Samantha Wayland
to deal with it—and soon. Destiny wasn"t easily put off and that he"d gotten this far meant that she was giving him some room. Her patience would not be limitless.
What could he say that would explain his reaction to that kiss? The reaction that still rode him, three days later, like it had happened ten minutes before. Why couldn"t he forget about it? Why did remembering the feeling of Brandon"s body pressed to his, the taste and feel of Brandon"s mouth, make him feel so damned hot? Why did it make his heart beat harder, his skin feel tighter?
He wished he knew the answers to any of those questions. What he did know was that he missed Brandon. Since the Academy they"d been each other"s sounding boards.
Even after Brandon had gone to the Organized Crime Task Force and Patrick has stayed in the Detective pool, they"d kept up their tradition of running ideas and leads past each other, hoping fresh eyes would see something the other had missed, fresh ears would hear things the other hadn"t keyed in on. And it worked. Or it had, until Patrick had taken to avoiding his own best friend like the plague.
And then, of course, he also missed Brandon for more reasons than the professional ones. Along with Destiny, the guy was his oldest friend, his closest friend. He missed talking to someone who knew him so well he had to be honest. With whom he could be utterly and totally himself. Someone who accepted him without question.
Which, without a doubt, made him a world-class asshole, since that was exactly what he wasn"t doing for Brandon. Brandon"s bisexuality had never been an issue—
right up until the moment he"d kissed him and they"d bumped hips and thighs and cocks and… shit.
Patrick sat up, shoving his legs back under his desk, shifting in his seat to ease the mounting pressure in his boxer shorts. He really needed to stop thinking about the whole damn mess.
Because, you know, denial had been working well for him so far.
Destiny managed to sneak out of work early, hit the grocery store and dash over to Patrick"s house in plenty of time to start supper. As she used her key to get in, she told herself not to be nervous. She was a woman on a mission. One that might get her into a big old bucket of hot water with two men she loved, but a woman on a mission nonetheless.
She"d be damned if she was going to let Patrick do the denial dance for one more day. She"d tried, several times, to bring up the situation with Brandon and where had it gotten her? Nowhere. The only question he"d answered had been her nightly inquiry into whether or not he"d seen Brandon at work that day. His abrupt denial was no doubt the truth, even if it wasn"t the whole story. Not by a long shot.
She set the table carefully, knowing as she put the third place setting down that she"d been impulsive when she"d called Brandon and asked if he would meet them for dinner. She"d been pleased when he"d agreed, albeit reluctantly. But she"d also been shocked by his transparent surprise at hearing from her. What did he think, that she 26
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would avoid him because Patrick was doing so? Because Patrick was an idiot with a hang-up about kissing men and liking it? Not hardly.
She"d been friends with Brandon just as long as she had with Patrick. She loved him just as much and simply because she had slept with Patrick in the past did not mean she was going to turn her back on a dear friend. Frankly, Brandon had never had more of her sympathy. God and she both knew loving Patrick was enough to make a person want to smash their head against something hard.
She"d done her level best to make sure Brandon understood where she stood in all this and felt certain they were back on solid footing. No, the real issue with the dinner was going to be that she"d neglected to mention to Patrick the part about inviting Brandon. It was entirely possible—likely, in fact—that Patrick would walk through that door thinking they would be alone. He"d made his interest in resuming their intimate relationship very clear each time they"d spoken.
She shook off the pang of guilt. Tough. Patrick was getting increasingly terse whenever she brought up Brandon, as if he had to clamp down on everything in his head and heart in order to control his response. When he wasn"t actively distracted by something or someone, he was either pacing or staring off into space. He"d never run scared from anything in his life. It was just plain crazy that he was running from his own best friend. She kept hoping he"d snap out of it, but so far he hadn"t shown any sign of getting a grip.
Dinner preparations were well underway when the doorbell rang. Farley was apoplectic as he wriggled and danced in the front hall. Taking a deep breath, she plastered a smile on her face, used a knee to keep Farley in the house and pulled open the door. She was going to ask why Brandon hadn"t used his own key, but the words got caught in her throat.
