The One That Got Away (9 page)

Taking the glasses from Trace’s hands, David poured them both a drink. “Sit. Now close your eyes and take a sip.” Trace sat as instructed and accepted the glass, looking at David with a touch of amusement before closing his eyes and lifting the glass, letting just a tiny amount slip between his lips. He inhaled sharply as the flavor and intensity exploded across his tongue, and he swallowed once, then a second time. “Incredible, isn’t it?” David purred as the smooth scotch danced across his tongue.

Following his own advice, his eyes were closed, savoring the flavor of the liquor and the memories of obtaining it. Moaning softly, he peered at Trace to see his reaction to the drink.

Having taken another slightly larger sip, Trace sank dank into the couch, eyes still closed, a rapturous look on his face as he slowly licked his bottom lip of the drop of scotch that had escaped. Watching Trace’s tongue swipe across his lips, David felt the same irresistible pull he’d felt in the car. He wanted to lean over and taste the rich scotch off the other man’s mouth, but instead he took another drink and closed his eyes again, blocking out at least the visual temptation. He could still smell Trace’s cologne, feel the warmth of his body, and hear the delicious sounds the brunet was making as he enjoyed the scotch.

Trace sighed happily, took another few sips and propped the glass on his knee. “Maybe I’ll drink some more of this and sleep right here,” he murmured lazily. A fuzzy warmth was already spreading, after just a half a tumbler. It was easier now to discount his worries and odd reactions and difficult questions. Now he could just relax. But…. “David?” he asked, opening his eyes. “Do you need any help before I conk out? Because if I drink the rest of this glass and the second one I’m planning on, I won’t be getting off this couch.”

“Yeah, and you’ll end up on the floor like you did that first night.

Don’t you remember how much trouble you had sleeping out here?”

David chuckled. Pouring them both another glass, David stood up. “Come on. Let’s go to bed. I’ll let you nursemaid me; we’ll finish our scotch and we can pass out in comfort.”

BLINKING a few times, Trace tried not to think about the double meaning behind what David had just said.
Let’s go to bed
. He’d never given the idea any thought before, not between he and David; it was like he was sensitized to it tonight. More scotch required. “Okay,” he said, pushing himself up from the couch and picking up the bottle on his way to the bedroom.

Guess he must want more than one,
David thought, shaking his head with a grin and following Trace to the bedroom. The acute attraction that he’d been feeling for Trace had mellowed a little with the alcohol and he could admire the curve of the brunet’s backside without feeling the need to push his friend against the wall and molest him.

Stepping into the room and looking at the bed, Trace threw back the rest of his drink, gasping after swallowing it down and gripping the door 
frame. He dragged in a breath and cleared his throat before walking to the dresser, putting down the glass, and refilling it. The crazy night had really gotten to him. He started unbuttoning his shirt, looking at himself unsteadily in the mirror as the scotch started to kick in.

David stood in the doorway watching as Trace downed his drink. He was tempted to take the rare bottle away from him and replace it with one from the corner liquor store, but he felt petty after everything Trace had done for him since he’d gotten hurt. Walking up behind his friend, David laid a hand on his shoulder and caught Trace’s gaze in the mirror. “You okay?” he asked. Trace was downright gorgeous with his hair tumbled loose about his face. David had to swallow past the tightening in his throat as Trace’s tan muscular chest was revealed by the open shirt, but the expression on Trace’s face was definitely not happy, cooling David’s ardor.

Trace raised his eyes in the mirror to look back at his friend. Head tilting to one side, Trace noted that David, usually so carefully put together, was disheveled. And it really looked good on him. “I’m abusing your scotch,” Trace said apologetically, eyes riveted on the other man’s reflection as he felt the heat from the liquor in his stomach spread to his chest and groin. He wondered if this was how other men—gay men—saw David. Appealing. God, he felt hot. And David standing so close just made it worse.

The look in Trace’s eyes softened, his face relaxing into a smile, and David’s body heated in a way that had nothing to do with the scotch.

Coughing to cover the needy moan that rose unbidden in his throat, David turned and started working on his own buttons one-handed. “Oh, uhmm, that’s okay. What’s scotch for if not to drink?”

