by A J Lange
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Zane waited in the main tent, where artifacts were carefully examined, stored and catalogued before being packed and shipped back to the university. He sat on a bench, turning his find over and over in his hand, comparing it to a large table covered in pottery shards and bits of bone. In contrast, his small vase or urn was remarkable in its intactness. He mused the irony of what Susan labeled ‘a rarity’ being unearthed by a bar fly like himself.
A pair of legs appeared in front of him and Zane started, glancing up to find Gray grinning down at him.
“Professor.” He dropped the pitch of his voice, liking the quick intake of Gray’s breath.
Gray lowered onto the bench, startling a laugh out of Zane when he positioned himself unceremoniously in his lap. Zane’s hands came to rest on his hips, and he pulled him close, holding them together in all the right ways.
Gray dropped his head to tongue at Zane’s throat, hands inching under his t-shirt, fingers brushing his stomach. Zane shivered, rubbing his jaw against Gray’s temple, feeling the smooth muscle of his back flexing, and he hungered for skin on skin. He reached one hand blindly behind himself to set the vase on the bench a safe distance away. Even fuzzed with lust, he could see how dropping Gray’s new relic might kill the mood. And he still hadn’t had that burger; the least he could get was the nooner, and the chances of that were most definitely looking up.
Suddenly, Gray grabbed Zane’s hand, pulling the vase from his grasp and leaning back to inspect it. He turned on the bench, arcing out of Zane’s attempt to pull him back into his previous position. “Gray,” Zane whined.
“Zane. ” Gray’s breathing was labored and Zane felt a flicker of pride. "Is this what you uncovered? Do you know what this is?” He scooted again, one measly foot outside of Zane’s reach.
Zane groaned. “The oldest cockblock ever discovered?” He succeeded in grabbing a piece of Gray’s shirt, smirking when a corner untucked from the too-fancy trousers. Gray was only wearing them to torture him, Zane was sure of it. He had made the mistake of admiring Gray’s “professor clothes” once too often, so Gray had taken to wearing them all the fucking time. Zane tugged harder, sighing in satisfaction when the tail flapped free and he could run his hand under it to smooth against Gray’s warm back.
Gray leaned into the touch, in direct opposition to the eyeroll he threw Zane’s way. “No, smartass.” But his words were cut off when Zane yanked once more, toppling Gray into his lap again, catching his lips in a hot, wet kiss.
Zane finagled the artifact from Gray’s hands and set it on the floor.
“Zane,” Gray admonished, but it ended on a sigh because Zane was tonguing the hollow of his throat, sucking a dark pink mark into his neck.
“No,” Zane said gruffly, dragging his lips across the smooth column of skin beneath the starched collar. “I’m hungry and horny and you’re going to sit here and you’re going to like it.”
Gray grabbed Zane’s face in his hands. “Here, I’m in charge.” The words were deep, authoritative, and Zane thrilled at the hard glitter in Gray’s eyes. But then Gray’s lips were on his and his tongue was doing that thing that made Zane crazy, and he was content to moan and wiggle on the bench like a horny teenager, hands pushing under Gray’s shirt, everywhere, and nowhere, frustrating and hot and mind-blowingly perfect.
They forgot all about artifacts and burgers until voices approached the tent, youthful laughter rousing them, reluctantly, from each other. Gray stood, raking fingers through his mussed hair, tucking in his shirt, and Zane admired the high flush in his cheeks, lips kissed raw. Gray picked up the small vase from the floor and carried it carefully to the worktable, smiling at the students who ducked under the flap, serene and composed (asshole, Zane thought, unable to form a more pithy insult due to his brain’s current state of mush). The students crowded the table, anxious to see what Zane had found, word having quickly spread.
Zane listened to them speculate on the vase’s origin and age, and more than one gave Zane a newly assessing look, which Zane ignored, content to watch Gray’s patient interactions with them. Gray assigned a few of the most eager to investigate the burial mound further, Zane’s find having invigorated the lot.
Zane stood as they began to file out of the tent, realizing Gray was going to be tied up for the rest of the day, in his element and most definitely unavailable for food or impromptu makeout sessions.
