The One That Got Away (8 page)

“Be careful.” Trace warned. “David… hurt his shoulder,” he said, not sure what Lloyd might have told the other employees.

The photographer’s smile faded with concern. “I’m sorry,” he said, his serious tone turning teasing as he added, “I’ve warned you about wrenching around when you’re handcuffed to the bed.”

“Fucker!” David came back, eyes crinkling with laughter as he struck out at Matt with his good arm. “Go back to your boy toy and leave us men alone.”

Trace covered his mouth one-handed with his elbow on the table, clearly stifling a spate of laughter. He thought about admitting that he’d thought about that—to keep David in the damn bed to give his shoulder a rest—but he was sure that would definitely come out sounding wrong.

And Matt had a boy toy? Trace glanced over at the younger man who looked like he should be a model, then back to Matt, raising a brow in question.

Matt leaned low, whispering something in David’s ear that made his eyes lower and his cheeks bloom with color. With a careful pat of David’s back, he moved away, glancing back at their table once speculatively.

“Oh, I’m never going to hear the end of this one,” David predicted, lifting his glass of water to his lips.

Eyebrow still raised, Trace sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Do I even want to know?” he asked as he lifted his drink.

“Probably not,” David confirmed. “Matt and I go way back, and not all of the history would be suitable for polite conversation.”

Trace snorted. “And my tongue is polite conversation?” He rolled his eyes as the waiter appeared with fresh salads and their appetizer.

David lifted his fork, still awkward with his left hand, but uncomfortable supporting his right for long periods of time. “Let’s just say this history includes some moments of an intimate nature that would include body parts you usually don’t deal with outside of your own shower.” As soon as he said the words, images of Trace naked and soapy ran through his mind, taking the edge off his physical hunger, but raising a hunger of an entirely different kind.

“Gotcha,” Trace said. He picked up a crostini topped with tomato and cheese and tilted his head to pop the bite-size morsel in his mouth.

“Mmmm. That gets an A,” he said while chewing happily.

“You are entirely too easy to please for a restaurant critic.” David chuckled.

“I’ll have you know, my average review is two and a quarter stars out of four,” Trace said archly, not seeing the manager who appeared behind him blanch and scurry away.

David snorted, shaking his head. “You just gave the manager nightmares.”

Trace raised an eyebrow and turned to glance over his shoulder, but there was no one there. He just shrugged. “Maybe they’ll triple check the food, then.” He smiled, leaning back and lifting his drink. “To a wonderful first dinner,” he toasted.

Something warm settled in David’s belly that had nothing to do with the wine. Raising his glass, he touched Trace’s with a delicate clink. “If I forget to tell you later—thank you.” The blond’s blue eyes stayed locked with Trace’s as he drank slowly, his tongue peeking out to touch the edge of the glass before pulling the wine into his mouth. A slow tingle flowed through Trace as he watched David take a sip of wine, and he blinked several times, trying to recognize it before it was gone. Was all the teasing making him think about things—about David—in a way he normally wouldn’t? David’s eyes—had he ever noticed they were so blue and flecked with gold? He swallowed his wine and dropped his eyes, feeling a tinge of heat in his cheeks.

David reacted to the shy drop of Trace’s eyes with a surge of desire.

If he’d been out on a date, he’d be sure that his companion was interested in him and probably thinking naughty thoughts. With Trace, he didn’t know what to think. Their friendship was deepening in a way that felt different from anything he’d experienced before. Trace took a couple of bites of the salad and pushed it aside, instead nipping another crostini from the plate. He didn’t know why he felt nervous all of a sudden. This was David, his best friend of a few years now. Finally, it occurred to him.

“You’re welcome,” he said quietly, glancing up at the other man, finding that he was still struck by how the light from the small flickering candle transformed David’s face.

Snagging the last of the crostinis from the plate, David moaned as the sharp taste of plum tomatoes and garlic exploded in his mouth. “God, tell me that when I’m cursing you later. Do we have Alka-Seltzer at home?”

Chuckling, Trace nodded. “Yeah, I had some last night.” He relaxed again with the easy comment, and it was easy to smile now. “So you think you might be able to suffer through the rest of the night?”

