by Kelly Jensen
Marc glanced over his shoulder. Luke Bessler stood in the doorway to the laundry, Henry’s phone in his hand.
Chapter Six
HEAT PRICKLED across the back of Marc’s neck. His scalp itched. His cheeks burned. Breathing suddenly became difficult. Passing out a distinct possibility. A tug across his palm pulled Marc’s gaze down. Henry putting his cock away. Okay, good.
Had Bessler seen Henry’s junk?
How long had he been standing there?
Marc couldn’t pin down a single emotion in the maelstrom sweeping through his head and chest, but the fleeting hint of fear in Henry’s expression suggested he hadn’t quite embraced the spectrum yet.
Should they be afraid?
Henry recovered first. Buttoning himself up, he aimed a sober smile at Bessler. “I see you found my phone. Did Shelly get my text?”
Even while listening for the answer, Marc couldn’t shift his gaze from Henry’s reddened lips. Someone had kissed this man stupid. He had. He’d been caught kissing a man. A cold shiver replaced the warm prickle. Marc took a step back. One of Henry’s eyebrows flicked up briefly, but Bessler drew his attention.
“Yeah, a few minutes ago. Grace is holding the door open.” Bessler turned the phone over in his hand before holding it out. “When she hears about what I walked in on, I’ll owe her lunch for the next six months.”
Snickering softly, Henry reached for his phone. “Thanks for the rescue.”
“Sure, no problem.” Bessler looked at Marc. Looking away would be childish, wouldn’t it? “I didn’t know you were—”
“G-ay.” Brilliant. His first public word for the New Year and he’d botched it.
“I was going to say with Henry, but gay works, I guess.” Bessler shrugged as if they were discussing something other than Marc’s sexuality—like, say, the color of the floor. “So, I’ll, ah, give you guys a minute or two to get organized?”
“Sure,” Henry answered. “We’ll follow you up in a few.”
Marc still hadn’t managed to draw a full breath, and there was a high-pitched whine centered between his ears. Was it him screaming inside his head? Bessler’s footsteps retreated down the hallway until the only sound was the ringing in Marc’s ears and the crash of his world tumbling down around him.
So this was what it felt like to be out. Someone other than he and Henry knew he was g-ay. Gay. There, he’d thought it without the hitch.
Marc backed up to one of the chairs and sat down. He propped his elbows on his knees and dropped his face into the waiting cup of his hands. “Oh God.” His stomach clenched. “Oh… God.” Would throwing up be better or worse than passing out?
The chair beside him creaked. Henry sitting. A warm hand hovered over his shoulder a moment before landing, as though Henry were afraid to touch him. Maybe he should be? Marc felt a bit like an unexploded bomb. Or should that be an uncertain bomb?
“If you need some time, I can go try to prop the door open. Or we could just head out and get a cab.”
Swallowing, Marc shook his head. “No, I mean…. Fuck. I don’t know.” He glanced over at Henry. “I’m sorry.”
Henry’s smile had a bittersweet twist to it. “Don’t be.”
“How could I have thought I could kiss you at midnight? How could I have not known it’d feel like this?”
“Ever told anyone you were gay before?”
“No. Well, you.”
“Then you couldn’t have known.”
Marc made an attempt to straighten his spine. “I thought I was ready. I was excited, dammit. I’ve been thinking about nothing else for days. I had the whole moment in my head. Taking your hands. No! I was going to touch your face. Wait….” He’d imagined the kiss so many times, and each iteration now flashed through his thoughts, adding to the spinning storm. “I wanted this, Henry. I wasn’t afraid!”
“I know.” Henry’s smile had faded, but not to anger. The compassion in his expression was somehow worse. He squeezed Marc’s shoulder, then pressed his palm behind it and rubbed, his hand the only warm spot on Marc’s body.
“Why do I feel like this?”
“Because of what could have happened, maybe? Luke might not have been cool. Not everyone upstairs would have been cool with the kiss. Maybe you’re just realizing that.”
