The Broken Triangle (28 page)

Vin had barely been alone two minutes before Shelly came over to check on him.

“Do you want to tell me everything? Or are we pretending nothing happened?” she asked, sitting down in the chair Dave had vacated.

“Nothing happened, I think. For now.” Vin bit his lip. “Patrick’s not working tonight.”

“No. I’m sure he’d come in if you need him.” Shelly reached out and patted Vin’s hand. “Call him.”

“He’s here enough when he’s working,” Vin said. “He doesn’t want to come in when he’s not on the clock.”

“He would for you.”

That wasn’t the point. She was right, obviously. Patrick was his friend, his best friend, and would come watch stupid movies with him or take long walks—if it weren’t so cold—or whatever would make him feel better. If their positions had been reversed and it was Patrick who’d broken up with someone, Vin would have been happy to play therapist and sympathizer. “I’ll text him,” Vin said, because Shelly was still watching him and waiting for an answer.

“Good. Let me know if you want anything else, okay?” She went back to work.

Composing the text took three or four goes. Normally he texted back and forth with Patrick sharing random trivial observations about his day, sometimes even when Patrick was a few yards away. That was fun, because he got to see Patrick’s smile as he read his text, then started to tap back, sacrificing accuracy for speed, but that didn’t matter because Vin always understood the most garbled text when it was from Patrick. They were in sync.

Now he was deleting text after text, trying to compress all his frozen, agonized pain into a few lines. And wondering if what was blocking him was a growing sense that he’d been a complete idiot when it came to Riley.

But as soon as he thought that, a fresh wave of loss came, and he found himself checking his phone for a message from Riley instead, explaining everything, offering the perfect apology, and making the last few horrible hours disappear.

He settled for a terse,
brk up wt R. Feel like crap.

The response he got back was gratifyingly quick.
Shit. Wht happened? You ok?

His text this time was easier to compose, though it still took longer than normal.

No. Huge fight, wht else?

Whr are u? I cn grb a cab, come get u?

Appreciation and gratitude combined to bring Vin close to tears. Patrick was the best friend ever. He was broke and working so hard to climb his way out of the hole he’d dug himself into, but here he was, offering to throw that away for Vin, to spend money he didn’t have to rescue Vin in his time of need. Okay, that was a little bit dramatic.

@ the Peg. Shelly & Dave takng care of me.

Almst hate 2 ask, but wht was the fight about?

Biting his lip, Vin typed,
R’s going 2 B character witness
, then backtracked and erased it. This wasn’t the kind of conversation he could have over text. He settled for,
Can’t get in2 it now, wrking 2nite. Not enuff time. Tlk to u 2morrow?

Sure
, Patrick texted back.
It’ll be ok. You been awesome w/o him b4 & u will b again. Let me know if u need anything.

Will do and thnx.
Vin paused before sending it without his usual sign-off. He usually added
xoxox
or a lighthearted
luv u
, but they didn’t seem appropriate. What was the matter with him? This was Patrick, and he never had to pretend around him or feel awkward. Patrick loved—liked—him the way he was, without reservations.

He got to his feet, stacking his used dishes on a tray. He’d go upstairs and get his head together before his shift began. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve, and he couldn’t bring everyone else down with his problems.

Even if his mother would take one look at him and know something was wrong. Shit.

“This is last call, ladies and gentlemen,” Shane announced, and the round of disappointed groans was followed by a rapid round of orders that kept Patrick and the others even busier than they’d been all afternoon.

It was eight thirty, half an hour until closing on Christmas Eve. Shane had argued for them to stay open until their usual midnight at least, but Ben had insisted they close at a more reasonable hour so their employees could be with their families and loved ones. It had been an argument that had lasted a week and gone on behind closed doors like Ben and Shane thought that meant no one would hear about it. They obviously weren’t aware how thin the office door was. Or how loud their voices were when they shouted.

Patrick hadn’t been able to forget how they’d looked together when he and Vin had watched them fucking on the pool table, and he’d never look at a pool table the same way again. The incident had teased at his fantasy life ever since, a life that was full of possibilities after Vin and Riley’s split. He imagined what it would have been like if, right there in the darkened hallway, he’d gone down on his knees and taken out Vin’s cock. Just thinking about it made his mouth water.

