Restoration 01 - Getting It Right (2 page)

Maybe the whole thing had been about getting laid for Nathan, but the kiss had meant so much more to James. He’d wanted Nathan badly afterward, so naturally he’d gone out and fucked the first willing guy he could find. He’d still gone home with the taste of Nathan’s lips lingering in his mouth.

Nathan’s other hand drifted from his back to his waist, then up again, as if it wasn’t certain where to linger. James straightened enough to see Nathan’s face. To see the concern and confusion in his coffee-colored eyes. Nathan licked his lips, probably without meaning to, and James’s pulse raced.

This isn’t real. He’ll do anything for you, because you’ll do anything for him, so don’t
take advantage, you giant douche.

He told his conscience to take a flying fuck, and he did the exact wrong thing. He pressed his lips lightly against Nathan’s and stopped. Waited. Instead of pulling away, Nathan held steady, just like he had in college. Except no one had dared him this time, and they were alone.

Nothing to prove to anyone.

Adrenaline and arousal zinged through James, wrapped up in the fog of alcohol,

demanding he take this further. Turn it into a real kiss before his chance was gone.

Just one real kiss.

James closed his eyes and slanted his head for a better angle. Nathan moved, warm lips whispering against his. Reacting to the most natural act on earth. James parted his lips and gently flicked his tongue against Nathan’s mouth. He caught the faint flavor of bourbon and chips, and something behind that. Something all Nathan. His gut tightened with want. He clutched the back of Nathan’s thin shirt, part of him wishing they were naked in a bed somewhere so he could taste every inch of Nathan. Lick him until he was moaning with desire. Swallow his cock down. Suck him. Make him come so hard he’d never want another lover.

Nathan gasped into his mouth as if he’d heard all of James’s plans. He clutched James’s hip, then let go, uncertain. James fumbled for Nathan’s hand and gave it a firm squeeze before putting it back on his hip, liking it there. James slid his right hand down over soft flannel to grab Nathan’s ass. Nathan groaned and jerked, his free hand threading into James’s hair—to pull him off or keep him there, it didn’t matter, because Nathan tasted so good and James didn’t want it to end.

Except Nathan ripped away from him, his cheeks flushed and his lips wet. He pressed a palm to James’s chest.

“You’re drunk, Jay,” Nathan said. “You’re drunk and you’re hurting, and this isn’t what you want.”

“I don’t?” He was pretty sure he did, but only if Nathan wanted it, too, and he didn’t look like he did anymore.

“No, you don’t. You can’t.”

“But you feel so good, Nate. Taste good, too, and not just like bourbon.”

Nathan lifted a hand toward his face, and James leaned into the touch that never came because Nathan dropped his hand. “I think you need to go to bed and sleep this off.”

“Bed sounds good.” He reached for Nathan again, all spaghetti arms and determination, and he got a solid face-plant on the sofa. Being horizontal started shutting down some of his higher brain function, because he suddenly couldn’t quite recall why he was on the couch and not in a bed.

“Roll over.”

“Woof.”

“Jesus, you’re wasted.”

“I know you are, but what am I?”

“For fuck’s sake.”

Arms rolled James onto his back. He reached for the shape looming over him, only to get the corner of a blanket in his mouth. Flat on his back felt nice. Swimmy. Everything all swirly and floaty.

“Nothing happened with us tonight, Jay,” Nathan said. “It was all a really nice dream.”

James tried to protest, but the light went off and Nathan was gone. He was alone again, on the one night when he didn’t want to sleep alone.

Moonlight glinted off the bottle of amber liquid left behind on the coffee table. His sister’s cries filled the too-quiet room.

Just one more shot…

Nate shuffled into the kitchen and threw two pieces of wheat bread into the toaster. His stomach was still sloshy and weird from a late-night snack of chips and whiskey, and anything more strenuous than dry bread was pushing his luck. He was years past his college glory days of drinking until dawn, scarfing down a plate full of bacon and pancakes, and then acing a criminal law test.