Marc shook his head. “Well, yeah, I guess, but it’s more….” Looking up, he sought Henry’s gaze, those somber gray eyes. “I feel sick. I’m scared and I feel sick and I don’t understand why.”
Oh, and he’d started to shake too.
Wonderful. Fucking wonderful.
Henry patted his shoulder. “I’m gonna go call us a cab.”
“No.”
“You don’t look like you’re in any—”
“I’m not going to run away from this.”
“Marc, this isn’t—”
“I need to see this through.”
“Can I say something without you interrupting me?” Henry’s tone had acquired an edge.
Marc nodded.
“There’s a lot going on in your head right now, and I think you should take some time to deal with it. Going upstairs and facing an apartment full of people probably isn’t the best deal. If you want, we can ask Luke to keep what he saw to himself. Say you’re not feeling good.” Marc opened his mouth, and Henry increased his volume. “Or I’m not feeling good, or we’re just pissed off about the whole being locked in the laundry thing. Hell, I don’t know. One of us got cut up in the ducts or something. Point is, we don’t have to go upstairs. You don’t have to do this now. Take some time, think it through.”
Henry was probably right. The idea of tucking tail and running, though…. Marcus Winnamore didn’t turn away from a challenge. Ever. He also stood by his word. In their line of work, that meant everything, and Marc had adopted it as a personal mantra.
But a man could change his mind. That was courage, right? To be brave enough to say you were wrong.
Was he wrong about this?
Marc locked eyes with Henry again, searching the gray depths for answers. Hell, he’d settle for clues. What he saw was Henry. His chest tightened, and his pulse kicked up another notch. All the good feeling surrounding Henry formed a warm sphere beneath his panic. He knew, looking at Henry, that whatever route he chose from here, this man would support his decision with empathy and grace. He also understood that Henry’s power came not from the depth of character beneath shrewd ambition, but from that warmth. He was a good person working in an industry crowded with assholes.
And that, more than anything else, was what made him attractive.
When picturing his future, Marc had always assumed he’d eventually find a wife who suited his parents’ ideal. That she’d be beautiful and smart but something like an accessory. A thing he eventually had to acquire. He’d hoped they would be friends. That was his ideal.
In Henry he saw a potential partner. Someone he could….
Drawing in a quick breath, Marc broke away from Henry’s gaze and pushed to his feet. “C’mon, we don’t want to keep Luke waiting.” He walked to the sink and started washing his hands. Again. The cleaner his hands got, the more aware he became of the stickiness inside his shorts. That’d have to wait until he got home. This laundry (and the world) had seen enough of his junk for one night. He cupped his hands under the water and drank. Swallowed the faint taste of Henry and remembered the feel of Henry’s cock in his mouth.
His stomach didn’t hitch.
While Henry cleaned up, Marc shrugged into his coat. The heavy weight of felted wool settling around his shoulders had a feeling of finality about it. As if he’d wrapped up this adventure and prepared to go home.
Was that what he wanted to do?
He handed Henry’s coat over and watched him button it up, faintly obsessed as always by Henry’s long fingers. The shape of his hands. When he glanced up, it was to find Henry looking at him.
“You okay?” Henry asked.
Marc shook his head. “No, but I
will be.”
Henry’s uncertain smile returned, but he followed Marc into the hall.
Luke and Grace awaited them at the doorway, heads bent close together in conversation. Watching them as they approached, Marc realized they were the sort of team he wanted to be a part of. A couple who were friends, allies, partners. Probably helped that they worked for different firms.
Grace heard them and looked up with a tentative smile. “Hey!”
Marc returned her smile, his feeling as strained as hers looked. Then he thrust out his hand. “Good to see you, Grace. Happy New Year.”
She gave his hand a firm shake. “You too.” Her gaze flicked toward Henry.
Marc touched Henry’s shoulder, drawing him forward. “Henry Auttenberg, meet Grace Bessler. Ah, Luke’s wife. She’s with Bahvan Consulting.”
