by Witt, L. A.
I groaned. “All things considered, yeah. I can’t believe the booze kicked my ass.”
“Happens to the best of us. Take it easy.”
“I am, believe me.”
“There’s coffee and some water by the TV.”
“Oh, you’re the best.” Slowly, carefully, I sat up. My stomach lurched and my head throbbed even harder, so I leaned over, elbows on my knees and fingers pressing into my temples. Of course, that wasn’t comfortable either. Not when I still had to take a leak.
Aaron’s calloused hand gently kneaded the back of my neck. “You okay?”
“I will be.” I laughed dryly. “Are we getting too old for this shit?”
“Probably. But I don’t see that stopping me from doing it.”
“Why am I not surprised?” I took a deep breath and managed to push myself to my feet. When I was sure the floor wouldn’t jerk out from under me and my stomach wouldn’t come up my throat, I said, “I’m going to grab a shower.”
“Take your time.”
Oh, I did. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d taken a shower that long by myself. Taking one with Aaron seemed like something to add to the trip’s to-do list—I swore he enjoyed shower sex as much as Leo had—but not today. Not while my brain was trying to chisel its way out of my skull.
As my head cleared, so did my memory of last night. Specifically, of the things we hadn’t done. I swore under my breath as the water rushed over my face. Aaron must’ve been disappointed as hell. He’d come all the way out here with me, and for what? So he could help me stumble back to the hotel in between pausing to puke a few more times?
I cringed. Yeah. That was the hot night he’d had in mind.
I dried off and pulled on a pair of jeans. When I stepped out of the bathroom, Aaron looked up from his iPad. “Feel better?”
“Much.” I swallowed. “And, hey, I’m sorry about last night. I guess I got carried away, and—”
“Shane, don’t apologize.” He smiled. “I had a great time.”
“Really?” I’d have rolled my eyes if I hadn’t been genuinely afraid they’d tumble out of my head. “Was that before or after I started hurling my guts out?”
“Well, okay. That part wasn’t fun, but it probably sucked more for you than it did for me.”
“Yeah, probably.” Fortunately, the alcohol that had made me sick to begin with had also blurred the memories enough that I guessed he remembered it more vividly than I did. I cringed. That must’ve been a sexy memory.
“Wait a minute.” I eyed him suspiciously. “You drank as much as I did. Why aren’t you hungover?”
Aaron shot me a Really? look. “Who says I’m not?”
“The fact that your iPad screen isn’t making you wince?”
He chuckled. “Only because I’ve been up longer than you. My eyes have had a chance to adjust, and I’ve already had a couple of cups of coffee and a bottle of water.” He winced. “But trust me, I can still feel it.”
“Good.”
“Good?” He snorted. “Gee, thanks.”
“Hey, I’m just saying, I’d feel like a hell of a lightweight if you were bright-eyed and bushy-tailed while I was like this.”
“Ugh. Definitely not bright-eyed or bushy-anythinged right now.” He put his iPad aside. “Hungry?”
My stomach grumbled, but I still felt kind of green. “Sort of.”
“Eating would probably do you some good. The hotel’s got a restaurant. Or we can order room service if you don’t want to move.”
I nodded toward his knee. “I think you’re going to have more trouble moving than I am.”
“Actually, I probably should get up and move.” He carefully swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood. “If I keep it still too long, it’ll be even worse.”
“Fair enough. Let’s go eat.”
We didn’t talk much over breakfast. Once we were out of our dimly lit room, even Aaron was wincing and grimacing in the light. We sat as far as we could from the windows, which were letting in the brutal morning sun, and at least we weren’t the only people wearing sunglasses in the hotel restaurant. And, hell, I wouldn’t have cared if we were. My head throbbed too violently to give a flying fuck if anyone stared or judged.
