by Megan Slayer
“Are you okay?” the man said. “You look lost. Did someone slip you something? I told Blake not to have that shit here.”
“Huh? No.” Christ. The last thing he needed was an illegal substance in his body. “No, I’m good. Sober and clean.” He appraised the man and bit back a sigh. Tall, dark hair with a hint of curl. A slight dimple in his cheek and perfect teeth. The T-shirt clung to his upper body like a second skin. So the man was a little thin? He knew how to wear the shirt and jeans. Why couldn’t Blake have set him up with this one? Probably because this guy was already taken.
“Cool.” He extended his hand. “I’m Raine. Like the stuff that falls from the sky.” He shrugged and blushed from his hairline to his collar. “My mom was a hippie.”
“There’s nothing wrong with a little creativity.” He shook hands with Raine. “I’m Tate. I have no idea where my mother got my name.”
Raine grinned. “I take it parties aren’t your thing?”
“Normally, I’m game for a few beers with my friends, but Blake… He knows how to throw a party that can get out of hand in seconds.” Tate leaned on the wall. “He’s one of my oldest friends, so I put up with a lot of his shit.”
“I’ve lived across the hall from him for almost a year. He’s a piece of work all right.” Raine tipped his head. “If you want a little kind of silence, I’m right over here.”
He glanced over his shoulder at the party, then swept his gaze over Raine again. He’d said he wanted to forget his sadness. Raine fit the bill physically. “Got a couple of beers?”
“I do.” Raine opened his door. “Come on in.”
Tate strode across the hall and followed Raine into the other apartment. Once Raine closed the door, the sound from the party lessened. Tate sighed. “Is he always this loud? Blake?”
“Every weekend.” Raine opened the refrigerator and withdrew two amber bottles. “It’s light beer. Blake brought it over and never took it home.” He handed one over to Tate. “What’s your major?”
“Me?”
“Shit.” Raine rummaged through a drawer. “I don’t have an opener. I forgot these aren’t the twist ones.”
“I’ve got a church key.” He pulled the bottle opener from his wallet. “I got this when I got my first promotion.”
“A church key?” Raine tipped his head. “Is your mom or dad a minister?”
“No.” He stared at Raine. “You’ve never heard of a church key?” He held up the credit-card-sized piece of metal. “Back in the day, the deacons at the church had keys and supposedly they looked like this. I don’t know, but that’s what I’m told. Anyway, my old man always called bottle openers like this the church key. It stuck.” He popped the top on the bottle. “Hand me your beer.”
Raine watched him as he opened the second bottle. “Huh. I never knew that.”
“Now you do.” He surveyed the apartment. Where Blake’s was crowded with furniture and usually people, Raine had a minimalist theme going. “Mind if I sit?”
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About the Author
When she’s not writing the stories in her head, Megan Slayer can be found luxuriating in her hot tub with her two vampire Cabana boys, Luke and Jeremy. She has the tendency to run a tad too far with her muse, so she has to hide in the head of her alter ego, but the boys don’t seem to mind.
When she’s not obsessing over her whip collection, she can be found picking up her kidlet from school. She enjoys writing in all genres, but writing about men in love suits her fancy best. The cabana boys are willing to serve, unless she needs them. She always needs them. So be nice to Javier or he will bite—on command. She also writes under the name of Wendi Zwaduk.
Email: [email protected]
Megan Slayer loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at http://www.pride-publishing.com.
Also by Megan Slayer
Constant
Permanent
Vaulting
Drive my Car
Out of Bounds: Crossing the Line
Aim High: Lifetime Hitch
Brothers in Arms: One Night with You
What’s his Passion?: Wild Card
