Dreamspinner Press Year Three Greatest Hits

by Jenna Hilary Sinclair

  David belatedly remembered Trace’s question. “What I really want is a beer, but that’s probably not a good idea with the pain meds. Pepsi.” Surprisingly hungry, David started eating, and three-quarters of his sandwich was gone before he realized it. He looked at Trace while reaching for the tomatoes, now that he had room on his plate. “So when do you need to leave? That hard-ass boss of yours probably sees this as fraternizing with the enemy.” George Hardin, the executive editor of Trace’s newspaper, The Sun-Herald, was Trace’s boss and was widely known as very staunchly supporting a cutthroat, competitive stance against David’s paper, The Mirror, and by natural association, its executive editor, Lloyd Morton. Having him for a boss, David counted his blessings often that Lloyd was considerably more laid-back.

  Trace glanced up from his sandwich, waiting to answer until he’d finished chewing. “No reason to tell him who I’m helping,” he said with a shrug. “Unless you’ve got someone else to call, I’m sticking around.”

  “I do have a friend or two besides you, Jackson. I could probably set up a rotation of guys who could drop in and check on me,” David mused, silently acknowledging that most of his friends really weren’t the nurturing type. Although he was somewhat surprised at Trace’s natural nursing ability… and inclination.

  “Yeah, that sounds promising. You really need to be in bed, David,” Trace said, concern marking his brow. “If you move that shoulder, even a little, and get it out of alignment, you might have to have surgery to put it back together. I think I’ll stick around.”

  “I’ll make you a deal,” David bargained. “I’ll get back in bed. I’ll even let you give me one of the pain pills that will knock me out for a few hours. You can go check in with your editor before he puts out an APB and then pick us up a stack of movies and Huwan Cho’s Chinese for dinner on the way back.”

  “Sounds good to me. Now finish your lunch.” Trace grinned and poked the plate of tomatoes closer before sliding out of his chair to pry open one of the prescription bottles. That was an easy enough bribe to keep David in bed for several more hours. “You want sesame beef or pork lo mein?” he asked, knowing David’s usual favorites. “I’ll get some pot stickers and steamed vegetables too.”

  “How about both and we’ll share them?” David suggested, well acquainted with Trace’s habit of snagging food off his plate. Finishing up the last of his sandwich and the tomatoes, he took the pills with the end of his soda. Standing, he shuffled, obviously stalling. He wanted to ask something.

  Trace rinsed the plates off in the sink and stacked them to wash later. When he turned, he saw David waiting. “Do you need something?” Trace asked in concern. David didn’t look like he felt all that well, but he looked better than he had some hours ago. Trace tilted his head to one side, his hair tumbling off his shoulder and the wrinkled T-shirt he’d slept in.

  “Could you…. That is, would you… erm.” David fidgeted. “Can you help me get my jeans off?” he blurted out. The button fastening on the close-fitting jeans made using one hand almost impossible.

  Smirking, Trace set his hands on his hips. “You know, I would have figured you for a more suave kind of guy,” he teased. “What kind of line is that?” he asked as he walked over and handily unfastened the button. “I wouldn’t figure guys would be so easy,” he said as he pulled down the zipper.

  David watched as Trace’s long, blunt fingers unbuttoned his jeans. His breath lodged in his throat, making his head spin, and he could feel his cock, only fractions of an inch from Trace’s fingers, start to swell. Fuck. Forcing air into his lungs, he glanced guiltily up at Trace’s face. His friend was grinning at him, relaxed, teasing. Trace had no idea the effect he was having on him. Thank you, God. “Yeah, well, then you don’t know men very well. We’re an easy bunch when it comes to getting in our pants.”

  Trace laughed and slid two fingers through a belt loop on David’s hip, tugging gently to get him moving toward the bedroom. “Well, I guess I should’ve known, since that includes me. But I’ll keep it in mind should I ever decide to expand my horizons.”

  Something flip-flopped in David’s gut. Trace teasing about becoming bi-curious was doing nothing to calm his libido. Hopefully the meds would kick in soon and knock him out.