Brandon stood in the fading light, his smile sad, as beautiful as ever. Maybe more.
He wore his thirties well, turning a face that had been almost too pretty on a teenager into one more traditionally handsome. The high cheekbones and sculpted lips looked more masculine and comfortable with crow"s feet and smile lines to keep them company. His bright-green eyes were still startling, but his light blond hair had faded from cornsilk ringlets to soft honey curls.
She could probably spend hours just staring at him. She had on more than one occasion in the past. But perhaps now wasn"t the time.
“Hi. I"m so glad you"re here,” she said, throwing her arms around his neck and pressing a smacking kiss to his cheek. When she would have stepped back, his arms banded around her waist, lifting her right off the stoop and against his chest, her feet dangling above the painted planks of the creaky old front porch. He was a wall of warm, hard muscle. She fought the urge, as she had many times in the past, to writhe against him like a happy cat.
She couldn"t help the spread of arousal, like warm syrup in her veins. She wanted to purr when he tucked his face against her neck, his lips brushing the sensitive skin.
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“I am having the worst fucking week.” His voice was hoarse, his breath warm where it sighed over her skin. Her heart twisted.
“I know, baby. I"m so sorry.” Running a hand through his hair, she hugged him close before nudging him to put her down. She led him back to the kitchen with his hand in hers.
She"d no sooner tucked him into his chair in the breakfast nook and returned to the oven to check on dinner when the front door opened, then slammed shut.
“Hey, Kitten! Where are you?” Patrick called out as he walked through the door.
He"d known she"d be waiting for him when he got home and it felt good. The big, old house got lonely sometimes.
There was a beat of silence before Destiny responded from the kitchen. “Back here.” She sounded cheerful. Overly cheerful, actually.
Then he heard the murmur of a deep voice and knew immediately what she"d done. He was in denial but he wasn"t stupid, damn it. He loved Destiny, really he did, but later he was going to have a serious conversation with her about butting her nose into other people"s business.
Bracing himself, he strode toward the kitchen, coming to an abrupt halt in the doorway. Brandon sat at the kitchen table, the same kitchen table Patrick and Destiny had made love on the day he"d moved into the house and god help him, his imagination immediately started conjuring images that made his knees weak.
Jesus Christ, he needed to get a handle on himself.
Brandon, damn him, appeared to be relaxed, leaning back in the chair he"d sat in a thousand times before, one hand resting casually on the table top, the other in his pocket.
Patrick wasn"t fooled. Brandon had to be pissed.
Brandon nodded once, speaking softly. “Hey, Patrick.” His feet were glued to the floor. “Brandon.”
“I hope it"s okay. Destiny invited me to dinner.”
“Sure, why wouldn"t it be okay?” he asked, forcing a smile and jerking his body into motion. Nerves were going to eat him alive. He wasn"t nearly as good at playing it cool as Brandon was.
Snagging a be
er from the fridge, he popped the top and chugged half of it before swinging around to face Brandon. “Beer?”
“Sure.”
He grabbed another, opened it and turned to pass it to Brandon. Brandon reached out, still as calm as a lake on a clear morning, the bastard, and wrapped his long, lean fingers around the bottle. Their warmth brushed along Patrick"s skin and he jumped, the beer bottle slipping from his grasp and Brandon"s before plunging to the floor. With a hard knock and a spin, beer spewed everywhere.
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“Shit!” Patrick jumped back as the jet of foam soaked his shoes. Christ, he hadn"t been this nervous since the night he"d kissed Destiny for the first time. Even then he"d been able to hold his shit together better than this and he"d been a teenager. Grabbing a wad of paper towels from the counter, he knelt to sop up the mess.
Brandon, a bunch of napkins from the holder on the kitchen table in hand, came toward him. “Here, let me help.”
Brandon was close. Too close. Patrick didn"t think before he swiped the napkins out of Brandon"s hand. He needed some space, goddamn it. “I got it. Thanks.” Brandon crouched down beside him, their thighs brushing, his strong tan arm reaching out to the puddle on the floor, and Patrick could feel his body responding. Jesus. He just needed a minute. He needed to get control of himself. Was Brandon crowding him on purpose?
