“Eric!” Angel’s voice stripped away the distraction, and he looked up. “You all right, man?” He jogged over, bringing the ball with him and shoving it into Eric’s hands. “What is up with you? I thought you were a little off yesterday.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Today you ain’t even here.” He waved a hand in front of Eric’s face. “Earth to Eric. What’s going on?”

  “Yesterday I still had a hangover. Your little barhop escapades are going to kill me.”

  “No one’s puttin’ the bottle to your head, tiger.”

  “Fuck off.”

  Eric snapped the ball out of Angel’s hands and wheeled away, swinging around the court and taking a classic three-step layup approach. He took the shot, landed, and watched the ball spiral around the rim of the basket, teeter, and drop off.

  “Sinclair!” Coach’s voice knifed through the gym—and Eric’s head—and he groaned. “Get it together, Sinclair! You’re not too special to bench!”

  “Yes, sir!” Eric shook his head and jogged after his ball.

  Angel followed. “Talk to me, buddy. What’s going on?”

  “Nothing.” Eric reset at the foul line, and Angel set himself in a defensive position opposite him. The next few minutes were taken up with dribble and dodge, the sound of the ball slapping against the floorboards, and the sharp squeak of sneakers. Eric feinted right, dodged left, took the shot, and Angel easily knocked the ball off its path toward the hoop. He wheeled to take it back outside the key.

  He waited there for Eric to come around to the blocking position. “You’re so full of shit.” A quick low dribble danced the ball out of Eric’s reach, and Angel’s quicker footwork let him pass around and behind Eric, leaving Eric to watch his perfectly executed layup and basket. Angel passed him the ball, and he retreated to the foul line again.

  “Don’t know what you’re talking about.” Eric dribbled from one hand to the other, bouncing from foot to foot.

  “Liar.”

  “Just been under the weather.”

  “Saw Dwayne sitting with you at lunch today.”

  “He had a delivery, apparently.” Eric didn’t bother feinting. He bulled his way forward, shoulder first. Angel could get out of his way or go down. His upper arm connected, colliding full-on with Angel’s chest. The shorter man went down. Eric pounded forward, one step, two, three, and a long glide through the air to slam the ball through the hoop, hang by both hands a moment before he dropped back lightly to the gym floor.

  “Sinclair!”

  He bent double, resting his hands on his knees and heaving in a deep breath that burned down his throat, before turning to face his coach.

  “We’re all on the same team here, sport. Get your head in the game or get your ass off the court. Understood?”

  Eric nodded. “Yes, sir. Understood.” He reached a hand down to Angel and braced himself while his friend hauled himself to his feet. “Sorry, man.”

  “Sure.” Angel patted him on the shoulder. “No prob.” That evil little smile flitted across his face just before he jogged off after their ball.

  In the locker room, Eric spent an extra twenty minutes under the hot spray. He might have a nice, warm, cozy bed, but the plumbing in his building sucked. A hot shower was a luxury. He’d only just shut it off when his towel hit him in the back of his head.

  “Hey.” Angel’s voice behind him tightened the muscles across his shoulders. He bit back a growl and instead turned his head to peer over his shoulder through the dissipating steam.

  “You over your snit?” Angel asked.

  “Yeah. I’m sorry, man. That was uncalled-for.”

  Angel tilted his head. “You can make up for it. Help me cram for my chem midterm tonight.”

  The sigh that bled out was far beyond Eric’s control. “Dwayne be there?” Just the thought made his groin ache a bit, and he wrapped the towel around his waist.

  “He lives there, Eric. He’s not going away.” Angel moved off to drop his own towel and pull on boxers and shorts.

  “Meet at the library?” Eric asked, following him to his own locker and spinning the dial on the lock’s combination.

  “You know I can’t concentrate with all that quiet going on.”

  “Fuck, Angel. You just want to see me squirm.”

  Both Angel’s brows went up. He pursed his lips and shrugged. “He’s a pain in the ass, I know. But he’s my cousin. I ain’t kicking him out or sending him off even for you. Might do you some good to get to know him.”

  “Don’t need to know him.”

