Packing Heat (3 page)

He finaly found his phone and squinted at the screen through

one eye. He struggled to slide his finger against the glass to answer

the cal. Damn smartphones.

“Connoly,” he answered, his voice hoarse even to his ears.

“Hey, man,” said Charlie, his partner for the past three years.

He sounded falsely cheerful, as if dealing with a man on the brink of

a nervous breakdown. “Was just caling to see how you’re holding

up.”

Gavin blinked heavy-lidded eyes, stil fighting to wake up.

“What time is it?”

“It’s noon.”

He groaned and fel back into bed. He hadn’t slept in this late

since colege, which also happened to be the last time he’d ended

up this hungover. He didn’t have anywhere to be since that bulet

earned him an unexpected paid vacation, but he stil didn’t like the

feeling of being useless.

“You sound rough.”

“Feel rough,” Gavin confirmed. “Drank too much. I’m

hungover.”

“Shit, realy?” Charlie asked in concern. “I should’ve hung

out longer last night, but Brad said he’d keep an eye on you.”

Gavin stopped rubbing his face as a sickening rush of

memories washed over him. He looked wildly to the nightstand,

finding a glass of water he hadn’t gotten for himself. Then he

glanced down at the sheets pooled in his lap, knowing he was

naked.

“Fuck.”

“What’s wrong?” Charlie barked, making it obvious he’d

been on edge too. Even if Gavin had fired the gun, they’d both been

under the microscope since the robbery that ended with a nineteen-

year-old in the hospital. “I’m worried about you, Connoly. Do you

need me over there?”

“No,” Gavin said a little too quickly to be normal. “I’m fine.

Go back to work. I’m gonna make myself some coffee and wake

up.”

“You sure?”

“Very.” Gavin widened his eyes. The last thing he needed

was Charlie hovering. “Cal me later.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.”

“Okay.” Charlie stil sounded edgy and concerned. “Cal me

if you need anything.”

“No problem,” Gavin promised. “Thanks, Foster.”

He hung up before Charlie could change his mind and then

sat there staring at the glass of water on the nightstand.

Gavin buried his face in his hands, remembering how he’d

thrown himself at Brad. Fuck. That wasn’t how he wanted it to

happen. Months of trying to get close to Brad, to somehow break

down the barrier of ice that surrounded the sexy battalion chief, and

he’d ruined it with too much beer and a frenzy of hormones.

God, it’d been good too, mind-numbingly, make-his-cock-

hurt-from-the-memory good. That certainly added insult to injury.

Tasting how amazing it could have been, then losing it by being a

desperate slut hungry for something he rarely got.

If the hangover didn’t remind him of colege, this certainly did.

Gavin got out of bed and walked naked to the halway,

knowing Brad was already at work. He avoided looking at his

reflection when he got to the bathroom, and turned on the shower

instead. He made the water too hot on purpose. He used the sting

to both wake himself up and force himself to temporarily forget that

he’d fucked up something he’d wanted badly. The older he got, the

more he leaned toward the gay side of bisexual. He just wasn’t that

good at the whole gay scene. Even in colege, with liquid courage to

pave the way, his encounters ended in disaster more often than not.

If there was a class to teach six-two, two-hundred-and-

twenty-pound cops how to get aggressively ass fucked, Gavin

would sign up for it in a heartbeat. But there weren’t any classes.

He was too butch. Hesitant trips to gay clubs earned him a sea of

attention from pretty bottoms who wanted to give him something he

could get from any number of ex-girlfriends who stil kept in touch.

Sometimes the exes took pity on him when his social life skidded

past pathetic and ended up in the unwiling-priest zone of social

ineptitude. In the end they couldn’t give him what he wanted. It’d

been a very long time since he’d caled an ex or gone to a gay club.

Then there was Brad—more butch than Gavin, always in

charge, no-apologies-for-being-gay Brad. With dark hair and eyes

black as sin, the sexy battalion chief had been the subject of Gavin’s

fantasies since the first time he’d laid eyes on him. He was one of

the few guys tal enough to force Gavin to tilt his chin to look him in

the eye, and Gavin was fairly certain Brad could pin him in a fight,

because the guy was ripped.

Gavin had silently lusted after him for two years before

Brad’s ad for a roommate caught his eye, posted at the rec center

that hosted bimonthly meetings for GLBT public service employees.

Gavin had lingered in the halway, wondering if it was worth outing

himself just for a date. Instead he’d found himself looking at the

buletin board as a distraction.

Gavin couldn’t believe his luck. The battalion chief he’d been

pining for, the one he waved hi to like a pathetic teenage girl every

time their jobs forced them to cross paths, needed a roommate.

Forget awkward meetings; he was going to move in with Brad.

Even someone as gay-chalenged as Gavin could work something

out with enough time. He was charming. He was decent looking.

Enough trips to the fridge with a towel wrapped around his hips

should earn him attention at some point.

Except it didn’t earn him attention. No amount of bare skin

and flustering attempts at flirting earned Gavin anything except a

grudging friendship with Brad. Even then he was held at arm’s

length, and it was easily the most frustrating thing Gavin had ever

encountered.

Every day that ticked by with Brad in such close proximity

left him hornier and more desperate. The lust must have fogged

Gavin’s brain, because he found himself switching gears and playing

the straight card with a string of ex-girlfriends to back it up. Brad

seemed to freeze every time Gavin attempted hitting on him. Maybe

playing it completely straight would leave Gavin unassuming enough

to get closer. If he could loosen Brad up a bit, make him more

comfortable, the two of them could go from being grudging buddies

to fuck buddies. It’d be easy to crack Brad’s iron control if they

became close enough friends.

