Out of principle, Jayne decided to give the creepy table a wide berth. He pulled himself across the floor, arrived at the divider, then used the armchair to help him climb to his feet. Using the arm of the chair for support, he reached out and snagged his clothing from where it was hung.
Victory.
Now all he had to do was find his shoes, and he could make his way to the street like the respectable crab-person he’d woken up as.
Shoes. Shoes. Jayne lowered himself onto the ground and leaned back, checking under the bed, but saw nothing. There was nothing under the antique dresser, either, and he doubted the guy he’d followed home last night would have stowed his shoes in the bedside table. There was a closet hidden behind bi-fold wood-panel doors not all that far from the table with the aspirin, but when Jayne crawled over to investigate, he discovered it was filled with another man’s clothing. Formal shirts, pants, and jackets hung from the closet rod, and below, positioned on a shoe rack, were several pairs of polished dress shoes.
Weird, but at least he hadn’t come face to face with that creepy fucking doll.
Jayne tested his legs again, extending each slowly, then flexing his toes. Since he’d last tested them, they’d improved, but were still far from normal. Without shoes, he’d have to make it to the street barefoot and hope his ride didn’t question his life choices as he dragged himself into the car.
Totally doable, right?
Jayne shook out his shirt—it had been laundered—and pulled it on, not worrying about the buttons. It took him a little longer to get his pants on, but after a brief struggle, he got it done. Once his fly was zipped and the button above was secured, Jayne took a breath and tested his feet again. With the support of the wall, he was able to rise and stay upright.
“Score one for the good guys,” Jayne muttered, then sank back against the wall to free both hands—he needed his thumbs to send a message to Gwynn.
GlitterDoctor: I can explain
GlitterDoctor: Partially
GlitterDoctor: The short of it is, I had a really rough night and I just woke up. I’m going to be over there ASAP. Is Parker okay? Is Shep behaving? You have my full permission to put him on diaper duty if he’s being a dick.
Gwynning: Parker has been a dream—Emily is smitten with him, and she’s made it very, very clear how happy she is that he’s been around all morning. Shep has been helpful. He made us breakfast this morning.
GlitterDoctor: … and you didn’t die?
For a moment, Jayne closed his eyes and allowed himself a smile. There was no telling what he’d find on the other side of the bedroom door, but he got the feeling it wouldn’t be all that horrible. He’d been down and out, but he hadn’t been taken advantage of, his clothes had been washed, and the guy he’d come home with had been thoughtful enough to charge his phone. As strange as the situation was, Jayne didn’t feel like he was in danger. The man who’d brought him home could have done anything to him, but he hadn’t—and that meant that unless something crazy was going on, he wasn’t the one who’d drugged Jayne.
He didn’t have anything to worry about.
He did, however, owe his younger brother, Shep, an explanation for his absence.
While Gwynn laughed off Jayne’s last reply and argued that Shep wasn’t actually all that bad in the kitchen, Jayne tabbed out of the chat program he used to talk to Gwynn and opened his text messages. Shep’s thread was near the top, surpassed only by Jayne’s latest conversation with their middle brother, Simon, who’d moved to California mere weeks ago to be with the man of his dreams.
Jayne’s message was simple.Fuck, I’m sorry. Something happened last night, but I don’t want to talk about it now. We’ll talk later, okay?
Shep replied right away.It wasn’t Bastian, was it?
I said I don’t want to talk about it, Shep. I’ll be there in like… I don’t know. No more than an hour, unless it turns out I woke up in Paris or something. Okay?
Okay. Be safe.
Message delivered, Jayne tucked his phone into his back pocket and let out a slow, steadying breath. Whatever waited for him out there couldn’t be any worse than what he’d already survived. He was strong. He’d fought tougher battles and come out the other side bruised, but not broken. Something like this? Easy. No matter what was about to happen, Jayne was ready for it.
* * *
A perfectly round,navy-blue-boxer-brief-hugged ass waited outside the bedroom door.
Jayne wasnotready for it.
The ass, more specifically, belonged to a young man with thick, dark hair. Jayne couldn’t see his face—he was tending to a pan on the stove and faced away from the direction Jayne was hobbling in—but Jayne had a feeling that it would be every bit as fine as the rest of him. From his toned legs, tapered at the knee, to the smooth line of his hips and waist, to his broad shoulders, he was a silhouette of absolute physical perfection. The models inGray’s Anatomyhad nothing on him. Two simple, black, perfectly inked bands decorated his arm near his shoulder. Had he been wearing a t-shirt, Jayne wouldn’t have been able to notice them.
Thankfully, he was not.
This was the guy who’d brought him home last night? Who’d laundered his clothes, plugged in his phone, and tucked him into bed? Maybe he was a hallucination brought on by the Rohypnol.
Jayne squinted.