His reply stalled by the arrival of a tray of steaming, aromatic food, David shot an amused glance at Trace, easily reading his friend’s mind as the manager personally served their dinner. As Trace dismissed the fawning man gracefully, David rolled his eyes. “It’ll be rough, but I think I’ll manage.”

TRACE drove along the winding lane that led back into town from the exclusive French restaurant they’d visited last. This time, he was pleasantly full, not ill like the previous night, because luckily, he’d had someone to share it with. He glanced over to David. “So what’d you think about that one?” They had dined outside on a terrace, the table furnished with china, silver, crystal and linen—definitely a romantic atmosphere—
and the food had been unbelievable. To his experienced tastes, even.

Totally worth his ultra-rare four-star designation.

David’s head rolled lethargically to the side to see Trace, long hair blowing in the wind. Keeping the top down had been an excellent idea, even if they’d had to spike the heat to stay comfortable. “Definitely a ‘sure thing’ kind of place.”

A huge grin split Trace’s face, and he tried to bite his tongue. But it was so easy. “You telling me you’re a sure thing?”

“If I thought you had any inclination, I’d let you fuck me through the mattress,” David murmured in a sleepy, sated voice, his eyes already closed, the wind whipping his hair around his face as he drifted off to sleep, lulled by the rich food, good wine, and steady vibration of the convertible.

Trace froze with both hands on the steering wheel, looking straight out at the road. But he wasn’t seeing it. His mind exploded with visions of 
what David had just said, and he had to swallow hard and blink to make sure he was watching where he was driving. What the…? He chanced a look in David’s direction to see that his friend looked to be asleep. Trace let out a long, shaky breath. The evening had been rife with a tension Trace had never before felt with David. He shifted in the seat uncomfortably, and a few moments after the fact he realized why. He was aroused. Terribly, undeniably aroused by the images David’s words had evoked. He dragged a hand through his hair, panic welling in his throat.

His hand moved to cover his mouth as he choked on a scared laugh.
What
the hell?

By time, the grace of God, and sheer willpower, Trace calmed just as he pulled into David’s driveway. The other man was exhausted and probably more than a little drunk—and on painkillers to boot. Drugs made you do and say crazy things, right? And the ideas had already been in his own head after that meet-up with Matt. Perhaps David was just free-associating, but… he’d made it clear he knew who he was talking to.

David knew he was straight and happy that way. Trace sighed and open the car door, pushing one leg out and leaning back in his seat to look up at the sky.

Looked like he had quite a bit of thinking to do.

Fingers tapping lightly on the steering wheel, after a bit Trace shifted to spend quite a few minutes just looking at David, studying him like he’d never thought to before. Admittedly, he hadn’t been kidding when he made his claim about being out with a hell of a good-looking man. He had no problem saying which men looked better than others, in his opinion.

The more he thought about it, he wondered how much his opinions had been formed with David as the benchmark.

Finally he reached over, intending to shake David’s arm, but instead his fingers moved to the soft blond hair, and he petted it on purpose, just to feel—not to make a point, not to give comfort, but just because he 
wanted to. After a few heartbeats he drew back, blinking in confusion.

David wouldn’t appreciate that, would he? Still curious, Trace reached out again to comb his fingers through the wind-ruffled hair, wondering if it would wake the other man.

David’s head turned on the headrest, pressing into the loving touch without waking. His lashes fluttered momentarily before he settled back into a deep sleep, his lips parting as his jaw relaxed. Trace leaned sideways against his seat, head pillowed against the leather as he gazed across the two feet to his hand sliding through golden hair, and he smiled softly as David relaxed. To be so trusted, it was something special, he knew. He sighed, carefully pulling his hand away and touching his friend’s lower arm. “David,” he said quietly. “We’re home.”

Someone is stroking my hair
was the first thought David had as his mind emerged from sleep. It had been a long time since he’d enjoyed such a simple, intimate touch. He was loath to open his eyes and have it end. He could smell the subtle tang of Trace’s cologne and the combination made his pulse race. Slowly, he opened his eyes, adding the image of his friend’s beautiful face to his fantasy. He held his breath, caught in the magnetic pull of the moment, but unwilling to risk Trace’s friendship by acting on it.

