by A. R. Barley
Arson. Alex shuddered. He still couldn’t believe it. Someone was actively burning down buildings around New York City. Worse, they were attacking firefighters. The thought sent a chill down his spine. He swallowed hard. “Maybe he’s using the investigation as an excuse to see you.”
“He can’t decide whether he wants to be my bestie or ignore me completely. It’s exhausting.” Troy jammed the rest of his sandwich into his mouth. He chewed twice, swallowed, and licked crumbs off his thumb. Then he swiped at the peanut butter on his jeans.
Gross.
He sucked his thumb clean.
Okay, that move was actually kind of hot.
Alex’s uniform pants were suddenly two sizes too small. His partner was unloading the ambulance. Boots click-clacked against cement floors. Men and women rushed back and forth around them to prep for shift change, but all he could think about was Troy’s lips moving against his skin.
Hell. He needed to get his mind off Troy’s mouth and out of the gutter. He needed to get laid.
His hands itched for his cell phone. They’d already gone up to the hospital to see Sammy before their shift to drop off a bag of paperbacks and some huevos rancheros. No one could object if he took some time for himself.
All he needed to do was sign into an app, flip through some profiles, and he’d be knee deep in Mr. Right Nows. Twenty minutes was all it would take to find someone to take his mind off Troy’s sticky fingers.
“My shift ended fifteen minutes ago,” Troy said. “Change and we’ll go get some real food. There’s a street truck up near Union Square with fantastic freaking burgers.”
“Sushi,” Alex said. If he was going to give up his one-night stand fantasies, it wasn’t going to be for street meat. “I want sushi—someplace nice—and you’re buying.”
Troy’s back separated from the sofa. He stood up, looming high overhead. “You eat raw fish?”
“You don’t?”
“I tried it once in the army.” He pulled a face. Okay, so he hadn’t been impressed. “Don’t worry though. I know a place.”
That sounded highly suspicious. Alex’s eyes narrowed. “Not a chance in hell. If you don’t eat sushi, you’re not picking the restaurant. It’d be like the blind leading the blind—off a freaking cliff into a river of salmonella.”
His clothes were sticking to his back. His limbs got heavier the longer he stood there. He shouldn’t be looking for a date or getting sushi with his roommate. He should be climbing into a shower and then crawling home to bed, but Troy looked so damn hopeful, all green eyes and square-jawed Prince Charming looks.
Alex frowned. “I’m going to change, and then I’m picking the restaurant.”
Troy sighed. “You’d make a really really—”
“—lousy soldier.” They finished at the same time. In the three and a half weeks since Troy’d moved into the apartment Alex had heard the phrase a lot. He still didn’t know what it meant.
Alex hustled back to the locker room and stripped off his uniform. His clothes weren’t stylish, but they were comfortable: a pair of old jeans and a thermal Henley the same color as his eyes. He traded in his heavy boots for a pair of Converse tennis shoes and buckled a decidedly non-regulation leather bracelet. A quick trip past the mirror to run his fingers through his hair and he was ready for almost anything.
Troy was still waiting on the couch when he got out. If he’d moved a muscle it wasn’t one of the obvious ones. He gave Alex the once-over, his eyes dragging across his body. His nostrils flared ever so slightly. Dimples carved a little bit further into his cheek. “You need to stop at home for some hair gel, or are we ready to go?”
“Hair gel?” Alex gaped. “I’ve got curls.”
Troy eased up onto his feet. Muscles surged against his jeans and his plain black T-shirt. The clothes were plain, ordinary, but on Troy they looked couture. “Is that really a thing? Not using hair gel on curls?”
“Some people think so.” He grinned. “I don’t like the plastic feeling. I’ve got some at home—I use it when I’m dressing up for Rocky Horror—but it’s not part of my normal routine.”
His legs stretched to match Troy’s gait as they moved out onto the street. The weather had eased a little bit. The early evening air was mild and pleasant. Light pollution mixed with clouds to make the stars unreadable, but flashing neon illuminated the streets.
