanted Damien out of his apartment.
Maybe he should change the locks.
With that errant thought, he smiled. Damien saw the grin, and heat filled the other man’s eyes. He leaned forward, but Lincoln stepped back, giving the other man a tight nod.
“Talk to you later.”
“I’m sure you will,” Damien purred before sauntering out. Sauntering. How the man did it so well, Lincoln would never know, but…seriously. Lincoln grabbed his stuff and quickly sent off a text to Ethan, letting him know he was on his way over.
Ethan: Good. I just finished up some paperwork at home and was about to put on the game.
Lincoln: Yeah?
Ethan: Yep, some form of sports ball is on.
Lincoln: You like all sports, stop acting like an idiot.
Ethan: Well, you like me that way.
He did. And that was the problem.
He sighed and then got into his car to head over to Ethan’s. Maybe if he just relaxed a bit, he’d be able to focus on work. Because forcing himself to work wasn’t working at all.
He pulled into Ethan’s driveway and got out, laughing at the absurdity of what Ethan wore when his best friend walked out to the porch to meet him.
He snorted, covering his eyes as he made his way toward Ethan. “How are you an adult?” Lincoln asked, shaking his head as he walked past Ethan.
He had on SpongeBob pajama pants with a white tank and a Denver Broncos jersey over it, but the jersey was so big, he could see the straps of the tank. He looked like a mashup of orange and blue and yellow, and it seriously burned Lincoln’s corneas.
“It’s laundry day.”
“You can’t have so much laundry that you’re wearing that. And where the hell did you get SpongeBob pajamas that fit you?”
“Bristol. She’s the sister that keeps on giving. And, don’t worry, I was going to change. You just got here faster than I figured.”
“Well, at least you look comfy,” Lincoln grumbled.
“And you
look like you’ve got a stick up your ass. You doing okay?”
“I’m fine. Just art stuff.”
“You want to talk about it?”
The fact that Ethan could ask that, even if he didn’t know anything about what Lincoln was talking about and was willing to just listen and try to help meant everything. Lincoln hated the fact that he wanted more from his best friend. Why couldn’t this be good enough?
It needed to be enough.
“I’m going to go change real quick. There’s beer in the fridge, although I don’t know if it’s too early for that or not.”
“Well, it’s college football day. I think you’re allowed to start drinking at noon. And, hey, look, it’s noon now.”
“College football.” He snapped his fingers, grinning. “I knew I was wearing the wrong jersey.”
“As I said before, you’re an idiot. Go change. You’re hurting my eyes. Maybe put on the right jersey since I know you own that, too.”
“I may be an idiot, but you love me,” Ethan said. Both of them just looked at each other, Ethan going a little pale, even as Lincoln’s heart raced.
Well, this wasn’t awkward at all. Though he didn’t know why it seemed strange for Ethan. It shouldn’t be. It was just him. Right?
“Sure. Even with all of…whatever the hell you’re wearing.” He gestured to Ethan’s ensemble.
“I’ll go change.”
“Thank God.”
And then Lincoln turned and went to get two beers and two of the reusable water bottles that Ethan kept in the fridge.
They’d watch football, talk about nothing, and Lincoln would figure out his life.
Because he had to.
“So, what do you think Holland’s up to?” Ethan asked, zipping up his jeans. He’d kept the white tank on, but now he was wearing jeans that molded to his ass perfectly with it.
Dear God, how the hell did the man do it? He’d looked like a deranged toddler before, and now, he looked sexy as hell.
Lincoln was going to lose his damn mind because of his best friend.
“Eyes up here, bro,” Ethan said, laughing. Lincoln blushed.
“Sorry, I was just…you know, confused without the color.”
“Sure.”
“If I wanted to look at your junk, I would,” Lincoln said, trying to cover.
Ethan’s brows rose. “Good to know.”
“Anyway, Holland. What do you think is up with her?”
“You texted her yesterday, didn’t you? What did she say?”
It had been a few months since Lincoln had met Holland Yeaton. A few months where she tried to figure out her new life. And Lincoln was glad for it. He liked her. Really liked her.
And if he were honest with himself, if she hadn’t been in a fucking wedding dress on her wedding day, drinking wine out of a paper bag in the park, he probably would’ve asked her out. And in the months since, he knew she’d needed time. And frankly, so did he.
“Nothing,” Ethan said quickly, and Lincoln’s brows rose.
“You’ve been talking about her often. You got a crush?” Lincoln asked, only partially joking.
“Maybe. She’s nice. And you know she’s single now.” Ethan groaned. “Okay, rephrase that in a way that doesn’t make me sound like a giant douche.”
“Well, considering I was thinking that if she hadn’t been in a wedding dress that day, I might have asked her out, I think we’re both douches right about now.”
“Oh. That’s weird. Have we ever liked the same girl before?”
“Maybe. But we have different tastes.”
“A little. Though I don’t think our types are anything concrete. Mostly we both just want a non-horrible person. That’s a good place to start. And Holland seems to fit that. But I don’t know if she’s really ready to date.”
“That’s what I was thinking, too. Though she has moved on, at least in terms of getting her own place and all.”