No dice.

It took a case of beer to get him to where he’d been steadily

working toward for months. And Gavin would bet his pension that

Brad was going to ask him to move out the second he got off his

shift.

First the shooting, now this.

Gavin was having a shit week with nothing to do to keep his

mind off al of it.

Damn paid vacation. Gavin was going to spend the next

twenty-four hours stewing over everything, and he didn’t even have

work to distract him. He had half a mind to go to the fire station and

speak with Brad, but he didn’t think showing up at his job was

going to impress him. He’d just have to wait until Brad got home to

explain himself.

Who knew, maybe a miracle would happen and they’d work

something out.

Brad stuck his key in the door. His body was tense, his

mouth dry with nervousness. He didn’t want to do this. The pitying

apologies, the closet speech that was always the same and usualy

included the mention of narrow-minded work coleagues.

Hadn’t Brad sworn off cops?

Damn, his bad mood wasn’t helped by the sexual tension. He

was wound so tightly every muscle in his body physicaly ached with

the need to fuck. He was going straight to his room and sleeping

until the gay clubs opened, and then he was going to get laid if it

kiled him. Floppy-haired bottoms, bring ’em on if it got his mind off

Gavin.

Brad stood at the door, the key unmoving in the lock as he

attempted to find an inner strength that would keep him from

attacking Gavin and fucking the shit out of him. The memory of

Gavin riding his lap was driving him insane. It started to create an

obsession. Brad needed another taste of the sexy cop like a drug

addict needed another hit.

He was stil working on building his defenses when the door

was jerked open.

“I thought I heard you.” Gavin shifted from one foot to the

other in the doorway, making him look twitchy in a way he usualy

didn’t.

Brad frowned, surprised by Gavin’s easy smile despite his

obvious nervousness. “Were you expecting someone else at eight

thirty in the morning?”

“Ah, no.” Gavin looked away, rubbing at the back of his

neck. “Are you gonna come in? I made breakfast.”

Brad shouldered his bag, grabbed his keys stil hanging in the

door, and walked past Gavin, feeling like he’d falen into an

alternate universe. Gavin wasn’t floundering the way Brad

expected, and he’d claimed to have made breakfast. Cops didn’t

cook, and Gavin was no exception. Given a chance, Gavin could

effectively burn water.

“You cooked?”

“I ordered out.” Gavin gave him a guilty wince. “But it’s

good. From that café up the street you like. I didn’t know what

you’d be in the mood for, so I ordered one of everything. Biscuits

and gravy, pancakes, waffles…”

He was so fucking hot when he was flustered and rambling.

What was it about Gavin? He made the oddest things sexy. Brad’s

body tightened, the coil of need making him desperate to pounce.

He didn’t want breakfast; he wanted Gavin sprawled out and naked

and begging for—

Brad dropped his bag where he stood and scrubbed both

hands over his face as he tried and failed to fight the rush of longing.

A low hum of sexual hunger was pulsing in his brain, blocking out

rational thought.

“Gavin, listen.” Brad actualy wavered where he stood as he

attempted to get a handle on himself. “You gotta move out, man. I

knew this was a mistake. It’l never work, you living here. It’s bad

for both of us.”

“Oh Christ,” Gavin said, sounding crestfalen. “Won’t you

just eat breakfast? At least give me a chance to apologize.”

“You don’t have to apologize.” Brad gave a pained laugh. “If

anyone should be apologizing, it’s me. You were shitfaced, and I

took advantage of you.”

Gavin looked to the kitchen like it was the promised land.

“Food’s gonna get cold.”

“Okay,” Brad said passively. If Gavin wanted to sit and talk,

Brad owed him that much. “Let’s eat breakfast.”

With a waffle in front of him, Brad found himself looking

across the dining room table at Gavin. Rather than meet his eyes,

Gavin busied himself with his pancakes, drowning them with enough

syrup to choke a horse.

“So,” Brad started, wanting to get the awkward conversation

over with so he could start work on finding a cure for his Gavin

obsession. “What’s the deal, Gav? Out with it.”

“Wel”—Gavin lifted his head, his gaze hesitant—“I guess I

should start out by admitting I’m not realy straight.”

Brad snorted. “No kidding?”

“Yeah, you probably knew that.” Gavin pushed at his

pancakes with his fork. “I went through a phase in colege.”

Brad raised his eyebrows. After the scene the other night,

he’d suspected Gavin had some actual experience, but hearing the

confirmation was nice. Both his heart and his cock jumped with

hope. But Brad hid the surge of optimism, taking a bite of waffle

instead. He chewed slowly, feeling Gavin’s cautious gaze on him.

“So what kiled the phase?” Brad finaly asked, making his

voice deliberately flippant. “Too difficult?”

Gavin frowned. “What?”

“The social pressure?” Brad went on, his annoyance flaring.

“Being gay more than you could take? Decided girls were easier.”

“Ah, wel, yeah,” Gavin admitted, a blush sneaking up the

curve of his neck to his cheeks. “Girls are easier.”

Brad dropped his fork and kicked back away from the table.

Gavin was absolutely his last cop. Ever. Brad had learned his

lesson. He’d fuck floppy-haired bottoms for the rest of his life

before he—

“Come on,” Gavin said in panic when Brad stood up. “Don’t

walk away. I’m sorry. I’m explaining myself wrong.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” Brad said, taking a

deep breath as he searched desperately for sanity. “We can be

mature adults. I’l just keep my distance until you find another place

and—”

“Fuck.” Gavin buried his face in his palms. He took several

deep breaths before he ran his fingers through his hair in frustration.

“I realy need to find a class for clueless gay men. ‘Bottoming 101: