But not if I don’t get some freaking answers.
Although the prospect for that wasn’t good, not when Logan was refusing to look at him. Instead, he dug a towel out of the Harley’s saddlebag and scrubbed at his helmet, a scowl on his face.
“Logan, we need to—”
“Why are you here, Riley?”
At least he acknowledged me. Riley counted it as a win. “That’s the reason.”
“What?”
“Not what. Why.” Riley gulped and took another step into the alley. “I want to know why.”
Fuck, Logan was losing it. He’d barely managed to hold it together last night, and repeated Riley-sightings were guaranteed to test his willpower to its limits. Get on the bike and blow. You did it before.
He scowled at his helmet as he wiped the crap off it. “Why the hell aren’t you in Europe?”
“Because I didn’t get the grant.”
“Why? Nothing to tie you here. Unless . . .” Logan pasted a sneer across his face. “Did you think I’d come back?”
“Not everything’s about you, Logan.” Riley shrugged. “I didn’t qualify. The grant recipient has to hold a master’s degree. I don’t.”
Logan was stunned out of his sneer. “What the fuck? You were a week from graduation. One final and your thesis, that was it.”
“Didn’t take the final. Didn’t turn in the thesis. Hence, no master’s.”
“Jesus, Riley. You worked your ass off for that. Why bail at the last minute?”
“Gee, I don’t know.” His voice was laced with scorn. “What could possibly cause someone to take off with no warning, leaving a shit-ton of unfinished business behind?”
“That was different.”
“Weally? How exactly?”
That little slip, the W for R that Riley didn’t correct, kicked Logan right in the heart. He used to lose it like that when we made love. “I didn’t . . .” Logan balled up the soiled towel and shoved it in the Harley’s saddlebag. “I didn’t want you anymore.”
“Maybe I didn’t want the degree anymore.” Riley moved out of the shadows, the wan moonlight turning the lenses of his glasses silver. “Is that truly the reason why?”
Fuck no. But if I’d stayed one more day, I wouldn’t have been strong enough to go. He’d have told himself one more night, one more fuck, one more kiss, until he’d have stayed forever.
“I’m a fucking mess, Riley. You deserve better than that.”
“So you left me for my own good? You know, the whole self-sacrifice motif never ends well. Fate has a way of making sure it comes back to bite you on the butt.”
Like right now. Logan fumbled his helmet and dropped it again, this time on his foot.
Riley coughed, but Logan swore it was to cover a laugh. “You know, when I think of it . . .” His face lit up, and Logan groaned.
God, that look. I’m fucking toast.
Whenever a shiny new notion captured Riley’s imagination, he followed it all the way down the rabbit hole, ignoring everything else. Logan had always been able to distract him, though, with a kiss on his neck—or in extreme cases, a hand down the front of his pants.
All too tempted to try the same tactics now, Logan took a step back, but Riley was in the zone now, and he followed, shoving at his glasses with one knuckle.
“Mythic concepts are universal, but their expression changes with the culture, with time. These days, your destiny is just as likely to be slapstick as a sword point. The Fates are less likely to drink your blood on the battlefield nowadays than to squirt cosmic seltzer down your pants. Three Fates.” He held up three fingers on each hand. “Three Stooges. So forget Clotho, Lachesis, Atropos. Larry, Moe, and Curly have got you in their sights.”
Retreat. Retreat. “Look, kid. Sure, we had some good times.” He kept his own tone harsh, verging on contemptuous, killing that seductive glow on Riley’s face. “That’s all. You should know that a guy like me could never—”
“Right. Sorry. I didn’t mean to get all . . .” Riley took an unsteady breath and studied the ground at his feet. “I get that I’m not worth your time.”
Logan clenched his eyes shut and regretted it immediately. He could smell Riley’s crazy herbal soap better this way. Mint. Rosemary. But no lavender. Riley hated lavender. “No. That’s not it. You’re totally worth the right guy’s time. Me? I’m not that guy.”
“Is there— Is there someone else?”
