Hide Out (7 page)

“Shit,” Trevor breathed, breaking the silence with a laugh. “What are the fucking odds?”

Pete’s muscles, which had been drawn tight, relaxed. “What, that we’d both be gay?”

“Yeah.” Shaking his head, Trevor smiled. “That I’d get the only gay cop as my personal bodyguard.”

“I don’t know if I’m the
only
—” Pete started, only to be interrupted.

“I should’ve guessed when you started dancing me around the grocery store,”

Trevor teased.

Pete gave a short laugh. “Yeah, that probably should’ve been a tipoff.”

Leaning a fraction closer, Trevor asked, “So, when we were messing around in the yard, were you,” he flicked his eyes down to Pete’s crotch, “getting hard?”

Swallowing hard, Pete tried to answer casually. “If I say yes, are you going to get a big head?” At Trevor’s soft laugh, he flushed, picking up too late on the double meaning of his words.
So much for playing it cool
, he thought ruefully.

“That’s why I pulled away at the grocery store,” Trevor explained. “Thought you were going to freak when you felt something poking you.”

“It was probably for the best. You stepping back, I mean.”

At Pete’s words, Trevor pulled back and his face blanked. “Think so?” he asked coolly.

“Well,” Pete said awkwardly. What had started out as teasing seemed to have gone sideways. “If we’d been going at it in the aisle, that woman would’ve probably called the cops on us. We could’ve blown your cover the first day.”

“Yeah, suppose that’s true.” Flopping down onto his back, Trevor stared at the ceiling.

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“You okay?” Pete asked tentatively. He knew he’d screwed up the fun, flirty exchange they’d started but he wasn’t sure
how
he’d done that exactly. What he really wanted to do was roll on top of Trevor and kiss him until they’d both forgotten there’d been any awkwardness.

“Fine,” he answered flatly. “Just tired.”

Pete bit the inside of his cheek. “You going to finish telling me about your dad?”

“Said I’m tired,” Trevor snapped, flipping over onto his side so he faced away from Pete.

“Fine.” He knew he should be annoyed at Trevor’s attitude but all Pete felt was lonely. “Goodnight.”

A grunt was the only answer. Pete stared at the back of Trevor’s head until he fell asleep.

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Katie Allen

Chapter Four

A shout woke Pete. He was on his feet, gun in hand, before he realized the sound had come from the man next to him, who still appeared to be asleep—restless sleep, but still sleep.

Crouching next to his makeshift bed, Pete replaced his gun in its spot next to his pillow.

“Trev,” he said softly but Trevor still tossed, muttering nonsense words. Reaching over, Pete shook his shoulder gently. His skin was sleek and cool beneath his touch, and Pete couldn’t resist. His fingers lingered, brushing the place where Trevor’s arm met his side.

Trevor sat up with a gasp and Pete jerked his hand away.

“Okay?” Pete asked gruffly, the feel of Trevor lingering on his fingertips.

“What?” Trevor blinked. “What’s going on?”

“You were having a dream,” Pete told him. “Bad one, by the sound of it.”

“Fuck,” he sighed, allowing his body to sink back onto his sleeping bag. Pete watched him. “So, you okay then?”

“No,” he admitted. “I’m not.”

This was out of Pete’s experience—not the bad dreams, but the aftermath. The comforting part. “Want to talk about it?”

“No.”

Well that was clear enough. “Think you can sleep?”

“No.”

Having expended his whole repertoire of post-nightmare conversation, Pete settled on his side, facing Trevor, on top of his sleeping bag. Even though he knew it was stupid, he really wanted to touch him again. Fully expecting a rebuff, he reached out and laid his hand on Trevor’s bare stomach.

Pete felt the other man’s rough inhale, the high-tensile vibration of the muscles beneath his palm.

“What are you doing?” Trevor asked, although he sounded more curious than offended.

“Dunno.” He really didn’t. “Just wanted to touch you.”

“Oh.” The silence seemed bigger in the darkness.

“That okay?”

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The stomach beneath his palm lowered in a sigh. “Yeah.” Trevor’s hand found his, resting on top, warm and heavy and…nice. “After all, we did agree we could hold hands.”

“True.” Pete smiled. He was still smiling when he fell asleep.

* * * * *

The next time he woke, the lemony morning light was streaming through the uncovered windows and he was plastered against Trevor’s back. They’d both shifted during the night into the space between the two air mattresses and Pete’s side was numb from lying on the hard floor.

