Love & Loyalty (12 page)

Jim was a repressed workaholic who didn't date, who didn't have real relationships. Here comes Griffin, willing to do whatever he wanted to make him a happy little home. Dinner on the table? A good fucking? Fun conversation? No problem! Can I roll over and fetch your slippers while I'm at it? Thank you for not throwing me out—yet!

Any day now, Jim would come home in a foul mood and decide he didn't want to have some stranger in his space. And that would be that. This illusion would be blown to shit and Griffin would be on another plane, in another limo with Daisy's stony, self-righteous anger simmering in the air.

And she would be right again.

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* * * * *

He was deciding between a text message and a note for Jim, something simple about “thanks for the fun and see you later and it was
great
,” or maybe that wasn't cool and detached enough. It had to be casual, because he couldn't jeopardize the movie.

Griffin was terrible at casual, as was clearly demonstrated by how long it took to pack up a pair of underwear, socks, jeans, and a T-shirt.

It took him so long, in fact, he realized the shadows had gotten longer and more pronounced. His stomach growled defiantly at the lack of lunch or dinner, and he checked the clock on the nightstand.

Jim would be home any minute.

The BlackBerry buzzed next to him. It was a text message from Jim.

Griffin stomach did a mighty flip as he pressed the Accept button.

Feel like going out? Meet me downstairs in thirty.

Daisy could be right tomorrow; he texted back
yes
and unpacked his bag.

For now.

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Chapter Fourteen

“That lobster was amazing,” Griffin said as the truck pulled into Jim's regular parking space.

“Yeah, the decor isn't much, but the food's out of this world.” Jim put the truck into park and sighed as he shut the engine off. He was bone-weary tired and putting off a very pressing question about how long Griffin was staying.

Because on one hand—no complaints. On the other hand—it was starting to be a “thing,” and Jim was terrible at “things.”

“Tired?” Griffin laid his hand against the back of Jim's neck as he rested his head against the steering wheel.

He tried not to purr.

“Uh-huh.”

“We should have stayed in, then.”

We.

Jim shrugged, pulling himself together as he sat up. He shot Griffin a nervous smile in the dark.

“Thought I should show you all the nice Seattle spots before you went home.”

Uncomfortable silence followed his words, his words that he wanted to suck back in because that wasn't how he wanted to do this at all.

“Oh right…about that.” Griffin was reaching for the door handle now, hands to himself. “I talked to Daisy earlier—we have this party…thing…to go to this weekend…”

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“Of course. I'm surprised you haven't had anything better to do in the past week…” Oh God. Jim clamped his mouth shut. He was making this worse.

“Glamorous life of a movie star's gay companion—party after party,” Griffin said sarcastically, getting out of the truck and slamming the door.

“What?” Jim grabbed his keys and hauled out of the truck after him. “I didn't say that. I was just…wondering.”

“Wondering what? Why I didn't seem to have a life to go back to? I've been writing, okay? A lot of writing. That's what I do. I can do it anywhere, and here is where it's working.” Griffin's furious pace into the building was curtailed by Jim's fumbling with the keys.

“Okay, okay.” Jim opened the door, and Griffin pushed inside, stalking to the elevator. “I'm sorry. I was just making conversation.”

“Moronic conversation,” Griffin muttered, tapping his foot against the floor, waiting for Jim to produce the elevator key. “If you want me out, just say so.”

“I didn't say that.”

“You might as well have. Sorry, I thought you were having fun.”

“
I am
.”

“Then why are you shoving me out the door?” Griffin was yelling now, and Jim felt his own temperature rise. Yeah, this was why he didn't do dating anymore. Fucking drama.

“You said you had a party to fly down for, I was wondering why you hadn't had anything else—that's it.
You
brought up leaving.” Jim slammed into the elevator and punched the button.

Griffin folded his arms over his chest and stared at the shiny slivers of glass in the elevator. He didn't look at Jim, didn't acknowledge his words—

nothing except the muscle in his jaw that kept jumping.

Jim stared at that.

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“It's no big deal,” Griffin said suddenly as the doors opened. “This wasn't anything but like…hanging out and fucking. Whatever. I should be able to get a flight first thing in the morning.”

“Right,” Jim answered but then wondered why the hell they were fighting about something that wasn't a big deal. That was stupid. This was stupid.

“Whatever you want to do.”

“Right. Whatever.”

“Right.
Whatever
.” Jim threw his hands up, and his keys went flying.

Griffin was muttering again as he stalked outside onto the balcony.

“For the love of…” Jim started stripping out of his work clothes, heading upstairs to get something to change into. Maybe go for a run, because there would be no peaceful evening of hanging out with someone (and sex, couldn't forget the sex), because that was shot.

He reached the top of the stairs, and all his thoughts grounded to a halt as he spied the folded clothes on his bed.

It took a second, but then he recognized them as his. As in formerly dirty clothes washed and neatly folded in a stack on the made bed.

He blinked, then leaned over to look at the rest of the loft below.

Clean. Tidied up. He thought for sure he'd left some junk mail on the counter this morning and a few dishes in the sink, but no. Everything was neat as a pin. He spotted a new box of cereal on the counter. Dish soap—he'd forgotten that during his last trip to the twenty-four-hour market.

Griffin, in a few short days, might be the best roommate he had ever had.

Roommate with benefits.

It made him tired to think about how accustomed he'd gotten to the other man in less than a week. And then he was tired and afraid, at the prospect of coming home tomorrow and not being able to see Griffin.

Stupid. This shouldn't have happened, bad idea. Very bad. Complicated like Jim didn't remember how to handle.

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“Hey, Jim?” Griffin's voice reached him, and he turned around to find him half-way up on the stairs, looking as crappy as he felt.