“Hey, you okay?” Shelly asked, nudging him with her elbow.

Patrick blinked and forced his mind back onto his work. “Yeah, fine. Sorry.”

“You looked like you were a million miles away.”

Patrick set a full pint glass on the bar and started to fill another. He’d only been forty feet away, but also back in time with Vin’s cock sliding between his lips, and he couldn’t say any of that out loud. “I guess. What are you doing tonight? After this, I mean.”

“I’m going over to Jan’s.” Shelly smiled, sweet and sexy. “Let’s just say if tonight goes the way we’ve planned, I’m definitely on the naughty list, unless Santa’s more broad-minded than people think.”

Patrick gave it some thought as the level of beer in the glass rose. “He eats a million cookies in a night. I’d say he’s a guy who likes to indulge.”

“Good point. Excellent point.” Shelly’s smile widened. “Her tongue’s pierced, like Vin’s. You have no idea how interesting that makes it when she goes down on me.”

Beer cascaded over the rim of the glass, and Patrick yelped, closing the tap and setting the glass down in a hurry. Grabbing a bar towel, he dried his hand, then mopped up the bar, Shelly’s giggles providing background music.

“Never thought I’d see the day I made you blush.”

Unable to tell her he’d been imagining a metal ball warmed by Vin’s mouth flicking against his cock, Patrick smiled weakly. “Shy, delicate flower. Really.”

She snorted, still grinning, and spun around, calling out a greeting to a friend as she reached for a glass.

Patrick delivered the two pints of beer to his impatient customer and signaled to Shane that he was taking a two-minute break. Shane, a Santa hat set at a rakish angle on his head—making him look dangerous, not ridiculous, which took some doing—nodded.

Patrick escaped to the relative peace of the break room, the insistent beat of the music fading to an indistinct blur. If he heard that Slade song Shane loved one more time, he was going to find earplugs.

He took a can of soda from the minifridge and drained half of it in three long gulps, feeling the cold liquid travel down to his stomach. Sweat dampened his tight red T-shirt, and he knew he was flushed, eyes bright with the buzz going on out there and his fantasies. Was there time to jerk off in the men’s room? Probably not.

And definitely not a good idea, but now that he was alone, his cock was hardening, his body reacting to his mood, his arousal fed by his thoughts as it so often was.

“Hot out there tonight,” Vin said from the doorway.

Patrick swallowed some more soda, then said, “It’s all the people. Body heat or whatever.” Which wasn’t a thought that made him any less aroused.

“Yeah. I didn’t think there’d be so many. Last year we were open until midnight and the place was packed, but I figured with the earlier closing time, people would have gone somewhere else.” Vin looked amazing in his usual black T-shirt and jeans, but Patrick still found himself wishing for the opportunity to peel them off him.

“Maybe they didn’t realize until it was too late,” Patrick said, although Ben had put up signs days ago to warn their regulars things would be different this year.

“I think most of them did. Could be they want to have an early night. Go home with their boyfriends or girlfriends and go to bed.” Vin looked depressed.

Patrick moved closer. A depressed Vin was
not
okay. “Want the rest of this?” There were so many things he’d rather offer Vin, but the last sips of his soda would have to do.

“Sure. Thanks.” Vin drank it, then set the empty can down. “Sorry. I know I’m not very much fun to be around right now.”

He wasn’t; he’d been quiet and distant all night, to the point where a couple of people had asked Patrick if he knew what was wrong. “Don’t say that. You’re entitled to a few days in the dumps at least, under the circumstances.”

“Yeah.” Vin rubbed his hand across his mouth. “Okay, twenty minutes to go.”

Vin’s lips, slightly reddened from the brush of his fingers, drew Patrick’s gaze. The clear lines of Vin’s mouth, the flash from that tongue stud as Vin licked a drop of soda his hand had missed—temptation had never been so impossible to resist. He darted forward, impulsively kissing Vin full on those inviting lips, swinging his arms up and clasping Vin to him in a hug.

His kiss wasn’t returned. Not even close.

“Hey!” Vin struggled to get free, jerking his head to the side, the astonishment on his face as effective as a bucket of cold water when it came to quenching Patrick’s arousal. “What was that all about?”

