The Broken Triangle (18 page)

“Not on purpose,” Vin muttered.

Oddly, even after tonight’s events, that was easy to believe. It confirmed what Jazz had said about Riley’s technique being on the basic side. Riley wasn’t mean or selfish. Kind of weak when it came to taking a stand and being loyal. Deficient in the area of protecting Vin from psycho exes of psycho arsonists, definitely. But all in all, when Riley was stacked up against Patrick, most people would point to Riley as the upstanding citizen and ideal boyfriend and Patrick as the loser.

Patrick would even agree with them when he wasn’t envying Riley for having Vin so much that he couldn’t be fair. Agreeing Riley was right for Vin, though, no. A big, fat, hairy no. Something about that didn’t click. Riley needed to be with someone else. Anyone else. Patrick was willing to come up with a list of possibilities. He didn’t know many rich, boring gay men any mother would be happy to meet, but he was sure he could find some.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. You know that, right?”

“Want to make him happy. Love him.”

“Please don’t say that to me. I’m begging you, Vin.”

Vin frowned. “Why not? It’s nice. Been waiting so long. Lonely and waiting, and now I’m not.”

But I am.

He didn’t say it aloud. What was the point? Instead, he said, “Tell me what happened when he hurt you.” Maybe it had been an accident of some kind, and Riley had been distraught and had begged for forgiveness. Hearing that would make Patrick feel better.

Vin curled forward and pressed his forehead to Patrick’s chest. “It’s embarrassing.”

“I know. You hate talking about stuff like this, but maybe I can help. That would be good, right?” Patrick hoped he wasn’t being too manipulative.

“I didn’t know it would be like that,” Vin said. “I mean, I’m not an idiot. I read some how-to articles online, before.”

“You read articles online about how to get fucked up the ass?” Patrick felt bad that he found the idea amusing.

“Yeah. You know how it’s supposed to go. Use lots of lube, take it slow, be relaxed. I wanted to do it. Everyone else loves it. What’s wrong with me?” Vin sounded miserable; Patrick hated that. “Maybe I was never supposed to find Riley again because I’m screwed up somehow, and I’m supposed to be single forever. Or at least never have sex.”

Patrick was having a hard time listening to this. He didn’t want to know the details—didn’t want to have to picture Vin and Riley naked and in bed together—but he kind of needed to. “How did he start off? Did he take it slow?”

“How slow is it supposed to be? I don’t know. You told me one time you got laid during a commercial break. Started it fully dressed, ended it naked and covered in lube.”

“That sounds exactly like something I’d say, but it’s not necessarily true.”

He thought back to that afternoon. Hmm. Pretty accurate. The lube and rubbers had been handy because they were watching TV in the guy’s bedroom, and “fully dressed” was overstating it, unless socks and a ripped T-shirt counted, but Jack, John, Jim, whatever his name was, had slid into Patrick’s offered ass with a pleased grunt and ridden him fast and rough, coming before Patrick was even close and pulling out, job done.

Which was why Patrick had put on the rest of his clothes and slammed out of the room, doing that in record time too.

“Even if I do go in for the wham-bam fucks now and then, that’s me, and my ass is used to it. Someone like you, there isn’t any such thing as too slow.” He should let Vin sleep. He should. “You need to take off your jeans if you’re feeling warmer now. Easier to sleep without them.”

“Yeah.” Vin rolled to his back, fumbling under the covers and getting nowhere.

Sighing, Patrick sat up and helped, doing his best not to look, which wasn’t as hard as it might have been because of all the covers. Too bad the same couldn’t be said for his dick, apparently as well trained as Pavlov’s dogs to perk up at the mere mention of sex. Ah well, he was going to the couch where he could jerk off in peace. He leaned in and kissed Vin’s hair. “Good night, sleeping beauty,” he murmured.

Vin caught his shirtsleeve. “Don’t go.”

“Well, I can’t sleep here with you, silly. You have a boyfriend who wouldn’t like it.” Patrick pried Vin’s fingers from his sleeve and kissed his knuckles instead. “Not to worry, hon. I’ll be right on the couch if you need anything.”

“I need you.” Was it Patrick’s imagination, or had a new flush crept onto Vin’s cheeks? “I don’t want to sleep alone, okay?”

It was hard to deny Vin anything he wanted. Doubly hard when it was what Patrick wanted too. “Okay. Let me change into something else first. I’ll be right back.”

