Passing Time (2 page)

“Neither.” Louis pulled his hand away and took a step back. “I don’t touch the stuff.”

“You only drink bourbon?”

“Pretty much.”

“Your liver must love you,” Jake said, collecting up the empty glass.

“My liver and I get along great. Catch you later.”

“Here’s hoping.” Jake grinned.

Louis hurried for the exit.

* * *

When Louis was shocked awake by a loud, incessant buzz, he swore under his breath, rolled over, and fought to ignore it. The noise seemed determined to keep him awake. Short, violent bursts throbbed through his skull like no car alarm he’d ever heard before.

He sat up and gazed at the faint moonlight glowing beyond the blinds. He’d fallen asleep on the couch again. The buzzing sound was coming from the intercom by the front door. He didn’t recognize the sound because he’d never heard it before. No one came to visit. No one knew he was here.

Kids. Had to be. They’d probably thumped every buzzer on the wall and woken the whole building just for kicks.
Bastards
. He’d show them a kick.

He stumbled over to the intercom by the front door and snatched up the receiver. “Fuck the hell off, you little shits!”

“Louis?” a wary-sounding male voice echoed through the speaker.

“Who is this?”

“Jake.” The voice sounded small and apologetic. “I’ve bought Indian.”

Indian? An Indian what? For a moment Louis couldn’t think. He wasn’t convinced this wasn’t a dream. The classic porno delivery-boy scenario, starring the only guy in town he found mildly attractive. “Jake,” he muttered, “from the bar?”

“Yeah. Why? You know any other Jakes?”

“No.” Louis closed his eyes, waiting for logic to sink it. It didn’t. “How did you find my address?”

“You told me.”

“When?”

“A few nights ago. Don’t you remember?”

Louis barely recalled what he’d told the guy earlier that evening, let alone several nights before. “Enlighten me.”

“You told me you were renting an apartment in a new warehouse conversion by the river. Which gives me a choice of one building, right? And this is the only buzzer without a name on it. Come on, Louis. Stop playing silly buggers. Food’s getting cold out here. Can I come in or what?”

Can he come in
? Why would he want to? What the fuck was he doing here? Jake, from the bar. The good-looking muscular blond with the cheery smile. He’d bought Indian. Presumably for two. He’d want to come in and eat. He’d expect conversation and… Louis didn’t think about what else.

A sigh crackled through the speaker. “Don’t tell me you’re not hungry. I bet all you’ve eaten today is a wilting sandwich in the hospital cafeteria. Am I right?”

He was. Louis couldn’t deny the hot meal tempted him. The meal, rather than Jake’s company, led him to press the door release. Or so he told himself.

Now what? He switched on the lights, blinked away the glare, and moved to the huge silver-framed mirror above the fireplace.

“Beautiful,” he said to his wild-haired, bloodshot-eyed reflection.

“The airhead? Or me?”

“You, naturally.” Louis turned his back on his own hideous reflection. Carter lounged on the couch, flicking though yesterday’s copy of the
Times
. “There will only ever be you.”

“Of course,” Carter said from behind the newspaper. “I’m unique. I’m also dead. And the dead make for lousy bedfellows.”

Louis frowned. “I’m not going to sleep with him. We’re just sharing a takeout.”

“You needn’t think I’d mind. In fact, if I were alive, I’d join you.”

“Don’t get your hopes up, honey. After we’ve eaten, I’ll ask him to leave.”

The newspaper creased in the middle as Carter finally lowered it. “What if he doesn’t want to go? What if his appetite hasn’t been satisfied by a sliver of meat in a midnight curry?”

Louis lifted his arms to show off his stained shirt and crumpled jeans. “Why the hell would someone like Jake Harvey be attracted to this?”

“Why else is he here?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he’s after a loan.”

Carter smirked. “Of what? Your cock?”

Louis scowled. “No. Maybe I mentioned I’m a millionaire. Who knows what I say when at the end of a night?”

“You
are
a millionaire.”

“No, honey.” Louis sighed. “Not anymore.” He had some of his father’s money left, granted, but nowhere near enough to claim the title of millionaire. “I’ll ask him what he wants straight off. Save any awkwardness.”

A gentle tap sounded at the door.
Shit.

Carter folded the newspaper in his pale hands and placed it on the table, the pages as smooth as if they had never been read. He leaned back into the couch and fixed Louis with a knowing grin. “Go on, honey. Go get it while it’s hot.”

Did he mean the takeout? Or Jake himself? Probably best not to ask. Instead, Louis hurried to the bathroom, rinsed his mouth, and splashed his face with cold water. He checked his appearance in the medicine-cabinet mirror, ran a hand through his hair, and went to answer the door.

Jake stood in the corridor, a faded denim jacket over his sapphire blue work shirt. In his left hand he clutched a carrier bag wafting exotic scents.

“Hey.” Jake grinned. “Were you on the phone?” He breezed into the flat like this was something he’d done a thousand times before.

Louis closed the door, wishing he were more alert. “No.”

“Only I thought I heard you talking. Wow!” Jake dumped the bags on the kitchen counter and gazed about his surroundings. “Fab place. Who’d have guessed this was a derelict warehouse only last year?”

Fortunately the question was rhetorical, but Louis remembered the ugliness of the Victorian brick buildings. Smashed windows and graffiti-covered NO TRESPASSING signs. He’d broken in once or twice with a group of boys whose friendship only extended as far as the next bottle of vodka he brought with him. His mother always had a plentiful supply and hardly ever noticed when one went missing.

