by L. A. Witt
Any other night, I’d have asked him to dish on Lights Out, and then dropped the bomb that I owned it just to see how fast he’d backpedal. Tonight? He could have insulted my mother and told me the Broncos sucked, and I wouldn’t have budged.
Hot. Available. Gay. Matching opinions not required.
I shifted the subject away from the selection of gay clubs in Tucker Springs. The important thing was that he moved closer to me as the conversation went on. When I suggested finding a place to sit, he suggested one of the secluded booths at the other end of the room. In the booth, we played all the games: lingering eye contact, leaning in close enough to dare the other to move in for a kiss, a hand on the thigh.
And finally he threw the gauntlet.
“Do you want to get out of here?”
I grinned. “I was thinking the same thing.”
Returning the grin, he pushed his empty glass away and slid out of the booth. I followed, and as I stood, I caught a glimpse of his face in profile, and just kept myself from letting go of an audible “Son of a bitch.”
He was familiar? Yeah, he was. Jesus Christ, how the hell did I not figure it out from the moment I laid eyes on him? It was sure as fuck obvious now.
He looked like the goddamned roommate I’d come here to avoid.
Okay, so the resemblance was a passing one, but it was there. And truth be told, now that I’d made the connection, Ray lost a little of his luster because I couldn’t stop comparing him to Michael. Not quite as fit. Not quite as tempting. Not quite such disarming brown eyes.
But he was hot, he was willing, and he was here.
“So,” he said, “your place or mine?”
I licked my lips. “How about yours?”
“Let’s go.”
I GOT home around ten the next morning. My shoulder hurt, but after a night like that, what didn’t hurt? That man was insatiable and definitely knew what he was doing.
By all rights, the itch should have been well scratched. I had the kind of libido that craved sex whenever I could get it if I was in a relationship, but could go significantly longer periods when I was single. In theory, I should have been set for a while after last night.
But I wasn’t.
I’d have been home earlier—I tried not to overstay my welcome with one-night stands—but I’d driven around for a while after leaving Ray’s place. Decided I needed coffee from a particular shop on the other side of Tucker Springs. Debated getting breakfast, but after driving clear down by the university to a particular restaurant, realized I wasn’t interested in eating there after all.
When the clock on the dash said the coast was clear, that the man I’d been thinking about all night in Ray’s bed had definitely left for work by now, I made my way home.
And there, in my driveway, was Michael’s car. Fuck. Seriously?
Well, I couldn’t drive around forever, and I did have a few things to get done before I went to work tonight, so I bit the bullet, parked, and went inside.
Michael looked up from rinsing out a tea mug as I dropped my keys on the counter, but he quickly turned back toward the sink.
“Morning,” he said.
“Morning.” I made myself a cup of coffee. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”
“It’s Thursday.” His tone was flat, bordering on terse. “No appointments on Thursdays or Saturdays, remember?”
“Oh, right.” And I knew that, didn’t I? We’d lived together long enough, I should have picked up on the pattern, but I’d been so wound up the past few days, it hadn’t crossed my mind he’d fucking be here this morning. So much for relieving some tension.
Leaning against the counter, I cradled my coffee in both hands as I tried like hell to keep the stiffness in my shoulder from showing. Having Michael treat me at home was fine and good, but I was pretty sure Ray had left a few marks. Michael might not give a fuck, but I would know, and that would be… awkward. So I moved slowly and carefully, willing myself to relax and not keep my left arm tucked against my side the way I did when it hurt.
Michael kept his attention focused on his task. Something was definitely amiss here. No one lounged the way Michael did when he was home, even when he was doing some work or on the verge of losing a game, but right now he stood ramrod straight. Jaw set, shoulders tight. His lips were pulled into a thin, taut line, and grooves between his eyebrows spoke of intense concentration.
Finally Michael turned off the faucet and cleared his throat. “Well, I’d better, um, get to the clinic. No appointments today, but I’ve got some paperwork to catch up on. You know how it goes.”
