The Broken Triangle (19 page)

He could smell coffee. That was nice but weird, because he didn’t own a coffeemaker, and his jar of instant coffee was empty and resting in the overflowing trash can wedged into a corner.

The bathroom door opened, and Vin came out, fully dressed, moving like a man who’d enjoyed a good night’s sleep and was well rested and ready to face the morning.

Patrick managed a surly gurgle by way of greeting. So not a morning person unless he was being woken by a blowjob, in which case he was prepared to smile.

“Hey, did I wake you with the shower? Sorry, but I need to meet Riley for breakfast, and I smelled kind of funky.”

Patrick sat up but didn’t get out of bed, because he’d lost the sweatpants at some point in the night. He vaguely recalled kicking them off because he was too hot. His resolutions from the night before had lost some of their force, but enough of his determination to change remained that he didn’t want to give Vin an eyeful of him naked, his cock stiff with morning wood.

“I got you coffee and a cinnamon bun.”

Without his contacts in, the paper cup with the coffee in it was a blur on the table, but he could see enough to realize it was from the expensive place he always walked past, going two blocks farther to a cheaper coffee shop. His glasses were on the crate by the bed, but he never let people see him in them. Vanity beat out seeing the world clearly every time.

“Thanks,” he said. “Um. How are you?” He waited until Vin turned away, then reached down and flailed his hand until he found his sweatpants.

“Fine. The breakfast is an apology, by the way.”

“An apology for what?” Patrick pulled his pants on under the covers and swung himself into a sitting position.

“Last night. All of it. Getting drunk like that.”

“That wasn’t your fault!” Patrick protested.

“You having to leave the party and bring me home, and the way I kept you awake for hours talking was. It’s embarrassing, not to mention a reminder of why I am never drinking again.”

“You didn’t mean to drink last night. Thanks.” Patrick took the cup of coffee Vin brought over for him.

Vin sat down next to him, less blurry this close up. “Black, two sugars.”

“You know me so well.” It was too early for flirting, plus he needed to get a handle on that anyway. “But you don’t have to apologize. None of it was your fault.”

“It wasn’t Riley’s either.” Vin was giving him an earnest look, all wide-eyed insistence. “He’s so sorry; you have no idea. He thought that girl was joking around and being bitchy. He didn’t think for a minute she’d spike my drink.”

“You talked to him?” Belatedly he remembered the breakfast date. “Sorry, I forgot you said you were meeting him, so unless you’ve both become telepathic, of course you did. Not awake yet.”

The smile Vin gave him was sweeter than his coffee. “Yeah, you sleep like the dead. Didn’t miss me at all when I got out of bed, just rolled over and did a starfish impression.” Vin’s gaze slid to the side. “That’s when you kicked the covers off, but it felt kind of chilly, so I put them back on you.”

“Well, if you have to wake up to a naked ass, mine’s cuter than most.” Once again, his brain lagged behind his mouth. If Vin took that as a dig at Riley’s ass—not that he’d meant it that way—they were going to need another round of apologies, and it was too early for those too.

Fortunately Vin kept smiling. “I’ve seen worse. And I’ve seen yours before.”

“Along with many other people, so don’t get conceited.”

Great. Remind Vin he’d spent the night snuggled up to the local good-time boy.

“So what do you have planned for the day?” Vin asked. “You’ve got the evening shift, right?”

“And you’re off until tomorrow, lucky you.”

Patrick swallowed some coffee and contemplated the day ahead. He was not going to count the hours until he saw Vin again, because that would be juvenile, immature, and childish. And he wasn’t going to waste time hanging around in a bar or at the crowded mall. “I’m spring cleaning early,” he said and made it sound casual, part of his usual routine. “The place needs it.”

Vin didn’t disagree, because he wasn’t a pants-on-fire liar. “I’d stay and help, but…”

“If you saw what was lurking in my cabinets, you’d run screaming, but thanks for the offer.” Prolonging the moment, though Vin was probably dying to hurry off and meet Riley, he asked, “What about you? Going to get that new tattoo soon?”

“Now that I’m sure we’re going to get those bonuses, yeah, I might.”