  “You think you know so much. What do you have against him?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “I don’t know him, okay?” Eric scrambled. “How can I—”

  “You don’t know him. You’re assuming things, and it’s bullshit, because he is a better guy than you or me.”

  “Who just happens to freeload on a guy who relies on scholarships to get by. Who sleeps with anything that wags a tail at him. Who—”

  “You. Don’t. Know him.” Angel stabbed a finger into Eric’s chest.

  “Back off.” Eric brushed Angel’s hand away and turned back to his locker, twisted the lock, and popped it open. He snatched his towel off his waist and began rubbing it over his torso. “We both know guys like him, Angel. We went to school with them. We partied with them, remember? Remember when those parties were busted? When my brother had to sneak us out to avoid the cops? You remember the guys who named names and tried to pin all that shit on us?”

  “Sure, and none of it ever stuck to you because Daddy—”

  “Hey.” Eric snapped his attention back to Angel. “My daddy protected us both. And Marianne, so do not go there.”

  “None of it would have stuck to you anyway,” Angel muttered.

  “Because I didn’t do anything. Neither did you.”

  “You think that would have mattered?”

  “Of course—”

  “Because guys like your dad would never have lumped me in with the other delinquents.”

  “Angel—”

  “I lived next door to those guys, Eric. I grew up in the same neighborhood. I ran the same streets.” He grabbed Eric’s hand and held it up, splaying his own next to it. Dark skin contrasted with Eric’s pale, lightly freckled arm. “I’m the same color as them. Not you.”

  “That has nothing to do with—”

  “With why you can’t stand Dwayne?”

  Eric’s gut twisted. “No. Angel, of course not!”

  “Yet you compare him to the thugs you used to slum with and not the best friend you practically grew up with.”

  “I—”

  “He isn’t like those guys. But you can’t see past the color or the clothes.”

  Eric clamped his jaw. It wasn’t like that. He wasn’t like that. Was he?

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “It has nothing to do with any of that, Angel. He’s—” A man-slut. But he couldn’t say that. He couldn’t say for certain it was even true. And he couldn’t accuse him of anything else either, because he didn’t know. “He ever been arrested?” he asked instead. Because he didn’t know, and so he could ask.

  Angel’s face fell. “Eric—”

  “Ha!” The vindication was swift and black and left his gut a twisted knot because he hadn’t wanted to be right. “He has. What for?”

  “What difference does it make?”

  “Maybe the tattoos and piercings don’t make him a thug, but a rap sheet does.”

  “Maybe,” Angel snapped, his voice going low and tight, the tendons in his neck peeking out with the tension of holding back his temper, “you should ask him about that rap sheet.”

  “Why would I want to know?”

  “Fuck you, asshole. You do all these charity fundraisers and poor orphan Christmas parties because your rich mama taught you how to run that shit and get other people to open up their wallets. It don’t change the fact you ain’t got a tolerant bone in your white-ass body. No wonder Marcus took the professor over you. Forget I even thought about hooking you two up. You don’t deserve Dwayne.”

  “Angel—”

  “He came here to get the fuck away from people like you. Thought maybe he might find it easier around people who didn’t know every detail about his past.”

  “Angel, come on. I didn’t mean—”

  “You’re gay. Thought you knew how it felt to have assholes judging you all the damn time. Don’t mean jack shit though, do it?” Angel spun around, grabbed up his sneakers and socks, his shirt, and his gym bag, then stalked toward the door.

  “Angel!”

  “I have to study!”

  The door to the changing room smashed against the cinder-block wall with a reverberating clang that bounced through Eric’s head and made him cringe. “Bi,” he muttered. “I’m bi.” He stood, feet bare, towel in hand, and wondered what had happened. When had he turned into such an asshole?

  Chapter Three

  BY DINNERTIME he knew he couldn’t let it go. So instead of heading home, he took the express across town to Angel’s little rented house. The ancient Asian man who lived in the front apartment smiled and nodded at him as he jogged down the drive to Angel’s door.

  His knock was answered after only a short wait, but it was Dwayne’s face peering through the crack left by the chain, not Angel’s.