He opened his eyes. Shit. Riley was way too close, and Logan decided he’d been mistaken: Riley wasn’t devastated. He was pissed as hell. “Yeah. Guy I met on the road. Crazy good sex. No strings. Just the way I like it.” Logan took another step back, his fingers twitching with the urge to run them through Riley’s hair. Stroke the column of his throat. Cup his ass. Christ. I’ve got to get out of here.
“You’re lying, Logan. I can always tell.”
“I’m not. It’s true.”
“Nope. The muscles in your cheek bunch right there.” Riley’s finger paused an inch from his cheek, and Logan held his breath. Don’t. I can’t stay strong if you touch me. Riley closed that last inch. A feather touch. Logan’s breath shuddered as he exhaled.
“And you start to talk like a telegram, as if you’re being charged by the word.”
“I—”
“You were lying then, and you’re lying now. What can it matter? If it’s over for you, it’s over. Fine. I’ll deal, but I need to know why. What I did. So I can do better with the next guy.”
The idea of Riley in someone else’s arms sent a spike of possessive fury from the base of Logan’s skull to his balls. He grabbed Riley around the waist with one arm and caught the back of his head with the other hand. Crushed their lips together in a clash of teeth, a tangle of tongues. Swallowing Riley’s moans and giving back some of his own.
Would it be so bad to take this little time? To have these last few precious days with the man he loved, before he paid his final debt and left warmth and joy and life behind for good?
Keep him safe, damn it.
Logan pushed Riley away and took a huge breath. A mistake, because the air was full of the scent of their combined arousal. Prelude to Sex, the designer fragrance of lust. “I’m not doing this, Riley.”
Riley wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Why? You seemed on board a minute ago.”
“We’re in an alley. It’s public. It’s also fricking cold.”
“Same old Logan.” He shook his head and gave a tired chuckle. “So hands-on in private. So hands-off in public. You’re worse than a closeted quarterback.”
“Go home. Find another guy who’ll treat you the way you deserve. Just get the hell out of Portland.”
“Not until you tell me why. What I did wrong.”
Damn it. Logan had pulled out all the stops in douchebaggery when he left Eugene—precisely to keep Riley away from here, away from danger, away from him and his fucking fate. He grabbed Riley’s arms and got into his face, almost nose to nose. “Listen, you can’t—”
A whistle echoed off the bricks of the alley. Alarm sizzled at the base of Logan’s skull, and his head snapped up. Exposure. Not an option. A knot of young guys stood on the sidewalk a dozen feet away. He couldn’t tell whether their grins signified encouragement, a desire to join the party, or to break it up with violence, but he wasn’t waiting around to find out.
“Come on.” He towed Riley through the rear door of Stumptown Spirits.
“Logan, wait. I—”
He propelled them into the stockroom and kicked the door closed, facing Riley amid the stacked cases of beer, and backing him against the wall between the Widmer and the Weinhard.
“Goddamn it, Riley.” Logan’s voice, muffled by the crowded storeroom, was nevertheless overloud in his own ears. “What do I have to do to keep you—”
Heavy footsteps sounded in the hallway, followed by a jingle of dropped keys and Bert’s muffled curse. Logan clamped a hand over Riley’s mouth.
“My b
oss,” he murmured in the vicinity of Riley’s ear. God. Right there. That tender skin below Riley’s earlobe at the feathered edge of his hairline. Logan didn’t think. He couldn’t think with Riley this close, chest pressed to chest, thigh pressed to thigh, and everything in between getting into the act.
Hell and damnation but he’d missed this man, and he wasn’t made of stone, although part of his anatomy was rapidly doing a first-class impression.
Lowering his head, Logan brushed his lips over the secret spot behind that ridiculously perfect ear. Riley inhaled, sharp and sweet, and Logan traced the path with his tongue. “Why did you have to find me?” he breathed. “How am I supposed to resist you?”
Riley laced his hands in the hair at Logan’s nape. “Well . . .” His voice was low. Husky. Bedroom-infused, the way he’d always sounded right before he begged Logan to fuck him. He was about to say it. About to beg, and with his dick hard to the point of pain, Logan didn’t have the strength to say no.
Then Riley shoved him away and whacked him on the chest. “Guess you’ll have to figure that out, won’t you?” He sauntered to the door and paused to flip Logan off. “So long, Logan. Have a nice life.”
