Mac looked up. “Not for you.”
“Him or the floor?”
“Both.”
“What? He’s not into guys?”
“He’s not into bad guys.”
Morgan remembered the flicker of awareness in Boyd’s eyes as he leaned in and the way his breath caught just a little behind his straight white teeth. Maybe Boyd didn’tknowhe was into bad guys, but he was. At least, Morgan thought smugly,thisbad guy.
“Then you don’t need to worry,” Morgan said. He rolled his eyes when Mac just snorted at him. “What is he? An accountant? Schoolteacher? Not my type. I just want somewhere to crash for the night that doesn’t make my skin crawl. You want me to keep a low profile and stay around. Boyd already knows all about this DNA screwup, and he’s got fifteen thousand reasons to keep an eye on me.”
Mac looked dubious. “It’s a bad idea.”
“Boyd seems like a big boy. Why not let him make up his own mind?”
IT TURNEDout Mac had told the truth. Boyd didn’t have a couch. He had two.
“I bought a new one,” Boyd explained sheepishly. He tugged at the plastic wrap that was still tightly taped around the overstuffed leather furniture. Old gray sweats hung low around his lean hips, and he’d answered the door halfway into a black T-shirt he’d obviously just pulled on. “I meant to drop the old one off at Goodwill, but, um… I never got around to it.”
Morgan had crashed on a few, but he’d never actually bought a couch, not unless you counted the three beers he paid one of his friends to help him drag a couch in off the curb one time. They abandoned that one with the house when they all got kicked out.
He guessed being a school teacher, or whatever, paid more than he thought.
“What’s wrong with the old one?” he asked as he dropped his carryall to the floor.
Boyd looked baffled for a second as he looked at the long, dark-red couch pushed against the wall. It was shiny on the arms and along the edges of the seat, but those were the only signs of wear.
“I don’t know. Nothing,” Boyd said. He shrugged. “The woman in the shop just gave a really good pitch.”
“Huh.”
Boyd bumped his knee against the arm of the old couch. “I’ll drag it out tomorrow,” he said absently. “Get you some more room in here.”
“No skin off my nose,” Morgan said. “I wasn’t planning to take the couch.”
Boyd looked up, bar-straight brows knit together in a confused frown. “I told Mac I don’t have a spare room, so—”
It was cute. Morgan could appreciate that, but he wasn’t going to waste any time on it. He pulled his T-shirt over his head and tossed it at Boyd’s head.
“I don’t mind sharing,” Morgan said. “Long as I can sleep nearest the window.”
Boyd fielded the T-shirt before it hit him in the face. He swallowed hard as his eyes flicked over Morgan’s shoulders and down to the flat, hard line of his stomach. The penny finally dropped, and for some reason, the nervous energy that had kept Boyd jittery since Mac left went with it. His shoulders relaxed, and he licked his lips.
“Yeah, okay,” he said.
Morgan chuckled low in his throat, part surprise and part satisfaction. He hadn’t expected it to be that easy, but he wasn’t going to complain about it. The stark want on Boyd’s face was too flattering. It was probably best to take advantage of it before Boyd had time to think about it too hard.
He crossed the space between them in two long steps, wrapped his hand around the back of Boyd’s neck, and pressed down on strung-tight tendons as he pulled Boyd into a rough, eager kiss. It was only when Boyd leaned into it, his hands on Morgan’s hips and his breath fast and toothpaste fresh as he opened his mouth, that Morgan registered the frantic energy under hisownskin.
In under a week, his whole life had fallen to pieces. His job at the garage—two-thirds car theft and one-third oil changes—would already be filled by some stupid kid rendered bulletproof by no fear of a juvie record. His room was good till the end of the week, but then someone else would move in their stuff and drink the beers he’d left in the icebox. And once this weird little interlude wrapped up, he was looking at a year in jail because he had—like always—lost his fucking temper and done something stupid.
It was chaotic. It was pathetic.
Morgan tightened his grip on the scruff of Boyd’s neck and chewed his mark eagerly over the firm curve of his lips. He needed this, the surrender of Boyd’s mouth to Morgan’s teeth and tongue, the willing response of his body to this abrupt seduction.
He needed to be in control ofsomething.Usually he’d throw a punch and start a fight so he could be the one who made it worse, but this would do.