  He grinned and his white teeth flashed. “You slummin’ again, Sinclair?”

  Eric frowned. “Is Angel here?”

  “Nope.” Dwayne shut the door, the chain rattled, and he opened up a second later, waving Eric inside as he strode toward the stove. Two pots steamed on the burners, and the light in the oven was on, revealing a casserole dish with what looked like a pork roast with carrots. “He’s gone to the library with Marianne. Something about a chemistry exam.”

  “He hates the library,” Eric muttered.

  Dwayne just shrugged and stirred. The aroma wafting from the small kitchen made Eric’s mouth water and reminded him he hadn’t eaten since the doughnut and coffee he’d had around breakfast. His extended headaches screwed his appetite up in a big way. He really should turn Angel and his barhopping extravaganzas down more often.

  “He was pretty pissy,” Dwayne said after a minute. “You two have a fight?”

  “No.” Eric scowled. “Yes.” He pulled a stool up to the breakfast counter and leaned onto his elbows.

  “What about?”

  None of your business.

  Eric watched Dwayne stir and taste, bit his lip when the man bent to peer into the oven. He was still staring when Dwayne threw a devious look over his shoulder and wiggled his ass. “See something you like, sweetcheeks?”

  Eric got up and headed for the door.

  “Okay, okay!” Dwayne straightened and hurried to cut him off. Eric was left facing the door, Dwayne’s hand on the handle keeping him from opening it and his warm, toned body wedging him into the corner. “If I promise not to call you sweetcheeks, will you have dinner with me?”

  Eric grunted.

  “C’mon. Eating alone is a drag.”

  Letting his head fall forward against the door, Eric sighed. “Why would you want to have dinner with me? After—” Everything.

  “Because I think….” Dwayne leaned, his chest touching Eric’s shoulder blades, making Eric realize Dwayne wasn’t that much shorter than he was. Since Eric was six foot four, that was rare. “I think you said it because secretly, you want me.”

  “Huh.”

  “Deny it and I’ll open the door.”

  Eric closed his eyes, aware of the smell of dinner clinging to Dwayne’s clothes and the scent of soap, warm skin, the musky aroma of maleness and strength.

  “Turn around.”

  Dwayne’s whisper sent a shiver down his spine. Hot breath tickled the nape of his neck, and the heat stole from his hairline to his tailbone. He pressed his forehead against the door. Something warmer than breath touched the back of his neck. Lips. Then wetness, and Dwayne nipped up the skin over the top of his spine.

  “Uh.”

  Dwayne relinquished his grip on the doorknob, but an instant later, his hands were on the collar of Eric’s unzipped hoodie. He peeled it back, exposing more skin along the nape of Eric’s neck and the top of his shoulders where his loose V-neck left him bare. The hoodie dropped to the floor with a little clank of the zipper hitting hardwood, and Dwayne’s hands snuck up along Eric’s midriff, skimming under his shirt.

  Eric’s stomach muscles tensed. He lifted a hand to stop him, but Dwayne gripped his wrist loosely, pulled his hand away, and continued the upward drift of his other hand. Eric tested his hold; it tightened, and the flames of the unfamiliar licked at Eric’s insides. He gasped when Dwayne’s teeth grazed over his back, just above his shoulder blade.

  Dwayne tweaked his nipple, issuing short, sharp bursts of excitement he quickly soothed with smooth, soft caresses. He mirrored the sensations with his mouth, stinging with his teeth and laving with his tongue, creating a firestorm of gooseflesh and burning, heated need that raged through Eric.

  “Dwayne….”

  “Stay and eat.”

  Eric shifted his weight, the growth of his cock uncomfortable, even in his relatively loose shorts. “Who’s eating who?” he asked.

  Dwayne laughed, and for a moment, the wide curve of his smile pressed against Eric’s back. He tightened his fingers momentarily on Eric’s wrist, like he was reminding Eric he had that grip, that Eric let him have it. Then he stepped away.

  “Food first,” Dwayne said.

  Eric shuddered a little at the sudden release and only remembered his hoodie when it nearly tripped him as he tried to turn. He scooped it up. This was his chance to escape. This would put an end to any idea he wanted to do this.

