Simon rolled off him and debated rolling off the bed. In the end it didn’t seem worth the bother of getting up. He fit himself around Jacob and stretched his long legs and bones over the bed. The TV was still on. People bickered over storage lockers in the corner of the room.
“It wasn’t a lie,” Jacob said suddenly, his voice rasping in his throat. “This. It was never about the job.”
Simon dropped his head back against the too-thin pillow and licked salt from his lips. “That makes it worse, Jacob.”
Jacob was silent for a second and then sighed. “Wish you’d fucking told me that before I spent a month scrubbing the skidmarks out of your boss’s toilets.”
It wasn’t funny. Simon pressed his lips tightly against the smirk that wanted to escape.
“Go to sleep.” He made his voice harsh. “You’re going to have a busy day tomorrow if you want us to let you off the hook.”
He waited for the smart remark, but apparently even Jacob ran out of those sometimes.
Chapter Seven
BRUISED RIBSand dried come werenota good combination. Jacob stood under the spluttering shower and picked last night off his stomach. It hurt to breathe, and his bruised hand was stiff and turning green and blue between the bones. It throbbed every time he moved his fingers.
He tilted his head back and closed his eyes as the stream of water hit his face. Last night might not have been the best idea. Good—his mouth ticked up at the corner as he remembered the heavy thrust of Simon’s hips and the ragged need of his breath—but not the best idea.
The only thing sex ever fixed was being horny. Eventhatwas temporary.
A fist hammered the bathroom door. “Jacob.”
He tipped his head back out of the spray and spit soapy water from between his lips. “What?”
“Get out here.”
Jacob sighed, turned the taps off, and batted the shower curtain out of the way as he climbed out of the tub. He’d forgotten to put the curtain inside the tub, and there was water on the tiles. Crap. He used his foot to drag a pile of towels through the puddles.
“Give me a minute.”
One towel left. Jacob scrubbed most of the water off with it and tugged his wrinkled clothes from last night back on. A glance in the mirror made him wince. He pulled his mouth to the side to rearrange the bruises along his jaw. That was more memorable looking than he preferred.
No help for it, though, he supposed. He slicked his hair back and opened the door. Simon was leaning against the beige wall with his arms crossed over his lean-muscled chest. He’d already been showered and dressed when Jacob woke up. Somehow he managed to make last night’s suit look freshly pressed. The sharp lines of his face were uncompromising, but Jacob could remember what the generous curve of his lower lip tasted like.
Simon glanced past Jacob’s shoulder into the bathroom and screwed up his mouth at the mess. “You know, of all the things that could have been part of the lie, your allergy to tidiness had to be real?”
Jacob spread his hands. He gave Simon the best smile he could manage with his still-aching lip. “What you see is what you get.”
Simon waved his hand impatiently toward the door. “Move it. We need to go.”
“It’s not even light out,” Jacob grumbled. It was for show, mostly for show. He wasn’t a fan of early starts, but sometimes they were necessary. He grabbed the door and pulled it open. “You know we don’t have to check out until eleven, right?”
He hesitated in the doorway, and his chest hitched with a chilly weight. Stupid. If the men who killed Clayton were there, they wouldn’t hang around in—
Simon planted a hand between his shoulder blades and shoved him out into the hall. There was no one there. Jacob took a deep breath and turned to give Simon an embarrassed look.
“I was just—”
“Trying to remember if you left anything behind?” Simon asked dryly. He closed the door behind him and nudged Jacob into motion. “Don’t worry about it. Everyone gets the yips at some point.”
It sounded good, but Jacob would put money on it thatSimonnever had. He slouched down the hall, scuffing his feet over the carpet, and tried to ignore the itch at the back of his neck. It was stupid. Until then, if anyone had ever asked, he’d have said he dealt well with stressful situations.
Turned out heliedwell in stressful situations.
Dealing with them was apparently something different. They rode down in the elevator in silence, and Jacob nursed his hand in the crook of his elbow and kicked futilely at a wad of pink bubblegum dried into the carpet. It had never been difficult talking to Simon before. That had been part of the problem. Sex was a lot simpler when there was no conversation after. Now, though….
Lying had backfired, the truth hadn’t worked, and small talk was just lying about nothing.