Color rose in Vin’s face. The man did like his ink and metal. Patrick couldn’t contemplate the pain involved without his stomach lurching, but he definitely approved of the end result. Vin was hot, but the tattoos and piercings he had made him stunningly erotic, though Vin seemed unaware of that. He’d taken his T-shirt off once in the bar when a pump had malfunctioned, spraying him with beer, and the place had fallen silent before erupting into wolf whistles. Even Shane had gotten an eyeful, an amused look on his face.

“Did I show you the design?”

“No. What’s it going to be? Another dragon?”

“Yeah.” Vin shifted so he could stick his hand into his pocket and bring out his phone, then scrolled through until he found what he was looking for. He handed the phone to Patrick. “Here. Cool, right?”

Patrick checked out a photo of a line drawing. The dark tribal lines that made up the bulk of the design were thick and dark. The dragon they curled themselves into managed to seem both aggressive and beautiful at the same time; its talons bit into the bloodred heart it was clutching. “Very cool.”

“Riley’s initials are going to go in there somewhere, but I haven’t figured out where yet. Jasper said he’d make some suggestions, do some sketches before I go in. He’s the artist for a reason.” Vin took the phone back. “Anyway, I like to sit with the design for at least a few days, and I haven’t changed my mind yet, so I figure that means I’ll be able to live with it, you know?”

“Yeah.” Patrick didn’t, and no way was he was going to say the other stuff that was on his mind, like pointing out Vin shouldn’t even consider putting another set of Riley’s initials on his body forever. Wasn’t one set enough? It had worked its sympathetic magic, after all, and brought Riley back to Vin.

If Patrick had thought it might have a chance in hell of working for him, he’d have tattooed Vin’s initials on his face. It didn’t seem fair to try to talk Vin out of it.

“Where is it going?” Would it help if it was somewhere he’d rarely see, like Vin’s back or chest? On an arm, the way Vin went in for sleeveless T-shirts, Patrick would be staring at it every day, stomach twisted with regret.

Wasn’t love supposed to make you a better person, selfless and considerate? So far it was making him miserable, filled with enough negativity that if he had an aura the way his friend Kim swore everyone did, it would be bruise-colored, a roiling, churning ickiness surrounding him.

“On my chest. Right here.”

“Over your heart,” Patrick confirmed gloomily. Of course it was going there. Where else?

He heaved a sigh, releasing his emotions with the exhaled breath and giving himself a stern lecture about respecting and supporting Vin’s choices. All of them, from the tattoo to his boyfriend.

Even if he thought the tattoo would look better without any initials and the boyfriend was just wrong for Vin.

“What?” Vin asked.

Shit. Patrick was being transparent, and he hated that. The least he should be able to manage was putting on a happy face for his friend—his best friend, when it came to it—instead of dragging him down.

“Nothing! Okay, you got me. Someone kept me up half the night talking about our bosses’ sex lives and British comedy. So I might be a little tired from all the sleep I didn’t get. Hmm, who should we blame for that?” Patrick fluttered his eyelashes and gave Vin a playful shove with his shoulder. “At least promise me you’ll have fun today while I’m working my fingers to the bone.”

“You’d better work them at least partway to the bone,” Vin said seriously, and Patrick nodded, wanting to reassure him.

“I will, word of honor.” He held his hand up in a vague salute. “Trust me, this is me turning over a whole new leaf. Model employee.”

“That’s a good thing,” Vin said, and something in his eyes—gladness, relief?—made Patrick want to promise him the world.

“Say hi to Riley for me,” he added on impulse when Vin was at the door.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I met a couple nice people at his party, after all, and I got to confirm my rich-people-are-mostly-assholes theory, so it’s all good.” Patrick got up and shuffled over in his half-blind state.

“You know they’re not.”

“I do?”

“Riley’s rich,” Vin said with a patient look. “There’s your theory blown out of the water.”

“Exception that proves the rule,” Patrick countered and closed the door before he had to add to all his negative karma with more lies and omissions.

Three hours later, he was reconsidering the advisability of disturbing perfectly good leaves. He’d made a great start, stripping the bed and doing the laundry. One perk of his apartment was that the landlord, reluctant to see money slip through his hands, had installed a coin-operated washer and dryer in a room off the lobby. Washing sheets Vin had slept in might not have been romantic, but it felt symbolic.

And on a more practical level, they were stinky. Standards: he had to get some.