“Mmm. To savor? To sip and feel it burn its way down and up until you’re warm all over?” Trace said as he lifted the refilled glass. He was definitely drunk, but not so much so that he didn’t know it. And he could 
tell his body was remembering how it had felt in the car, though his mind was a step behind. Still looking back at David in the mirror—studying, maybe even staring—he watched David’s lips move, and a question popped to mind unbidden: Would David’s lips be soft like a woman’s? Or hard and unyielding like Trace imagined a man’s were?

Trace’s words spread through David like the scotch, warming him to an almost uncomfortable burn. His mind automatically converted the innocent description to images of Trace savoring and sipping him as he sank down. Fuck! He should have left Trace on the couch. There was no way he was going to be able to hide his body’s reaction when he had to ask Trace for help. Most of his buttons were undone, but he’d tried doing this belt one-handed before and it just didn’t work.

Realizing the clothes gave him an opportunity, Trace set down the glass of scotch and walked over to David. First he reached out and finished unbuttoning David’s shirt. He could feel the heat of David’s body radiating to his fingers. He hadn’t felt it before. Trace pulled the shirt free of the waistband, really noticing how trim David’s waist was. He accidentally—or not—brushed his fingertips along David’s belly as he dropped his hand to the belt, pulling on the leather just slightly to free it from the crosspiece.

David swallowed, his stomach quivering under Trace’s unintentional touch. He bit the inside of his cheek, trying hard to reverse the swelling that was going on just millimeters from Trace’s fingers. The belt pulled free of the punch hole, and Trace used his other hand to push it through the buckle before slipping his fingers inside David’s waistband to unbutton the placket and close his fingers on the zipper tab. The heat there was stronger, and Trace slowly lifted his chin. His eyes ran up a bobbing throat, a chiseled chin, and lips that did, really did, look soft. Trace knew without a doubt that if David were a woman, he’d be kissing him right now.

The chant
Trace is not gay. He’s your friend. And not gay,
had taken to repeating itself over and over in David’s mind as he willed himself not to move, not to sway into the strong, magnetic heat of Trace’s chest only inches away. Closing his eyes, he held his breath until this torture was over. Trace’s eyes reached David’s, finding them closed, light blond lashes against flushed cheeks. Flushed from the scotch? As Trace lowered the zipper, the side of his hand brushed an unmistakable bulge. The corner of his mouth quirked the tiniest bit. Maybe not from the scotch. Very, very interesting. David was aroused too. To Trace, it looked like David was waiting. Waiting with his eyes closed… for a kiss? Heart pounding, Trace gave in to the curiosity. He tipped his head to the side and ever so slightly brushed his lips against David’s.

David was sure that he was imagining Trace’s lips against his own, warm and dry with just a hint of scruff. As quickly as the unexpected touch appeared, it vanished, leaving him wondering if it ever really existed at all. Maybe his lust-soaked brain had conjured the feeling. Confused, his first impulse was to run—run and pretend that Trace was not aware of how excruciatingly turned on he was at the moment. Of course, there was no way that Trace could mistake the ridge his knuckles had brushed. That light touch had just about made David come, and his knees were still feeling watery. He realized that he’d been living in an almost constant state of partial arousal ever since Trace had moved in. Feeling stupid standing with his pants open and eyes shut, swaying slightly, he forced himself to meet Trace’s eyes. “Uhm,” he choked out, feeling his cheeks burn. He couldn’t ask, “Did you just kiss me?” Grabbing his belt to keep his pants from falling to his ankles, he turned and fled for the bathroom.

Trace watched him go, not sure at all what to say, only knowing that David’s reaction had flicked something on inside him, like a light switch, and he was swamped with so much desire it embarrassed him. Once the bathroom door shut, Trace staggered to the bed, holding his head in one hand, unable to keep his other from groping himself. He was hot and hard 
and he just didn’t know what to do about it. God, what a night. He must be losing his mind. All the innuendo and flirting and talk had certainly gone to his head, hadn’t it? Why else would he be attracted to David all of a sudden? Trace looked up at himself in the mirror. It had to be the scotch, he told himself. And the circumstances. But the feel of David’s lips—they had been soft and warm. Not at all what he’d expected.