  Dwayne lifted one eyebrow at him as he stood over the stove stirring something.

  “Shit.” Eric tossed the hoodie toward the couch and resumed his seat at the counter. “What I said the other day….”

  Dwayne’s face seemed to flatten out and lose some of his usual animation, though he waved a hand and lifted a shoulder like none of it mattered. He turned back to the oven and pulled it open to remove the casserole dish inside. “Lots of people think that. The tattoos and body armor.” He fingered the barbell in his eyebrow, grinned—but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Ain’t like I wear sweater vests and chinos.”

  “Armor.” Interesting way to put it. “You trying to protect yourself from something?”

  Dwayne kept his back to Eric. He spoke in a low, flat voice. “Inside, you gotta be tough,” he said. He turned suddenly, piercing Eric with a bright, fierce gaze, his lips a hard line and his chin jutting out. “That’s where I been, you know. Inside.”

  Eric’s mouth went dry. The look was intimidating. And sexy as hell. He tried to swallow without much success.

  “You gotta look the part. Most of the fucks in there don’t care what way you swing. If they like the look of you and they’re tougher, they take what they want.”

  Eric could only nod. Cold chills raced up from his gut to make the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. “You—you’re pretty big,” he said at last.

  Dwayne shook his head. “Big don’t matter so much. Just makes some of ’em want to know how hard you’ll fall.”

  “Oh.”

  Dwayne stalked over to the counter and turned his forearm over, pointed to the stars Eric had surreptitiously counted about a million times. “Got my ass reamed a couple times before I caught on and figured out who to offer it to. This is his mark. Kept me safe once I got over the blood infection.”

  “Jesus shit!” Eric stared at the array of stars on Dwayne’s arm. “You’re shitting me.”

  Dwayne sighed. “Wish I was.” He turned back to the stove, took the boiling pot off the burner, and dumped the contents into a colander in the sink. “Hurt like sin getting it done, but it was worth not having to bend over for anyone who—well.” He stared into the sink for a heartbeat, and the steam rose up to halo his bent head.

  “Why…?” Eric wanted to ask why he’d been in jail, but then, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Wherever he’d been, it clearly wasn’t for a slap on the wrist.

  “A kid got himself killed. One summer just before Angel left the hood for better parts. I knew he was going, leaving with his new stepdad and his mom. If they pinned it on him, would have ruined everything for him. He was going to play ball, have this shiny new life. He’d been through shit with his real dad. Jackass wife-beater and all. Probably hit Angel too, though Angel never said. He didn’t deserve to take the rap for some punk kid getting jacked in a stupid fight. It wasn’t his fault. Just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  Eric’s skin tingled. The air around him sizzled, and his ears buzzed. “Angel? He—?”

  Dwayne had dumped the potatoes back into the pot and added butter and milk. Now he picked up the masher and thumped it into the mess with vigor. “I did. It was a mistake and I did my time.”

  Eric remained quiet, trying to process. He’d known Angel had had a rough childhood, known from the sparse stories his friend had told him that his skill with a basketball had saved him from a much darker life. He hadn’t ever dreamed it was so bad that he might have killed someone.

  The kitchen door clicked softly, and both men looked up. Eric hadn’t heard it open, but there was Angel, Marianne clinging to his arm, her eyes big.

  “Dwayne took the rap,” Angel said. His gaze shifted from his cousin back to Eric.

  “You told me to ask….”

  Angel nodded. “He was the good one. Always was. I was the troublemaker. Just like your dad always said, huh?” He grinned, but it fell away fast, and he wrapped an arm around Marianne’s waist. “Everything I have, it’s down to Dwayne saving my ass from my own stupidity. He made me promise to straighten out, and I did.”

  “You were young,” Dwayne muttered. He picked up the pot and set it on the stove beside the casserole dish. “Soup’s on. Help yourselves.” He looked over at Eric, met his eye. “Think I’m maybe not as hungry as I was.”

  Eric nodded. “Yeah.”

  A small, self-deprecating grimace crossed Dwayne’s face.

 

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