Happy (18 page)

furious at himself, at her. He had deceived Louie, lost out on a chance for

something good, for Demetra. She had put him through all this torture, and

now she was the one screwing it up?

“You’re not even upset, are you? You two are a piece of work, you

know that?” Louie sneered. “You deserve each other.”

“It’s not what you think. There’s a lot you don’t know.”

“Like what?”

Peter opened his mouth to confess everything just as a bolt of lightning

split the dark sky. A transformer two blocks away exploded in a shower of

sparks. “Jesus,” Louie yelped as the streetlamps went out.

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104

A second later, the first big fat raindrop hit Peter squarely on the head.

He looked up and the skies seemed to open. Shrieks of laughter filled the

night as people ran for shelter from the downpour.

Peter grabbed Louie by the arm and sprinted down the nearest side

street. “Where are we going?” Louie shouted over the crash of thunder.

More lightning flashed. The rain came down heavier.

“The restaurant.” They ran through the back alley, splashing through

the rapidly forming puddles, finally taking cover beneath the dripping fire

escape outside the rear entrance of the restaurant. Louie barreled into his

back as Peter stopped to unlock the door. He huddled close and damned if

Peter wasn’t enjoying it too much to tease him about it. He suppressed a

giggle; he felt like he was fifteen again and sneaking a girl in after closing.

“Are you sure this is okay?” Louie asked, his breath hot against Peter’s

neck. He couldn’t control a shiver.

“Yeah,” he replied, disgusted with the telling hoarseness of his voice.

“It’s not the first time I’ve snuck in after hours.”

“Was this your make-out spot?”

“I couldn’t very well take anyone home, could I?”

Peter flipped the light switch just inside the door. Nothing. “Power’s out.”

“Here.” Louie used the flashlight app on his phone to light the way.

“This shouldn’t last long. It’s just a summer shower. We can wait it

out in here.”

Louie led him through the dark corridor and into the restaurant proper.

Peter stopped to grab some clean towels from the supply closet and tossed

a couple to Louie. There were some votive candles under the bar—he just

needed to find the lighter.

Louie threw a towel over his head and went to look out the window

while Peter searched. Outside, the wind roared. Rain pelted the glass,

sounding like a barrage of gunfire. “It’s hailing, Peter,” Louie cried. “And

the water’s almost up to the curb. I’d forgotten what summer storms could

be like here.”

“It’ll blow over soon.” Peter found a book of matches and lit the

candles. The glow was weak, but provided enough light for him to grab the

bottle of ouzo from the wall shelf.

“I don’t know about you, but I could use a drink,” he said. “Call it a

perk of the job.” He poured himself a generous shot and tossed it back like

a pro, with barely a grimace. The booze burned a welcome fiery path all

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the way from his throat to his stomach. Then he refilled the shot glass and

handed it to Louie. Louie seemed to hesitate but then slammed the clear

liquor back.

“I forgot how much I hate this stuff,” he rasped.

“The second one goes down easier.”

Peter stripped down to his undershirt and draped his cotton work shirt

over the back of a chair to dry. He toweled off as best he could and avoided

looking at Louie as he did the same. Hell, if he was going to sit around in the

dark with a bare-chested Louie, he definitely needed another drink.

He poured a third shot, which Louie politely declined. Peter held the

glass up like he was making a toast, feeling the liquor warm his insides and

blot out his earlier humiliation. “To girlfriends. Apparently I have no luck

with the fake ones either.”

“Fake?” Louie repeated. He looked a bit woozy and Peter held back

a smile. Lightweight. He grabbed the ouzo and the glass and marched over

to a booth in the back corner, out of sight from the windows, his sodden

sneakers squelching on the tile floor. He pushed the table away and sat

down, toeing off his shoes and flinging his wet socks onto the nearby chair.

He stretched his legs out on the seat.

Louie hung back. “Peter? Why did you come to that bar tonight?”