Jake turned his gaze to the ceiling and scanned the spotlights above his head. Then he flitted across into the lounge and touched the leather couches before running a finger along the top edge of the plasma TV. Spotting the mirror dominating the lounge, he crossed to it and fussed at his hair just as Louis had moments before, only with one difference. Louis had only wanted to check to see if he could still pass for vaguely human before opening the door to his guest. Jake was clearly preening, although for whose benefit Louis wasn’t sure. That was what he disliked most about this whole situation, the uncertainty. What exactly was Jake doing here? What did he want?

“You don’t mind me just showing up here, do you?” Jake turned around and flashed one of his gleaming smiles. “Only earlier, you looked as though you could use the company.”

“I did?”

“Yeah. I mean, when guys start talking to themselves in bars, I think that’s a clear sign.”

Jake might have spoken in jest, but Louis was in no mood for humor at his own expense. He nodded at the bag in Jake’s hand. “I did skip dinner tonight.”

“Good. You’ll be hungry, then. Where are your plates?”

“Not exactly sure.” Louis scratched his head. “I tend to eat out.”

“If you eat at all?” Jake gave Louis a disapproving look and then brushed past into the kitchen. He flipped open half a dozen cupboard doors before finding the plates. He took out two and placed them on the breakfast bar before distributing the contents of the foil cartons equally between them.

“Here.” Jake handed the plates to Louis. “Take these to the table.” Louis did as directed, but not without a reservation or two, especially at being ordered about in his own—admittedly temporary—home.

“I remembered your bourbon.” Jake joined him a moment later, a tumbler and wineglass in one hand, cutlery and a carrier bag in the other. He set everything down and pulled a half bottle of bourbon and a bottle of red wine from the bag. “Before you start worrying about my dad’s profits, I slipped thirty quid into the till before I left.”

Louis sat down and stared into his dinner plate, eyeing the few chunks of fatty meat drowning in a thick, greasy sauce.

“You sure you don’t want some of this?”

He looked up as Jake took a seat and poured himself half a glass of wine.

“No, thanks.”

“Is something wrong?” Jake picked up his fork. “You don’t like lamb?”

Louis uncapped the bourbon and poured himself a large shot. “The food isn’t the problem.”

“So what is?”

Louis wasn’t sure, but at one in the morning, here he was having dinner with a gorgeous man at least ten years his junior who must have at least one ulterior motive.

“Do you usually buy all your customers dinner? Personally delivered?”

“Only the sexy ones.”

Louis hadn’t thought of himself as attractive, let alone sexy, in a long while. He didn’t believe it now from someone who could—and probably did—do a lot better.

Jake speared a piece of lamb. “Heather told me you asked about me yesterday, on my night off,” he said before popping the meat between his lips.

“I left because I fancied an early night,” Louis said, though he hardly sounded convincing.

Jake sipped his wine, gazing steadily at Louis from over the top of his glass. “If you weren’t interested in me,” he said after the silence began to get awkward, “you wouldn’t have told me where you’re staying. You wouldn’t have let me in tonight either. Louis, you’re as attracted to me as I am to you. One of us had to make the first move.”

Louis lowered his gaze. Yes, he was attracted. Who wouldn’t be? Yet he couldn’t get past the idea he was being mocked. Maybe this late night visit was some sort of dare cooked up between Jake and this Heather girl. A bet. How much was a night in the sack with a washed-up loser worth? Usually around two hundred dollars. That was a while ago. The price might well have risen since then.

Louis stood and moved to the balcony doors to watch the lights twinkle on the other side of the river. What about the other side of this situation in which he found himself? Jake really didn’t seem like the kind of guy who’d dole out a pity fuck to the most desperate looking barfly. Why would he? He probably had his pick of the best-looking punters at Harvey’s. Perhaps Louis presented some sort of challenge. Did it matter? Whatever this evening meant to Jake, Louis could guarantee it meant even less to him. He was still puzzling things over when Jake appeared behind him, ghosting the glass. When Jake’s hands landed on his shoulders and began to knead, Louis near groaned out his pleasure.

“You know at work,” Jake said, his breath hot against Louis’s ear, “I wait for you to come in every night. I try to act cool when you do show, like you’re just another guy in the bar. Only I don’t I think of you like that, and I’m not so cool right now.” He moved even closer, until something hard and solid pressed against Louis’s backside. “We haven’t even touched or kissed or anything.”

Louis pulled away.

“Jake.” His voice thickened with arousal. He coughed and cleared his throat. “Jake,” he began again. “We’re not going to touch or kiss or anything.”

“Aren’t we?” Jake moved around to stand in front of him.

Louis gazed into his face. A thin sheen of sweat glazed Jake’s forehead. Sparse fairish hair feathered his upper lip. Louis took a deep breath through his nose as Jake leaned toward him. He opened his mouth to tell him to stop, that things had gone far enough, but Jake’s lips closed over his own, and the words dissolved in the exotic flavors of spiced lamb, red wine, and lust.

For a moment he indulged the kiss, even returning it a little. He pushed Jake’s tongue with his own; Jake pushed right back until Louis gripped Jake’s biceps and broke free, his breath coming in short, hard pants.

“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” he said.