Hating the panic that tightened his chest, but unable to halt it, he leapt to his feet, stepping away from Brandon. “I said I"ve got it. You go sit down. Relax.” He turned to grab more paper towels and found himself face-to-face with Destiny.
Fists firmly planted on her hips, she shot him a look that clearly said what he was already thinking— what the hell was the matter with him?
He wished he knew.
Avoiding Destiny"s angry, knowing eyes, he looked at Brandon, still crouched in the middle of the room. He"d have to be blind and first-class stupid not to see the accusation and hurt all over Brandon"s face.
Fuck. He hated it. Hated himself for causing it. Goddamn, he was such an asshole.
Why couldn"t he just relax? He despised how Brandon"s startling green eyes didn"t look at him the same way anymore.
After twenty years, suddenly it had all changed.
Patrick unconsciously took a step toward Brandon and watched as Brandon"s eyes filled with mistrust.
It just plain sucked. And god help him, he fucking deserved it.
Brandon stared up at Patrick"s stricken face and felt a cold lump lodge in his chest.
Was this it? Was the end of all these long years of friendship one kiss? It sure looked like it. Patrick was so repulsed by him he couldn"t even stand to have him near.
Couldn"t prevent recoiling in horror when their fingers brushed. From leaping up and away when they got too close.
All those years of fantasizing, of not confessing his feelings, not admitting to anyone, not even Destiny, that he was in love with Patrick, were all for nothing. He"d lost Patrick"s friendship anyway. And why? Because his big-mouthed, hot shot, fucking idiot of a friend had to go grandstanding at a gay club. Shit. He could have handled the jerk who had been hitting on him. Hell, he"d give anything to go back and take a swing at the dumb fuck, starting a bar fight in a packed house, if it meant he wouldn"t have to know what it felt like to have his oldest friend turn his back on him.
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Anger, hot and powerful, swept through him. He hadn"t done anything wrong, damn it! He hadn"t done anything at all. Patrick had kissed him. It was his fucking fault.
And what did Patrick care about it anyway? He"d called out to his Kitten when he"d come home. Brandon knew what that meant. Patrick only used that pet name for Destiny that when they were sleeping together.
Just thinking about it made his guts twist. He could picture them, sweaty and naked, wrapped around each other, Patrick"s hips pumping. He shoved the image away. Don’t go there. The images were too raw, too exciting.
Patrick and Destiny had always had something special between them and he"d always promised himself he wouldn"t be jealous of that. He should be happy for them.
The cold lump in his chest swelled into a yawning void filled with loneliness and envy so bleak, it ached. He tried to force the awful feeling back. He had to. He would not be jealous of Destiny. Not after all this time. She was beautiful, smart, funny, kind.
His dearest friend. And Brandon loved her. Honestly, he loved her almost as much as he loved Patrick, which was as fucked up as it sounded. Even better, he"d almost acted on it once, way back when, but then she"d hooked up with Patrick.
So, great. Two decades and countless moments of wonderful friendship with two people he loved, all flushed down the proverbial toilet because of something he"d had no control over. The unfairness of it, piled on top of an almost crippling sexual frustration, added to the look on Patrick"s face, still frozen in horror, led Brandon to do something he almost never allowed himself to do.
He totally lost his fucking temper.
Jumping to his feet, he got right up in Patrick"s face. “You asshole.” Patrick"s eyes widened. “I—”
“Save it! I"m not interested in hearing whatever it is you have to say. Instead you"re going to listen to me.” Destiny came forward and he knew she was going to insert herself between them. He stopped her with a long look, then returned his entire focus to Patrick. “You are some fucking piece of work, you know that? I cannot believe, after all the three of us have been through together, after all you and I have been through together, that you"re going to fuck this up.” Brandon had to fight back the lump forming in his throat. He tugged at his own hair, fighting for control, but losing the battle when Patrick watched his every movement warily.
Un-fucking-believable.