They made it three blocks before Troy cleared his throat. “Which character?”
“Excuse me?”
“When you do Rocky Horror, what character do you go as? Brad? Riff Raff?” There was a hitch in his voice. “Frank?”
“You’re a fan?”
“I’ve seen it a few dozen times.”
“You go as Brad.” It wasn’t a question. With his square jaw and farm-boy looks, it was the part Troy had been born to play. He only had one question left. “Is it tighty-whitey Brad or end-of-the-movie Brad in the corset and thigh highs?”
Please let it be the latter. He needed pictures. Video. His cock twitched inside his jeans. He’d rent out an entire theater and put on Rocky Horror on a Thursday night if it meant seeing those muscular thighs strapped into silky lingerie.
“Beginning of the movie Brad.”
Alex hadn’t seen a bad tuxedo or a plaid cummerbund among Troy’s belongings. “Tan windbreaker, blue sweater, blue button-down, khakis. Totally normcore.” Alex really shouldn’t find that hot. His erection was like an iron bar now.
Good to know he could still discover a new kink.
They kept walking. The crowds got thicker as they got closer to Times Square. A film crew was shooting an action sequence. A group of cabbies was arguing on a street corner. Troy didn’t say anything. He was waiting for an answer.
Alex sighed. “There’s a whole bunch of us who go together. We like to do the whole set. Some people have their favorites, but I’m pretty good at switching things up. Most of the time I go as Rocky, but I also make a damn fine Janet.”
“Holy hell.” Troy stopped short in the middle of the street. Someone bumped into him from behind, causing a ripple effect in the pedestrian crowd. His Adam’s apple bobbled against the skin at his throat.
“Was it the gold briefs? Or, do you really, really have something for guys in white bras?”
“I’d oil you up and drop you down.”
“Not at my sushi place.” On the other hand, they weren’t too far from Moon River—if they hopped on the nearest subway and headed uptown. It wasn’t exactly a club. In the same way one of the artisan butcher shops in Brooklyn wasn’t exactly a meat market. “You want to go someplace else? They’ve got burgers, and you can practice flirting with the other customers.”
“A nightclub?”
“The nightclubs aren’t going to be hopping for hours. I’m talking about a very friendly bar with even friendlier customers,” Alex corrected. Someplace Troy could practice his flirting in a safe environment. “You could find Mr. Right Now.”
“Thanks, but I’m not looking for a pickup.”
“So, it’s Mr. Right you’re after? You’re looking for someone special.” Alex shoved down a momentary unease. “Let me guess, tall, dark, and handsome. He better have a good job. Maybe an interesting hobby.” He snapped his fingers. “Painting? Music?”
“Cooking’s a good hobby.”
“Cooking’s a great hobby.” Alex grinned. “I can be your wingman. Between the two of us, we’ll have the sucker cornered in no time.”
“I don’t know if sucker’s the right word.”
“It better be.” Alex wasn’t about to let Troy get pulled into another one-sided relationship. He deserved to be with someone who wouldn’t keep him bound and gagged in the world’s biggest closet. Someone who would give him the soul-tingling, toe-curling experience he deserved.
The
clientele at Moon River fit the bill, older than the club kids, secure in their sexuality, and open to something new.
And if one of them did happen to be Troy’s Prince Charming? The two of them could fall in love, get married, and adopt a rainbow of miniature poodles.
“Okay, we’ll find you the man of your dreams and I can grab the cutie who’s just looking for a one-night stand.”
“You’re not interested in tall, dark, handsome, and employed?”
“My dreamboat takes out the trash on his way out the door. I don’t do rebounds.” He counted on his fingers. “And I don’t do long term.”
“Sounds lonely.”
“How could I be lonely when I’ve got you to go home to at night?”
Of course, if Prince Charming really did exist, he’d probably want to move Troy out of Alex’s living room to some big country house in Westchester County.
Bastard.