Before I could comment, he was gone, leaving me staring over my coffee cup at the empty kitchen.
I slid my gaze toward the stairs. Floorboards above me creaked with movement, and my heart beat faster as something twisted below my ribs. Over and over in my mind, I watched him get up and walk out. In a hurry to get somewhere? Or in a hurry to get away from me?
I sipped my coffee, but I didn’t taste it.
What the hell just happened?
Chapter 12
AT THREE thirty in the morning, it was lights-out at Lights Out. All that remained of the music was the inevitable ringing in my ears. The bartenders had cleaned up and clocked out, the servers and bouncers were long gone, and all that was left was to shut the doors and head home.
Another night, a few more drops in the coffers. It wasn’t a bad shift, actually. Decent turnout, liquor flowing the way it needed to; by the looks of the closing slips from the tills, Lights Out might’ve even pulled a profit for a change.
After I swung by the bank and dropped the cash in the night deposit, I headed home, feeling pretty damned good for once. My shoulder didn’t hurt much tonight, and I was looking forward to a solid night of sleep. I hadn’t been in much pain in the three days since Michael had last treated me. Thank God for that—I was too exhausted to even put a hot pack on it.
When I got home, Michael’s car was there, but there was another car parked on the street. Close enough to my driveway that it clearly belonged to a guest in my house, not my next-door neighbor’s.
The house was dark, including Michael’s bedroom window.
I cringed and swore under my breath. Add that to the growing list of things I hadn’t seriously taken into consideration when he’d moved in.
Motherfucker. Bad enough that every time we talked while he didn’t have a shirt on, my crush on him inched toward maddening. Hell, inched past maddening.
And now? I glared at the car beside the driveway. Now this.
But Michael lived here. He was straight, he was unattached, and if he wanted to bring a woman home, it was his prerogative, no matter how much it would test my sanity between now and daylight. Good thing a few of the earplugs I kept at the club had migrated home with me over time, so I could block out any enthusiastic noises that made it to my end of the hallway.
Once I was inside, I turned the dead bolt and reactivated the security system. The house was completely silent. No moaning, no bedsprings creaking. My ears were still ringing as they always were after work, but there wasn’t a sound except my own footsteps on the way up the stairs.
Just in case, I pulled a pair of earplugs out of a drawer and kept them on the bedside table.
I closed my eyes, and not a single sound or muscle spasm disturbed me for the rest of the night.
I WOKE to the sounds of movement. Nothing earthshaking, but the slightest sign of life was enough to jar me awake.
They were discreet, I’d give them that, but in this house, sounds carried. What the bed frame didn’t give away, the occasional muffled moan did. Though he wasn’t particularly loud, Michael was definitely vocal. More so than his partner—I didn’t hear her at all. Every once in a while, a faint vibration made it to my ears, a deliciously low timbre I felt more than heard. He had a sexy voice, and apparently it dropped even lower when he was turned on.
Torturing myself wasn’t getting me anywhere, so I got up and went to take a show
er. Though I could no longer hear them—him—I was acutely aware of what was going on down the hall. My mind showed me all kinds of images. Michael fucking her in every position imaginable. His eyes closing as her head bobbed up and down on his cock. Straight porn had never done a thing for me, but in this instance, all I could see was Michael. Aroused, sweaty, banging the hell out of someone. I’d seen his bare torso enough times, it didn’t take much to add sweat and hands running down his back to the mental image.
Once I was in the shower, there was no point in pretending I wasn’t turned on. Not when I knew Michael was having sex with someone right down the hall. Fuck, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d gotten off that fast on my own.
By the time I was done, the house was silent again, so I moved as quietly as I could to keep from disturbing them. Always a challenge with hardwood floors and crap acoustics, but I did my best, opening the bathroom door slowly to keep the hinges from shrieking and stepping to avoid the boards that creaked the loudest.
