The One That Got Away (10 page)

When his pillow jostled, Trace blinked open dark, sleep-heavy eyes to see David very close, and he was so surprised he couldn’t even move.

It wasn’t the first time they’d woken up against each other in the time that Trace had been staying with him. Apparently they were both cuddlers by nature, but the incredible tension from the night before immediately crackled between them. David felt himself tingle and wanted 
to lean forward to taste Trace’s lips so badly that his mouth watered.

Closing the distance slowly, giving Trace plenty of time to roll away, David brushed his lips over his friend’s. When the brunet didn’t immediately pull away, he licked at the full bottom lip that had been tempting him last night, sucking it softly.

Trace’s heart sped slightly, and his eyes closed unconsciously as he felt David’s lips on his. It didn’t feel scary or wrong. It felt great, actually, with a little bit of surprising spark. Trace didn’t want to move. He knew his lips were trembling as they parted slightly on a silent moan. This was David, he told himself. Whatever happened, it would be okay. He uncurled his fingers to spread them across David’s chest. David’s breath hitched as Trace’s hand slid across his chest. It would be so easy to wrap his arms around his friend and find out exactly what this was between them, but he needed Trace to be sure about what was happening. Pulling back, he pulled Trace closer, resting their cheeks together.

After a long moment of not moving, Trace shifted some more. His hand slid until his arm lay across David’s ribs, and his head turned to use David’s good shoulder as a pillow. He was cuddled up close, and if he actually thought about it right now, he’d probably embarrass himself. But Trace pushed thinking away, just wanting this closeness. Nothing wrong with that, was there?

Relaxing slowly, David shifted his arm to come up and rest on Trace’s back, taking the pressure off his shoulder. Trace actually went back to sleep for about half an hour before waking again with a sleepy sigh and burying his face against David’s chest. He knew where he was; he just didn’t feel any urgency to move. David hadn’t pushed him away, after all. Trace coasted his hand up his friend’s ribs to tuck his fingers under his own cheek.

David’s heart raced as Trace cuddled closer, his mind too full to allow him any more rest. Of course, Trace would sleep ’til noon given the 
chance. He smiled, dropping a kiss on the top of the dark hair. They had learned a lot about each other in the past two weeks and apparently there was even more to discover. If someone had told him a month ago that he’d be sharing morning kisses with his best friend, he would have told them they were insane, but somehow it just felt right, like a natural extension of the closeness—the intimacy—that had been growing between them. Trace shifted again. An early riser by nature, David felt the need to be out of bed. His shoulder hurt, and he was craving coffee. He ran his hand up Trace’s bare arm, hoping to coax him awake. He didn’t want him to wake up alone and think David regretted their actions.

“Mmmmmm.” Trace burrowed closer and hid his eyes against David’s neck, shaking his hair forward to block the dim light coming through the blinds. “Still sleepy,” was the muffled murmur.

David couldn’t help but chuckle. “You are such a slug-a-bed,” he teased, attacking Trace’s side with his fingers. “Half the day is gone.”

Trace squawked and flailed, trying to catch David’s hand. “No no no no no!” he practically squealed, handicapped because of David being so close. Oh, now wasn’t that interesting: Trace was ticklish. David grinned, sat up, and crawled on top of the squirming man to renew his attack.

“Ack! David! Damn!” Trace yelled as he tried to wriggle away, but he was caught under the other man and conscious of David’s shoulder. “I give! I give! Ack!”

“To the victor go the spoils,” David announced, looking down at the man beneath him, his eyes melting into liquid pools of blue. “Do you concede that I should be able to claim a favor of my choice?”

“Okay, anything,” Trace said miserably, still shivering. “Just no more tickling, please,” he begged. He gave David a pitiful look from where he was sprawled under him, hair a mess, face still soft from sleep.

Planting a hand on either side of Trace’s head, David leaned down, careful to support his weight on his good arm. “I don’t know,” he mused, seeming to think it over. “You look good like this.” He let his eyes take a long lingering sweep over Trace’s flushed face and chest. Mouth hovering dangerously close, David pondered claiming a “real” kiss—a kiss Trace would feel clear down to his toes and hopefully other parts of his anatomy.

No, he decided. Trace wasn’t ready for where David wanted this to go.