With some food in our systems, we still weren’t in any hurry to get moving. We refilled our coffees and relaxed at our table. The restaurant was mostly empty now. People were heading out to whatever they had planned for the day, and the staff had cleared off most of the tables. Thank God too. If the waitress in our section noisily stacked plates like that one more time, my skull was going to split open right here at our table.
Things were pretty quiet now, though, and the food and coffee were slowly working their magic. After a while, I even took off my sunglasses. A few minutes later, so did Aaron. Here in the light, I could see his hangover a bit more clearly. There was a touch less color than usual in his cheeks, and a hint of redness in his eyes. I probably looked a million times worse, but I didn’t feel quite so bad about being this hungover when Aaron, a seasoned partier, was also a bit ragged.
As the throbbing slowly died down, I said, “So what do we do with today?”
“Well.” He sipped his coffee, cradling the white ceramic cup in both hands. “I’m thinking a trip up to the top of the Space Needle is out of the question.”
The thought made my stomach flip. “Yeah. I’ll pass.”
We both laughed dryly.
I wrapped my hands around my own cup, soaking in the pleasant warmth. “Okay, I have an idea.”
“Yeah?”
“How about we stay in until we don’t feel like shit anymore? When that happens, then we’ll figure it out.”
Aaron laughed and raised his coffee in a mock toast. “I’ll drink to that.”
“Ugh. I’m not drinking again. Ever.”
“Coffee, Shane. I’ll drink coffee.”
I looked down into my cup of life-saving black liquid. “Oh yeah. Good idea.”
We exchanged glances and chuckled as we sipped our coffees.
“All right,” he said. “We’ll relax in the room, and then we’ll do . . . something.”
“Perfect. But first, I need another cup of coffee.”
* * *
This was easily the longest time Aaron and I had been in the same room as a bed and hadn’t done anything about it. I’d been tempted to break in that mattress with him before we’d gone out clubbing yesterday, but I’d kept that to myself. If we were going to have a threesome or a more-some, saving some energy had seemed like a good idea.
Definitely should’ve fucked while we could still move.
By late afternoon, we’d both recuperated, and we were starting to get stir-crazy. We each grabbed another shower—just a shower, since we weren’t feeling quite that good yet—and dressed.
As I buttoned my shirt, I said, “Any ideas?”
“I’m gonna go out on a limb and say that a quieter night than last night might be in order.”
“Ya think?”
He laughed as he buckled his belt. “Most of the clubs are pretty quiet on Sundays anyway, if they’re even open.”
My shoulders sank. “Damn. I guess last night was our only shot, wasn’t it?”
“So?” He shrugged. “We can still go out tonight.”
“I know, but . . .”
He tilted his head. “What?”
I sighed. “So much for what we came for, right?”
“You had a good time, though, didn’t you? Before things went south?”
“Yeah. Actually, I did.” I smiled. “Probably more fun than I’ve had in a while.”
“Well.” He sat on the bed and started putting on his knee brace. “Mission accomplished, right?”
“Fair enough.” I laughed again, shaking my head. “Man. We came here to party like a couple of twentysomethings, and I ended up getting my ass kicked by a bottle while you’re limping around in a knee brace. We really are too old for this.”
; Aaron laughed. “Nah. We just should’ve quit drinking while we were ahead.”
“I was following your lead.”
“Yep, and look where that landed you.”
“Uh-huh. I’ll remember that.”
We both chuckled as we collected our jackets, wallets, and room keys.
“So, where to?” he asked on the way out.
“Oh, I don’t know. You said there’s some restaurants and stuff nearby, right?”
“Quite a few.” He pushed the button to summon the elevator. “Tons over on Broadway.”
“How far is that?”
“Couple of blocks to Broadway. Five or six more to the good stuff.”
“I’m game. You’re the one with the bionic leg.”
“I’ll be fine.” In the elevator, he pushed the first-floor button, and as the doors shut, he added, “Let’s, uh, maybe not walk all the way to the U-District or something, though.”
“Is that far from here?”
“Far enough that my knee won’t make it.”