“You should think about it,” he suggested. “Life’s not exactly a fairy tale. There’s no such thing as love at first sight—or first kiss—you don’t want to fall for the first guy who gives you the time of day. You could sample the wares a little first, have a few one-night stands before you go looking for your happily ever after.”
There was construction up ahead. Half the sidewalk had been roped off, creating a choke point. They had to move closer together to fit through at the same time.
Troy’s arm brushed against his side. The heat off his body created a cascade of wildfires across Alex’s skin. “Don’t worry.” His voice was thick with indecipherable emotion. “I’m not going to fall in love with the first guy I kiss.”
“Good. I don’t want you moving out to the suburbs too soon.”
They’d decided to rewatch all of the Marvel movies in order, snuggled up on their nights off with a shared blanket and a bowl of popcorn. It was a long-term project, but they’d already decided to watch the X-Men movies when they were done.
Between their two schedules and the prolific efforts of Hollywood producers, that was at least a year of movie watching. Maybe more.
Troy wasn’t going anywhere.
Chapter Fourteen
Tucked up against a boutique hotel in Greenwich Village, Moon River was classic New York with horseshoe-shaped booths, gleaming wood tables, and buttery leather chairs. The bartender was wearing a fedora, and the music coming out of the discreet speakers was New Orleans jazz. Trays full of artisan burgers and intricate salads sailed out of the kitchen to land in front of a well-dressed clientele.
The hostess gave their casual clothes a quick once-over and seated them at a table near the kitchen. “Can I start you off with something to drink?”
“You want a beer?” Alex didn’t wait for an answer. He ordered two different beers off the on-tap menu. “You can try them both,” he explained when they were alone at the table. “Keep the one you like better. I’m good either way.”
“Considerate.” Troy flipped open the menu. The words swam in front of his eyes. Up at the bar someone let out a squeal of surprise. His gaze lifted.
A red-haired man in a pink sweater embraced a large blond. What started as a hug turned into a kiss. Lips locked tight together. Hands drifted across each other’s bodies. The passion was palpable from across the room.
No one else seemed to notice.
Or care.
Now that he was looking, he could see half a dozen other couples all over the room. They were all gay and all touching. His breath caught in his throat. His palms were sweating.
“Stop staring.”
“Right. I don’t want to offend anyone.”
“They’re not going to be offended,” Alex said. “They might invite you home for a threesome.”
“What?” Troy blinked. “Really?”
“Not Todd and Rico.” He nodded toward the couple in the corner. “But the guys at the bar? Lee and Martin? Oh, yeah, they’re usually up for a third.”
Troy swallowed hard. “Have you ever gone home with them?”
Images danced in the air in front of him. Alex naked and writhing, surrounded by grasping hands and hard flesh. The redheaded man bracing himself against Alex’s hips as he took his cock in his mouth, his companion draped eagerly across Alex’s back. Fingernails dug into his skin leaving half-moon impressions in their wake.
And if Troy was the one on his knees? If it was just the two of them? What would Alex sound like? Gasping? Moaning? What would he taste like?
Whiskey and blood. His hands were shaking. Heat and need. Alex’s body covering his, pushing him back against the closest wall. It was a good thing he was already sitting down because the memory of their kiss had him weak.
If Troy was the one kneeling on the ground, Alex wouldn’t lie there gasping. His hands would be tight around his head. Those clever fingers would dig into his scalp and pull his hair. There wouldn’t be a single thrust or swallow that wasn’t under his control.
Bossy little tart.
Troy’s zipper left permanent impressions on his erection. He wanted to reach across the table and take Alex’s hand in his.
Even if Alex didn’t believe in love at first kiss or long-term relationships.
Forget about hand holding and sweet nothings. They were friends, not lovers.
A waiter stopped by their table and dropped off two beers. Alex ordered a bacon swiss cheeseburger with sautéed onions. It wasn’t Troy’s usual order, but he said, “I’ll have the same thing. Well done.” He hadn’t read the menu. “Does it come with fries?”