“Thanks for doing my laundry.” Blurting out the first thing in his head wasn't Jim's best bet most of the time, but it seemed to momentarily bring a smile to Griffin's face.

“Oh, no problem. I was doing mine…” His voice trailed off as he looked around the loft, carefully avoiding resting his gaze on the bed. “Anyway, I just wanted to apologize for picking a stupid fight. Me and Daisy had a thing on the phone, and I was feeling—” Griffin made a gesture with his hand. “I was feeling like a fuckup so, you know, acted like one. Completing the asshole circle.” He punctuated it with a circling of his hands in the air.

Jim sat down on the bed, all confusion and a loss of words.

“So let's pretend I don't know what I'm doing here, or what I'm doing wrong actually.”

Griffin came up the last few steps and settled on the top stair, watching Jim warily. “You didn't do anything wrong. I'm some guy who pushed his way into a dinner date, then boom! I never leave!”

“It's only a few days.” But that didn't make sense, because really—who did this? Jim never did it. “It's not like you moved in.”

“I did laundry here.”

“You did my laundry! That was—Thank you. It was very nice,” Jim pointed out, hands clasped between his knees.

“It's weird.”

“Why is it weird? I've had roommates who never did that.” Even Ben never did his laundry, and he spent a long time imagining himself in love with
him.

“It's not really a roommate thing,” Griffin said, a confused expression settling on his face. “It's like a…a…boyfriend thing. Haven't you ever lived with a boyfriend who did your laundry?”

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Jim thought about it, then thought it was weird he had to think about it.

Wasn't there a quick memory that popped into his head?

Nope, nothing.

“No. I've lived with boyfriends, but none of them did much of anything.” Wow, he had terrible taste in men.

“Well, that's…” Whatever Griffin was going to say was cut off, and Jim watched the emotions play over his face. If this were an interrogation, he'd have wondered what new information was about to come to light.

“What? Proof my past relationships probably sucked. Because they did.”

“No.” Griffin frowned. “Yes. I mean, I was going to say yeah, that sucks, and then I remembered being the person who does all of that without reciprocation sucks too.” He shrugged.

“So, uh—you're regretting doing my laundry?” Jim rubbed his forehead.

This was an excellent reminder of how soulless sex was so much easier than conversation. “Because, you know—I'm good with you not doing it when you're here. But if you want to, it's really nice.” Griffin smirked. “Good God, are you this ridiculous with suspects?”

“No, I'm actually great at that! Witnesses too.”

“So this would be going better if I were traumatized or in handcuffs?” Jim laughed, an honest, amused sound as he shook his head. Yeah, this would be easier in either of those cases, which made him a good cop and a lousy noncop.

“We're quite the pair,” Griffin commented as he stood up, stretched out the kinks from his uncomfortable perch. He glanced at the spot on the bed next to Jim—who nodded at both the statement and the unspoken request.

“You're not so bad.”

“Thanks, neither are you.” Griffin sat down.

“Wanna…I don't know. Do something?”

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Griffin raised an eyebrow.

Jim rolled his eyes. “I didn't mean that. I meant…I don't know. Go for a run or a movie. Something.”

The other man laughed. “Oddly enough, I never really go to movies and I only run when chased.”

“What about all those premieres?”

“Dude, you never actually watch the movie. You do the red carpet, hang out in the VIP room and drink, then go to the party afterward and tell everyone how much you loved the movie.”

Jim shook his head. “That makes absolutely no sense.”

“It's Hollywood. It's not supposed to make sense.” Griffin paused. “Actually it might be nice to see a movie without pressure to make up something nice about it.”

“If you hate it, I promise not to be upset,” Jim said drily. He looked over at his dresser. “Lemme change, you check the paper for the movie times.”

“I have my BlackBerry.”

“Riiiight. Whatever; check the thing that tells you when the next showing of whatever movie you want to see is, and I'll change into roomier pants.”

“Roomy?”

“Popcorn.”

* * * * *

They shared a giant popcorn, and Jim made it to the last scene without falling asleep—a major accomplishment for him. As everyone filed out, Griffin remained in his seat, however, even as Jim was standing up.

“What are you waiting for?” Jim yawned, dusting kernels off his pants.

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“Watching the credits.”

“That was a terrible movie. Are you looking for people to blame?”

“Noooo—all these people worked hard for this terrible movie. It's their job.” Griffin looked embarrassed as the lights came up, so Jim sat back down.

“So you watch the credits?

“Every movie, every television show. 'Cause—you know, someone should.” Griffin rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Okay, I've never said that out loud before, and it sounds ridiculous—let's go.” Jim shook his head. He'd never thought about it that way. They were just credits; he never related them to actual people. People like Griffin. “Nah, let's stay. Hey, we should watch one of your movies so I can see your name.”

“My stuff kinda sucks.”

“I thought you were successful.” Jim's gaze narrowed. Ed's movie shouldn't be in the hands of anyone who sucks. “Daisy is…”

“Daisy is a movie star. I make a living at what I do. Neither necessarily equals high quality. I mean—Twinkies sell more than gourmet chocolates.”

“Twinkies are
good
. They…hit the spot. Sometimes you don't want gourmet.”

“Yeah, sometimes you want synthetic crap that will survive the apocalypse.”

“Nothing wrong with that.”

“That's debatable.” Griffin wasn't looking at him; his eyes were on the screen, and Jim wasn't sure he was still focusing on the people behind the names. “Sometimes I'd like to be doing a bit…more.”

“Like Ed's movie? Is that what this is about? A side project—that's what you called it at dinner the other night.”

“Yeah. Yeah.” Griffin sighed as he turned to face Jim. “Listen, you have to know—we're not going to screw Ed over. I absolutely swear it. Daisy and I are taking this very seriously, not just because of the subject matter but because Love & Loyalty

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