Smiling, Henry said, “Happy New Year.” He shook hands with Grace and Luke. “And thanks again for the rescue.”
Luke offered his hand to Marc next, and Marc hesitated before shaking and murmuring, “Happy New Year.”
“So, you guys coming up or…?” Luke looked from one to the other.
“I think we’re—” Henry started.
“Coming up,” Marc finished.
Henry’s eyebrows lifted.
Marc moved his hand over next to Henry’s, drew in a hitched but quiet breath, and grabbed hold. Took another man’s hand in his own. The dizziness returned.
Everyone looked down at their hands. Luke, Grace, Henry, and Marc. Henry glanced up first. “We don’t—”
Marc squeezed Henry’s fingers. “I want to.”
“This interrupting me thing is turning into a habit.” Henry looked adorable with his brows crooked together, a wrinkle between.
“If you guys need another minute—”
“No.” Marc tugged Henry’s hand forward. “We don’t.”
“Actually, we do.” Henry didn’t budge.
Grace pulled Luke away from the door. “If we don’t see you guys upstairs, have a good night. Happy New Year!”
Luke followed his wife around the corner, leaving them alone. Marc turned to Henry. “What?”
Henry pulled his hand out of Marc’s. “I’m not a token or a trophy, Marc.”
“I didn’t—”
“I know this is a big deal for you and tonight was a part of your big plan. I also know you’re a master of recovery. It’s why you do so well in this business. You can replot on the fly. You know every point in every file. Every figure. You’ve probably thought out every contingency before we ever get to the meeting table. But this isn’t business. I’m a person, not a column of figures. If you want to replot me, you need to let me in on the plan. Not just tuck me under your arm like a file and pull me out when you need to make your best argument.”
Marc felt his jaw unhinging. “I thought going upstairs was the right thing to do to show you I was committed to this thing. To show myself.”
“This thing?”
“I’m trying to forge ahead.”
“Just stop, please.”
“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
“What I’m saying is… I’m not a gesture. Look, coming out isn’t something you can do to a schedule. It’s not going to happen when you expect it, and when you plan for it, it’s going to go wrong. Not everyone is going to understand, and some people just won’t fucking care. But you seem to be forgetting the other half of the equation. Me.”
Because Henry was a person, not a file. Right, got that. Except…. Oh.
Marc let his chin dip, carrying his gaze toward the floor.
Oh.
He scrubbed the back of his neck, ordered a few more thoughts—Henry being right foremost among them—and looked back up. “I’m sorry.”
Henry’s jaw tightened.
Marc cleared his throat and tried again. “I would like to go upstairs for a little while. I could seriously use a drink. Also….” A rough exhale left him feeling weak-kneed once again. “I don’t know if we should go home together tonight. That was a part of my plan, as you know. Now? I think we both have a lot to think about. But I’m not ready to let you go yet. I need to salvage something from this—” Spreading his arms, Marc gestured around them. “—from all of this.”
Retracting his arms, he breathed out another sigh. “Yeah, I figured going upstairs would be showing everyone I’m not afraid of what they think or who I am. Even though I can’t get my knees to stop trembling. I also figured it was a way to grab some more time with you before our date finished. Before it became your worst date ever.”
“Not yours?”
Marc shook his head. “No. It should be. If we plotted this out, scored it, it would be the worst date in the history of romance. But I don’t regret a minute of the time I spent with you. Well, except… okay, we can forget all the parts where I was being a selfish prick, an idiot, and totally clueless.”
“So about 95 percent—”
“Wow.”
One eyebrow quirked. “Every time you interrupt me, the percentage goes up.”
“Was it really that bad?”
Henry’s expression gentled, his mouth settling into a smile. “No. I knew what I was getting into with you.”
“Meaning?”
“You’re the guy who tried to drive through a blizzard. Of course you were going to try your darnedest to have me right where you wanted me at midnight.”
Quickly putting aside Henry had just used the word darnedest, Marc answered, “You could have stopped me at any time. We could have had this conversation in the cab.”
