“Your past,” Quinn said. “Have you, you know, told him? Yet?”
Well shit. I would much rather talk about my sex life than talk about Paul Biandi.
Perrin
As much as I hated to miss Mann Sunday dinner - especially Piper, I was thrilled about the chance to work with our Chief, Walter Bannon. The case was an interesting one, and I was humbled to be brought on by Bannon to consult, much less scrub in when it was actually time to operate. But all that meant it was dark outside and much later than I intended when I made my way back home.
When I came into my bedroom, scrubs still clinging to my body, I was met with the glorious sight of Jack Mann waiting in my bed. His back was against the headboard of the bedI finally had purchased, a book falling in his lap, and dark rimmed glasses still on his face, as though he had fallen asleep waiting on me to get home.
I had given him the code to my door about a week ago, while being awkward as fuck. My cheeks heated at the memory.
“What’s this?” Jack had asked, staring at the five digit code I had just texted him. His look was of pure confusion, and suddenly recognition, and then I had panicked at the surprise on his face.
We were at his place, and I had just come to sit next to him on the couch, with the plan to begin a new television series Baylor had recommended. I blinked at him a long moment and sat our wine glasses down on his coffee table as I felt the blush climb up my neck.
“Um . . . well. . .” my hand slowly reached for his phone, thinking I could delete it.
Surprise wasn’t a good look on the face of the guy you were seeing when you gave him the code to your door, was it? That was like giving him a key, right?
I had forgotten how to move as Jack just blinked back at me, which paused my hand from actually getting to his phone.
I knew I had messed this up, which was inevitable, I guess. For two guys with limited relationship experience between us, we had been flying by the seat of our pants on this thing. Which was fine, because we were friends, too. We hung out with his brothers, with his sister, or his moms or all of them. We went out with other friends from town. We spent a hell of a lot of time together naked, too.
It was easy and uncomplicated to be with Jack. I had thought when the whole “let’s be exclusive” talk had gone so well, the first I had ever had, almost like checking a box we both knew wasalready checkedanyway; and we still almost always stayed the night with each other. It was enough to convince me that just maybe I had a handle on where we were in the relationship gradient.
But the look Jack had given me said . . . maybe not.
“Is this the code to your place?” Jack asked, his shoulder knocking into mine, and a smile tugging at his lips.
I took a tentative sip of my wine.
“Well, I mean, I figured we might, you know, stay over there sometimes . . ..” I had stumbled through the words, my mind freaking out that I had crossed some kind of line - done things out of order or something.
I had cleared my throat; I was a straightforward guy. If I fucked it up, I was going to own it.
“Look,” I had told him. “I would like you to have the code to my place, it feels right to me. I know there is probably some schedule or chart of when these things happen when you are seeing someone, but I sure as shit don’t know what that is.”
That had gotten me another round of Jack’s studious gaze and some long blinks before the smile inched up the corners of his gorgeous mouth.
“I wouldn’t know either, P,” he had said. “The chart or schedule, I mean.”
His eyes had drifted down to my phone for a moment then back to me, and the next thing I knew, he had me pushed down and I had a lap full of Jack.
He kissed me firmly through his smile, and then pulled back. “You are right though,” he had nodded. “It feels right.” He kissed me again, longer this time, and had whispered “thank you” against my neck in a way that short-circuited my brain.
The next morning, he had texted my phone with his own code.
Warmth spread swirling clouds in my lower stomach at the memory. I looked at him now - dark hair over one eye, full lips slightly open, and those damn glasses that drove my libido crazy.
I never wanted to stare at another man like I wanted to stare at Jack.
It occurred to me that we hadn’t even discussed where either of us would sleep tonight, but, there he was, and if I was being honest, I would have gone to his place and slid into bed with him if he hadn’t already been here waiting for me. The thought of waking up without my legs over his, or his warmth against me was unacceptable.
There was enough space on his side of my bed for me to sit next to him to carefully take the book from his hand, and slide the glasses off his face to place on the bedside table. I couldn’t resist the chance to touch him like this, slide my hand along his cheek, feel his evening stubble, smell him, and study him with all the heart-eyes I wanted. His face still looked relaxed, his full lips almost a smile. When I moved my hands up to tuck his hair behind his ear, he turned his face lazily into my palm and kissed it squarely.
“Hey, P,” he said sleepily, as he moved to sit up a bit more.
“Didn’t mean to wake you, Jack,” I said softly, running my hands through his hair.