They’d changed in front of each other a hundred times without a thought, and Vin was half-asleep, but somehow Patrick couldn’t help turning away when he peeled off his tight jeans and put on an old pair of sweatpants he’d bought last year when he’d been pretending his New Year’s resolution was to start exercising. He took a minute to visit the bathroom, brushing his teeth and taking out his contacts. When he crawled back into bed with Vin, he was glad for the warmth.

“Yay, you’re back,” Vin said in a whisper.

“Yeah. Now will you sleep?”

“I want to. Want to pretend this whole night never happened.”

Patrick smiled. “Would be nice, wouldn’t it? I was thinking on the way home if I’d known how tonight would turn out, I would have faked sick and made you stay here and bring me chicken soup.”

“Now I’ll never believe you if you say you’re sick and can’t go to something.”

“You’re just not going to sleep, are you?” He recognized the signs. Vin had moved into the drowsily chatty stage. He’d probably fall asleep midsentence at some point, but until his brain switched off, his mouth was going to keep moving, speaking words freed by alcohol from whatever box Vin had stored them in.

Patrick had a few boxes like that, but his were padlocked, wrapped in chains, and buried in concrete. Better for everyone that way. When he got drunk—not often these days, because he couldn’t afford it and he’d learned his limits—he got embarrassingly sentimental, slopping baby talk and endearments all over the place, but he didn’t share secrets as much as personal shit.

Like being an orphan. Because when people said you were dead to them, that kind of went both ways once it’d sunk in they meant it.

Patrick wasn’t stupid. Poor judgment at times, yeah, he’d admit to that. He knew a therapist would draw a straight line from his abandonment issues to his long string of sexual partners and sprinkle in some buzzwords about low self-esteem and lack of ambition as a method of avoidance.

Knowing the reasons he was fucked-up didn’t help. And mostly he was happy. It didn’t all have to be doom and gloom. He had a job, a place to live, some close friends, and a crowd of people who liked him, and sex wasn’t just about a way of giving his mom the finger. He liked it. Really, really did. And he got a lot of it.

Just not often from the same guy for very long. It wasn’t as if, quickies aside, he wanted it to be that way. He’d meet someone who seemed nice, they’d click, sex would follow, and the next morning, there wouldn’t be a quick escape but plans to meet again. He’d get his hopes up, only to come on too strong and be left watching a door close in his face a few weeks later.

“You think louder than most people talk.” Vin yawned and nestled closer. “Shane says he can hear the wheel spinning but the hamster’s wandered off. He’s funny. Do you think he’s funny?”

“Not if that’s the kind of stuff he’s saying,” Patrick said sourly.

Vin pouted, actually pouted. Vin never pouted. “He wasn’t being mean. He was kidding around. You know, in that British way he has. It’s not an American sense of humor; it’s a totally different animal.”

“Like the killer rabbit in
Monty Python and the Holy Grail
.” Patrick didn’t feel any better about it.

“Exactly! British people are weird. I mean, would you ever date Shane in a million years?”

“Not if he was the last guy on earth,” Patrick said fervently. “Well, maybe if he was the last. What do you think Ben sees in him?”

“He’s hot as hell, for one. Especially when he wears a short-sleeved T-shirt. His arms are huge.” Vin sounded genuinely appreciative. “And all that intensity…mmm.”

“I’d rather have it directed at someone else, thank you very much. He’s been a lot easier to deal with since Ben came on the scene, though. He definitely would have fired me the other night if it wasn’t for Ben.”

Patrick shivered at the thought, and Vin rubbed his side comfortingly.

“Poor baby. It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. I’ve been working my ass off, and Shane keeps adding to the to-do list like he’s in some army movie and I’m a recruit he’s trying to break.” In porn, Patrick totally got off on that scenario since it inevitably ended with the recruit getting fucked by someone big and mean in a uniform, but at work and coming from Shane, it wasn’t much fun. “For someone who gets off on being ordered around, he sure as hell doesn’t seem to mind telling me what to do.”

Okay, he shouldn’t have said that, but Shane asked for it. Patrick had to clean the bathrooms every day now and had been told to come in early before his shift started to do it.

“It’s either that or close them when you’re working on them. Well, not the ladies. Guess you’re safe enough in there,”
Shane had said without a glimmer of amusement showing. No smirk either, but the dismissive flick to the words had stung.

