“You’re lonely.” Wade made it sound like a simple fact. “You haven’t got any friends in town, other than Kayla, and it’s kinda awkward talking to her about this stuff, when she’s your boss.” He took a sip of his drink, then added, “And it’s got to be hard to keep track of what you’re allowed to tell her, right? How much can you pass along to her without her passing it along to her dad?”
“Jesus Christ, Wade, I can’t talk to you about that!” Wade shouldn’t even know about it. How the helldidhe know?
Wade laughed. “But you can talk to me about everything else. And that’s more than you can say for Kayla.”
“Everythingelse?” Jericho didn’t really want to do it. Didn’t want to hear the denial if it wasn’t going to feel real, and worse, didn’t want to hear the confirmation. But he asked anyway. “So you’ll tell me about my father’s death? You’ll tell me what happened there, and how you were involved?”
Wade didn’t look guilty, exactly, but he didn’t seem happy about the topic shift, either. “You know when to trust me, don’t you, Jay? You know when I’m playing, and when I’m being serious?”
He waited for an answer, and Jericho slowly nodded. Hedidknow, not that the knowledge ever seemed to do him any damn good.
“So trust me on this,” Wade said. “Let go of that business. It’s just one of those ways the world is broken, and you digging into it isn’t going to make the world anylessbroken. It’s too late to do anything about it, and honestly, I’m not sure you would have done anything if you could have.”
“That’s pretty fucking cryptic.”
“Theworldis cryptic.” Wade was quiet for a moment, then grinned. “You know what I wanted to say? A couple minutes ago, when you asked me what we’re supposed to do in the face of a world that we can’t fix?”
“Were you going to suggest I try narcotics?”
“I wasn’t, but you’re right, they are an option. But the plan I was going to mention was more along the lines of seizing the day. Taking pleasure where you find it. You know why I didn’t say any of that?”
“Because it sounds like a cheesy pickup line?”
“Exactly.” Wade’s smile was warm, and Jericho wanted to bask in it. He wanted to forget about his father, and Lorraine and Will and Mr. Appleby. He just wanted to—damn it, he wanted to take pleasure where he found it. And if that pleasure was found in the smile of a known drug trafficker and suspected murderer? It would be awkward, but apparently not impossible.
“You after my virtue, Wade?”
“We traded whatever virtue either of us had when we were fifteen years old. I’m after something else, now.”
Jericho knew what he should do. What hehadto do. He had to stand up, show Wade to the door, and go to bed. Alone. He’d get a good night’s sleep, wake up, and go back to work like a responsible adult. That was the only thing that made sense.
So of course he stayed completely still on the couch, cock hardening, waiting to see what Wade was going to do next. But Wade sat and waited as well, and finally Jericho collected himself enough to say, “You’re after something else. Like what?”
Wade leaned forward and set his empty glass on the coffee table. “I’m honestly not quite sure. But it starts with—”
And then he moved, so fast Jericho could fool himself into thinking there was nothing he could have done to stop it. Wade’s body hovered over Jericho’s, their lips connecting, Wade’s hands curled around Jericho’s body, manipulating, rearranging, molding him to whatever purpose he desired. It all felt inevitable, and perfect.
Jericho was pretty sure he had the ability to actually turn off his conscious mind, or else maybe Wade had that ability. One way or the other, he was operating on instinct, and he liked it. When Wade maneuvered them so they were lying on the couch, legs entwined, mouths and groins lined up perfectly, Jericho’s brain should have reminded him that Wade was an unsuitable partner; instead, it let him bring his leg up to wrap around Wade’s and draw him in tighter.
“God, I missed you,” Wade whispered, and that was enough to distract Jericho, at least temporarily.
“You can’t keep saying that. I’ve been back for a while.”
“I missed you since the last time I touched you.” A deep, wet kiss, and then Wade said, “I’malwaysgoing to miss you since the last time I touched you.”
Shit. Jericho couldn’t let himself hear that, couldn’t start thinking aboutalwaysor anything else that wasn’t happening right at the moment. “Bedroom,” he suggested.
And Wade, the bastard, pulled away. “You sure? How’s your boss going to feel about that? Your fed friend?”
“Are you planning to tell them about it?”
“No . . .”
“Neither am I.” Jericho shifted, half rolled so he was free, and then stood up. “Come on.”
Wade lay on the couch, staring up at him, his eyes impossibly gray, impossibly deep. “So I’m your dirty secret?”
“Jesus Christ, Wade, what are you looking for? You think we’re going to date? You think I’m going to take you to the department picnic next month?”