Despite this discomfort, he really didn’t want to move. His right arm had wedged itself beneath Trevor’s head and his left was wrapped over his waist. Pete’s erection pressed against the curve of Trevor’s ass.

Pete wondered if Trevor was hard as well and he was very tempted to slide his left hand down a few inches to find out. He hesitated though, not wanting to wake Trevor and ruin this opportunity just to hold the man against him. His hips had their own plan, however, flexing slightly to push his erect cock against the ass in front of it. Pete could feel the moment when Trevor woke, the alert tension of the other man, but Trevor didn’t move away—or even move at all. Emboldened by Trevor’s stillness, Pete flattened his hand against Trevor’s stomach and slid it downward, moving slowly, giving Trevor time to push him off if he chose. When Trevor didn’t move, didn’t shove him away, Pete stroked a single finger beneath the waistband of Trevor’s boxer briefs.

He heard Trevor’s breath catch. Pete’s heart accelerated, thumping in his ears, and his hips flexed again. This time, Trevor pushed back against the pressure, catching Pete’s cock in a pleasurable trap.

Unable to be patient any longer, Pete thrust his hand beneath the fabric of Trevor’s underwear and closed his fingers around a thick cock that was just as hard as his was. Hissing out a breath, Pete explored the length of it, from the base to the wet tip and back down again to cup Trevor’s drawn-up balls.

“Shit!” Trevor groaned, breaking the morning’s silence.

“Shh,” Pete whispered into his ear before closing his teeth on the hard meat of Trevor’s shoulder. He yelped, jumping under the pinch of Pete’s teeth, and the cock wrapped in his fist swelled even more.

Pete’s phone rang. The sound startled him, making him tighten his fingers around Trevor’s erection, drawing another hungry groan. Muttering curses under his breath, Pete released him reluctantly and scrambled to grab the phone.

“Yeah?” he snarled.

“Giordano.” McDonald sounded uncharacteristically tentative. “Is this too early to call?”

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“No,” Pete said, more calmly this time. “Sorry, Detective. Rough night.”

“Everything okay?” the detective asked, his voice sharpened.

“Yeah.” Pushing to his feet, Pete stretched, popping the night on the hard floor from his joints. Glancing at Trevor, he saw the other man was watching with hot, narrowed eyes.

“Giordano, you there?”

Swallowing hard, Pete ripped his eyes away from the six-plus feet of hot man lounging on the floor, watching him as if he’d like to eat Pete alive. “Uh, yeah. Sorry. Didn’t get too much sleep. We had a visitor in the yard last night.”

“Haas?” McDonald guessed, sounding more stressed than Pete had ever heard him sound.

“Not unless he wears really small shoes,” Pete reassured him. “It was a kid. I’m thinking it was just curiosity about the new neighbors. I’m going to trim the trees away from the house today though, limit the possibility of anyone using them for access into the house.”

With an approving grunt, McDonald said, “Good idea. Everything else okay?”

“Seems to be, except for the man-eating front porch. Have to replace a few rotten boards before one of us becomes its dinner.” Trevor stood up and did a stretch of his own before disappearing into the hall. Pete could hardly restrain himself from running after that tight, boxer-briefed ass.

The detective laughed. “Welcome to the joys of homeownership. You’ll be dying to get back to your apartment after all this is over.”

“Probably,” Pete said, although he didn’t really mean it. This house was growing on him even more, now that he and Trevor were living in it together. He made a face at the sappy thought. Twenty-four hours and he was already dreaming of rainbows and puppies and lifelong relationships. He had to knock that shit off immediately.

“Well, hang in there,” McDonald told him. “It’ll be over before you know it. Call if you need anything. Otherwise, I’ll check in with you in a couple days.”

“Sounds good.” After Pete hung up the phone, he glanced at Trevor’s empty sleeping bag. Disappointment trickled through him before he quickly clamped down that emotion.

Get moving,
the logical side of his brain ordered.
There’s no time for crawling back in
bed for some morning delight anyway.
He couldn’t help giving the mussed sleeping bags a final glance before heading for the bathroom.

It was occupied, of course. Pete hesitated, listening to the hiss and patter of the shower through the closed door. Unable to resist, he turned the doorknob and slipped into the steam-filled room.

Trevor had picked out a basic, clear shower curtain the day before to circle the ancient claw-foot tub that had been converted to a shower. Pete swallowed hard, 42

Hide Out

staring at Trevor’s body, which was barely blurred by the steam and rivulets of water coursing down the curtain.