When they went farther, it would be because Trace was so ready he was begging. Just the thought darkened David’s eyes to the color of the ocean on a stormy day.

Trace studied David’s face, his breathing and pulse calming. David’s weight felt good, he acknowledged. Solid and squared rather than soft and rounded. He decided he liked it. Trace wondered if David was going to kiss him again. Trace wouldn’t mind it. But…. “David?” he said, tone regretful. David’s weight was right on his bladder, and that was a problem.

“I think I’ll save my boon, but don’t forget you owe me. I’ll never convince the guys to let a welsher come to the poker game tonight.”

Grinning, David pushed himself off the bed. “I need coffee. Want some?”

The other man sighed in relief and climbed off the bed as well. “Yes.

But not before I go to the bathroom.” Trace scooted around David, but turned and hesitated, then impulsively leaned close to drop a light kiss on David’s mouth before continuing on his way, pushing the bathroom door closed behind him. Once inside he let out a long, slow breath and raised a hand to touch his lips.

Trace found himself lingering in the bathroom—actually just staring in the mirror at his lips, feeling them buzz with warmth. This was so different from raw sexual attraction. He fucked that out every few weekends. But this? He reached slowly for a washcloth and turned on the water, waiting for it to warm. Trace knew he loved David; there was no question about that. They were best friends, and Trace treasured that. But 
he wasn’t “in love” with David…. Trace looked up into the mirror with wide eyes.

Chill bumps rose on David’s skin at Trace’s casual but intimate gesture. He hadn’t had anyone who stayed around any amount of time in his life for years, and he missed moments like this—lingering in bed, making each other breakfast, casual displays of affection that somehow meant so much more than a fast and furious fuck. Forcing his eyes away from the closed door, he turned in search of coffee. His mind was way too fuzzy to be dealing with the intense thoughts running through it. Thoughts like
I’m falling in love with my best friend.

David lost himself in the familiar routine of pulling the coffee beans out of the freezer, the loud whir of the grinder and the hiss of the first drops of coffee hitting the glass pot. Satisfied with the rich aroma filling the kitchen, he walked to the front door to retrieve the three papers he had delivered every morning. He’d always teased Trace that he wouldn’t be caught dead reading the
Sun-Herald
, but having Trace move in with him had shattered that myth. Besides, he liked Trace’s entertainment column.

He had no need to have his own paper delivered. He got that at work.

But he was addicted to reading
The New York Times
, the
Wall Street
Journal,
and Trace’s paper, over his morning coffee. He used to have six delivered, but he could read the others online these days. He just hadn’t been able to completely forgo the feel of newsprint between his fingers.

Shaking off the rest of his sleepiness, Trace told himself to just cool it. There was nothing wrong with loving his best friend. That didn’t mean he wanted wild and crazy man sex. He rolled his eyes at himself and sighed. “Jerk,” he muttered. But those kisses had been awfully nice. He wouldn’t mind a few of those occasionally. Laughing softly at himself, he wondered what David thought about those kisses. “Probably normal for him,” Trace murmured as he walked back out to the bedroom, stretching.

Feeling much more stable, he joined David in the kitchen. 

“Cofffffffeeeeee,” he moaned, holding his arms out and walking stiffly like a zombie.

“Fucker.” David swatted at Trace playfully as he passed. “You already abused my scotch. You better savor my coffee or I’ll be sending you out to McDonald’s.” He’d already separated the paper so that Trace’s favorite sections were folded next to his plate. He’d toasted two bagels and the cream cheese was on the table waiting for Trace to spread on both bagels. Spreading cream cheese was one of the things he’d discovered was almost impossible to do one-handed.

Trace shuffled along, shifting his hips in an unsuccessful effort to miss David’s swipe. “Well, McDonald’s coffee isn’t quite so bad since they went to the new stuff. But if you want really, really good coffee? You go to Waffle House.” He mmmm mmmmm’ed to reinforce his point as he pried open the small tub of cream cheese and started spreading it. A lot on his bagel, a little on David’s.

“Heathen!” David accused. “How dare you compare my fresh-ground French roast to Waffle House slop?” Taking a bite of his bagel, he disappeared back behind his paper, shifting down in his chair and propping his feet on the seat of Trace’s, his bare toes burrowing under the brunet’s thigh for warmth.