Twelve years past, to be precise. Sixteen years post-high school graduation, and thinking about it made him feel old. Not that thirty-four was old. Not in any real sense of the word. It was only old to his mother, whose constant pestering about finding a good woman, settling down and giving her grandkids was a song he’d gladly never hear again. Except he was destined to hear it every Sunday when he called to chat, because Nate didn’t date.

Dating seriously never worked out, so he didn’t. He’d been a cop on the night shift, and now that he was a detective, his schedule was even more erratic. Living alone and fucking on the side was easier.

Another one of the many ways he and James were brothers from another mother.

He froze in place with his hand on the coffee carafe. Brothers didn’t kiss each other on the mouth like James had kissed him last night. Jesus fuck, he must have been out of his mind for not pulling back the instant James had put his mouth on him. For letting it deepen into what it had. James had just finished telling him how he’d wanted to forget about Price, and what did Nate do to his very, very wasted best friend?

Fucking messed with his already addled brain, that’s what.

Nate couldn’t blame the whiskey for that bad decision. Two shots wouldn’t make him drunk, even on an empty stomach. Holding James while he’d worked through his anger had stirred up the part of himself that wanted to protect James, to keep him safe until the demons inside him settled again. That had been as natural as breathing. The kiss, though…he’d been too startled to pull away immediately, and the entire thing had left him confused. Quick to tell James it had all been in his head.

He’d lain awake for hours, plagued by events he hadn’t thought of in over a decade.

Memories of their kiss at that party. He and James never talked about it beyond Nate boasting about the awesome sex he and Paula had had thanks to that kiss. Nate hadn’t known how to ask James if he’d gotten a funny feeling inside when they kissed, so he never did. He hadn’t known what to do when he caught himself wondering what a real kiss with James would be like. He’d even had a few dreams starring James in various states of dress and undress. On one particularly memorable morning, he’d woken up with a raging hard-on after dreaming of James sucking his dick.

The whole thing was so damned confusing, because it wasn’t guys. It was James. His best friend James. They’d studied for finals together, played video game marathons together, deconstructed
Fight Club
together. And Nate hadn’t wanted to fuck up their friendship by saying anything, so he’d pushed the whole thing aside as a fluke reaction. He’d dated Paula for a few more weeks and then dumped her when the “gay best friend” jokes got to be too much.

He’d moved on. Found another girlfriend. And then another one.

Last night’s kiss had stirred up that same funny feeling in his gut, and he had no idea what to do with it. The kiss had been hot and awkward and strange and familiar—nothing that made any real sense, because he wasn’t attracted to guys. Sure, he appreciated a nice six-pack, but that wasn’t the same thing. And he’d pulled away before those feelings became something real. Something he wasn’t entirely sure how to handle. Telling James it was all a dream was easier than risking fifteen years of friendship based on a nebulous feeling he couldn’t even define.

Something he’d felt with James once before.

The toast popped. Nate munched on one piece dry while he set the coffeepot with water and ground beans. The toast stuck in his throat, so he helped himself to a swig of orange juice from the jar.

A loud groan from the living room reminded him that his guest was still there, probably waking up with his hangover. Determined to play the whole thing off as if it was nothing, Nate grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and padded into the living room. James was sprawled on his back in the middle of the sofa bed, one arm across his eyes, the other flung off to the side.

The sheet was rucked up around his armpits with his bare feet sticking out the bottom.

The liquor bottle was emptier than it had been when he’d gone to bed.

“Don’t you have to be at work?” Nate asked, mostly to be an ass.

And it worked. James sat up straight, hands flailing, mouth open. “Shit, I’m late, aren’t I?

Do I have patients? Fuck, my stomach.” He flopped back down, hands flying to his middle.

“Jesus Christ.”

“Sorry, Jay.” Nate pressed the cold bottle against James’s cheek, earning a sharp yelp.

“Fuck you.” James snatched the bottle but didn’t drink. He blinked up at the ceiling. “I think I took the morning off. Rescheduled an appointment to this afternoon. Pretty sure.”

“That sounds like you.” As emotional as he could get, James was also one of the most organized people he’d ever met. After he got the news about Price, James had probably planned on a big night and adjusted his work schedule accordingly.

“What about you? What time is it?”

“I already called in and took the morning off.”

“You did?” James frowned. “Why?”

