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I’d pretty much forgotten about my messed-up hand while I was working, but it had started to throb the moment I was done, just like Pete had warned me it would. I held it up and peered at it. It hurt, a lot. “Yeah, I just cut myself last night. It’s fine.”
Ted shrugged easily. “Shit happens. It didn’t affect your work. I’m impressed… really impressed. I’ve got to split, but I’ll check back with you next week when we go over those catalogue pieces. Good work, Ash. Well done.”
I thanked him, but he was already walking away. It didn’t matter, though—his words were enough. Ted didn’t waste his time saying stuff he didn’t mean, and despite the ache in my arm and the lingering disquiet from the night before, I walked home with the barest hint of a smile on my face.
Pete was out when I got back to the apartment, and we didn’t link up until the following day, when I came home to find him on the couch eating takeout. He waved a fork at me in greeting.
“Come eat,” he said. “How’s the hand? Sore?”
I slid over the arm onto the couch and peered into the containers on the coffee table. The sharp pain in my palm was exacerbating the dull ache in my shoulder from the tetanus shot, but I didn’t want to complain. “It’s not so bad.”
Pete snorted. “Whatever. You look fucked. Here, take two of these and eat up.”
I took the pill bottle and studied it warily. “What are they?”
“Advil,” he said. “Ibuprofen? They’re anti-inflammatory.”
“Anti what? Is that like Tylenol?” I remembered that from when I had flu in rehab. It was the only drug they’d give out, and after five years of benzos and heroin, it didn’t do shit.
“Similar.”
I bit my lip and eyed the bottle. I had two choices: Ask him outright, or just leave the pills. Either way, I’d have to explain myself. I took a deep breath. “Um, is it, like, an opiate?”
He didn’t even blink. “No. It’s just an over-the-counter pain med.”
I relaxed slightly, opened the bottle, and shook out two pills. I reached for Pete’s beer to chase them down, but he stopped me with a lightning-fast snap of his hand.
“Drugs and booze don’t mix. Go get some water.”
I rolled my eyes, but I got up anyway. He had his sensible face on, and after the last few days I knew better than to argue.
After we ate, I decided to take a shower, and came back into the living room half an hour later to find him still on the couch. He looked really tired, slouched down with his eyes half-shut. I considered leaving him to it, but he sat up when he saw me coming and gestured for me to show him my hand.
I sat on the coffee table and extended my arm. I stared at the floor while he unwrapped the bandages and poked about. I didn’t want to see the wound again, and with his hands on my skin I was thoroughly distracted. His hands were warm and smooth, but his touch made me shiver… a strange shiver so intense it was almost painful. I jammed my teeth into my bottom lip, the only thing that stopped me from moaning out loud.
Pete lowered my arm when he was done, but he didn’t release it from his grip. “Try not to flex it too much.”
“Uh-huh,” I said absently.
“What were you using to cut yourself so bad?”
His question caught me off guard. Up until now, he hadn’t asked me any questions—he’d just babysat me and gotten me fixed up. I pulled my hand away from him. “A craft knife. I was working on something for the shop and my hand slipped.”
He nodded slowly and dropped his hand to his lap. “And the cigarette burn?”
I didn’t have an answer and my silence spoke volumes. An image of my scorched palm suddenly appeared in my mind, and it was all I could do not to gag. I looked away as I tried to think of a plausible explanation. None came, and nausea rolled as I shifted uncomfortably under the weight of his stare. I wanted to run, but just as my courage deserted me, he let out an abrupt whoosh of air.
“I need to tell you something.”
I tore my gaze from the floor and forced myself to meet his gaze. I knew what was coming. “You want me to leave.”
My voice was flat. It wasn’t really a question, but Pete looked startled. “What? Why would you think that?”
I didn’t say anything. To me it was obvious. He had a full-time job and a life of his own. Why would he want to come home to a blood-covered freak every night?
Pete shook his head. “It’s not that. This isn’t about you. It’s about me; something I should’ve told you from the beginning.”
