“I have to work,” Jace whispered after righting himself.
“What time is it?”
“Six.”
“Ugh.” Callahan slid back down into the sheets and buried his face into Jace’s pillow. The warm scent of eucalyptus hit him, and so did the memories, the ache, the burn, the desire.
“You can stay if you want, I’ll tell Remington.”
“Can we talk about last night?” he asked.
“Not right now.” Jace sat down on the edge of the bed and bent over to put on his shoes. “I’m already running behind.”
“Oh. Right.”
Jace scratched the side of his neck, his mouth pulled into what looked like an exhausted grimace. Callahan hated the expression, but it was early and he was half asleep and didn’t think he had the right to do anything about it.
“Callahan.”
Before he’d even registered Jace had said his name, Jace leaned across the bed and smashed their mouths together. He moved with his mouth, stretching over Callahan’s body and situating himself, deepening the kiss with a low moan. Callahan wrapped his arms around Jace’s back and pulled their bodies together, the feel of their hearts beating together another reminder that last night had really happened.
Far too soon, Jace ended the kiss, dropping his forehead down against the bridge of Callahan’s nose.
“I really need to go,” he said. “You can shower if you want. Whatever.”
Jace pulled away and moved to stand up, but Callahan reached out and grabbed him by the wrist. Jace went easily back down to the bed, his stare hazy but focused.
“When can I see you again?” Callahan asked.
“Soon, I’m sure.” Jace dipped down and kissed him again, then lifted his arm and kissed the underside of Callahan’s wrist. Callahan let go of him, and Jace smiled, then slipped out of the bedroom. The door closed behind him softly, and Callahan smothered himself with Jace’s pillow to stifle his smile.
He waited until he heard the front door close, then he sat up, flinging back the sheets, and took advantage of being alone to have a look around. Jace’s room was barren, to say the least, the bed and nightstands made out of wood that looked to be a holdover from the nineties, his dresser, sleek and white. Besides the main pieces of furniture, there wasn’t much else in the room. His camera and laptop sat on top of the dresser, surrounded by loose change and crumpled receipts. In all, Jace’s bedroom looked generic, nothing like him at all.
Callahan got out of bed and padded into the bathroom, closing the door and locking it, even though he didn’t think Remington would wander in. The bathroom was much like the bedroom—generic counter and faucets, a toothbrush and tube of toothpaste lying on the soap dish above a half used stick of deodorant.
He stepped to the side and turned on the shower, finding the usual soaps and sponges in the shower, but also a large bottle of something green that looked far too fancy to be soap or shampoo. Callahan moved under the spray and picked up the bottle, realizing it was a mid-range eucalyptus bubble bath from a brand he was vaguely familiar with. He opened the bottle and smelled it, the concentrated aroma hitting him in the face like a bag of bricks.
Callahan twisted the bottle closed and returned it to its spot, then used Jace’s soap and shampoo to clean himself. He rinsed and plucked a towel from the top of the toilet tank to dry himself off then, regrettably, dressed himself in yesterday’s clothes. He pressed his ear against the closed door of Jace’s bedroom, and hearing nothing, quietly opened it. He wasn’t against meeting Jace’s roommate, but he didn’t think right then was the time.
He tiptoed down the hallway and found himself face to face with a tired looking man who cradled a cup of coffee against his chest like it was a lifeline. He wore thick, black-framed glasses, a threadbare t-shirt, and plaid boxer shorts.
“Remington?” Callahan guessed.
The man’s lips turned downward. “And you are?”
Callahan found himself taken aback, upset that Jace hadn’t told his roommate and best friend about him, and upset that there was even a question as to what strange man could be coming out of Jace’s room before seven on a Monday morning.
“Callahan,” he answered, looking down.
“Figures.” Remington raised his coffee and took a drink. “Did you come on your own or did he invite you?”
“I asked and he consented.”
“And you stayed over?”
“Yes.”
Remington sniffed the air. “You’ve already showered?”