Nate arched an eyebrow at him. “You’re sleeping one off on my couch. I needed to be here in case you started barfing on my furniture.”

“So considerate.”

“I really like this furniture.”

“Like every other guy who catalog-shops from La-Z-Boy.”

“Oh fuck you.” Nate snorted, no ire in his voice or heart. James was forever ribbing him about his lack of decorating skills. “I’m not a shrink who makes enough money to buy furniture from Restoration Hardware.”

James’s eyes sparkled with amusement. He still looked hungover but nowhere near as bad as last night. “I always knew you were jealous of my craftsman table.”

“Whatever, man. You want toast or something?”

“No, just coffee.”

Nate pivoted, intent on the kitchen and the sputtering coffeemaker.

“Hey, Nate?”

He glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

“Is my car here?”

Nate allowed the rest of his body to turn around. “Last night a little fuzzy?”

“A lot fuzzy.” James rubbed his palms over his eyelids. “I remember leaving the Pot and being pissed at how I acted inside. I remember having some smokes. I called you, right?”

“Yeah, you asked me to pick you up.”

“Okay.” The question in his eyes said he didn’t remember anything else. At least not clearly.

Nate didn’t know if he should cheer or be annoyed. “I picked you up, brought you back here. You told me what was happening over a few shots of whiskey, got it out of your system and then we went to bed. Judging by that bottle over there, you had a few more nightcaps by yourself.”

James puzzled over the words, probably testing them, making sure he didn’t recall anything differently. Finally he shrugged. “Okay. Thanks.”

“Not a problem. The department’s been at me to use my earned sick time, so you did me a favor by tying one on.”

James flipped him off. Nate laughed, then went to fetch the coffee. He poured two mugs with shaking hands. James had blacked out the kiss. Things were better this way. No morning-after awkwardness to deal with. James had a life he liked where he fucked whoever he wanted, and then moved on. Nate was finally in a good place professionally, he loved his job and he’d accepted he would probably die a bachelor, just like James.

So why had Nate allowed a kiss that stirred up all of those feelings that he couldn’t explain? Why was he thinking about all of the times he’d caught himself staring at James’s ass, legs, face, any part of him because all of him was amazing? What was he supposed to do with that?

Nothing, that was what. Life would go on as usual while he helped James deal with the new reality of Stephen Price on the streets.

Nate drizzled some half-and-half into his coffee, then carried the pair of mugs into the living room. James had managed to sit up. The sheet bunched around his waist, leaving his chest bare. Nate pointedly ignored the expanse of tanned, hairless skin, and handed James his coffee, black.

James sipped at the steaming liquid. Grimaced. “I am such a douche.”

He almost choked on his coffee. “How come this time?”

“Hardy-har, funny guy. Last night. With Ezra? I told you about that, right?”

“Yeah, you did. And yes, it was kind of fucked-up, but you were drunk and in a bad place, and you stopped. No more beating yourself up over it.”

“I should apologize.”

“Yes, you should. Apologize, make amends and then move on.”

“You’re right.”

“Aren’t I always?”

“You wish.”

“Drink your coffee, then go take a shower. I have to be in by noon.”

“Yes, dear.”

Nate hid his smile with the coffee mug. He returned to the kitchen with his coffee and stayed there until he heard the rush of the shower down the hall. His half of the tiny duplex only had one and a half baths, which meant the only shower was in the master. Nate went into his office—a closet-sized room that could barely fit a desk and bookshelves.

He booted up the laptop, then went about checking his emails. A few things related to a burglary case popped up in his work account. Nothing that couldn’t wait until he went in later.

With the crime rates in Wilmington climbing every year, it seemed as though he always had a dozen active investigations happening at any given time. He wasn’t the only city detective, obviously, but they were all stretched thin.

Curiosity got the best of him, and he opened a new email from one of his street

informants. He skimmed the contents and found nothing useful to the case. Last week, he’d been called in for a burglary. An apartment in Hilltop had been broken into and three thousand dollars’ worth of video equipment and DVDs were stolen. So far nothing had turned up in local pawnshops, and his informant knew a handful of street fences who dealt in stolen equipment.