I touched the small of his back and kissed his cheek. “I’m sure we can find something without going quite that far.”
A second later, the elevator opened. We crossed the lobby and stepped out into the gently breezy afternoon. As it often was in Seattle, the weather was cool but comfortable. We probably could’ve taken or left our jackets. I kept my hands in my pockets, mostly so I had something to occupy them.
In easy silence, we walked up to Broadway, then started down Broadway toward, according to Aaron, the better restaurants.
“You know,” he said. “I’m not big on cities, but I do like this one.”
“Me too. Don’t think I’d ever live here, though.”
“No, definitely not.” He wrinkled his nose and shook his head. “Nice to visit, but I wouldn’t live here.”
“Kind of think I should visit more often.”
He glanced at me, a subtle smile on his lips. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He didn’t offer another weekend like this, and I had to wonder if that was on the table, or if that nudged us into “making this a regular thing” territory. So, for the moment, I left it alone.
Sort of.
I cleared my throat. “I have to say, it’s been nice to have a little time together without one of us sprinting off in another direction.” My heart clenched; I was sure that comment was a tad too close to some of the shit I’d said during our second date.
But he just turned to me and smiled. “Yeah. It’s been a nice switch.”
We held each other’s gaze for a moment, then continued walking.
As we walked, I definitely kept my hands in my coat pockets. Even though we were in public, even though we had a weirdly defined thing that definitely wasn’t a relationship, I was tempted to slip my hand into his. I’d been tempted to take a man’s hand in public before. Many times. I was usually cautious because it could be downright dangerous, but in our situation, it also wasn’t really a thing. We didn’t do that. We fucked, and we hung out, but holding hands was crossing a line.
But I couldn’t remember the last time that temptation was this hard to resist.
Chapter 18
Aaron
Capitol Hill had no shortage of great restaurants, so it didn’t take us long to find a place. It was one of those bar-and-grill joints that tried to appeal to both the average joes like us and the hipsters who wanted everything to be trendy and different. The menu had some strange-sounding dishes, that was for sure.
“What the hell is a ‘deconstructed slider’?” I asked.
Shane snorted. “I think that’s where they serve you sliders that are in pieces. Like . . . mini burgers with some assembly required.”
I eyed him over the menu. “Isn’t the whole point of a restaurant that someone puts the food together for you?”
“Hey, I didn’t invent it. Not ordering it either.” He turned the page in his menu. “I am absolutely getting something that’s already been assembled.”
“Hear, hear.”
The waiter came back, and we ordered. The halibut for me, the grilled chicken for Shane, and a couple of beers.
“I haven’t had halibut in a long time,” I said. “I’ve tried to cook it myself, but I always manage to fuck it up somehow.”
Shane laughed. “Yeah, that’s me when I try to cook a turkey. I follow the damn directions and everything. Hell, I’ve even called the goddamned Butterball hotline before.” He shook his head and scowled. “Somehow, no matter how much advice I get from however many people, it always comes out . . .” He let a groan sum it up.
I chuckled. “Damn stubborn food. That’s why I like restaurants.” I gestured at our surroundings with my water glass. “Let somebody else handle it.”
“Amen. I mean, I do cook. Like, more than Hamburger Helper and stuff like that.”
“Do you?”
He nodded. “I’m not a chef or anything. I only learned to cook because of my kids.” He shrugged. “Wasn’t ever really my thing, and I would’ve been perfectly happy living on ramen noodles and Coke in college, but I couldn’t do that to my daughter. So I learned, and by the time the boys came along, I was pretty competent in the kitchen.”
“I can respect that. Similar story for me, actually.”
“Yeah?”
I nodded. “Back at my old firehouse, we took turns cooking, and a few of us realized we were eating the same shit every goddamned day.” I laughed. “Only problem was, none of us knew how to make anything else. So we all signed up for a cooking class.”
Shane’s eyebrows jumped. “Really?”