“Zane,” Gray held the flap up, sunlight streaming across his face in a wedge of pale gold. “Would you have dinner with me tonight?”
As invitations go, it was formal and polite, and delivered in that gravely baritone it set a dozen butterflies free in Zane’s stomach. It was most certainly a date, and Zane was happy to discover the answer to one of his anxious uncertainties from earlier. He crossed the tent in three strides and pulled him close, relishing a brief whiff of cologne as he lowered his mouth. The kiss was slow, unhurried, tongues teasing in a dance that held the promise of more.
“Is that a yes?” Gray asked, hoarse, one hand fisting at Zane’s waist.
“Yes.” Zane stole another quick kiss, a soft brush of lips, then ducked under the tent opening. Whistling as he made his way back to the Jeep, his stomach growled and he decided he would drive into town and see if Tanner had eaten yet.
This was rapidly turning into an almost perfect day.
Chapter 8
Zane took more care than normal getting ready, trying to tamp down his nervousness. He used the expensive cologne, giving attention to the area behind his ears, where Gray liked to bare his teeth, then another spray low across his abdomen, above the edge of the towel. He grinned at his reflection. He had plans for the gorgeous professor tonight, and he was going in locked and loaded.
He knew Gray was taking him into Kansas City, but that was the extent of the information he had given Zane about the evening’s plans. Dress nice, we’re going into the city, was the solitary text he had received all afternoon.
Zane wondered if you could die from anticipation.
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Gray looked edible.
Zane suffered a moment of utter blankness when he opened the front door to find six feet of darkly sexy professor, dressed in black trousers and a blue shirt that, (fuck me, Zane thought), exactly matched the shade of Gray's eyes. Zane stood there tongue-tied, jaw slack, so Gray took control of the situation and pushed him into the door, kissing him until he was breathless in lieu of a greeting, then nosed at the soft skin below Zane’s ear.
“Mmm. You smell good.”
Zane grinned and followed him to the car.
They drove into the city, Zane’s anxiety evolving in a persistent buzz of awareness over the course of the ninety-minute drive. Every sidelong look, or white flash of teeth set Zane on edge a little more, until he wondered how the hell he would ever make it through dinner seated across from the extremely fuckable Professor Sloan. Even now, Gray’s calm attempt at drawing Zane out with easy conversation was enveloping him with a near uncontrollable need to rip that goddamn blue shirt off him and get his hands on what lay underneath.
Gray probably thought his low tones were soothing, but the rough pitch did things to Zane’s insides, and the dark, intimate interior of the car was enhancing the effect tenfold. And if Gray looked at him from under those too-long lashes one more time…
Zane needed a drink.
He perked up when Gray steered a course into the Power and Light district. Maybe he had read Zane’s mind and was going to get him drunk on fancy cocktails and seduce him. (Please God.) Zane bit his lip to rein in that little fantasy when Gray glanced at him questioningly.
Gray slowed the car, parking in a half-empty lot off Main, behind a wide expanse of painted brick exteriors, the back half of the restaurants and bars on 14th. Zane followed him to the rear entrance of what appeared to be a kitchen, judging by the smells and sounds when Gray pulled open the heavy steel door.
“Wait here.” Gray disappeared in the throng o
f bustling movement. Zane leaned against the doorframe, watching as Gray maneuvered the busy kitchen to grab a man in a quick hug. The shorter man laughed, patting Gray hard on the back, a ladle dangling from his fingers. Minutes later, the two approached Zane, carrying two bags and a long foil-wrapped baguette.
“So this is the infamous Zane Nolan,” the man said, offering his hand. "Harrison Sloan, Gray’s favorite brother.”
Zane shook the proffered hand, risking a glance at Gray, who remained silent throughout the exchange. “Nice to meet you.”
“So, I hear we’re in the same business.” Harrison dropped Zane’s hand and Zane could feel his scrutiny as the man’s dark eyes studied his face.
“Uh, not really,” he chuckled nervously. “I’m just a bartender.”