Vin didn’t seem angry, just startled and puzzled, but it didn’t make rejection taste any less bitter.

Patrick wanted to think fast and come up with a believable excuse, but he was too rattled by what he’d done and by Vin’s reaction to it for his brain to function.

“I wanted to make you feel better.” He took half a step back, giving Vin some space, and forced himself to sound playful. “You know, a little patented Patrick-affection. It’ll cure what ails you.”

“Less cure, more pure shock,” Vin said.

That seemed unfair. Patrick had hugged Vin countless times—maybe not lately, definitely not since Riley had entered the picture—and given him a quick peck on the cheek or lips more than once, though only a real kiss, last year under the mistletoe, for real. “My breath’s not
that
bad.”

Vin studied him with an intention Patrick considered unwarranted. It made him nervous. What did Vin see in his expression?

“It’s fine. You just came on a bit strong.” Vin touched his lips with his tongue again, a tentative taste, as if he’d tried something exotic and wasn’t sure he liked it.

“What, I can’t hug you now?” Patrick demanded. He had on candy-cane-flavored lip gloss. Who didn’t love mint? “Do I need to, like, make an appointment? Request it in writing? In triplicate?”

“Patrick…”

“It was a hug! A friendly, you-feel-like-shit-and-I-want-to-make-you-feel-better hug.”

“And a kiss. A real kiss.” Vin said the words slowly, piecing a puzzle together, solving a clue.

Patrick made a scoffing sound. “You’re not Sleeping Beauty, though I’ve got the legs to make an amazing Prince Charming. It was a kiss, honey. Walk out into that bar, smile and flutter your eyelashes at some guys, and you’ll get a dozen more.”

Speaking of which, he’d been gone longer than his planned two minutes.

“Okay, I’m not running out on you, but I have to get back to work, or Shane’s going to have my head on a platter.” He was totally running out on Vin, and he knew it, and even if it was a great excuse, he didn’t know if Vin would buy it.

The next twenty minutes passed in a blur of customers finishing their drinks and bundling themselves into coats, hats, and scarves before shuffling off into the cold night. Ben held the door for the last of them and locked it behind them when they’d gone, then turned back to the staff and said, “Right. Drinks all around!”

That was new. Last year they’d been cleaning up so late they’d been too tired to do anything but go home themselves, and Ben hadn’t even been there. So much had changed. Patrick found himself watching Vin out of the corner of his eye as Shane got everyone their favorite drinks, including a cranberry and sparkling water, complete with a festive curl of orange rind, for Vin.

“We never got mistletoe,” Dave said with a little smirk as Ben handed him his drink.

“That’s because I told you last year that if I saw it again, you were all sacked,” Shane reminded him.

Patrick smothered a grin. The staff might’ve been banned from hanging any, but the customers weren’t obliged to obey the rule, and they hadn’t. A sprig of mistletoe hung from the ceiling in the men’s room, and though it was plastic, it had still worked its magic. He’d seen a lot of men come out of there hanging on to someone, kissing exuberantly.

“Don’t need mistletoe to do this,” Ben said and hit Shane with a kiss that made Patrick’s toes curl, a prolonged, intense smooch that managed to be both hot and tender. When it ended and they broke for air, a moment of silence fell as a tribute before a good-natured round of applause and whistles.

Vin didn’t join in, but he was smiling, a wistful look in his eyes that made Patrick long to punch Riley for putting it there, or himself, if it was his fault. Was it?

He kept watching Vin as the conversation got noisy, tired people finding one last burst of energy, the magic of the night casting its spell. Patrick had stopped believing in Santa so young that he couldn’t remember a time when he did, but he’d always loved the night before Christmas. The next day the gifts might disappoint, the family rows turn violent, the rain pelt down instead of drifting, dancing snow, but on Christmas Eve, every wish and hope seemed achievable.

Except his wish wasn’t going to come true, because Vin had jerked away from a kiss.

Too soon
, he told himself.
He’s hurting. Still hoping Riley will come back. That’s what he’s wishing for. Not you.

On cue, Vin came over and slung an arm around his shoulders. Patrick leaned against him gratefully, more focused in that moment on the friendship than any desire.