“Yeah, why not?” I shrugged. “It was either that or survive on ketchup-slathered shit from boxes.”
“Ugh.” He made a face. “Same thing I was trying to keep from doing to my kids. So, yeah. Didn’t have the money for a cooking class, but I did manage to teach myself. And my mom helped a lot.”
“That’s good.”
He nodded. “I kind of feel bad for bending her ear every five minutes when I was trying to cook, but she didn’t really mind, I guess.”
“Moms usually don’t.” I laughed. “Mine thought I was prank calling her one time because I called to ask her if it was true you could use a potato to pull some salt out of a sauce you’d oversalted.”
Shane chuckled. “And . . . is it? Does that really work?”
“Well, the sauce came out all right, so, I guess?” I shrugged again. “Don’t know if it was the potato, or if I hadn’t salted it as badly as I thought, but no one complained.”
“Huh. I might have to remember that one.”
“A little trigger happy with the salt shaker?”
“No, no. But I’m teaching my boys, and . . . I mean, they’re kids. It happens. Even I sometimes misread ‘tablespoon’ where it says ‘teaspoon’ or forget I already added the salt. They’re still learning, so . . .”
I nodded. “True. Glad you’re teaching them, though. I sure wish I’d listened to my mom when she tried to teach me as a kid. Would’ve saved me from some horrible meals before my buddies and I finally took that class.”
“Better late than never, right?”
“Exactly.” I sipped my water, then grinned at him. “And if we’ve got some time one night, maybe I can show you the proper way to cook a turkey.”
He eyed me. “Is that a euphemism, or do you really think you can break the turkey curse?”
“Consider the curse broken.” I chuckled and, with a wink, added, “But I’m sure we can find something to do while it’s cooking.”
Shane laughed and raised his water glass. “You’re on.”
* * *
In theory, we could’ve kept wandering around Capitol Hill for hours. My knee still ached, but I’d knuckled through worse, and I had some ibuprofen in my coat pocket if I needed it. Neither of us was really in the mood to stay out terribly late, though, so after an hour or so of strolling around Broadway, we decided to call it a night and head back to the
hotel.
Before long, we’d settled in on the bed—my knee up on a pillow and Shane leaning against me with my arm around his shoulders—to watch a movie.
Could we be more domesticated already? Holy shit.
And yeah, this was pretty domesticated, especially on a trip that was supposed to be anything but. Still, I liked it. Monogamy could eat a dick, but there was something to be said for a quiet night in with a gorgeous man resting against me.
A gorgeous man who, I realized after a while, had dozed off on my shoulder.
Smiling, I stroked his hair. This reminded me of that night when he’d come to my place and I was too sore for anything besides kicking back with a movie. Sure, I’d still wanted him, same as I wanted him now, but I was content to hold off on tearing up the sheets for a little while.
It was like, with someone new, we had to fuck as often as possible because at any moment, it could be over. But then when we’d settled into something and realized neither of us was in a hurry to take off, we could relax. The desire was there—was it ever—but the urgency had receded enough for us to enjoy each other’s company even with clothes on.
Usually, around the time that happened, it wouldn’t be long before I got the hell out of there. I didn’t want a rut. I wanted to enjoy any kind of wild excitement I could while I was still young enough to handle it. No boredom, no getting burned by yet another relationship going down in flames. Contentment was a red flag that meant things were about to go to shit.
In spite of myself, though, I had to admit I could get used to this. And . . . I wanted to. I didn’t want to run for the hills. I didn’t want to acknowledge the gigantic waving red flag. I didn’t want to do anything except lie here with Shane and enjoy the very thing I’d sworn I didn’t want.
Aw, crap. What am I doing?
Staying put, that’s what. I closed my eyes. Maybe I’d kick myself for this later, but for the moment, I didn’t fight it. I liked Shane and I liked this, and . . . Good God, what was happening to me?
Beside me, Shane stirred. He scrubbed his hand over his face. “Did I fall asleep?”