“What?” Brandon demanded. “Are you worried I"m not going to be able to control myself? Afraid that after just one taste, I won"t be able to resist jumping you? You kissed me, remember, you fuckwit? I"ve managed to control myself for the last twenty years, asshole, and after your ridiculous behavior tonight, I"m pretty sure the next twenty won"t be an issue.”
For a fleeting moment before the blood rushed into Patrick"s face, a sure sign that he was getting angry, he looked hurt—like he had any fucking right. Brandon had to 30
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force himself not to reach out and shake the bastard. He didn"t know what he"d do if the jerk flinched when he touched him. The possibility alone set him off again.
He planted a finger, hard, into Patrick"s solar plexus. He knew it would piss him off and he wanted it to. “You"re an idiot. A complete fucking idiot. You need to think about what you"re doing. About whether you"re willing to throw away a good friendship because you can"t deal with what happened.”
Patrick"s face flushed scarlet and his hands clenched in tight fists when he ground out his response. “I don"t know what you"re talking about. I"m dealing just fine. Hell, there is nothing to deal with! You"re the one caught up on this whole kiss thing.” Patrick might as well have waved a matador"s cape in front of a bull. Brandon sure as hell saw nothing but red. How fucking dare Patrick pretend that this was all on him?
He wasn"t the one who couldn"t be in the same room with him, the one avoiding him at work, the one who"d leapt away from him when they"d barely touched.
Goddamn that asshole, he wasn"t going to pretend their kiss hadn"t meant a thing to him—good or bad—and then let it ruin their friendship.
Fuck. That.
Locking a hand on either side of Patrick"s face, he took full advantage of Patrick"s jaw dropping in shock, slamming his mouth down and thrusting his tongue past Patrick"s stunned lips. Patrick didn"t move, didn"t even flinch, his eyes open and unblinking, neither engaging in the kiss or shoving away as Brandon swept his tongue through every corner of Patrick"s mouth.
Brandon was expecting the first punch. Braced for it. Hell, he was looking forward to it. He watched Patrick"s shoulders flex, knew his arms were c
oming up and drove his tongue deeper, further, taking what he could get before the first blow could land.
His breath left him in a whoosh when Patrick"s arm wrapped around his waist. He would have torn his mouth away but Patrick fisted a hand into his hair, holding him still. Holding him close.
In the blink of an eye Brandon went from kissing Patrick to being thoroughly kissed.
Sweet Jesus. Not again.
Patrick"s tongue stole over his, his lips yielding, responding, working at Brandon"s mouth. Each touch, each parry of Patrick"s tongue sent electric shocks zinging through Brandon"s body. He acquiesced, giving the kiss over while sinking deeper into it. It was so sweet. So good. Patrick ran a thumb over Brandon"s jaw and he let his eyes close, simply losing himself in kissing Patrick.
God, how could anything so fucking stupid feel so good? He couldn"t stop. Didn"t want to. Three days of jerking off hadn"t even come close to easing the ache. But this.
His blood sang on its way south, his head spun from its rapid retreat. Every nerve ending was on full alert, gathering in sensations, swamping him with data.
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When Patrick shoved him back, he was certain the kiss was over and the really ugly stuff was about to begin, but Patrick stumbled with him, their mouths never parting, leading the kiss and their bodies as he drove them across the kitchen. Patrick steadied them when their feet tangled, pressing their chests together, their knees bumping until Brandon"s back slammed into the wall. The impact might have been painful, but was forgotten when Patrick"s hips caught up, pinning him to the wall and grinding his enormous erection against Brandon"s. A spike of pleasure shot through him and settled in his tightening balls.
Oh God. It was so big, even trapped in those tight jeans. He wanted to touch it.
Taste it. Feel it filling him. He pumped his hips against Patrick"s, pressing hard, Patrick"s answering growl so thrilling he could barely breathe.
How could this be happening?
Then Brandon"s oxygen-deprived brain had a moment of perfect clarity.
Patrick wasn"t freaking out because he found kissing him repulsive. He was freaking out because he liked it.
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