His uncharacteristic, careful tact made me nervous. I’d never seen him speak so cautiously before. I gestured for him to continue, perturbed, and more than slightly alarmed.
He let out another breath, clearly measuring his words. “I don’t know where you sit on stuff like sexuality, but because of what happened last night, you need to know. I don’t ever want you to feel uncomfortable.”
“Sexuality?”
“Yeah.” His gaze grew harder as he misread my hollow response as something else. “I know I should’ve told you before now, but I’m not straight. As in, I’m into men.”
There was a pause. Then, stupidly, I said the first thing that came into my head. “So?”
Pete narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “That doesn’t bother you?”
I shook my head slightly and tried to get my head around the fact that he was gay. It didn’t make any sense. I’d seen him with a chick just a few weeks ago, and they’d been all over each other. There was no way they were just friends. “Why would it bother me?”
“Some people don’t like it. They think I’m greedy because I swing both ways.”
And just like that, the headache-inducing riddle evaporated and left me astounded. I laughed for what felt like the first time in days. “Best of both worlds, huh? You like men and women?”
“Something like that. Just don’t call me bisexual. I hate that damn word; it sounds like a fucking disease.”
I was dizzy from the abrupt change in mood, but I got his point. Those labels held too much power, like you were marked for life by a tiny little word, frozen within the restrictions of an umbrella you’d stood under too soon. Gay, straight, bi… what the hell did they even mean? Why couldn’t I just be me?
Pete eyed me warily. “You’re sure you’re okay with it? I should’ve told you before you moved in. I just, I don’t know, man, I just didn’t really consider it, and I should have. I’m sorry.”
“Trust me, I get it.”
His face betrayed his surprise. Somehow, I knew his mind was racing to figure out if the sudden enlightenment he felt was correct. “Really?”
I raised my arms above my head and winced at the soreness in my shoulder muscles. “I didn’t see it in you either,” I said by way of an answer. “I can spot a gay guy a mile off, though. Maybe it’s not so obvious when it’s undefined.”
Pete shrugged. “Maybe. Guess it doesn’t really matter. We’re cool, right?”
“We’re cool,” I agreed, though inside I was once again reeling. It had never, ever occurred to me that Pete was like me, even when Ellie suggested it. Knowing that he was stirred something in me, something I’d never felt before. Acceptance, maybe? I couldn’t figure it out.
Pete got to his feet and stretched. “I’ve got to crash. I’m working at six.” He moved toward the door, but he stopped halfway and turned back. “Hey, Ash?”
I looked up from the sketch pad I’d dazedly retrieved from under the couch. “Yeah?”
“Are you okay?”
I nodded absently, ignoring the same searching look he’d given me at the hospital. “Yeah, I’m sorry about last night. It’s just that room… I can’t sleep in there sometimes.”
Pete eyed the sketchbook in my hand. “Maybe it’s because you work in there. You can’t disconnect.”
“Maybe,” I echoed. I knew it wasn’t, but I kept my mouth shut. I’d talked enough for one night.
“Anyway….” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “You can crash in my room whenever you want. It’s cool, there’s plenty of room. Just come and get in.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but nothing came out, and he was gone by the time I figured out I had nothing to say.
That night, I lasted three hours before I gave in. By then, my hand was killing me, and I was so tired I barely remember slipping across the hall and crawling into his bed. Over the nights that followed, the time I waited became less and less.
The nights Pete wasn’t home, I just didn’t sleep. No big deal, I was used to that, but the dreamless oblivion I experienced in his bed when he was there brought new problems all its own. My body now knew what it was missing, and it made the sleepless nights even harder to cope with. I thought I covered it well, but Pete wasn’t fooled. A few weeks after the first night we’d slept side by side, he rolled over in bed to face me. It startled me. He’d appeared asleep when I’d crept in beside him.
“You don’t have to wait for me,” he said into the darkness. “At night, I mean. Just come to bed when you’re tired. You need to sleep.”