  After following Trace down the hall obediently, David pushed his jeans to the floor, walked out of them as he crossed the bedroom, and crawled immediately into bed. He didn’t open his mouth for fear his muddled brain would say something he couldn’t take back.

  Straightening the sheet out from under the quilted blanket, Trace pulled it up over David. He sat on the edge of the bed, leaned over David to snag another pillow, and pushed it up carefully under David’s injured shoulder. “There you go,” he murmured, squishing the pillow a little more before looking at David. “Think you’ll be okay? I’ve got to go out for a while.”

  David felt Trace’s warm body close and resisted the urge to scoot closer. “I’ll be fine. Go. Before Hardin fires your sorry ass and you have to move in with me when you lose that high-class apartment.”

  Trace chuckled quietly. “All right. I’m going. I’ve got my cell.” He reached over and turned out the lamp, walked over to the bathroom to turn on the light and pull the door partly closed, and then sighed softly. At least David would be okay. Seeing him hurt really bothered Trace. Mouth quirking fondly, he left David to sink into sleep.

  Chapter 3

  IT TOOK five days of David’s forced restriction for he and Trace to develop a routine. Trace left for a few hours in the morning and a few more in the afternoon to get his work done, making sure he was at the house to deliver a meal or do the cooking for lunch. In the evenings they were working their way through a tall stack of DVDs Trace had brought back that second night. Now, after about a week, Trace had almost gotten used to being around the house all the time. It was all so… domestic.

  “The popcorn almost ready or should I hit pause?” David called out from the living room.

  “Pause, please!” Trace said, loud enough for David to hear as he blankly watched the microwave tick down the time. His mind was on work tonight—in between occasional thoughts about David—and he doubted he’d actually comprehend the movie, although he’d sit and watch it to keep David company. David was trying hard not to be a bear, he could tell. It was kind of funny, really.

  Blinking when the microwave beeped, he realized he was grinning. Shrugging, he pulled out the hot and steamy bag, tossing it from hand to hand until he got it open and into a large plastic bowl, one of several in David’s cabinets.

  It was different staying over at David’s. They got along really well in close quarters, so far anyway, like they’d been sharing a house for much longer. Trace had decided he liked having the company, even if it was quiet, somewhat-unlike-David company. And it beat going home to an empty apartment. He was a social creature and had always thought David was the same, but now he realized he really didn’t know that for sure. Yeah, they got along fine, but there wasn’t a circle of friends around the two of them. Trace had his—and, in theory, David had his. Trace wondered what else David did besides hang out with him. He hadn’t had much at all in the way of visitors, as far as he knew, just a few guys from the office David had mentioned visiting while Trace was at work. Definitely no one who would be considered a lover, Trace suspected, because a lover would have been here instead of him. Even if David wasn’t into casual sex, surely he got in some companionship somehow.

  Something more than Trace sleeping in his bed an arm’s length away.

  Trace walked over to the fridge for cold drinks, pulling it open. Hmm. Grocery run needed. He added it to his list of things to do tomorrow. He needed to go home and wash clothes and clean the litter box and feed the cat, who was really giving him hell over being gone so much. Mabel could be such a bitch sometimes. Or whatever the cat equivalent was. It seemed wrong somehow to call a cat a bitch. He needed to pick up his suits at the cleaners, conduct a series of interviews at the renovated a
rt museum, turn in the latest set of music reviews, make a list of pending restaurant reviews, pick up some more DVDs….

  With all this bouncing around in his head, he was distracted when he walked into the living room, carrying two drinks and the big bowl of popcorn, and he was taken completely by surprise when he ran into the coffee table. He flopped backward, popcorn and soda flying up into the air in slow-motion like a bad comedy routine as he thumped to the carpeted floor.

  David watched in horror as Trace tripped. Without thinking, he reached out to help, cursing as pain knifed through his shoulder, his arm dropping limp to his side. “Fucking hell,” he hissed, dropping back onto the couch.

  Groaning, Trace rolled over onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. “Ouch,” he mentioned conversationally.

