Accidentally in Love (5 page)

Cal sighed and lifted his chin when the bartender looked his way, indicating his need for a fresh drink. He had no intention of getting drunk and had been nursing the first drink for more than an hour, sending away any guy who had the temerity to approach him despite what he suspected was a dark cloud hanging over his head. That was right; he’d had one argument with his roommate, and it had turned him into
Eeyore
.

“You’re in a mood,” the bartender told him, coming over with another beer.

“Waiting to see if my roommate’s gonna kick me out,” Cal said moodily. “Thanks.”

“It’s not like you.” The bartender was someone Cal had talked to dozens of times, and yet, try as he might, Cal couldn’t remember his name. God, he was so bad with names.

He wasn’t just
Eeyore
. He was
shallow
Eeyore
.

He’d spent most of the day wandering around, thinking about where he’d gone wrong. It wasn’t that he hadn’t had a good time the night before with that guy, the one with the same name as Neil Patrick Harris’s character on that show he still couldn’t remember the name of. He had had a good time. In the morning, he’d woken up feeling like something wasn’t quite right, though. When he’d realized that Tom was really, really mad at him, he’d felt like his feet had been knocked out from under him.

Cal blinked at the bartender. “Look, I suck, I know, but what’s your name again?”

“Darnell.”

“Right. Thanks. I won’t forget again.”

The man—
Darnell
—shrugged. “Occupational hazard,” he said lightly. “People come to bars to forget as much as they do to party.”

“Yeah, well, I want to forget, but I don’t want to either, because if I do, I might do it again. The thing I did that I want to forget, I mean.”

Darnell quirked his eyebrows. “Profound. Or maybe I should ask for your keys.”

Cal grimaced. “I’m fine. Just reevaluating, you know.” He nodded at the end of the bar. “There’s a woman down there looking thirsty.”

Darnell took the hint and moved away, leaving Cal to his thoughts—not that they were taking him anywhere.

His approach to life was designed not to leave hurt feelings. He went into every encounter making sure his partner knew the score, and he never two-timed anyone. Not that it would’ve been easy to do that, given that his love life was mostly one-night stands. But now and then he’d been in a relationship that’d gone on for longer—two months, once—and he’d been good. No reason for him not to be.

Meeting Tom hadn’t changed anything—upsetting Tom had. Cal hated it when people were angry with him or disappointed, and Tom was both. Cal’s memories of the night before were hazy. He did remember his date flirting with Tom. At the time, it hadn’t registered, so it did seem weird for Tom to get this bent out of shape over it.

There was also the way they’d been groping each other, when, yeah, maybe they should’ve kept their pants zipped. But Tom wasn’t a kid or an easily offended straight man. Anyone else would’ve just told them with a grin to get a room, or hell, taken Barney,
yeah, Barney, that was his name
, up on his offer. Not that he’d been serious, because Tom wouldn’t have been his style. Tom wasn’t anyone’s style by the look of it, which was a shame.

Cal sighed, long and loud. This was going nowhere. Tom was a strange, touchy, solitary man, and Cal was at a loss to know how to deal with him. Which was a first, because Cal was good with people, especially men. When he photographed someone, he got them to relax, to shine. When he photographed them nude or just barely covered, they were sensual, melt-the-page erotic. That kind of connection was impossible without empathy, or so he’d always thought.

“Guess I was wrong about that,” he muttered and finished his drink. Sitting here wasn’t going to make things right, and Tom had been left alone all day, so he should’ve calmed down. Hopefully.

He left a nice tip for Darnell and headed for the door. Halfway there, a guy stepped backward into his path and they collided. Cal put out a hand to steady himself and the other guy. “Sorry,” he said automatically before realizing the man seemed familiar. “Hey, I know you. Rico?”

“Well, I
hope
so,” Rico said in return. “I’d feel pretty bad if you didn’t remember me, even if it was just one night.”

