Was Zach being abused by this guy? Warning signals blared in Sam’s head, and the anger drained from him, replaced by a heightened awareness.
“Zach, hi. Remember me, Sam Stein?”
Unbelievably, Zach’s brow furrowed as if in deep thought. Was he really going to play that game with Sam?
“Um, yeah. At the convention last month, right? Sorry.” Behind those black glasses Sam found so sexy, Zach blinked those big blue eyes of his. “Things were so hectic, and I have a terrible memory for faces.”
Especially since you were face down in the bed while I shoved my cock inside you, huh? Remember that?
By some miracle Sam held his temper and his thoughts. “Yeah, the convention. I thought it was you, but I know what you mean. Sometimes I get it wrong and think I know a person when all along I was mistaken and they were never that person at all.” He and Zach held each other’s gazes and a faint blush streaked Zach’s cheeks.
Good. Sweat a little.
The sound of multiple throats clearing caught his attention. Sam focused first on the two men sitting together. The blond man gave him an easy smile. “I’m Julian Cornell, and this is my partner, Nick Fletcher.”
Sam gave them a brief smile. “Sam Stein, nice to meet you.”
“Are you a computer geek too, like Zach here?” This was from the handsome man who still had his fucking arm around Zach. His sleek black hair gleamed in the sunlight, and his sculpted cheekbones and lips were all in perfect proportion to his face. Sam found himself the subject of scrutiny from the man’s hard, violet-gray eyes and held that cool assessing gaze with his own. It wasn’t in his nature to be intimidated, but damn if this guy didn’t raise the hairs on the back of Sam’s neck.
“No, I was a police officer. Now I’m retired and work as a private investigator. My friend Henry, who I’m sitting with, runs a computer forensics investigations firm.”
“I’m Marcus Feldman, by the way, nice to meet you.” Sam automatically took the hand Marcus extended, and they stood there, gauging one another, each one deciding if the other was good enough. Sam didn’t appreciate Marcus’s easy familiarity with Zach, but had no right to voice an opinion.
“Same here.”
“So you and Zach met last month?” Marcus nudged Zach. “You never mentioned anything to us. You said the conference was boring as usual.” Once again, there was that assessing look from Marcus. “Sam here looks anything but boring.”
And whereas Marcus couldn’t stop studying him, Zach, his face red, kept his eyes averted and steadfastly refused to look at Sam, focusing instead on his half-eaten plate of waffles and the fascinating pattern of the table cloth. “He and I talked for a while; you know how it goes.” Zach spoke so softly Sam almost missed what he said. “I didn’t think he’d remember me.”
Marcus’s eyes narrowed, and Sam could almost see his mind working. “I see. No big deal.” He tapped his fingers against the tabletop and, as if reaching some internal decision, dug into his pocket and pulled out a slim leather billfold. “Here, Sam.” Marcus held out a card he’d extracted from his wallet.
Sam took the plain black plastic card. It simply said SPARKS in bold white letters, and when he flipped it over there was a strip running across the back and nothing else.
“Uh, thanks? But what…” He flipped the card between his fingers.
“That’s my club. I’m the owner. The card is a pass. Anytime you want to come, show it to the bouncer at the door and you get in; your friends too. No cover, no waiting.”
“Um, thanks.” Another lie from Zach Cohen. The irrefutable proof the man was a partier was right here in Sam’s hand. When your damn boyfriend owns a club, you spend your time with him there. He stuck the card in his back pocket. “Well, nice to meet you all. Thanks for the card, Marcus.”
“Come tonight. Do you have plans?”
To Sam’s utter surprise, Henry appeared by his side and answered for him. “No, he doesn’t, and he’ll be there.”
He didn’t know who he wanted to punch first.
Chapter Eleven
“I knowyou’re both angry with me.”
The pounding music might have been muffled by the closed door separating Marcus’s office from the rest of Sparks, but the deep bass beat still managed to shake the floor beneath their feet. It was late in the evening, around eleven thirty, a time Zach would normally be watching television at home, or playing around on the computer. Instead, he found himself dressed in an outfit supplied by Julian, defending his cowardice to his two best friends who sat scowling across the room at him.
“This isn’t fucking ninth grade; we aren’t mad at you.” Marcus threw his pen on the desk, his face tight with anger. Little ever managed to wipe the perpetual humor off Marcus’s face; over the years Zach had been privy to those occasional blow-ups, and when it happened, it could turn very ugly, very fast.
“I can’t speak for Juli, but what I’m pissed about is that you met someone in A.C. when you told us you didn’t. So you lied. You told us it was no big deal, which I know is a bigger fucking lie by the way Sam reacted to seeing you. Why? Why are you lying about this? And what else haven’t you told us, your best friends. You know, the ones who’d do anything for you?”
Too much, Zach wanted to say.Everything. How was it possible to be friends with people almost your whole life yet hide the most important part of you? Secrets, lies, and shame had been part of his makeup for so long Zach hardly knew truth from fiction. The ugly truth remained raw even after all these years, so vivid and alive he burned, remembering every hurtful word hurled at him, every painful touch on his body. Zach feared his friends’ reaction if he ever told them, so he remained silent. Better that way than to listen to their roars of outrage.
“It didn’t go anywhere. Remember, it was supposed to be a fling. That was the bet.”