  “Yeah,” David agreed, his voice a little shaky. “Who are we going to get to move in and take care of us if both of us get hurt?”

  Trace turned his chin to look up at David. He sounded like he was hurting. He’d been fine five minutes ago. “You okay?” he asked, his face lined with concern.

  “No, actually, it hurts like hell.” David swallowed. “I sort of lurched to get up and help when you started falling.” Damn, he was getting tired of always whining. Extending his good hand to Trace, he shifted forward to help him up and looked at the soft drinks. “I think we need something stronger, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, I think so too,” Trace said, wincing when David helped haul his butt up. He looked down at the scattered popcorn and was thankful he hadn’t opened the soda cans. “Let me get this cleaned up, and I’m going to the liquor store. You’ll have to skip the Vicodin if you want to drink, though,” he told David as he leaned over to pick up the bowl and scoop most of the popcorn off the carpet.

  “I’ll live, and you don’t have to go to the liquor store. I’ve got a stocked cabinet under the CD player. My poker club doesn’t do the cheap stuff.” David pointed to a set of doors in the entertainment center. “Unless you really just need to get out for a bit, which I’d totally understand,” he added.

  Trace completely missed David’s last comment as he finished scooping up popcorn and set the bowl aside. “Poker club?” he asked as he walked over to the CD player he’d used many times over the years. “I didn’t know you played poker. Much less in a club.” He crouched down and opened the cabinet. “Holy shit, David! What kind of poker is it, high stakes?” he asked in surprise. The lines of bottles inside weren’t even of the not-cheap variety; they were of the damn-expensive variety. “Jesus,” he muttered as he started shifting bottles around.

  David shrugged the best he could with one shoulder. “It’s a group of guys I grew up with. We play pretty high stakes, yeah, but over the years, I’d guess we’re all pretty close to even. Jared’s on a roll right now, but he needs it. His ex fleeced him last year.”

  Trace glanced over his shoulder, somehow both happy to know for sure that David had other friends, but a little jealous that he wasn’t included. He held out a bottle. “What do you want? I’ve never even tried most of this stuff. Kentucky bourbon’s about as good as it gets on my paycheck.”

  “Second one from the right with the black label,” David instructed. “You should try it. Collecting rare and exclusive single malts has become sort of a hobby among the group. Whenever we travel, we bring something back. The rule is you bring a bottle for everyone in the group.”

  Trace’s brows were up in his hairline. “A bottle for everyone in the group?” he exclaimed as he pulled out the requested bottle. “Dear God. You better hope you win that night.” He stood up after grabbing a couple of glasses from another shelf. “Ice?” he asked.

  “Ice!” David barked, outraged. “Sacrilege! If you want to water down your scotch, there’s a bottle of Jack Daniels from the corner liquor store in there somewhere.”

  “Geez, okay, okay!” Trace answered, thumping the bottle down on the coffee table in front of David. “Give the uneducated a break. I didn’t play cards and drink hard liquor in school. I was poor.” He unscrewed the cap and handed it over to David. “Hell, I’m still poor. Must be why I’m an arts reporter. I hit all the swank parties on my expense account.”

  “How do you think we got un-poor?” David laughed. “Every one of us paid our way through college playing poker and pool.”

  Trace grinned as David filled the glasses. “Somehow I never would have taken you for a shark, David. Isn’t that interesting?” he drawled, sitting on the couch next to him and propping his feet up on the table.

  “We’re playing in a couple weeks. If you’re still around….” David’s voice trailed off. He wondered if Trace would accept. He’d thought of asking him before but had never followed through with it. Now David wondered why.

  Is that an invitation? “I figure I’ll be here unless you’re miraculously healed, but I’d be a third wheel. I don’t know anything about poker except how to make a full house.” Trace’s brow furrowed. “Maybe.”

  When David grinned, Trace was immensely pleased that he’d just decided to be available. He’d always felt like David valued his privacy, and Trace had taken pains not to presume or invade too much. It made him feel better to know David still wanted him here.

  “There’s a deck of cards in the side table drawer. You’ll have to shuffle, but I can teach you enough to get by,” David offered. He was ridiculously happy that Trace had agreed to attend. Having him around was easy, enjoyable, even a little addictive.