“You keep saying stuff like that. I don’t see it.” Vin’s hand was warm against Patrick’s side, resting there as if Vin had forgotten he was touching Patrick. “And if Shane hears you talking about him and Ben, he’ll lose it. He’s really private about his relationship. You can tell they’re in love, but they’re not all over each other.”

“They’re older,” Patrick said. “Sex drive fading. Probably have sex every other Saturday, if that.”

“Older, yeah, but they’re not dead,” Vin said, then started to giggle at what he’d said for some reason, laughing helplessly without being able to stop, trying to catch his breath between gasped apologies and explanations about zombies and dicks falling off, none of which made any sense.

Patrick gritted his teeth. Sometimes laughter like this was contagious, feeding on itself until everyone involved was weak from it, tears pouring from their eyes, breathing an issue. It’d happened to him a few times, and it was scary how hard it was to stop, even when the initial cause wasn’t that amusing. Not tonight. Vin was squirming around, curling up on himself, then kicking out his feet, his flailing hands brushing against Patrick and arousing him without intent.

Patrick tolerated it for as long as he could—which wasn’t long—then reared up and pinned Vin to the bed beneath him. Vin gave up the ghost immediately, chest heaving, eyes wide. “Sorry,” Vin said, gasping. “Did I hurt you?”

It took a few seconds for Patrick to realize Vin thought he’d kicked him in a vital area. Thank God he hadn’t. “No. I was more afraid you’d hurt yourself. Or fall out of bed.”

“Not far to fall,” Vin pointed out. He was solid and wiry beneath Patrick, and his breath still smelled like vodka.

“Right.” Reluctantly Patrick moved away, lying back down but leaving a couple of inches between them. It was one thing to sleep in the same bed but another to have Vin warm underneath him, squirming or not. “You’re right. We shouldn’t talk about Shane and Ben.” They were his employers, after all, at least until he fucked up again and got fired for real, and he was sure Vin didn’t want to know the kinds of things they got up to when no one else was around.

“They’re good people,” Vin agreed, which wasn’t exactly what Patrick had meant, though he didn’t disagree. The atmosphere at the Peg was a friendly one, with the staff feeling like they were part of a team. After the fire, and sense that they’d all been attacked, everyone at the bar had rallied around, taking care of things as Shane recovered from breathing in smoke, supporting Ben as he dealt with the cops, insurance companies, lawyers, and the press.

Everyone but him. Patrick hadn’t been needed. He’d offered, but he’d gotten the impression he was in the way. He’d been part-time back then, sure, but so what? Either he’d belonged or he hadn’t, and it’d felt like he hadn’t. He’d been surprised to be given a full-time position when they reopened.

He didn’t fit in. He didn’t belong. Everyone else was smart and capable, and he was kind of a loser.

No wonder he’d never had a real boyfriend for more than a few weeks.

Vin had gone quiet. Patrick waited and listened. Vin’s breathing was slow and even, like he was either asleep or well on his way. Good. The poor guy would feel like hell in the morning. Patrick wasn’t sure how Vin would react to what had been done to him when he was sober enough to care. Would Vin blame Riley—who should be doing a better job appreciating and looking out for his boyfriend—and decide to break up with him? Vin deserved somebody better than Riley. Being rich and good-looking only went so far.

Well.

Even if Patrick would never be good enough for Vin, he didn’t have to be the same loser forever. He wasn’t a complete moron, and he knew he could learn. He had guys like Vin and Ben to model himself after. If he really tried and focused all his energy on it, he could do better. He could be a good employee. He could stop sleeping with anyone who so much as looked his way. He could even go back to school, not that he had the faintest idea what for.

And maybe, just maybe, Vin would see him differently.

Waking up with Vin curled against him, soft breath on Patrick’s face, hard dick pushing against his, would have been nice in a tantalizingly agonizing way, but it didn’t happen. Patrick peeled his cheek off a drool-soaked patch of pillow and rolled to his back. No one in the bed, and the night-light had been unplugged, but he could hear water running in the bathroom.

Living alone, the fact his apartment was a single room, apart from the carved-out section for a toilet, sink, and shower stall, didn’t matter. When someone stayed over, it was more of an issue. Daylight did the apartment no favors either, exposing its deficiencies without mercy. Some of them, like the mold by the kitchen sink, weren’t Patrick’s fault, but the mess and general grunginess were. He always seemed to have something better to do than clean.