A clear shower curtain is nice,
Pete thought. He finally forced himself to rip his eyes away and turn toward the toilet. As he peed, he concentrated on slowing his breathing. If he was going to hyperventilate every time he even glanced at Trevor, he wouldn’t get anything done.

Without thinking, Pete reached over and flushed the toilet.

“Fuck!” Trevor bellowed from the shower, almost taking the brand new curtain down as he hurdled out of the tub.

“Shit, sorry,” Pete told him. “That’s ancient plumbing for you. Let’s add a flowcontrol valve to our list of things we need to install.”

A soaking wet Trevor just glared at him, dripping. His hair darkened to bronze when it was wet, Pete noticed, fascinated. He reached out to touch a strand draped over his shoulder, plastered against his skin.

“I love your hair,” Pete said and then pulled his hand away, a little startled he’d actually said his thought out loud.

“Don’t try to distract me with that flattery bullshit,” Trevor grumbled. Although he clung to his scowl, Pete noticed certain parts below the waist were very much affected by that “flattery bullshit”. “You tried to scald me like a lobster.”

Pete bit back a laugh. “That’s because you’d be delicious.” Leaning in, he nipped at Trevor’s neck. “Especially with butter. Better get back in there before all the hot water runs out and I try to freeze you like,” Pete thought but couldn’t come up with anything,

“a frozen lobster.”

“Fine.” Trevor watched him warily as he stepped back into the shower. “But I’ll know to look out when you come in here with a stick of butter and your lobster bib on.”

Pete laughed as he left the bathroom. At least he knew how to get Trevor out of the shower if he happened to be taking too long. If they were going to be roommates, it was good to know these things.

“Holy fuck,” Trevor muttered, turning his face up to the now-comfortable spray and closing his eyes. The teasing, rumpled Pete with bed-head and morning stubble was even more irresistible than his clean-cut, Boy Scout alter-ego. How was he going to manage not to completely lose his shit over this guy?

* * * * *

“Okay, that’s just not fucking fair.”

Trevor stopped dead. Never mind bed-head Pete or Boy Scout Pete or cop Pete or any other Pete so far—this,
this
Pete was going to bring him down. He was rummaging in the oversized tool compartment built into the back of his truck, his jeans hitting low on his hips and his bare back exposed to the mid-morning sun. 43

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He forced his feet to walk, to skirt the hole in the porch and the stacked boards and bring him within six feet of Pete. That was the best he could do. Any closer and Trevor was going to hurl himself on the other man, rip off those raggedy-ass jeans and fuck him silly.

Jamming his hands in his pockets, Trevor tried to look casual. “Thought today’s first project was going to be the porch hole.”

Pete looked around and grinned. “When you say ‘porch hole’, it sounds dirty.” He focused on the toolbox again and pulled out a small chain saw. “Nope, tree first, porch later.”

Trevor grunted. “Showing off for the neighbors?”

“What?”

Nodding toward Pete’s bare chest, Trevor elaborated, “Thought maybe you were hoping to get on the ‘Honeysuckle Studs’ calendar this year.”

“There’s a Honeysuckle Studs…?” Pete flushed as he trailed off. “Ha ha. Very funny. It’s hot out, okay?” He stalked off toward the rickety garage. Falling in next to Pete, Trevor noticed they were being watched. “You managed to draw a crowd. I think your nomination for Mr. July is pretty much in the bag.”

“Fuck off,” Pete said under his breath. “Shit, everyone is watching, aren’t they?”

They were. The lawn-mowing man from the previous day was washing his car and shooting regular glances toward them. Marsha was back at her hedges, still trimming nothing but air. Next door on the other side, an older couple fussed with the potted geraniums lining their porch.

“Maybe I’m paranoid because someone wants to kill me,” Trevor muttered, “but I’m kind of creeped out by this. You?”

“Definitely,” Pete agreed, ducking into the rickety garage through the side door. It was a fairly large structure but mostly full of junk left by the previous owners, stacks of pallets and a stack of scrap wood. Even if Pete
had
wanted to park his truck in the garage, it wouldn’t have fit without some major cleanup. Instead, they’d stored the new ladder and some of the other supplies they’d picked up the day before in the garage. It would at least keep the rain off. Handing the chain saw to Trevor, Pete maneuvered the ladder out the door and carried it over to the tree their spying visitor had used the previous night.