Riley speed-walked down the sidewalk, texting Julie that he was heading back to the hotel. Between the encounter with Logan and dodging his scary boss, Riley’s nerves were vibrating like the strings of a lute. He’d freaking done it. He’d walked away, but he’d been this freaking close to caving. His traitorous brain had whispered, Go on. Do it once more. What could it hurt? Use it to flush him out of your system.
This might be the first time ever that he hadn’t listened to that insidious voice, at least where Logan was concerned.
God, when Logan had boxed him in between those cases of liquor? Riley hadn’t been able to breathe, and his cock had tried to sproing out of his briefs.
No gay man on earth would have blamed him, not if he’d ever had Logan pressed between his legs. Logan, with his slate-colored eyes, cheekbones any sculptor would kill to reproduce, dark hair that would be shaggy if it didn’t sport enough curl to keep it under control. No wonder Riley’s heart had thudded louder than a giant’s footsteps.
Yet even though his voice had wobbled, Riley had finally done the smart thing.
He’d turned his back on temptation.
But by the time he boarded the light rail train—called MAX, in a truly cosmic joke, thanks no doubt to the Three Fateful Stooges—he’d come down off that screw you-moment high.
He didn’t get it. He’d left. Finally gotten the last word. Why didn’t he feel vindicated or satisfied, instead of like Prometheus chained to his rock, with vultures pecking at his heart? Okay, so with Prometheus, it was an eagle after his liver, but whatever.
Closure. Wasn’t it supposed to feel better than this?
Then, as he waited for the connection to the streetcar, he figured it out.
He hadn’t gotten closure. He still had no idea why Logan had dumped him. Still no answer to that riddle, no moral at the end of their story to teach him what to do the next time.
Strike that. The moral was that Riley was an idiot to still love someone who couldn’t even commit to not committing.
Logan held out for three minutes tops after Riley’s big exit before taking off after him. Now that he’d had a tease, a taste of Riley, hes was done pretending he could resist.
With his life already on the chopping block, he’d have nothing, be nothing, possibly less than nothing, by this time next week. Wasn’t every condemned man due a last meal?
He wanted his last meal to be Riley.
All arrogance aside, he knew Riley could be convinced to go along with the program, despite his rebellious exit line. Riley wasn’t a guy who could hide his feelings, and he’d given Logan the full spectrum tonight. The man was still hurt, still pissed—and still in love, or he wouldn’t be so hurt and pissed.
If Logan played things right tonight, he could fix that too. Because he had a Plan.
Logan didn’t rush the ride to the Vaughn Street Hotel, both to give Riley time to get there, and to convince himself that he wasn’t acting like a total selfish son of a bitch.
As his tires sang on the wet pavement, he told himself he wouldn’t let this momentary lapse in his willpower deflect him from his goal. One night, and then he’d return alone to the final countdown. But after five months of doing nothing but shit I hate, don’t I rate this one perfect reward?
Logan parked his bike in the far corner of the hotel’s parking lot and stood behind a spindly fir where he could monitor the entrance. Half an hour ago, he’d have sworn what he wanted most in the world was for Riley to stay as far away as possible. He hadn’t counted on the overwhelming desire—as sharp and bright and deadly as a knife in his gut—to touch Riley again, to hold him, to kiss him, one more time before the end.
If he was careful, he could meet both needs—have a last night with Riley, yet convince him that Logan was not worth mourning. If he pulled out all the assholery stops afterward, maybe Riley would be so disgusted he’d break it off himself. Yeah. That was the Plan.
A fucking stupid plan, but it was the best his case of blue balls would let him come up with.
He caught the gleam of Riley’s hair under a streetlight at the corner a couple of minutes later as the man trudged up the street, head down as if his shoes held a fricking GPS.
A growl rumbled in Logan’s throat. What was Riley thinking, walking alone in this part of town, paying zero attention to his surroundings? Did he have no sense of self-preservation?
Not if he’s willing to fuck you. Although that remained to be seen.
Logan waited until Riley walked into the lobby, then followed him in. A bunch of people clustered around the elevators. Riley veered away from them and took the stairs, and Logan followed undetected because Riley never looked back, up, or sideways.
