Bad Habit, page 14
The guy at the stove looked over his shoulder. “Food in five.”
Out in the hall, Scott jerked open a door, and they crowded into a bathroom tucked under the stairs.
Blame sexual frustration, blame the humidity making his leg ache, blame too many goddamned people who acted like they knew all about Scott. Liam snapped.
“What the fuck happened to keeping this just between us?”
Scott had the goddamned fucking nerve to smirk. “Well, you shoving me into the bathroom for a hand job might be a giveaway.”
“This isn’t about—” Liam caught the direction of Scott’s stare a few seconds before the throb of blood in Liam’s dick forced him to pull at his shorts. “That’s not why. Why the hell are we here?”
“I told you. For a part.”
“The Mustang runs fine. What’s so goddamned important it can’t wait?”
“Until after we fuck for old times’ sake?” Scott folded his arms.
“No. Jesus Christ, Scott.” Liam took a step forward, brushing against Scott’s sharp elbows, the forearm with the raven’s wing spread to cover that old tattoo. Liam looked up. Scott’s mouth was twisted in a sneer, everything about his expression saying he didn’t give a shit except for his eyes. “No,” Liam repeated softly. “Because I want to be with you. I don’t want a hand job or just a fuck for old times’ sake. I thought you wanted that too, and I’m trying to figure out why you would drag us to some big gay brunch thing when you said you didn’t want to drag other people into our business.”
Scott blew out a long breath. “I didn’t know it was going to be a thing. Jamie, the cop—I told you about him, that he’s into classic Fords—he said Quinn would know something about what I’m looking for.”
“That guy in the cargo shorts in the kitchen?” Liam couldn’t keep the disbelief out of his voice. The guy stirring home fries seemed way more likely to know about lawn care and dad jokes than a part for a classic car. God knew Liam had met enough gearheads to know the difference.
“Yeah. He’s ex-Navy.”
“What the fuck does that have to do with it?”
“Okay, don’t be pissed, but I’m trying to figure out how to refit a car with a left-foot drive for you.”
“That’s the part you’re here for?”
“Yeah. Jamie said Quinn knows some stuff about veterans’ services, so….” Scott shrugged. “And you said you wanted me to not give a shit about your leg. Seems like it would be easier for you to feel regular about it if you weren’t always stuck in your house waiting on a ride.”
Liam wished he’d stayed the fuck outside, letting Eli make him feel shitty for not realizing that Scott was probably hungry. That was nothing compared to the riot of guilt worms spawned in his gut when he realized Scott had been trying to help. Not just that, but Scott had listened to what Liam wanted and was trying to make it happen. He let out a long breath, and his lungs weren’t all that was deflating. The way his nuts twisted as his dick shrank put an ache into his thighs. He reached behind to open the door and sidestepped into the hall.
“Why didn’t you tell me I was being an asshole?”
“You got there eventually.”
“Thanks.” Liam bumped their shoulders together as Scott passed him, heading back through the kitchen.
Scott with friends was a new concept. Liam had the uncomfortable suspicion that he was jealous. He’d never had to share Scott before.
As they approached the kitchen door, Liam asked, “So how long have you known these guys?”
“I’ve known Jamie awhile, mostly from swap meets, and then we started working on our cars together. Quinn and Eli I met right before I got the job at Schim’s. Or, I guess, before you got me that job. I never did figure out how you worked that.”
The kitchen was empty now. Liam stopped at the back door. “I figured Beauchamp—you know, the one who passed out at the car show?—was with Jamie, and he obviously knew you. So I tracked Beauchamp down.”
Scott shrugged, eyes down. That was Scott-speak for Don’t know, and I feel embarrassed about not having the answer. Liam also knew that was only another shrug away from Don’t know, and if you keep asking I’ll be pissed about it, so he dropped the subject.
When Liam pushed open the door, there seemed to be about thirty guys in the yard now. He almost backed into Scott, but David Beauchamp stepped toward him like Liam had conjured him up.
“EMT Walsh. Pleasure to see you again. I simply had to find out if you were able to run your quarry to ground.” Beauchamp’s gaze shifted over Liam’s shoulder. “May I presume—”
“David.” The name came at a volume that was just audible over the background chatter, but it had the effect of a drill instructor’s bellow.
Beauchamp froze midsentence as his Top moved to stand behind him.
No way could Liam have forgotten him. Pacific Islander features and warm brown skin along with massive biceps tattooed in a traditional Samoan pattern were memorable enough; coupled with the size of the rest of him, Beauchamp’s keeper was unmistakable.
“How’s your nose?” the man asked. “Don’t think we got to names at our last meeting. Tai Fonoti.” He offered a hand.
Liam made his way down the rest of the stairs to take it. “Better, thanks. Liam Walsh.” A quick head count showed the number at ten, counting him and Scott. The table was crowded with food, dominated by a two-foot-square pastry box.
Though Scott didn’t take part in the introductions, Liam could feel the silent presence behind him, a little off to one side, literally having Liam’s back as they followed Beauchamp and Tai toward the table.