I rolled onto my back, feeling his eyes boring into me as I asked the question I’d come to realize I couldn’t ask to his face. “What if you bring someone home?”
He sighed and the bed shifted. “That’s not going to happen.”
“Why not?”
“I like you.” He moved again, mirroring my position and staring at the ceiling. “I like you, and I want you to feel better.”
I turned my head to face him. Pete was wise. Sometimes he seemed far older than his twenty-four years. How could he not know that lying in bed with him was the best I’d ever felt?
CHAPTER SIX
THE knocking on the front door was light but insistent. Next to me, Pete groaned and pulled a pillow over his head. I took the hint and slid quickly from the bed to answer the door. I wasn’t sure what time he’d come home, but I’d become used to his strange hours and long shifts. After a few days of pointless procrastinating, I’d started sleeping in his bed when he wasn’t there. The first night I fell asleep with the TV on, convinced I’d wake up the moment he came home. I didn’t. I woke up in the morning to find him stretched out beside me, like he’d been there all along.
In the weeks that followed, I’d never slept so well. One night, he even managed to remove the stitches from my hand while I was sleeping. I didn’t feel a thing. The situation was surreal, but at the same time it felt strangely right. It was all too easy to push the complications aside, because life with Pete had become as normal as anything ever was for me. It felt almost routine now to slide out of his bed and pad through his apartment to answer his door.
The knocking grew louder as I got closer and increased in attitude with every tap. Annoyed, I shot the deadbolts across and yanked it open. Ellie’s amused smile greeted me.
“Finally. Have you lost your cell phone?”
I stepped aside as she breezed past me. “What?”
“Your cell phone,” she repeated, appraising me through narrowed eyes. “I’ve been calling you since yesterday.”
That was news to me, but I couldn’t quite remember when I’d last seen my phone. “It’s not lost. I just don’t know where it is.” I eyed the shopping bags in her hands. “What the fuck is all that?”
“Clothes, duh.” Ellie let out an irate huff of air, blowing her short red hair out of her face. “You gave me some money to get you some new stuff.”
“I didn’t give it to you. You stole it.”
“Details,” she said flippantly. “You shouldn’t keep cash under your mattress, and you’ve been wearing those old jeans for months. Now go and get dressed. I’ll buy you breakfast.”
I wandered off to my room to get dressed, grumbling under my breath. Ellie meant well, but she was a rich kid. The concept of truly worn-out, old clothes was lost on her. And, worse, in her mind, the slowly accumulating money in my bank account and various other places around the apartment was there to be spent.
Still, I decided to concede her point about clothes as I rummaged through my paltry collection of T-shirts with a toothbrush in my mouth, searching for one without holes or ink stains.
“I thought you just got up?” Ellie said dryly.
Predictably, she’d followed me. Too late, I noticed her gaze flicker between my still made bed and Pete’s closed door. She’d been around enough to know he slept with it open. “Hmm?”
“Something you want tell me?”
I turned away, ducking my head. “Like what?”
“Like why your bed hasn’t….”
The door behind her opened. Pete appeared, looking sleepy, disheveled, and sexy as hell. He smiled at Ellie and kissed her cheek as he passed her on his way to the bathroom. She watched his retreating back before she turned back to me, her hands on her hips.
I pulled the shirt I’d slept in over my head and replaced it with a clean one, buying time. Ellie drummed her nails on the dresser impatiently. I ignored her until she sighed heavily and left me alone to finish dressing. I thought I got away with it, but naturally she was on me the moment we got outside.
“So, are you going to tell me what’s going on with you and Pete?”
“Nothing’s going on.”
She poked my ribs, playfully but hard. “Liar. I saw the way he looked at you when he came out of his room, like he was wondering where you went….”
“It wasn’t me he was kissing.”
Ellie snorted, defying her petite, feminine frame. “Fine, have it your way, but don’t think I’m fooled.”
I knew she wasn’t—shit, I wasn’t even fooling myself—but I still spent most of breakfast speculating if Pete really had been wondering where I went. Some nights, he didn’t seem to notice I was in the bed with him, but others, he’d roll over and say my name. The bed felt all wrong to me without him; I couldn’t help but wonder if he ever felt the same.
