He isn’t exactly impressed but gives me a soft look.“Honestly, we live in an area with a lot of break-ins, so it wouldn’t shock me if somebody had done a quick toss and run of my medicine cabinet. I doubt very seriously that anyone is still in there.”
He’s right. They probably took advantage of the fact that I was busy taking care of the front of the house, and we didn’t have eyes on the back. I’m already considering where I’ll be putting the cameras.
We walk in and are confronted with a hot apartment and the beginning of a bad smell.
“What the hell?” he says, putting his arm across his nose.His refrigerator doors have been propped open, several of his couch cushions are some combination of stabbed or spattered with paint, and his TV’s been smashed to hell. Nick feels around under the sofa and grabs an unsecured firearm; I’m betting real money that it’s loaded and am only marginally certain that the safety is on. We perform a tactical sweep of the space, methodically checking each room despite the heat and the worsening smell. There are no additional messes or dead bodies or bogeys in the other rooms.
As we re-enter the living room, I check the thermostat, and the heat has been jacked up to almost ninety degrees. I can’t help the bit of snark that flies out. “I was right! The protein shakes actually are Soylent Green!” I raise my hands in victory, then immediately lower them over my mouth because… meat. “Wait, are you about to kill me? Is this how my life ends?”
Nick smiles, his teeth bright against his olive skin, and it’s like a shot of adrenaline. Sure, he’s got a killer body and a handsome face, but that smile is damn near dazzling. His beautiful eyes glint in amusement as he arches his brow. “If you promise not to tell, I promise not to liquefy you for my nutrition.”
I manage a smirk, then cover my nose with one hand while holding out the other. “Deal.”
He takes my hand, his smile broadening. I can’t tell what is more off-putting: the lingering smell, his brilliant smile, or the warm dark chocolate glow of his eyes. I know he’s in his midthirties, nine or ten years older than I am, and I’m feeling nervous as a cat right now, and just as vulnerable. I don’t need all of this shit hitting my chest all at once in a place that smells like a meat market about four hours into a blackout, but here we are.
Focus, goddammit.
I realize something and walk over to the refrigerator. In addition to the doors being propped open to the apartment’s heat, it’s also unplugged and has been sitting without power, likely all day by the smell of it. Nick curses when I hold up the plug and quickly goes around, opening windows.
“Do you think that guy who messed with Jules did this?” FAG is sprayed in black paint on one of his couches, and I shudder at the thought that Nick could have been confronted by that huge monolith of a man.
He reaches over and flips on the fan, pushing the smell of room temperature meat around the apartment. He looks resigned, and I feel so bad for him. He’s put a lot into making the gym into a special place for other vets, so when someone from the community does something like this, I imagine it’d make him question all of the hard work he puts into the place. “Yeah.”
“Think we should call the cops now?”
He shakes his head. “Hopefully he’s gotten it out of his system and can move on. I’ll take some pictures in case it happens again, but I’d rather just get this cleaned up and move past it.”
Grabbing the key from him, I run downstairs and grab some industrial-grade garbage bags from the supply cabinet, then run back up the stairs. I open the door and go to the refrigerator, addressing the freezer first. I quickly slide everything into the bag, then close that door and focus on the refrigerated section. It’s a mix of wilted vegetables and dripping meat. Again, I use a big sweeping motion to pull everything that had died in the refrigerator, one shelf at a time, into the straining double bag. Realizing that my shirt has been befouled by essence of meat, I take it off and shove it into the bag before knotting the whole, drippy mess closed.
Bag o’ filth in hand, I race past Nick down the stairs to the dumpster and throw the bag into the bin. I make my way back up to the apartment, where Nick, with his sweater covering his mouth and nose, already has a mixing bowl full of soapy water and is cleaning out the meat juice.Herk. He goes a little green and stops to hack and recover his face while cleaning out the refrigerator one-handed.
“So, new plan,” he says, with the authority that I’m used to hearing in his voice. “Let’s eat in the kitchen downstairs.”
“Agreed. Though… I might not be able to eat for a minute. Hell, I’m gonna need a shower after all of that.”
“Yeah… showers first, then dinner.”
I’ll be honest, for a second I think he means that we should shower together, and that leads to a whole hallucination of me standing under the heavy stream of water with his strong arms wrapped around me. As far as breaks from reality go, it doesn't suck. In fact, I can almost imagine that it would feel exactly like what I’ve been missing my whole life, if I’m honest with myself.
Chapter Twelve
Nick
Elijah practically runs out of my apartment for the showers, and I can’t blame him. That stuff was starting to take a bad turn, and it had gotten all over his shirt.Not that I minded him taking it off.
Even though I managed to keep most of the grossest stuff from the refrigerator off my person, I pull off my sweater and shove it into the laundry chute, then grab some shorts and a T-shirt and take a quick shower in my en suite. It would have been quicker had I not taken a couple of extra moments to beat off, but I needed to empty my bank account if I was going to resist temptation. Not exactly proud of the fact that, as I slipped my hand up and down my hard cock, I was imagining Elijah looking up at me with those ice-blue eyes, my dick stretching his pretty lips wide. Not sorry, just… not proud.
I get dressed quickly and grab the insulated travel bag I’d used to transport my leftover steak along with a bottle of wine and a few other supplies, then head downstairs to the tiny kitchen. I’m surprised that Elijah is still taking a shower, but he got the worst of it and is probably just standing under the water a bit longer. I resist the urge to think about his beautiful body, and whether or not he’s needing some relief under the pounding water. I cave a bit and allow myself to wonder what it’d be like to wrap my arms around him and pull him in for a blistering kiss.
Gather yourself, Sergeant.
I take two steaks, my mom’s awesome bacon-and-spinach salad, and stuffed potatoes from the insulated bag and slice them up, then decant the cabernet I brought with me. I’d planned on saving the steaks and the wine for me and Roly for our pre-poker night dinner, but Roly will have to deal with spaghetti. Elijah needs some meat on his bones.
Before I can consider what to do next, he comes out of the locker room, steam billowing behind him, wearing a plain white T-shirt and some old jeans that curve around his ass like a loving hand. Smart that he keeps some backup clothes here. His towel-dried, messy brown hair falls into his eyes, and my fingers itch to brush it back from his forehead.
“God, I love the water pressure in there. Hope I didn’t take all of the hot water.”
“Actually, we went ahead and shelled out the extra cash for an on-demand hot water heater. Best investment, ever. So, you’re welcome to take as long as you need.”