Michael’s bedroom door was closed. They probably hadn’t left yet, not unless they’d finished, dressed, and gotten the hell out of Dodge in the time it took me to get in the shower, get off, and get out.
At just after ten—which was early as fuck for me—I was in the kitchen and halfway through my second cup of coffee when two sets of feet quietly came down.
They didn’t come into the kitchen. At the bottom of the stairs, their footfalls went right and continued into the foyer. I released a relieved breath; there was nothing as awkward as bumping into a roommate’s one-night stand—or first-time fuck, or girlfriend he hadn’t mentioned until now, or whoever—the morning after.
In the foyer, Michael said something, and the reply made me choke on my coffee.
That wasn’t Michael’s voice, but it was damn sure a male voice.
I craned my neck, listening. The front door closed before either of them said anything more, but I’d heard enough.
Fuck. Seriously?
Jesus effing Christ on a skateboard. So that was why I didn’t hear a woman’s moans this morning.
Oh, you lucky motherfucker. I shivered as I replayed everything I’d imagined earlier, but with a man in place of a woman. Oh God. The thought of a woman’s legs wrapped around his waist was nothing compared to a man’s powerful legs hooked around Michael. A man’s hands grabbing Michael’s arms, Michael’s head going up and down over another man’s cock….
Another shiver and I almost dropped my coffee. I set it down just to be safe and deliberately thought about the club’s books to keep myself from thinking about Michael driving his cock into another man, or that man driving his cock into Michael, both of them moaning and shuddering and—
The books, Jason. Think about the books.
And then Michael came back in and the books in my mind went up in flames, leaving me with the fantasies of what he might have done earlier, and the reality of his gorgeous body right in front of me.
Our eyes met. From the heavy shadows beneath Michael’s, I guessed he and his companion hadn’t called it an early night last night.
Clearing his throat, he quickly turned away, but not before his cheeks turned pink. “I figured you’d still be asleep.”
“It’s after ten.”
“Weren’t you out until three or four?”
“Yeah, but that’s still almost a full night’s sleep.”
He cocked his head. “Yeah, I suppose it is, isn’t it?” He muffled a cough and turned away again, this time getting a bottle of water from the refrigerator.
I sipped my coffee. Ever the fucking masochist, I let my gaze slide down his shoulders and back. My heart skipped when I realized a shadow on his waist wasn’t a shadow at all. God, they just had to fuck each other hard enough to leave marks, didn’t they? Because my brain hadn’t already had a field day without the use of visual aids like the bruise above his waistband or the hint of a mark on the base of his neck. At least he didn’t have any bites, or I might have evaporated into a cloud of pure jealousy.
Weird, uncomfortable silence descended between us. He set the bottle down, the quiet tap echoing through the cavernous kitchen.
I wrapped my fingers around my coffee cup. Michael folded his arms and drummed his fingers rapidly on his upper arm. I looked at him only when I was sure he wasn’t looking at me, but misjudged it and caught his eye when he glanced in my direction.
“So, um….” I managed to form two words but couldn’t figure out how to follow them. How was your night? How was he? Whatever he did, I would give my right arm for the opportunity to do better. Maybe even, Why the hell did you tell me you were straight?
Michael played with the bottle cap on the counter. “I, uh….” He paused, keeping his gaze fixed on the floor. “I’m assuming you’re all right with….” He gestured toward the stairs and raised his eyebrows as if he were begging me to put two and two together. Finally he added a whispered, “Guests?”
“Don’t worry about it.” I waved a hand, then reached for my coffee. “You live here, Michael. You’re welcome to bring people around.”
“Well, okay, I know, but….” He exhaled. “I guess I’m still getting used to the arrangement.”
Tell me about it.
“Part of having a roommate, right?” I laughed, hoping it didn’t sound as forced as it was.