It had been a good night too, Cal thought. They’d gone back to his place—back when he’d had his own place, just before the party where he’d met Tom—and fucked three times before collapsing into sleep. Though, come to think of it, when he’d woken the next morning, Rico had been gone.

“You didn’t say good-bye.” Not that Cal cared, but it was something to say.

“Um, yeah. Sorry about that,” Rico said. “I just needed to get home.” He glanced over his shoulder toward the dim hallway where the bathrooms were. “So, how’ve you been? I’m sure I still have your number somewhere.”

Cal had no interest in hooking up with him again. It would have been rude to say so, though. “Yeah, you should give me a call sometime. Just, right now—”

“Hey, aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” asked a voice from behind Cal, and Rico blanched.

“Right, of course. This is Cal. Cal, this is my
boyfriend
Slater.”

Ah, well, that explained the worried glance, at least. Rico hadn’t given Cal any indication that he had a boyfriend, but it made sense now. “Nice to meet you.” He offered his hand to Slater.

Slater didn’t offer his in return. “Wish I could say the same. You gave Rico your number?”

“I didn’t know he had a boyfriend.” Every instinct he had, told Cal this was the time to make tracks. “Now I know.”

“Yeah, you do.” Slater was solidly built, his tight T-shirt showcasing a muscular chest and arms. Slater was clearly a man who worked out; even so, there was very little about him that appealed to Cal. Possessiveness was one thing, but the hand Slater had clamped on Rico’s shoulder was squeezing tightly enough to look painful. “I don’t like the idea of that.”

“Well, I’m sure if Rico ever finds my number, he can just toss it in the trash,” Cal said, striving for lightness. “Look, I’d love to stay and chat, I'm just—”

“I know your type,” Slater said. “You think you can pick up anyone that takes your fancy, don’t you?”

The honest answer was yes, but Cal had more sense than to voice it. “No, of course not.”

“Slutty little son of a bitch like you trying to take what’s mine…” Slater’s words were slurred. He’d obviously had too much to drink.

“It wasn’t like that.” Cal couldn’t help darting a glance at Rico, who was just standing there, not helping at all. Cal couldn’t entirely blame him. He had the feeling Rico was going to be in for an unpleasant night explaining himself as it was. If Slater had known the full extent of Rico’s walk on the wild side…
ouch
. “I think it’s best if I just go.”

He held Slater’s gaze for a moment, refusing to grovel in front of the man, then turned and walked away, not moving any faster than he would normally have walked. He could feel Slater watch him go, his spine itching with a warning that was most definitely rooted in the primal.

Maybe that was why he wasn’t surprised to hear footsteps behind him as he was walking back to his car. He swung around to face Slater, his mouth open to say something less reasonable and more pissed off, and was rocked backward by a punch that landed squarely on his nose.

The pain arrived a moment later, hot, sickening agony radiating out from his nose. Blood gushed out over his lips and down the back of his throat, making him choke.

He stumbled backward and felt his hip bump into the side of his car. Gravity and surprise worked against him, and he didn’t manage to keep his feet. Instead, he slid sideways and landed hard on the pavement. There was a muttered curse from Slater, then a fresh bloom of agony as what Cal had to assume was a boot toed sharply into his stomach. Cal gagged as he inhaled blood. It occurred to him that this could easily become more than an ass-kicking, and he decided flight was the only thing likely to get him out of this mess.

Barely able to stagger to standing, Cal moved away from Slater, squinting at the big man through watering eyes. He couldn’t remember ever being in this much pain, but the fear was the hardest to bear. Cal wasn’t scared of much, but Slater’s pale eyes held no mercy, and his mouth twisted in a smile of pleasure when Cal brought his hand away from his nose dark with blood.

“Not so pretty now,” Slater said with satisfaction. “When I’m done with you, you won’t take a chance on screwing around with anyone’s boyfriend ever again, asshole.”