“Because you asked me to.” He met Louie’s eyes and held the gaze.

There it was again. That electric pull. Even in the dark, he felt it.

“Is that all?”

He couldn’t answer. Didn’t want to put himself out there again. The

silence was filled by the steady patter of the rain outside. Peter averted his

face, certain that his thoughts, his feelings must be broadcast there plain as

day. Annie said so. And even Adam, on that day they’d played tennis, had

noticed the direction of his interest.

When Louie joined him on the banquette, sitting close enough that

Peter felt the heat from his body, his penis stirred. He did his best to ignore

it. “So, who is it?” he asked.

Louie sighed. “I don’t know. All I saw were the shoes. I thought… I

thought it was you at first.”

The hurt in Louie’s voice made Peter take notice. Guilt swiped at him.

Was it possible that Louie had feelings for him after all?

The urge to confess surged up in his chest again, the words pushing at

his throat. “It’s not real,” he finally said.

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“What’s not?”

“All of it. Me and Demetra.”

Louie sat up straighter. “What?”

Peter reached for the bottle of liquor—for courage—but Louie caught

his wrist, his grip firm but not forceful, just letting Peter know he wasn’t

going to give in. “No more. You don’t need that.”

That crazy, forbidden lust flickered back to life. For a second, he

imagined Louie pinning him down, the weight of his body on top of him.

He shook it off and took a deep breath.

“Your mom and mine fixed us up months ago, but we knew as soon as

we met it wasn’t going to happen. So we decided to use it to our advantage,

reduce the pressure a bit.”

Louie’s jaw tightened. “You
lied
to me.”

“Not only you. Everyone. At first it wasn’t so hard, but then you came

along and…. You, more than anyone, deserve the truth.” Peter mentally

braced himself. Louie would hate him now. And he deserved it.

Louie’s eyes blazed in the shadows. “The truth? What is that, Peter?

All along you’ve been using her to cover for you, haven’t you? Because

you’re too scared to admit what you really want. Do you even care about

her at all?”

“Stop comparing me to your shitty ex-boyfriend,” Peter snapped.

“I’m not him. Demetra and I came up with this
together
. I was going to

tell you all this, but you didn’t want to hear it.” He wanted to say more,

that it had been Demetra’s brainchild, not his, but he doubted Louie would

believe him.

“Yeah? And just how long was this supposed to go on?”

“I don’t know. We didn’t get that far in the plan. I figured at some

point we’d part ways and I’d take the blame as usual. Just one more girl

picky Pete couldn’t commit to.”

Louie leaned back against the banquette with a muttered curse. His

shoulder touched Peter’s, and little bursts of electricity seemed to radiate up

and down Peter’s arm. “So… you guys never…?”

“Slept together? No. She’s not my type.”

“What
is
your type, Peter? Because I’m a little confused.”

Peter gave a harsh laugh. “You think
you’re
confused?” He scrubbed

a hand over his face. He was joking. He might be in denial, but he’d never

been confused about what he wanted.

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107

“You played me,” Louie spat. “You played me, when you had to

know how I—”

“How you what? You’re the one who said you were done with dating.”

Peter exhaled. “I didn’t play you. Everything with you was real.” Before his

mind even knew what his body was about to do, Peter leaned in and cut

Louie off with a kiss. He gripped Louie by the neck, thumb stroking across

that bearded jaw as he’d been longing to do, felt his swift intake of breath.

At first Louie held himself stiff, unresponsive, and Peter thought, once

again, he’d made a monumental mistake, but just as he would have pulled

away, the tension left Louie’s body, his mouth softened. And then Louie
was

kissing him back
, and nothing had felt as right in a very long time.

Or so Peter thought until Louie’s lips parted and tongues got involved.