“Nothing personal, Beach,” Eli was saying as they approached. “I just ran out of chairs.”
Tai folded his arms over his chest, and he had to know it made him look even bigger. “We weren’t invited?” He looked over at Beauchamp.
“I brought pastries as an apology,” Beauchamp offered with a shrug and wide innocent eyes that wouldn’t fool a toddler. “But when I called Gavin—”
“Leave me out of this, please, Beach.” Mr. Cheekbones was seated in one of the lawn chairs.
“C’mon. Secret codes like ‘chai’ and ‘rooster’ and you don’t expect me to want a seat at the denouement?” Beauchamp seemed to be appealing to Liam for assistance now.
Soccer dad—Quinn—stood up. “We’ve got some old plastic chairs in the garage. And a card table.”
“Don’t bother.” The rumble from Tai made every hair on Liam’s body stand at attention. “We won’t be staying.” One hand clamped around the back of Beauchamp’s neck. “And David certainly isn’t going to want to sit down.”
Beauchamp’s mouth opened, but then he licked his lips and shut it again.
Eli leaned against his chair back. “You know, I want my guests to feel right at home,” he purred up at Tai. “If you feel the need for an immediate response, take it upstairs, second door on the left.”
Tai’s gaze swept the table and then fixed on Eli. “Everyone’s good here?”
“They will be,” Eli said.
Tai nodded and steered Beauchamp at the back steps, passing close enough for Liam to hear the muttered “Oh shit” from Beauchamp.
Scott cleared his throat. “Is he gonna…?”
Liam turned to see him finish off his words with an open-palmed gesture to mimic a smack.
“Definitely.” Eli drew out the words in an even more exaggerated purr.
Quinn grabbed a big handful of Eli’s hair and yanked his head back to plant a hard kiss on his mouth.
“And everyone’s okay with this?” Scott went on.
“Is there a reason why you’re not?” Eli asked him.
“Not personally, I guess.” Scott shrugged.
“Welcome to the freak show,” Jamie muttered from his spot next to Mr. Cheekbones, then jumped. “Ow.” He glared at the man.
“As long as it’s safe, sane, and consensual.” That came from a cute guy in glasses, neat goatee, and wavy hair sitting by Eli.
The blond on his right stood up and came around the table to pump Liam’s hand like he was going to try to sell Liam something. “Hey. Big fan. Can’t wait for your show tonight. We’ll both be there.”
“We will?” The dry tone suited the goatee guy’s hipster look.
The blond winked. “Don’t worry. He’ll be there. I know the way to his heart.”
“Blow jobs?” Dark brows arched over the rims of his glasses.
“Berger cookies,” the blond said. “I’m Kellan. The wiseass is my boyfriend, Nate.”
“Kellan Brooks,” Scott put in, like the guy’s last name was particularly significant.
“Sit down,” Eli urged.
“Where are your two little chicks, Mother Hen?” Jamie asked him.
“At work, why? Missing their jailbait asses?”
As he eased into a chair, Liam swore he heard Jamie’s jaw snap shut.
“I’m going to live tweet some of your show tonight. Instagram it too. You’ve got an Epiphone Casino, right?” Kellan barely paused for breath. “You got it strung hard tail or trapeze?”
Liam had just gotten a flaky layered custard thing up to his lips. Damn. It smelled amazing. “Uh—trapeze.” Liam remembered the early lessons Reeve had given on the electric hollow body, though the process of restringing it seemed way above Liam’s current ability.
“Cool. Fucking gorgeous axe, man, but I just can’t handle the deep-set neck.” Kellan moved his fingers as if he were sliding up and down the frets. “Fucks me up.”
“I haven’t needed much range with the melody line—”
“Your voice has it, though. Holy shit, it’s fucking amazing. What’s your lead guitarist play? I couldn’t see the body over the security dude’s—”
“Hey, babe,” Nate cut in. “You think you could hit Pause on your fanboying for a few and let him eat?”
“Sorry, man.” Kellan put a hand on Liam’s arm, then jerked it away from the contact with the scars and skin graft. “Uh—oops. Hope I didn’t hurt—”
“It’s over two years old. Plus there isn’t much nerve sensation left.” As the words left his lips, Liam felt Scott’s stare against his cheek. Liam hadn’t told him anything about what had happened beyond those two words at the car show. Army. Afghanistan. Not a lie. But pretty damned far from the whole truth. The pins and needles of paresthesia rippled up from his phantom foot. He fought the urge to stomp the ground. Not that it would have helped.
“Where’d you serve?” Quinn asked.
“OEF. Paktika. 365.” The reduction to its base elements—mission, location, length—was usually enough to shut down questions.
It worked with Quinn, though Liam caught a nod that passed between Quinn and Jamie.
When the sound came, it could have been some typical Sunday morning home improvement project. But it wasn’t quite as normal as a hammer against drywall. A blunt impact on flesh made a different but still recognizable echo. Scott shifted in his seat, picking up and putting down his coffee without drinking any of it. As the rhythm of impact increased in pace to jackhammer speed, Liam buried his embarrassment in a mouthful of pastry and cream. It was one thing to see the cuffs on Beauchamp’s wrists and watch the dynamics, knowing that some people got their kink on that way, but it was a whole different thing to hear it. To hear it and know what was going on. And to who.