“And the chef, and the handyman, and the owner.” Gray smiled at him fondly, holding up the bags. “You ready?”
Zane didn’t have a chance to protest Gray’s claims before the shorter, older, bossier Sloan shoved him out of the door. “You kiddies have fun,” he called, and there was something about his tone that grated on Zane’s nerves. It might have been the way he slapped Zane’s ass before slamming the door shut behind them.
Zane eyed the bags, a jaunty logo visible in the lights overhead.
“The Kill Devil Club,” he read, eyebrows raised. Something about Gray’s brother suited the establishment’s name. He just wasn’t sure he wanted to know why.
Gray chuckled, stowing the bags in the back floorboards on the passenger side. "Harry makes a Kobe burger that will make you cry.” He winked and Zane’s heart did an answering flip. Damn, he was beautiful.
Zane was buckling his seatbelt when a voice called out from the dark. “Gray, is that you?”
Gray stopped near the front bumper, turning slowly.
Zane watched as a tall blonde emerged from the shadows. In the light from the streetlamp, He could see the man was dressed for dinner, long wool trenchcoat over a dark suit, leather gloves held loosely in one hand. The man strode up to the car, a smile lighting his handsome face. He didn’t pause to shake Gray’s hand as Zane expected, but rather pulled him into a quick embrace.
Which Gray seemed to return, hands at the man’s elbows.
Zane’s stomach clenched in a spurt of jealousy, a bitter sting that caught and held when Gray didn’t immediately step away, and then expanded when the man's eyes lingered on Gray’s mouth. He unlatched his seatbelt, thinking it time he let his presence be known.
But then Gray was stepping back, hands falling to his sides, so Zane waited, willing to see how this played out. There was something about the encounter that bothered him, an irritating prickle of awareness, the man's touches too familiar.
As he watched, the man followed Gray to the car door, one hand grazing along his spine, resting there as Gray tugged feebly at the door handle. He couldn’t make out their words, their voices a low murmur.
Zane ground his teeth together. Now he knew there was something, something Gray had failed to mention. Something that had everything to do with the way Zane’s stomach was roiling in his gut, extinguishing the excitement he’d allowed himself to enjoy, a rarity, because things so infrequently went well for Zane. Not in his experience.
He remembered Gray’s words from the night before, ‘There are things I haven’t told you.’
He realized he had missed the end of the exchange when Gray opened the door and slid into the driver’s seat, smiling over at him. If he hadn’t been watching so closely, he might have missed it, but he could clearly see new lines of tension around his eyes, and the way his smile no longer reached them.
“Who was that?” Shit. He had meant to be more subtle.
Gray just sighed, turning the key in the ignition. “An old friend,” he said quietly, fiddling with the visor. He smiled at Zane again, this time more genuine, soft. “Are you hungry?”
Zane wanted to say yes. He wanted to go back ten minutes in time and hang around on the doorstep of Harry's kitchen a little longer and miss seeing some stranger fondle Gray’s ass. He wanted Gray’s face to be open and excited and expectant and nervous again; not resigned and maybe a little bit sad. And because he wanted all of those things to come from a place of honesty and truth, Zane asked, instead, “Who was that, Gray?”
Gray reached slowly for the ignition, turning it off. They sat in silence under the lamplight.
Zane spent the time waiting for Gray to speak, indulging in his favorite pastime of late: cataloguing the way the unique plane of Gray’s nose and cheekbones gave a masculine edge to an otherwise unequivocally pretty face. His stomach clenched again and he wondered briefly if he was going to be sick.
“His name is Collin. We were…together, before I came to Lawrence.”
Together. The word sucked the air from the car, and Zane froze. He had been wrong; he was not ready for this. He didn’t know where to look: at Gray, or out of the window; at his fists, clenched in his lap, or straight ahead. His mouth worked as Gray’s words tumbled over and over in his head, fighting for dominance. “I thought you were engaged.” It was a stupid thing to say.