On the second floor, Riley exited the stairwell, so Logan took the last steps two at a time, slipping out the door before it clicked shut. He caught up with Riley outside his room as he wrestled his key card out of the pocket of those painted-on jeans.
He reached past Riley’s shoulder and slapped his palm on the door.
Riley jerked, breath catching, and dropped the key card on his shoes. He didn’t turn around. “What do you want, Logan?”
Showtime, Conner. Break out the dickhead behavior, no matter what you truly want. Logan lowered his head to murmur against the nape of Riley’s neck. “You think you can walk out on me like that?”
Riley shivered, but didn’t turn. “Why not? You did.”
“That was different.”
“Weally.”
Christ. That adorable wayward R, this time with a snarky attitude chaser. Logan’s dick awoke at the clear evidence that Riley wasn’t indifferent. He backed off a step, giving Riley some space. “Pick up the key and let me in.”
Riley’s shoulders rose and fell in a giant breath. “Fine. But I still want some answers.” He opened the door and walked inside, turning to face Logan at the end of a short vestibule as he shucked off his jacket.
Logan’s breath stalled in his chest. The man was so fricking beautiful, his eyes shining behind his glasses, his hair like chocolate silk. Quirky. Smart. Extraordinary. Like no one Logan had ever met, before or since.
Don’t start mooning like a teenager, dumbass. Remember your part.
Logan stalked into the room, his gaze never leaving Riley’s face. He kicked the door shut.
“I can’t tell you why, but I can tell you what. Straight-up, no-strings, no-frills fucking. Rough and ready.” He crowded closer to Riley. “As in you’re ready. I’m rough.”
In the dim light from the desk lamp, Riley’s pupils were indistinguishable from the irises. “You’re not like that.” Beneath the doubt in his tone ran the same undercurrent of excitement Riley had always displayed whenever they’d tried anything new in the bedroom. Thank God. If Logan hadn’t heard it, he could never have gone through with this.<
br />
“I am now.” He advanced on Riley and spun him to face the wall, trapping him with his body. “No beds. Fucking. Dirty, plain and simple. You on board with that?”
“Y-y-yes. I’m good.” Riley trembled against him, and Logan’s cock strained behind his fly. Shit, he wouldn’t last two minutes at this rate.
“As long as we’re clear.” Logan flipped Riley around to face him again. “Take off your clothes.”
When Riley hesitated, eyes wide and startled, Logan forced menace into his voice that he didn’t feel. “Rough and ready, remember? So get ready. Now.”
Riley hooked his thumbs under the hem of his Henley, his gaze locked on Logan’s. He raised his shirt, slowly. Too slowly, damn it, giving Logan way too long to trace the smooth muscles on hip and belly and chest. Riley’s skin was as honey-smooth as he remembered, although maybe a shade paler, all the better to show off his spreading flush.
Logan stifled a groan. “Now the pants.”
Riley paused with his hands at his waist. “What about you?”
Logan unbuckled his belt and unzipped his fly, freeing his cock from his boxer briefs to bob against his belly. “I’m ready. Pants, Riley.”
Riley fumbled with his belt, his fingers trembling. He slanted a look at Logan from under his lashes and caught half his plump bottom lip between his teeth, sending a spike of heat from Logan’s throat to his balls. His heart beat like a monster bass, sending the blood roaring in his ears. Could Riley hear it? See it? He forced a sneer onto his face, the better to hide the truth.
When Riley pushed his jeans and briefs down, baring his rigid cock in its nest of dark curls, his balls already tight against his body, Logan had to cross his arms over his chest, sinking his fingers into his biceps, distracting himself with the sharp pain. He wanted to drop to his knees and worship Riley as he deserved. Nuzzle that glorious cock. Take it into his mouth and throat until Riley writhed against him.
Christ, it had been so fucking long.
He inhaled, harsh and deep. Don’t give in. Do your job. Be a douche bag.
Right.
So when Riley tried to toe off one of his sneakers, Logan thrust his knee between Riley’s thighs.
Stumptown Spirits Page 6