Frustrated both physically and mentally, Trace pushed himself up from the bed after a long minute and left the house, still barefoot and half-undressed, to dig in the glove compartment of his car and come up with rarely smoked cigarettes and a lighter. He walked back to the stoop and sat on the steps, lighting up with slightly shaking hands, wryly wondering what David would say. Christ. What kind of man was he? Teasing David like that. Trace hoped David wouldn’t hold his actions against him.

Leaning back against the closed door, David’s body shook. What in the hell was he doing? Trace was his best friend, a friendship that had gotten even deeper over the past few days. He wasn’t about to let a sudden attraction and his uncooperative body ruin that. Gripping the edge of the sink, he ran some cold water, splashing it over his face and neck. Wiping at the droplets running down his chest with a towel, he sighed, remembering the light brush of Trace’s fingers. Wetting the entire towel, he scrubbed at his skin with the cold terry cloth until his chest was red.

Cursing, he tossed the towel into the hamper, stripping off his clothes and leaving them in a careless heap on the floor. The elastic-topped pajama bottoms he’d left on a hook behind the door were manageable at least.

Praying that Trace was already asleep, he turned off the light and cracked open the door. Expecting a dark room, David immediately tensed.

The room was empty. Had Trace left? Forgetting his embarrassment in a moment of panic, he raced through the house looking for Trace. Throwing open the front door to check if the car was gone, he practically tripped over the man he was searching for.

Trace barely caught himself from pitching down the steps by grabbing the wrought-iron handrail. “Hey, I’m here,” he said, looking up at David in surprise.

Panic subsiding as he realized Trace hadn’t left, David felt awkward standing half-naked on his front steps. “Oh, uhm, sorry.” He seemed to be apologizing to Trace a lot lately. “I just…. Well, you weren’t…. I’d better just say goodnight,” he finally managed to stammer out. Silently calling himself twelve kinds of fool, he turned and walked back inside. Maybe he could manage to fall asleep before Trace came back inside. Passing Trace’s glass and the bottle of scotch on the dresser, he poured himself a double and swallowed it in one shot.

Frowning, Trace took a last drag to finish the cigarette, feeling like he had a better handle on himself—especially his apparently roving cock.

He sighed and stood up, hoping tomorrow everything went back to normal. As exciting as all this was, he wanted his friend David back. He walked back to the bedroom to see David setting an empty glass down on the dresser.

David’s eyes connected with Trace’s as he entered the room.

Mumbling a quick, “Night,” he switched off the bedside lamp and crawled into bed, arranging himself carefully on his good shoulder. Trace stood there looking at him through the dark for a minute, then took his turn in the bathroom, came out, and climbed into bed. He was still confused, both by his own body and David’s behavior, but by now he was too tired to think about it. Trace dropped off within a few minutes, somewhat restless.

Within fifteen minutes, he had rolled to his side and unconsciously scooted across the bed to lie very close to David’s back. Trace’s arm was between them, curled toward himself, his knuckles brushing David’s shoulder.

Still trying to fall asleep, David could feel Trace’s hand against his bare skin like it was burning him. He attempted to shift away, but every time he moved, Trace followed, more and more of their bodies coming in contact. Finally, he rolled toward the other man, reaching out to touch his cheek, giving in to his desire for just a moment before he woke him to move him back to his side of the bed. But instead of waking, Trace relaxed, some of the restlessness leaving him, and he seemed to fall into a calmer sleep. Brushing a long lock of dark hair back from Trace’s face, David changed his mind about waking him. His own eyelids feeling heavy, he rolled the rest of the way to his back and let sleep claim him.

WAKING up slowly, Trace first knew he was warm, very warm, and cozy, and happily curled up against someone. It didn’t throw him at all for several minutes as he still dozed until his brain finally pointed out that he really should have been alone this morning. Frowning a little, very sleepy yet and recognizing a bit of a hangover, Trace tried to remember.

David woke to a dull ache in his shoulder. He had moved to his back, he realized groggily, and his shoulder lay awkwardly on the pillow while the weight of a body was tucked up under that arm lying against his side. Remembering why he’d turned over, he opened his eyes, finding Trace so close that he could feel his breath on his face.