Chapter 3
Cain sat, half-asleep, curled up on the huge outdoor sofa at his parents’ cabin. The cool morning air brushed his face, the hard arm of the couch dug into his cheek, and he could smell coffee somewhere in the distance, but he was so incredibly comfortable, he couldn’t bring himself to fully open his eyes.
He’d been having the most amazing dream - hot hands coasting along his stomach, callused fingers leaving trails of goosebumps that scorched a path straight to his dick, while a warm weight settled firmly against his back, and a ragged voice breathed in his ear. “You want this, don’t you?”the voice had said. And miracle of miracles, Cainhadwanted it, wantedeverythingwithout reservation - the exploring hands, the heat, the desire that swamped him.
It had been a delicious, disorienting sensation to want something so much, and to feel no shame in the wanting. It had been as natural as the mountains that rose up behind the cabin - something unquestionably real and beautiful, something that had existed for ages before anyone had thought to put a name to it or try to bend it to a purpose.
He couldn’t remember how he’d gotten to his parents’ mountain house, but right at the moment he didn’t care. He wrapped the memory of the dream around himself, knowing as soon as he opened his eyes, it would all fade away like mist.
“Your nose is twitching.”
It was the voice from the dream, but… not. Cain’s eyes flew open.
Well. Okay, then. Fuck.
So, he wasnoton his parent’s porch - which would explain why he didn’t remember traveling from Boston to Tennessee. That was probably good. But for a second, he couldn’t remember exactlywherehe was, or how he’d gotten there.
He was in a living room, curled up on a leather sofa that had seen better days, and covered by a quilt that smelled like lavender. The enormous black hole of a flat-screen TV and a small window with a view of the milky gray sky took up nearly the entire far wall, and a large, wooden coffee table sat on a brightly patterned rug directly in front of him. In the leather chair closest to his head, sat none other than Damon Fitzpatrick - fully dressed in jeans and aWolves in the Throne Roomt-shirt that didn’t hide the light pink scars curling up his forearms. With his silver hair damp and combed as though he’d already showered, Damon watched Cain with steady hazel eyes.
Cain sat up quickly, pushing back the quilt and swinging his feet to the floor, but that was as far as his momentum got him. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “What… uh. How?”
Damon made a sound that could have been annoyance or humor, or maybe some combination of the two, had Cain been awake enough to distinguish. “And here I thoughtIwas the one who’d gotten myself so fucked up I blacked out last night.”
Cain’s brain came fully online and memories from the night before came flooding back. After calling for a Lyft to Cort’s apartment, where Damon was living, Damon - with all the belligerence of the truly fucked up - had insisted on stripping naked before Cain could tuck him into bed. Cain had decided to sleep on the couch instead of going back to his hotel in case Damon needed him. And beyond all, he remembered that kiss.
So hot, so consuming, so stupid. He’d known even in the moment that it was the product of Damon’s pain medication lowering his inhibitions. Hell, he wasn’t sure if Damon evenlikedhim, and certainly not in that way. But for a brief second, when he’d stood with his arm bracing Damon’s waist, and Damon had opened those hazel eyes to meet Cain’s, Cain had seen something all too familiar in his gaze, an echo of Cain’s own loneliness and his desperate need for connection.
It had seemed so right at the time, but now it felt distinctly uncomfortable, as if maybe he’d taken advantage of the man while he was drugged up.
Fuck. Did Damon even remember it this morning? Cain shot him a glance, and like he could read Cain’s mind, Damon said, “There are some blank spots in my memory.”
“Blank spots,” Cain repeated, heart sinking.
Damon sighed. “Places where I can’t remember what happened.” He cleared his throat and tapped his hand on his knee. “Or things we might have done.”
Cain blinked. “Do you remember the fundraiser?”
“Yes, of course I remember that part. I meant…” He turned his gaze on Cain, scorching and direct. “Look, I woke up naked in my bed. I don’t think anything happened, but — “
“Oh! Oh, no, no, no.” Cain’s face was on fire, and he waved a hand through the air as though he could somehow dispel his own embarrassment. “Everything was fine.”
“Fine?” Damon looked panicked. “Whatwas fine?”
God. “Nothing happened last night. Between us.” Damon looked relieved, and Cain couldn’t tell if he should feel insulted or not, so his tone was sharper than he intended when he admitted, “Except that we kissed.”
“Oh.”
That one little word gave nothing away, and Damon’s face was blank. Was it a regretfuloh, a shockedoh,or an appalledoh?Or perhaps anohthat meant he remembered that unimportant little moment, but not anything after it? One syllable was really not enough to go on. And why the hell did he care? Why did it make his stomach twist to think Damon didn’t remember what had clearly been a mistake? Cain rubbed his eyes. He needed to get back to the hotel.
“Are you okay?Wereyou drinking last night?” Damon demanded. “You didn’t seem drunk, from what I remember.”
“What? No. I wasn’t drunk.”Horny. Not drunk. “I don’t drink at all anymore,” Cain said, looking up. He pushed the blanket off himself, then frowned at it. “Hey. This wasn’t here when I went to sleep.”Thathe remembered clearly. In fact, he hadn’t been able to find a blanket at all, so he’d ended up removing his dress shirt and tie, and huddling under his suit jacket.
Damon ignored the question in Cain’s voice. “Do you always wake up like you’re coming back from an out of body experience?” he asked instead. “How long until it wears off?” His voice was still the same deep, broken rasp from last night, and it did crazy things to Cain’s insides.
“I, uh. I don’t sleep much at all,” Cain found himself saying. He could feel a hot blush climbing his cheeks, and rubbed the back of his neck, hoping Damon couldn’t read his thoughts. “So, like, I guess when I finally do sleep, I sleep hard.”
Like a statue, Cady sometimes said.If statues snored and drooled.