“Maybe I wanted to be a part of your plan.”
“But… not so much now?”
“I’d have liked to have been asked before being drafted for the recovery effort.”
“Ah hell.” That’s what he’d forgotten. “I am an idiot. And a prick. And the other thing I said.”
“Yeah, you are, but they’re some of your most endearing qualities.”
Marc laughed. “Seriously?” He studied Henry again and thought about what he’d said—about plans and replots and numbers and them. “What do you want to do?” he finally asked.
“I don’t want to end our date here in the lobby.”
“So it’s upstairs or share a cab.”
Henry nodded.
“Your choice,” Marc said.
Henry smiled. “Let’s go upstairs.”
At first, the answer felt like a bucket of disappointment. As Marc considered it, though, he realized going upstairs was the better choice. They really weren’t ready to go home together yet. Him and Henry. Tonight had been full of revelation. The high points had been ecstatically high. Upon reflection, the low points were more frustrations than anything else. And a surprise or two. Being gay wasn’t turning out the way he expected, nor was Henry. In his gut, though? Marc couldn’t deny his excitement at that discovery. Why should Henry follow a path ordained by anyone but Henry?
Nodding, he reached for Henry’s hand again. Their fingers met and slid together, the motion already practiced and familiar. As Marc closed his hand around Henry’s, a sense of rightness slid beneath his skin, calming some of the twitches, warming the icy prickle of fear.
“I’m not going to say I totally get it now, but only because I think I’ve finally figured out how much I just don’t get. That’s what scares me. Not having a plan. Not knowing what I’m facing.”
“I know.” Henry smiled. “But you have more of an idea now, right?”
“Are you sure you want to do this with me?”
Henry took another minute to think. He didn’t seem to be questioning his answer, though, merely searching for words. Or so Marc hoped. “I like a challenge as much as you do.”
Marc laughed at the mischievous spark in Henry’s eyes. “Oh man. I think I’ve met my match.”
“Maybe.” Henry grinned, then sobered a little. “There’s something between us. Something more than simple chemistry. I want to see where it goes.”
“Me too.” Marc leaned in to taste Henry’s lips, wondering as he did so if this would be their last kiss of the night. Did he really need to demonstrate his newfound gayness upstairs? Share it with everyone who supposedly mattered?
Not really. Because the only person who really counted was standing right here with him, lips pressed to his.
Drawing back, he nosed Henry’s cheek. “Ready to go upstairs?”
“Yeah.” Henry turned his head so their noses bumped together. “Just gonna say right now that I do not want to check out the rooftop patio. We’ll end up locked out there. Also off-limits are any rooms with doors and the elevator, even if it’s been fixed.”
Marc chuckled. “Maybe we should just go.”
“Nope, we’re going to go upstairs and introduce gay Marc and his gay boyfriend to everyone.”
“Boyfriend?”
“We’ve crawled through ductwork together, and you’ve had my cock in your mouth. I think I qualify.”
“I was blowing you at midnight, wasn’t I?”
“Actually, I think you were shooting across the laundry floor about then.” Henry grinned.
“I started my gay new year by giving you a blow job.”
“We don’t have to preface everything with gay. Just so you know.”
Marc squeezed Henry’s hand, then lifted the knuckles to his mouth and kissed them. “Okay. So, upstairs?”
“Yes.”
“Wait.” Marc pressed another kiss to Henry’s full and inviting mouth. “Happy New Year, Henry.”
Henry smiled against his lips. “Happy New Year, Marc.”
More from Kelly Jensen
Counting: Book One
There are over two hundred thousand fence posts between Syracuse and Boston. Henry Auttenberg likes numbers—it’s his job—but he isn’t going to count them all, even if the view outside the rental car is less confounding than the driver, his attractive but oh so obnoxious colleague, Marcus Winnamore. It’s Christmas Eve, and Henry would much rather be home with his family. When the blizzard that grounded their flight forces them off the road, however, he’s stuck with Marc until the storm passes—or a plow digs them out.