Clear blue eyes opened, and Trace felt a flutter in his chest, one he didn’t recognize but somehow knew was important. The corner of his mouth turned up. “Wake up, sleeping beauty. We’re home,” he said softly.

For a moment, still foggy with good food, good wine, and the warmth of Trace’s touch, David let himself hear the words as a lover would say them. Home. Not David’s home, but theirs. A place of love. A promise of making love once they were safely ensconced in the privacy of their bedroom. A tight burning knot formed in his stomach. Swallowing and licking his lips to ease the dryness, David straightened. “Yeah. My 
shoulder hurts. Probably should pop some pills and go to bed,” he said, the words a reminder to himself of why Trace was here.

Trace waited a few moments before pulling his fingers away, immediately missing the warmth. “Let’s go, then,” he murmured. He recognized that he didn’t want to move away, but he shifted out of his seat to stand regardless. Now wasn’t the time to go exploring crazy feelings inspired by an oddly romantic night out with his best friend. He shook himself slightly and closed the car door.

Without waiting for Trace, David got out of the car and headed up the path to the front door, hoping to buy himself a few seconds alone to compose himself. He struggled inserting the key with his left hand, cursing with his frustration when he dropped the keys. “God damn it!

Fuckin’ idiot!” Slamming his palm against the wooden door, he rested his forehead against the beveled glass inset and took several calming breaths.

He hated feeling incompetent.

Flinching, Trace stood back even though he wanted to step up and help. David had become increasingly unhappy with being helped, and Trace now had to admit that he should think about going home before David threw him out in annoyance. He was concerned by how much he didn’t want to. “Okay?” he ventured.

“Fine,” David ground out from between clenched teeth. Taking another deep breath, he leaned over and retrieved the keys, unsure if it was being forced to use his left hand or Trace standing so close that was making him tremble. Finally on the third try, he got the key inserted in the lock and turned. It was a small victory, but he’d take what he could get.

Standing in the hall, he looked from the bedroom to the den. He wasn’t sure his control was up to Trace helping him undress just yet. “How about a drink now that you aren’t worried about driving us home?” he suggested.

For whatever reason, David mentioning home made Trace feel warm all over and a little on the shaky side. And he hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol, whereas David had been drinking quite a bit. “Sure,” he said quietly. “Gonna break out the good stuff?” he asked as he shrugged out of his suit jacket and loosened his tie. Maybe a drink would help him settle what he’d considered in the car.

“You’re worth nothing less.” David pulled an unmarked dark bottle from the back of the cabinet. “Get us a couple of glasses,” he suggested.

Watching Trace leave the room, he worked on shedding his jacket.

Trace walked into the kitchen and pulled two tumblers from the cabinet, stopping in the shadowed room for a moment to think. What had he been thinking of in the car? He looked down at his hands. His fingers were itching. Itching to stroke and feel and discover. He curled them into a fist. He wasn’t sure what had gotten into him tonight—other than much more time with David than usual, and too long since he’d spent time with an accommodating woman. But he wanted to touch. Touch David like he had in the car. And the look in David’s eyes when he had opened them….

He’d never seen a look like that from someone before. It had been scarily intimate.

Bolstered by his success at removing his jacket, David started to work on his tie, draping it over the back of the chair. Toeing off his shoes, he stretched out on the couch and propped his feet on the table, feeling accomplished for a change.

Setting aside the glasses, Trace stepped to the sink and turned on the cold water, plunging his hands into it. He had to snap out of this. Yeah, it was definitely time for a night out ending with a good lay. He was starting to fantasize about David! He sighed, turned off the water, dried his hands, picked up the glasses, and walked into the den. He’d think more about it later. Now, scotch. Lots of it.

Hearing the clink of glass, David smiled over his shoulder. “I’ve got a special treat for you. I found this bottle in a little pub in Scotland that didn’t even have a sign outside.”

David’s first words sent a shiver through Trace. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. A laid-back guy in general, Trace knew he got even more pliable and agreeable when drunk. He also tended to say things he otherwise wouldn’t. “I’ll try a bit,” he said, planning to have a taste and then flee to the shower. Right now, just being around David at all was keeping him aroused. He should have calmed by now, he kept telling himself.