“Right, and even though we both offered to help her move in, she refused.”
“Well, there is that whole idea of two random male strangers figuring out exactly where you live.”
“We aren’t strangers anymore. And weren’t even really then at that point.” Ethan paused.
“Think we should invite her over for game night or something? You know, as friends.”
“Just friends,” Lincoln replied, not knowing what else to say.
“Well, we don’t know if she’s ready for more, and the number one rule between us has always been: never let anyone get between us. Right? So, if we both have a thing for her, then we should both stand aside.”
“That is a good rule, but I don’t know if we’ve ever used it.”
They each took a breath, staring at one another, and he wasn’t sure what to think, what to say.
There was so much silence then that it hurt. Lincoln cleared his throat and began again. “Let’s invite her over. She can kick your ass in Mario Kart.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“True. But she should be used to it by now. I mean, she’s met you more than once so…”
He rolled his eyes. “Okay, I’ll invite her over. I think she could use some friends. We don’t need to be lecturers.”
“We’re not lecturers. Of course, that’s probably what a lecturer says.”
“True enough. Plus, even if we get beyond the fact that we both think she’s hot, it’s nice to have other friends. You know?”
“She probably needs to smile. Or needs to laugh her ass off as she watches you try to play.”
“I’m going to get you for that. But we’ll invite her over. And then we’ll be friends. You can never have too many friends. Friends are good.”
“Friends are good.”
As Ethan walked away to pick up his phone, Lincoln hated that he hadn’t been talking about only Holland just then.
Because he was in love with his best friend, and the girl Lincoln had been thinking about was also on his best friend’s mind.
No wonder he couldn’t create anything. His mind was too fucked up. Maybe beyond redemption.
Chapter 4
Tonight was probably a bad idea, but lately, Ethan felt as if he were full of them. And not just when it came to personal decisions like asking Holland over for game night. He’d likely not only suck donkey balls in front of her game-wise, but he’d also cock-blocked Lincoln a bit.
He’d thought he knew his best friend so well. But he’d clearly missed the fact that Lincoln had a thing for Holland just like he did. But maybe that’s why he had missed it. Ethan had his own feelings for Lincoln…and Holland. And wasn’t that just great?
Hell, tonight was a recipe for disaster, but it wasn’t like he could back out now.
He wasn’t sure he wanted to.
But none of that would matter if he didn’t get home.
Lincoln was going to kill him.
Flat-out kill him if he didn’t make it on time.
He’d been called into work for a server issue, and even though it was a Sunday, he hadn’t had a choice. So, he’d left Lincoln to set up the house for the evening. He was such an asshole. He didn’t even have flowers or scotch or anything to say he was sorry for not being there when the whole thing had been his idea.
Work had gotten in the way. As soon as he sat down to try and fix something, he’d become engrossed. He’d lost track of time. When he finally looked up, he realized that the sun was setting—and he was so totally screwed.
Ethan tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as he waited at a red light, wishing it would turn green. He had called Lincoln on his way, but he hadn’t answered, and Ethan hoped it was because his friend was just busy with something. Not because he wanted to strangle Ethan.
Okay, maybe not too busy. That meant Lincoln was doing all the work while Ethan was doing nothing.
God, he was such an asshole.
He knew he was a bad friend sometimes, but he figured today might take the cake.
Ethan nee
ded to do better. Seriously.
He pulled into his driveway, thankful that he only saw Lincoln’s car and not another one that could have been Holland’s.
But for all he knew, she could have taken an Uber so she could have a drink. And now he seriously wanted to slap himself.
He did not deserve his best friend. That much was clear. He would just have to make it up to him. Somehow.
Ethan got out of his car and practically ran to his front door, but Lincoln opened it before he even had a chance to get out his keys.
“Hey, nice of you to show up,” Lincoln said, and Ethan groaned.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for it to happen.”
Lincoln just looked at Ethan and then gave him a sad smile before nodding.
“I know you didn’t. Did you finish what you needed to get done at work?”
“I did. And then a couple of other things because I got distracted.”
“You’re the best at what you do, Ethan. They’re lucky to have you.”
Ethan followed Lincoln inside and took his stuff out of his pockets to put in the little bowl by the front door.
“It’s Sunday, though. I shouldn’t have had to work at all. And since my boss was there, also working, I told him I wouldn’t be coming in tomorrow since I put my hours in today.”
“Your boss is pretty cool. As long as you get the work done and put in a certain number of hours, you don’t have to actually be there nine to five during the week. Pretty nifty for a job in science.”
“Nifty. So, if you want to hang out tomorrow, I can make it up to you. Seems I have the day off.”
“Maybe. We’ll see how my brain is working in terms of art.”
“Still having trouble with that painting?” Ethan asked as he went to the fridge and pulled out a beer. And then he looked at the counters and cursed under his breath.
“Jesus Christ. How am I such a horrible person?”
The counters were covered in food, all plated perfectly with a charcuterie board and little appetizers. Lincoln had even set up a warming station. He had everything covered, ready for when Holland and Ethan showed up.
Sated in Ink: A Montgomery Ink: Boulder Novel Page 4