  Trace leaned over to dig into the drawer. “All right, but no laughing. I spent much more time flipping quarters and making out than playing cards,” he warned. He moved to sit on the floor across the low coffee table and set the deck in between them, reached for his glass, and took a cautious sip. He immediately moaned and closed his eyes. “Aw, hell. I’m ruined for life.”

  David’s mouth quirked. “Good scotch and a good lover will ruin you every time,” he murmured, cutting the deck. His arm was still tingling from his earlier foolish move, but the pain had subsided to a low throb.

  Trace grinned. He happened to agree, at least with the second part of the sentiment. “I’ll shuffle and deal. Don’t mess with that shoulder,” he said, wiping his bottom lip with the back of his hand before taking up the cards.

  “We’ll start with five-card stud,” David announced.

  “I’m going out on a limb and guessing five cards each,” Trace said drolly. “What are we going to bet with?”

  “Popcorn?” David suggested, reaching for what had been salvaged back into the bowl and dumping even piles in front of them. Throwing three pieces in the center, he popped another five into his mouth. “Ante up. That’s what you have to bet to play the hand.”

  Trace followed suit with three pieces and half a handful in his mouth. “Okay. Five-card stud. Heh.” He tilted his head, eyes flashing in amusement, and decided to take advantage of the relaxed situation to prod for information. “This group of yours… do the guys all stand stud?”

  Chuckling, David fanned his cards, examining them. “Ha, maybe once upon a time. Most are married—until last year, when Jared’s wife left him, and he’s still too torn up to even think about dating. Out to pasture might be a better description.”

  “Except you,” Trace pointed out as he looked at his cards and moved a couple around, leaning his elbows on the table.

  “Yeah, well…. You’ve seen the hordes lining up at the bedroom door. Why would I want to give that up?” David picked up four pieces of popcorn and tossed them in the center. “I’m in.”

  They paused when Trace belatedly remembered he’d need his glasses, and then David gave Trace a brief outline of the hierarchy of hands and how to bet. Trace was pretty sure he could remember it all, but he was definitely sure David would be happy to remind him… and tease him at the same time.

  When they got back to the game, Trace said, “Now that I think about it, I’ve actually noticed, sometimes. When someone had your attention.” He frowned at his cards but thre
w in some kernels anyway before taking a drink.

  David tilted his head, looking at his friend speculatively. “You have?”

  Trace looked up from his cards and shrugged a little. “Just some times when you were in a better mood than usual, I figured you’d found someone. When you passed on ball games on the weekend, that sort of thing. Then, I thought it was a woman.” Trace grinned. “But same result.”

  “Hmmm. So I guess that means those mornings that you couldn’t sink a putt to save your soul but grinned anyway came after marathon sex sessions,” David speculated.

  “Could be,” Trace said, eyes bright. “I’d already hit a hole in one,” he added smugly as he sat back with his glass.

  David was sipping his scotch, and he choked after Trace’s bad pun. “Oh, God, Jackson, that’s bad even for you. I call.”

  About twenty minutes and several hands later, David scraped in the pot and raised another handful of the salty kernels to his mouth. “We seem to be running out of currency,” he commented, peering at the nearly empty bowl.

  Trace chuckled as he emptied his glass and looked down into the bowl. “Well, we could always play strip,” he joked as he tossed another handful into his mouth, hair scattering over his shoulders.

  Tipping his head back, David downed the rest of his scotch in one gulp, his pulse racing at the thought of Trace naked. Fuck, why not? he thought, deciding to call the cocky bastard’s bluff. “Works for me. We’ll skip the ante and just play hands. Whoever loses the hand loses a piece of clothing. That work for you?”

  Shrugging, Trace reached for the bottle and tipped a bit more into each glass. “Go for it. You’re the shark,” he teased. He shuffled the cards, dealt, and looked at his hand after another drink. His cheeks were warm, like he’d had three or four good beers already. It felt good to just have fun again. He looked up at David with an honest smile as he waited.