He was up and getting ready for work when I got back, drifting around the apartment in just a pair of faded blue jeans. Barefoot and bare chested… damn. I ducked my head, retreated to the couch, and looked anywhere but at his strong, defined torso.
“Hey, what’s all this crap in the bags?”
I kept my eyes on the sketch I’d pulled out to distract myself from him and his bare skin. “Ellie thinks I dress like a tramp.”
Pete slid over the arm of the sofa with one of the bags in his hands. He peered inside and let out a laugh that made the whole couch shake. “She’s not going fix that by dressing you up like me.”
He handed me a pair of sweatpants identical to the ratty old pair he slept in. I didn’t know whether to laugh or be really fucking embarrassed. Obviously, I went with an awkward silence that Pete ignored. He poked his head back into the bag and came up with a pair of jeans that looked pretty similar to the ones I already had. “I like these. Maybe I should get her to shop for me too.”
“Don’t tell her that. The girl’s a machine.”
Pete laughed, tossed the bag aside, and leaned back on the couch. “Women are all the same. My ex made me buy this massive bed when we didn’t even live together. When we split up, she wanted to keep it because it was her idea. Can you believe that shit?”
“Your ex-girlfriend?”
He nodded. “Yeah. We get on fine these days, but I kept the fucking bed.”
I kept my mouth shut. I’d often wondered why the bed in Pete’s room was so much bigger than any bed I’d ever seen before. Somehow, I couldn’t picture a woman’s body against his light-gray sheets.
THE bar was dark and noisy, just how I liked it. In Philadelphia, I used to sneak into kicking bars and sit in the corner to watch the world go by. In a big city, a crowded bar was one of the safest places to be. No one ever noticed the scummy kid in the corner. These days, my life was different, but they were still a place I felt relatively at ease.
I stood with my back to the wall and watched Charlie, Ellie’s older brother, attempt to fend off a mousy brunette. From the helpless looks he sent my way, it didn’t look like it was going well. The poor chick had followed him all the way from the jazz café where he’d played his guitar set, and she looked pretty smitten.
Beside me, Charlie’s friend Joe laughed. “You should go help him out,” I said halfheartedly.
Joe laughed again, loud enough for people to look over at him. “No chance. This is way too funny.”
He had a point. The chick wasn’t taking no for an answer, and Charlie was too polite to be rude.
“Her friend’s pretty hot.”
I peered over Joe’s shoulder at the girl who stood next to the brunette. She didn’t look that hot to me, all cleavage and makeup. She was the kind of girl who gave you a nasty surprise in the morning, and I said so.
Joe shrugged. “So don’t stick around.”
I laughed, all too aware how many times I’d done just that. Not recently, though. My last dalliance with a woman had put me off chicks for a while, and my head was full of men. Shit, who was I kidding? My head was full of one man—Pete. I didn’t tell Joe that. I’d only met him a few times, and though he always greeted me like he’d known me forever, I still didn’t know him at all.
“Do you want to shoot some pool?”
I grabbed my beer from the bar. “Sure. You think he’ll find us when he escapes?”
Joe smirked. “That’s not going to happen anytime soon. I’ve seen that chick before; she’s pretty tenacious.”
I didn’t know what the word meant, but we abandoned Charlie, despite his pleading looks, and moved away from the bar to the pool table. I’d won and lost a game before Charlie finally made his escape and stumbled over to join us.
Charlie carelessly slung a glass of what smelled like gin down on the table and reached for my beer. I passed it to him before he could knock it over. Aside from Ellie, he was probably the closest thing I had to a friend, but he was a nightmare when he was tanked. “What did you say to get rid of her?”
“I said I was married,” he said around the bottle. “To a man.”
I glanced warily at Joe, but he just laughed. “Dude, that’s fucking desperate. She’s not that bad. Who did you say you were with, me or him?”