Dishes done, threadbare carpet vacuumed, bathroom scrubbed, he took a break. He’d eaten the cinnamon bun as soon as Vin left, but he found enough in the fridge to make a cheese-and-ham sandwich, though the bread was stale, and he didn’t have mayonnaise or butter. He swallowed the last bite and glanced around, wondering why cleaning was making the bits he hadn’t gotten to look so much worse than they had before he started. Discouraging.

Hanging some festive decorations might help, but they cost money. The Square Peg had decorations up, and so did every store he walked into; that would have to scratch his glitter itch.

He was deciding what to focus on next when someone knocked on his door. He opened it to find a guy he remembered from some time back standing there looking uncertain.

“Hi,” Patrick said, wishing he knew the guy’s name. “Uh, how’s it going?”

“Good! I wasn’t sure this was your place. I was standing on the sidewalk trying to figure out if it was this basement apartment or the one up that way.” Mmm, this was the kind of distraction Patrick needed: tall, long legs, big hands, hair long enough to tangle his fingers in. “You remember me, right?”

“Of course! We met at that thing. Okay, no. I mean, I recognize you, obviously—it would be a crime not to—but I’m blanking on your name.”

“Neil. I came into the bar where you work, with some of my friends, and you brought me home with you. We, um…on the bed. And afterward in the shower, remember?” Neil licked his lips hopefully, and Patrick stepped back to make room.

“Come on in,” he said.

“I was hoping you’d say that.” Neil moved past him, waited for Patrick to shut the door again, then turned and pushed him up against it, kissing him hungrily.

Patrick gave a little squeak of surprise but was happy enough to get with the program. Neil’s shirt was untucked in the back, under his coat, and Patrick ran his hands up and along Neil’s bare skin. Neil moaned and rubbed against him; Patrick could feel Neil’s cock hardening against his thigh through his sweatpants.

“You weren’t busy, were you?” Neil mouthed his way along Patrick’s jaw and nipped at his throat.

“Not with anything as fun as this.” Patrick found one of Neil’s hands and brought it to the front of his sweatpants, curled it around his erection. God, that was good. He definitely remembered Neil now—remembered Neil fucking him facedown across the mattress, long cock driving into him so hard he’d almost hyperventilated.

The mattress. On the bed. The bed Vin had slept on last night, trusting, confiding, and adorable Vin.

He’d never despised himself as much as he did in that moment. When had it gotten to the point that men thought they could knock on his door if they were in the mood for a nostrings fuck? What did that say about him? Nothing good.

The shame he felt changed a simple situation—hot guy offering sex—into a choice between his old life and the new one he’d planned out a few hours before. The stomach-lurching panic made it an easy choice, but that wasn’t the point.

“I’m in love with someone,” he blurted out and squeezed himself out from between Neil and the door, skipping back a few steps, because putting some distance between him and temptation was a sensible idea. Unfortunately he could see the outline of Neil’s cock clearly from over here, and it made his mouth water and his ass clench in anticipation of getting reamed.

Which wasn’t going to happen. Reflex action, no more than that. His body wanted it, but his heart? No. He wanted Vin, and he wasn’t accepting a substitute.

“Yeah? Congrats. Now get back here, and let’s take care of this, huh?” Neil palmed his erection and wiggled his eyebrows, his smile undimmed.

“In love,” Patrick repeated, feeling a glow of nobility similar to the one he’d had after discovering the bathroom tiles were white, not gray, once scrubbed. Well, cream, anyway. “So I don’t do this kind of thing anymore.”

Neil’s forehead puckered in a frown. “Since when? Because you were totally into it like ten seconds ago.”

“I know. Sorry for raising, umm, false expectations and all that.”

Not to mention eight inches of cock.

Patrick bit his fingernail, worrying at it as he waited for Neil’s reaction. It tasted of the goop he’d used to scrub the top of the stove, and he gagged. That was foul. Was it toxic? Was he about to die without ever kissing Vin, apart from that snatched one under the mistletoe? No, even for him that was amping up the drama too much.

It was disturbing how easy he’d been to seduce. He barely knew Neil, and he’d let the man walk in and grope him. He took secret pride in being hot, but viewed objectively, maybe he was just easy, and who could be proud of that?

“Force of habit,” he explained, wishing he could buy the excuse. “But I can’t have sex with you. It’s like an early New Year’s resolution.”