Cal took one step back, then another. His legs weren’t holding him up the way they were supposed to, and running would just give Slater something to chase. He leaned over, his hands on his knees, and tried to take in some air, enough to give him the strength to land at least one good punch or maybe get into his car and lock the door

From a few yards away, someone said something loudly. Cal didn’t catch the words through the buzz in his ears. He looked up to see the impossible. Tom was standing there with a cell phone held slightly above head level and a stern look on his face, an improbable guardian angel. Cal blinked. It didn’t change what he was seeing. Tom didn’t disappear, and Slater was backing off, a frown replacing the sneer.

Rico put his hand timidly on Slater’s arm. Cal could see that his eyes were sparkling, as if the little shit had gotten off on Slater’s brutal assertion of ownership.
Freak
. Cal didn’t care what people did if they kept it between themselves, but he was starting to wonder just how many men before him had discovered that sex with Rico came with a price. “Come on, honey. I don’t want to have to bail you out tonight. Please? Let’s go home. Let me make it up to you.”

Slater spat on the ground and wiped his knuckles over his shirt, then nodded. “Yeah, fine. Let’s go.” They started to walk away.

Cal tried to straighten up as Tom came toward him, needing not to look completely helpless. He overbalanced and fell back against the car again. It was like all his adrenaline fled at once; he slid down the car and sat on the ground, grateful it was solid and supportive.

Tom didn’t waste time asking what had happened. Cal supposed, with the small part of his brain still capable of rational thought, that it was fairly obvious it hadn’t been a mugging but something more personal. He felt Tom’s hand work its way into his jacket pocket, searching for the keys to the car.

“I need you to get up,” Tom said after unlocking the car and opening the back door. “Can you do that, or do you need me to pick you up?”

Cal shook his head, a welcome
muzziness
dulling some of the pain. He turned and let the blood and saliva in his mouth spill out onto the ground. It looked disgusting. He coughed up another mouthful. “Just give me a hand.”

With Tom doing most of the work, Cal rose to his feet and allowed himself to be eased into the back seat.

Tom leaned in and pressed something into Cal’s hand, which confused Cal until he realized it was a wad of tissues.

“Hold this against your nose. It’ll help. I think your nose is broken—maybe it could just be bruised—and I saw him kick you in the stomach. Anything else I need to know about?”

Cal shook his head. Tom fastened the seat belt around him and patted Cal’s hand. “I’ll avoid as many potholes as I can.”

Smiling hurt, but Cal tried to make his lips curve up anyway.

The trip to the hospital seemed endless. Tom was driving with as much care as he’d promised, but the normal stops and starts of a journey became ordeals to be endured. Cal closed his eyes, hoped that his nose had stopped bleeding, and tried very hard not to throw up.

Amazingly, the emergency room wasn’t crowded, and they were taken to a room right away. The nurse gave Cal an ice pack, adjusted the bed so he could sit upright comfortably, and told him, “Hold that there. The doctor will be with you in just a minute.”

She left, and Cal said, even though it hurt, or maybe because it hurt and he wanted to distract himself from it, “Do you think that’s an actual human minute or a doctor minute?”

“A doctor minute,” Tom said. “Should you be talking?”

“Probably not.” Cal leaned his head back against the top of the mattress. “You could, though. Talk.” It would be nice to have something to listen to other than the inevitable indistinct announcements coming over the loudspeakers.

“You want me to talk? I don’t think I have anything to say. Anything that isn’t a question, I mean. Like who the hell was that guy, and why was he beating you up, and why were you at that bar in the first place? You shouldn’t answer any of those.”

“The boyfriend of a guy I slept with who didn’t tell me he
had
a boyfriend, and because I was killing time.”

“You shouldn’t talk,” Tom repeated.

“Yeah, well, I shouldn’t have been at that bar either, it would seem.” Cal coughed on blood that was running down the back of his throat and shifted the ice pack he was holding to his face a little to the right, which was where it was hurting more. “What were
you
doing?”

“I’m wearing shorts and stink like sweat,” Tom said drily. “Do the math. No, don’t bother. You don’t look capable of handling two plus two. I’m a computer geek by day, a jogger by night. It keeps me fit and helps me sleep.”