Good-naturedly shifting to allow for David’s toes, Trace took a bite and shrugged. “Who’s the food critic, hmmm? I’ve had coffee all over this city. I should know,” he said, thumping the newspaper next to his plate with a knuckle. Then he looked down at it. “Clemens is a Yankee?” he asked, aghast.

David chuckled. He wasn’t getting pulled into that one for any amount of money.

Almost two hours flew as the two men made their way through a twelve-cup pot of coffee and all three newspapers, passing sections back 
and forth in silence other than the occasional exclamation. Folding the last section and pulling his laptop forward, David sighed. “I guess I should get a little writing done before the guys show up. Are you gonna stick around for poker tonight?”

“Ooh, is that an official invitation?” Trace asked with a grin. “I’m still no good at poker, but I’ll hang around awhile…if only for another chance at that scotch,” he said, waggling his eyebrows. Then he smiled warmly. “I’d also like to meet your friends.”

David glowered back. “I don’t know. If Matt sees you guzzling his four-hundred-dollar-a-bottle Thordanrach, he’s liable to shoot you. At the very least, he won’t help you escape Katherine’s clutches at this year’s bachelor auction. But yes, if you think you can behave, I’d like to have you come.”

Trace affected a chastened look. “I’ll be good, I promise!” he said earnestly, eyes sparkling, lips pursed into a smile that was obviously holding back a laugh.

“Good. Think you could make it to the grocery store this afternoon?

I’m still not supposed to drive and if we leave it to the guys to bring food, we’ll be eating hot dogs and chips.”

“Sure. I’ve got a few hours in the office and an interview at a gallery downtown. I can go after that. What do you want me to get?” Trace asked, leaning back to sip his last cup of coffee. It struck him, out of the blue, how domestic this all seemed. It made him smile. Who’d have thought it would feel so good?

“I’ll make you a list while you grab a shower. In case you hadn’t noticed, it’s almost one.” David laughed as Trace jumped up from the table. 

“Damn it!” Trace exclaimed as he took two steps, then two steps back to put down the coffee cup, and then rushed out of the kitchen.

DAVID moved around the house, setting out snacks, brewing a pot of coffee and filling the ice bucket. Trace had dashed through the door minutes ago, just barely ahead of the other guys. He was in the bedroom changing now. Keeping busy to resist the urge to join him and catch a glimpse of the body that had been on his mind all day, David opened a bag of nuts, grateful that Trace seemed to have picked things in packages he could open.

Trace’s voice came from the back of the house. “David? Have you seen my red shirt? It’s not in the closet, and I’m sure I left it here.”

“Yeah,” David shouted back, moving toward the laundry room. “I threw it in the wash. Just a sec. I’ll get it.” Snatching the hanger off the rod where he’d hung it out of the dryer, David walked into the bedroom.

“Here you go.”

Trace was standing with his back to the door, pulling up very form-fitting jeans over clinging boxer briefs. “Thanks,” he said distractedly as he settled the jeans on his hips, leaving them unfastened so he could tuck the shirt in. He turned around to reach for it.

David gulped as Trace turned around, his eyes lingering on the muscular chest and the enticing line of dark hair traveling down from Trace’s belly button to disappear beneath his boxer briefs. Forcing his 
eyes back up, he watched with fascination as Trace’s nipples hardened under his gaze.

Trace blinked as his body responded to that focused gaze.
Wow.
He could feel the tension zipping between them—something that had never happened before.

Whatever this was that was happening between them definitely wasn’t one-sided and that knowledge spread warmth through David’s body. Taking the shirt off the hanger, he stepped forward, intending to drape it around Trace’s shoulders just as the doorbell rang. Catching Trace’s eyes with a regretful look, he shrugged, turning away to answer the door.

Trace went still as he saw David looking over him frankly, and a zing rippled through him. He blinked and tilted his head. So last night wasn’t a fluke caused by scotch. He shifted his weight to move forward when he heard the bell, and the regret on David’s face was clear. Trace wondered what David would have done. “David,” Trace said. He took two steps to stop at his side and lifted the shirt from his hand before he could leave the room. “Thanks.” It was meant for more than just bringing the shirt.