“It comes with a side salad, but I can sub in some fries.” The waiter was slim and dark. His white button-down was tucked into tight black pants. Black eyeliner rimmed hazel eyes that never flickered away from Alex’s face. “Our house fries are fresh cut and served with a rosemary aioli.”
“Sounds good.” Alex grinned across the table at Troy. “I’ll have the same thing.”
“Anything for you,” the waiter purred. When Alex didn’t notice, he huffed quietly and strode off.
Alex chuckled. “I told you it was a friendly place.” He pushed the glasses across the table. “Tell me what you think.”
The frosty glasses contained amber liquid and a frothy head. Troy took a sip of the first one; it was a full-bodied ale with a nutty finish. “Good.” He tried the second one. It was...different. “Is that hot pepper?”
“It’s made with scotch bonnets. Do you like it?”
“No.” Troy took another sip. “Yes. Maybe.” He drank some more. The drink managed to be both ice cold and spicy hot at the same time. It was bizarre, but he couldn’t stop drinking. “It’s growing on me. Like mold.”
“Right.” Alex picked up the other glass and drank his more ordinary beer with a smile on his face. He swallowed half the glass before putting it back down on the table. A foam mustache floated above his lips. He licked it away and nodded toward the bar. “What do you think? See anyone you like?”
Alex. Troy liked Alex. Even if he didn’t know what to do about it. “I’m going to need a few more of these first.” He swallowed down the rest of the beer, wincing when the hot pepper clung to the back of his throat and made it hard to breathe. He coughed. “And some water. I’m definitely going to need some water.”
“Water spreads the spice around. You need a milk—unless you want to make it a White Russian.”
“I’ll make it another beer,” Troy said, but he didn’t bother waving down a waiter. The beer could wait. He stretched out his legs under the table. He was enjoying himself. “You come here often?”
“That sounds like a line, even coming from you.”
“It wasn’t meant to.”
“I know.” There was a slight pause. “I had a boyfriend who used to come here back when I was in medical school. He never got the fries—too worri
ed about his cholesterol.”
“Med school must have been hard.”
“Not really. In undergrad I double majored in biology and mathematics. I spent four years practically living in the university library. Med school was just a continuation of that.”
“You wanted to be a doctor.”
Alex closed his hand tight around his glass. “I wanted people to notice me. It’s the curse of a big family. No matter how much noise you make, there’s always someone leading a conga line in the other room.” He placed the glass down carefully, lining it up precisely against the edge of the table. “What did you want to be when you were a kid? A soldier?”
“Soldiering was my ticket out of Indiana. I wanted to be a firefighter.”
“No shit.” Alex clapped. “You’re a success.”
“Thank you.” Troy made a tiny bow without leaving his seat. “Thank you very much.”
Two burgers hit the table and they dug in. The food smelled good. It tasted better. The meat was tender and moist. The buns were fresh baked. Sea salt clung to the fries.
“It’s been a while since I’ve had dinner with a man,” Troy said.
“Forty-eight hours is a while?”
“You do a mean roasted chicken, but that’s not what I’m talking about.” He took a juicy bite out of his burger. “Ian and I used to go out, occasionally. Mostly we ate at home. Takeout. Hamburgers—he makes an awesome hamburger. If we were going out someplace nice it was always in New Jersey or Upstate. We never just met up for a bite after work. Not like this.”
“There are some decent places in New Jersey,” Alex said. “I went on a date once with this guy from an engine company in Trenton. We went to a sports bar and drank some beers, bet on a Mets game. Winner got to choose our next date. He bet for the Mets. I bet against.”
“What did you pick?”
“Not a Mets fan I take it. Good to know.” Alex grinned. “We never went on the second date. He got pissed and stormed out in the bottom of the sixth.”
“Asshole.” Troy snagged a fry from the pile on his plate, dipping the end in the rosemary aioli sauce before popping it into his mouth. Aioli meant fancy mayonnaise. Good to know. “I’m not really a baseball guy anyway.”