Gray snorted, but it was not a sound associated with laughter. “Yes, but I never made it to the altar.” He looked sharply at Zane, eyes as cold as glass, slicing through him. "Elise, my fiancé, left for our honeymoon alone, the night she tried to surprise me and caught me in bed with Collin instead.”
Zane’s chest burned, on fire, and he realized he wasn’t breathing. He inhaled sharply, greedy for air, and rubbed a hand across his mouth. “Jesus, Gray,” he whispered.
Gray laughed, an ugly sound. “Not pretty, is it?” He turned the key and the engine roared to life again. “I told you there were things you wouldn’t like.”
He moved to put the car in drive but Zane stopped him, covering the icy hand holding the gearshift. He unhooked his seatbelt and slid across the seat until he was wedged into the warmth of Gray’s side. He ducked his head to graze his lips across the handsome jaw. “Actually, I like you just fine.”
Gray’s breath hitched once before he turned his face to meet Zane’s lips.
The kiss was sweet, and brief, a soft, quiet linger of mouths. Zane tightened his hand around Gray’s fingers, warming them, brushing his thumb soothingly over Gray’s pulse point before returning to his seat and reattaching the seatbelt.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Zane held his breath. It was true, he wanted to know everything about Gray, including Collin (the name alone made him wince) but not tonight. Tonight was for them, and he selfishly hoped Gray felt the same.
“Not yet, if that’s all right with you.” Gray searched his face in the dim interior and seemed to relax when he realized Zane was still there, still with him.
“So, where are we eating?” Zane deftly changed the subject. Who needs a DeLorean, he thought. There would be time enough later to dissect painful things, or people, and Zane was content to push it aside for now.
Gray exhaled in one long, slow breath and Zane could feel those intense eyes on his face again, caressing his skin. “How about my place?” Gray’s voice was so low it did interesting things to Zane’s pulse.
Zane swallowed, mouth dry, and nodded.
Gray pushed the car into drive.
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When Gray drove further into downtown rather than make the turn for the interstate, Zane glanced over at him, suspicious. “Where are we going?”
“I keep an apartment here in the city.” Gray’s smile might have been a little bit predatory and Zane squirmed, studying his handsome profile in the dark. God, he really hoped you couldn’t die from anticipation.
The apartment was only a few blocks from the restaurant, much to Zane’s relief. He tried, mostly in vain, not to gape awkwardly when Gray led him up to the penthouse of a gorgeous World War I era building in the heart of downtown.
It was at this point in the evening that Zane realized there might be more to Gray that met the eye. At least monetarily.
>
The open floor plan felt expansive, with colossally high ceilings and a wide wall of windows offering a panoramic view of downtown. Tonight, the city lay before them, sparkling like a sky full of stars.
“Wow,” Zane breathed, walking to the windows and peering out.
One side of the living space featured a large sectional sofa and two oversized chairs, all upholstered in a deep, dark, red leather and forming a nice contrast to the dark brick of the walls and fireplace. Opposite there was a desk and library, with floor to ceiling bookcases and an old fashioned rolling ladder granting access to the uppermost shelves. Tucked into a corner next to the windows, was a gleaming black baby grand piano, and Zane’s heartrate spiked, remembering the muted strains of Beethoven, and Gray’s long, slender hands tapping out a rhythm on a steering wheel.
Gray set the food on the black granite countertops and pulled two plates from a cabinet, filling each from the contents of the bags. He also grabbed two beers from the fridge and Zane raised his eyebrows when he recognized the label; Gray hadn’t been out of Lawrence in the past several weeks, yet this was Zane’s favorite beer.
Gray ducked his head, studying the bottle in his hand. “I had a service drop off some groceries last week.”
He crowded into Gray’s space, giving himself permission to muss him up, because he was too damn adorable, embarrassed to admit that he had wanted to bring Zane here, days before he could possibly know that Zane’s resolve would finally cave and he would cross the line of friendship late one night in a blur of tequila. He had phoned ahead to ensure Zane’s favorite beer was stocked in the refrigerator, not knowing whether Zane would say yes, and Zane’s chest was too tight with things he didn’t know how to say. So instead, he kissed him slowly. “Thank you.”