Then everything began to spiral out of control. He became frantic. What felt

like a lifetime of wants and needs bubbled to the surface, urging him on in

case he never had this chance again. He kissed the corner of Louie’s mouth,

his cheek, his ear, the line of his jaw. He rubbed his cheek against Louie’s,

shivering at the rough pull of stubble.

His hands slid over Louie’s chest, the skin hot and smooth to the

touch, the nipples hard. By the time Peter’s fingers reached Louie’s belt, he

was shaking.

“Peter,” Louie protested weakly, gravel in his throat. Peter ignored

him, slid his tongue deeper into Louie’s mouth, tasted the liquor they’d

consumed earlier. He palmed Louie’s cock through the fabric of his slacks,

holding back a cry of joy when he found it hard and growing harder. So

fucking hot. His own gave an anxious throb. He groaned in frustration when

Louie grabbed him by the wrist and halted his explorations. “Dammit, Peter,

you’re drunk,” he managed to say.

“No. I’m not.” His words were low and rough. Oh he felt drunk all

right, but not from the alcohol. From Louie. From the way he smelled and

tasted and felt. He buried his face against Louie’s neck, inhaled deeply, the

scent of his skin making Peter dizzy.

Louie’s fingers loosened around his wrist in silent submission, and

Peter gave Louie’s erection a gentle squeeze, thrilled at the way it responded,

the way it thickened further. “You’re so hard,” he moaned, rubbing with

increasing pressure.

Louie gasped, his head falling onto the backrest. “Tell me you’re not

pretending. Tell me this isn’t just about getting off.”

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That made Peter pause. He looked Louie in the eye, the words he

wanted to say stuck in his throat. “Fuck, Louie,” he managed, “for the first

time I feel like I’m
not
pretending.” He couldn’t be more honest than that.

Louie grabbed the back of his neck, dragged him in, searching for his

mouth. He kissed him deeply, tongue stroking tongue.

Before Louie could even think of protesting this time, Peter’s fingers

fumbled at his zipper, drew it down, and slipped inside. The damp heat

stole his breath. He explored the outline of Louie’s shaft, cupped the soft

orbs of his balls. Not nearly enough. Tearing his mouth from Louie’s, Peter

bent at the waist and buried his face in Louie’s crotch through the opening

of his fly, inhaling that intoxicating musky scent until his head swam. He

mouthed Louie’s length through the cotton of his briefs, moistened the

fabric until it was nearly transparent, and scraped his teeth gently over

the head, loving the way it seemed to give a little jerk each time, as if

desperate for the feel of his mouth.

Still he couldn’t get enough.

Louie clutched the back of his neck, stroked his back. Absently Peter

felt his undershirt being drawn up and air on his skin, but he didn’t want

to move, not for a second, not even so Louie could touch him. After a few

failed attempts, Louie simply left the shirt bunched beneath his armpits.

“Fuck, I want to see you, taste you….” The words died in Peter’s

throat as he tugged down the waistband of Louie’s briefs, his lips and tongue

blindly seeking flesh. Louie’s cock sprang up to meet him, and he ran it over

his cheek, over his lips. Saliva flooded his mouth at the first taste. Hungrily

he sucked the head fully into his mouth.

He heard someone moaning and realized it was him. But he was

powerless to control it—Louie tasted so damned good.

Louie’s fingers skimmed down his back and slipped beneath his

waistband to stroke his ass. Peter paused, breath bated, pulsing cock on his

tongue, willing that hand to move just a little farther, just a little deeper.

When it didn’t, he popped the button on his fly and lowered the zipper,

hoping Louie got the hint.

He did.

Peter shuddered at the first touch. His eyes slid closed. His blowjob grew

sloppy as he lost the ability to concentrate on anything except the way Louie

was fingering him just right. His confined dick ached. His balls felt tight. He

could shoot his load any second, and he hadn’t even touched himself.

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Suddenly Louie was cupping his head, tugging him upright again.

Peter moaned in protest. “What are you—?”

He was kissed roughly and then pushed back against the padded