He offered a thin, unenthusiastic smile, which quickly fell. “Listen, um….” He paused, clearing his throat. “I’m sure I don’t have to ask, but you’ll be….” His eyes darted toward the stairs, then back to me. “Discreet?”
“What else would I do?” I asked. “I’m not going to put your face on the bulletin board at the club or anything.”
Michael chuckled halfheartedly. “Well, no, I didn’t figure you would. But, I mean, my son doesn’t know. And neither does Seth.”
I’m wondering how long you’ve known….
“Secret’s safe with me.”
“Thank you.”
Awkward silence descended again. God, so many things I wanted to ask him, most of which boiled down to What do I have to do to get into your bed? Fortunately I found some restraint, though when Michael headed upstairs to get a shower, I couldn’t decide if I was relieved or kicking myself for not working up the nerve to say anything.
Usually I didn’t care if a roommate got laid. In fact, having several over the years, I openly encouraged each and every one of them to fuck as often as humanly possible, because sexually satisfied roommates were easy to live with.
When that roommate was my every sexual fantasy personified? Then I wasn’t quite so enthusiastic about him knocking the plaster off the walls.
“I’m sure I don’t have to ask, but you’ll be… discreet?”
I’d keep my mouth shut, but he’d definitely piqued my curiosity. Among other things.
My roommate was hot. My roommate rarely wore a shirt. And my roommate slept with men.
Want.
Chapter 13
I NEVER drank at work. Even if it were legal, which it wasn’t, it was bad form and unprofessional. Tonight? Oh my God, it was tempting. Pour me some Jäger and let me go.
The kid was at his mother’s. It was Saturday night. When I’d left for work, Michael had been on his way upstairs to take a shower. I had no idea where he would be or what he’d be doing. As far as I was concerned, the only question was who he was doing, and I envied the son of a bitch who wound up staying with him tonight.
At least I was here and not at home with my roommate. Since the night Michael had slept with another man in my house, I was halfway to bona fide, card-carrying, irreversibly crazy. I couldn’t even look at him without hearing—feeling—the low, reverberating sounds that had come from his room that morning, and every creak of a floorboard made me think of squeaking furniture. The faint bruise above his hip had faded, but that didn’t stop my mind from telling me every shadow that fell across his skin—always without his shirt, always without his fucking shirt!—was a mark left by some man wh
o got closer to him than I ever would.
Frustration. Jealousy. Plain old horniness. Whatever the word, it was driving me out of my mind.
Thank God I’d be at work until nearly dawn, and hopefully Lights Out would keep me occupied and distracted so I didn’t think about what was going on at my house.
Doubtful. The club wasn’t setting itself up to be terribly stressful tonight. Quite the contrary: it looked a bit too quiet. On a Saturday night, people should’ve been standing in line outside and the bartenders’ tip jars should’ve been overflowing before eight thirty.
I rested my hands on the bar and surveyed the scene. Rumor had it one of the other clubs in town was having some sort of event tonight, so that probably drew away a portion of my clientele. That, and we were getting into finals for both universities. Tucker U would be wrapping up next week, and East Centennial the week after that. Which meant students would be taking off in droves for summer vacation. Traveling, returning to wherever they called home, not coming through the doors of Lights Out.
In a university town, summer wasn’t good for business.
Wasn’t good for selection either, but I couldn’t say I was terribly picky tonight. The one man I wanted was out of reach, so anyone else would never be better than second best anyway. Better than jacking off to futile Michael-shaped fantasies. Good thing I worked in a place where plenty of men came looking for someone to tangle up with all night before parting ways at dawn, because if I couldn’t have Michael, then that was exactly what I needed this evening.
But for now, I had to run the club. I didn’t leave until after closing, which meant there was no point in finding anyone now. If he was horny enough for a one-nighter, he wasn’t going to hang around until three in the morning for me to come fuck him. On the other hand, whoever was left at the end of the night would be as desperate as I was. You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours; your place or mine?
In the meantime, business.
