Boyd propped himself up on his elbows and rubbed his hands over his face. “Not enough.”
“Yeah, nothing as thirsty as a drunk,” Morgan said.
“Three whiskeys,” Boyd said. “Half a lite beer. I’ve been told I’m a cheap date.”
The stink of whiskey and shame, mostly his own, had Morgan’s temper primed like a tripwire to go off at the flimsiest pretext. Despite that, he couldn’t resist a flash of exasperated humor at Boyd’s wry confession. It was pathetic—Morgan could hold his drink better than that, and whiskey always got him thrown out of the bar before he finished the bottle.
“You smell like one,” Morgan said. “You really get fired?”
“Suspended,” Boyd said as he twisted around, elbows still braced behind him. Dark stubble shadowed his jaw and exaggerated the sharp angles. The hangover, if you could actually justify anything that came from three whiskeys as a hangover, had bruised green tones under his eyes. He scowled bleakly. “Maybe I don’t want to go back anyhow.”
Not a good idea, Morgan thought with a nip of guilt, when his ten grand was going to drive out of town in the next month.
“Just enjoy your time off and then apologize for whatever you did,” he said with a shrug. “Who cares? It’s just a paycheck, at the end of the day.”
“Do you know what I do?” Boyd asked as he tilted his head to the side.
“No, but I don’t care,” Morgan said. He wrinkled his nose. “Go shower. I want to take you to dinner.”
Boyd stared at him and raked his hand through his sleep-flattened hair until it stood up in dark, unruly spikes. His eyes brightened to their usual honey-and-liquor shade as a cautious shadow of his usual ridiculous smile broke through his funk. “Like… a date?”
The hint of amusement in Boyd’s voice caught Morgan on the raw. His already cocked temper caught hot and dry on his ribs at the thought that he was being mocked. He curled his lip at Boyd in contempt.
“Why bother. We already fucked,” he said. “I just need to talk. About Shay.”
Boyd’s smile twisted at the corner with a wry tilt that made Morgan scowl. In the mood he was in, the last thing he wanted was for someone to be patient at him.
“We can talk here,” Boyd said.
Morgan snorted at him. “Or would we just fuck?”
“You think a lot of yourself.”
The amused dismissal in Boyd’s voice was a joke. Morgan’s temper wasn’t so hair trigger that he didn’t get that. It was stupid to take it as a challenge, especially when he needed information more than he needed Boyd under him.
His pride disagreed. Morgan lifted his chin and ran his tongue slowly over his lower lip as he rubbed his hand over his collarbones. He felt a flicker of smug satisfaction when Boyd’s cheeks flushed with interest as he watched the show.
“Yeah?” Morgan stroked his hand down over his chest and the tight line of his stomach, where old bruises were fresh and tender under his fingers, until he reached his jeans. He hooked his thumb into the waistband and stretched his fingers down to frame the soft bulge of his cock. “Tell me, Boyd. You wanna fuck?”
The “okay” was right there. Morgan could practically see it on the tip of Boyd’s tongue as he opened his mouth. Point made, even if Boyd did catch the admission behind his teeth before he actuallysaidit.
“Fine,” Boyd grumbled as he straightened up. “Dinner. But if it’s not a date, we’re going to Mallon’s.”
He stripped off his T-shirt as he headed for the bedroom. Long straps of muscle and sharp bones flexed and moved under pale, sweat-damp skin, and Morgan had to lick his lips again as his mouth went dry. It was the careless strip of someone used to living alone, with the T-shirt tossed over a chair, but that just made it hotter somehow.
“Since you brought it up,” Morgan asked as he gave in to his curiosity. The nerd glasses said accountant, but number crunching didn’t give someone an ass like that. “What do you do?”
“I’m a firefighter,” Boyd said over his shoulder. “And an EMT. Or I was.”
Morgan exhaled raggedly. Ofcourse. The only thing that would make Boyd hotter, and there it was. Morgan gave his jeans a tug to loosen them over his groin. He’d played himself there, he could admit that. It wasn’t like Boyd would know he’d always had a thing for firefighters, the men in uniform whoweren’tgoing to toss him into jail.
Guilt, curdled by the smell of whiskey, lingered in the room, stirred as Morgan figured he could guess why Boyd was suspended. He tried to ignore it as he perched restlessly on the arm of the couch.
“What happened to the other couch?” he asked as he heard the shower start.
“Oh,” Boyd said over the sound of water. “Shay came over and helped me get rid of it.”
Morgan made a sour face and slid down onto the couch, one leg still hooked over the arm.
