The knock repeated—three sharp raps. She was probably going to just beat on the door until I answered. “It’s open,” I grumbled.
But the doorknob wiggled with the telltale muted click of a door that wasnotopen.
With a groan, I sat up and lurched for it, turning the handle to let Bella push the door open. The minute I felt it give, I turned to throw myself onto the bed again.
Someone cleared his throat, and it was not Bella.
I rolled over to see Graham standing there, looking down at me. One hand was shoved into his jacket pocket. The other held a bottle of Jose Cuervo.“Hola, Juan. Quieres un tequila?”
It took me way too long to answer. “Uh, sí?” It wasn’t the most gracious response. But shock made me stupid.
“Got glasses?” He set the bottle down on my desk and pulled a lime and a camping knife from his pocket. He flipped up the blade and took it to the lime. Shaking off a little of my surprise, I dropped my ice packs on the floor and found the shot glasses in a desk drawer. I dusted them on my jeans.
Graham swung my desk chair around and sat down in it. He poured two shots and handed me a wedge of lime. “Knock it back, man,” Graham said. He tipped his shot into his mouth.
I drank too. The tequila stung the back of my throat. At least I hoped it was the alcohol, because it very well could have been Graham’s gesture. Here he was, in his own fucked-up way, offering me support. Of course, it was Graham’s version of support — strong drink. But at that moment, when I was literally friendless, it meant everything to me.
Just looking across at him made it hard for me to swallow. What a mess we were: one gay guy who tried to be out, and it had only led to disaster. And one… I didn’t want to classify Graham. Only Graham could classify Graham. But whatever Graham was, he didn’t make it look easy.
“You’re thinking too hard over there,” Graham said, reaching out a hand. “Let’s have that glass. We’ve got to do that again.”
I did as I was told, and together we threw back a couple more shots. The alcohol did its thing, and began to soften me at the edges. My shame and anger flattened out, which should have been a good thing. But I only became broody instead.
“Saw you trip him,” I said.
Graham fingered his shot glass. “I did it again after you left, and took two minutes for it. Didn’t help things. Felt good, though.”
We sat in silence after that, but somehow it wasn’t awkward. Putting more words to everything that had gone wrong tonight would have been painful and pointless. For both of us. So silence was definitely the way to go. And Graham was here with me, feeding me tequila. He’d been called a faggot to his face tonight, because ofme. Yet here he was.
Unbelievable.
His long fingers tapped one of his own knees. Sitting in a room with him was still trippy. It was like watching a video of my old life. I could see it and hear it, but not touch.
He was staring at me, though. At my bare chest, if I wasn’t mistaken. Not that I’d call him on it. The conditions of our truce were pretty simple. Graham was solid with me on the team, and I pretended to believe that he was straight. That was only fair, especially since he’d brought tequila as a peace offering.
Except I could feel those blue eyes on me. So I raised one languid hand to rub my chest. I didn’t do it in a porn film way — it was just a casual brush across my pecs, like anyone might do. But man, did his eyes flare. Oh, hell. I could feel his gaze on me, like a physical touch. I felt it in places I shouldn’t.
And then Graham turned away, toward the desk. He picked up the lime. “One more, I think.”
“Sure,” I said, wondering how this night would play out. Graham and I, drunk together. That’s something that had never happened before, back in the day. There was no telling what it might have led to.
He stood up to hand me my glass. “Cheers,” he said, holding his own into the air. Then he downed it. Then he set the glass on my desk and turned around again. “Rik?”
It took me a second to answer, because I was swallowing tequila. “Yeah?” I stood up to put my glass onto the desk beside his.
Before I could retreat again to my corner, he moved into my space. When his big hand landed at the side of my neck, I quit breathing. Time slammed to a halt for a second, until I realized that he was examining the place under my jaw where Eros had slashed me with his stick.
“How bad does it look?” I whispered, just to say something normal.
But Graham wasn’t even listening. He dropped his hand, only to put it on my bare waist. And then his mouth dipped down to graze the juncture between my neck and my shoulder. A pair of soft, moist lips began to nibble at my skin.
Jesus fuck.
Again, I froze with surprise, too shocked to say anything, or to shove him away. His mouth made a path along my throat, dropping wet kisses on his way. I didn’t react at all. Well, that isn’t true. My dick jumped to attention, straining against the zipper of my jeans faster than you can say “bad idea.” Then Graham raised his head, his tongue landing at my ear. When he sucked my earlobe into his mouth, I let out a gasp.
“Do I still do it for you?” he whispered. Not waiting for an answer, he gave me a shove backward, onto the bed. Even as I sat down he was straddling me, pushing me down. His mouth attacked mine a second later. He kissed me, hot and wild, and I let him. No — I practically rolled out a fucking rug for him, scrambling back to get all the way onto the bed, pulling him into my arms.
Yes, yes, yes, my body chanted. Four shots of tequila in, it was easy to shut off all the logical parts of my brain. With the hard, warm body of my first love practically scaling me like a monkey, I couldn’t summon the will to think this through. His big hands threaded into my hair, his mouth slanting down over mine again and again. His lips were wet and warm, and his tongue made long, greedy draws against mine.