“Mimosa?” Mr. Cheekbones offered the pitcher to Liam.
He nodded.
As the other man filled a glass, he said, “Somehow we seemed to have missed our opportunity for introductions. I’m Gavin. Should you happen to feel a wet nose at your ankles, don’t be alarmed. It’s just Annabelle searching for any dropped crumbs.”
Like that sound from an overhead window wasn’t alarming enough. Jesus.
Liam glanced around the table. Jamie grinned and muttered something in Gavin’s ear. Eli had shifted and thrown a leg over Quinn’s lap, and Nate was licking something off Kellan’s thumb. To Liam’s left, Scott was rigid, knuckles white around the fork resting on his half-empty plate. Liam wondered which impulse Scott was fighting harder. The one to get as far away from the gut-churning awkwardness or to go tearing into the house and take on the guy built like a pro linebacker. But Beauchamp didn’t need protection, right? That was how it worked, as far as Liam knew.
“So, Scott.” Eli grinned. “Cut or uncut?”
Scott’s fork scraped against his plate. “’Scuse me?”
Liam heard the warning of imminent violence in Scott’s tone.
Eli held up a hand. “Not you. Your preference in dicks. I got into this thing with my friend Casey about circumcision, and—”
“Seriously? Nobody’s got a problem with what’s going on?” Scott’s voice cracked with anger.
Eli swung his leg off Quinn’s lap and straightened in his chair. “Some people have a problem with the fact that you and I—and everybody else at this table—likes dick.”
Kellan raised a finger.
“And one of us also likes pussy.” Eli paused for an eye roll, but he smiled at Kellan. “Plenty of people think it’s disgusting.”
“Pussy?” Jamie interrupted. “Ow.” He turned to Gavin. “You’re lucky you didn’t kick the dog.”
Gavin sipped his mimosa.
Eli went on over the interruption. “That just having to know we’re queer is reason enough to treat us like shit.”
Liam got where Eli was going with it. And yeah, it was his house. Still, it didn’t make it any easier to listen to somebody’s dungeon games over brunch.
When Scott took a deep breath, Liam knew Scott was catching on too.
Eli nodded. “Now I, for one, enjoy having my ass paddled to bruises before Quinn shoves his deliciously cut cock up—”
Nate spluttered out his coffee, while Quinn choked on his, turning deep red before catching his breath.
“—and I’m goddamned if I’m going to let anyone make me ashamed of who I am, how I love, and in adult company, how I get off.”
Scott ran a hand through his hair, as if trying to get his ’hawk to stand up. “Yeah.” He nodded. “Okay.”
The sound of open-handed blows against flesh stopped as abruptly as it had started. A few houses away, a lawn mower snarled to life.
“It’s still fucking weird, though,” Jamie muttered to Scott, then winked at Gavin. “Ha. Missed that time.”
“YOU TRACKED this down in one day?” Liam stood in the driveway next to Quinn while Jamie and Scott set up a removable left-pedal accelerator in Quinn’s Buick.
Quinn shrugged. “It’s still summer for another week. And I already set up my classroom for the year. But it was easy enough.” Quinn’s gaze felt like a laser drill into the side of Liam’s head. “Would have thought the VA would be a logical start.”
It would have been, if Liam didn’t try to limit his VA contact to a minimum. Seeing people who’d been wounded in combat reminded him that he hadn’t come by his scars honorably, just through the stupid conviction that he had all the answers.
“What makes you an expert?”
“I spent a chunk of the last year of my Navy career in the hospital in Bethesda. Some of it in a coma.”
Liam turned to meet Quinn’s eyes and then wished he hadn’t. The guy looked like he could see straight through to the back of Liam’s head to dig out all his faults and lay them out for people—for Scott—to see.
“Maybe it was different back then. Almost twenty years of war changes things. Lots of paperwork and waiting now.”
“Hm.” It wasn’t an agreement.
Liam stepped around the hood and got another eyeful of Scott’s ass as he lay over the seat. Maybe Eli would offer them a room to work things out since he was so accepting. At least now Liam understood why Scott liked Eli. From their first night together at St. Bennie’s, Scott had accepted Liam, without conditions, without judgment. Liam knew, with a certainty that ran deeper than bone, that Scott wouldn’t care about Liam’s scars or stump. Scott would always accept Liam in a way he didn’t deserve.
“For fuck’s sake, McDermott, it’s just practice. He’s only going to the end of the driveway.” That was Jamie, who was out of sight as he leaned in the passenger door.
“Just two holes, and I promise to fix them.” Scott’s voice was muffled.
“No,” Jamie shot back.
“How big a hole?” Quinn asked.
“It’s a fucking hole, Q. To the outside. Wet feet, rust.”
“Fine. I’ll hold it, then,” Scott said.
“It’s got vinyl grip on the base. It’s designed to stick to the goddamned carpet. Stop being pathetic.” Jamie popped up on the outside of the passenger door and slammed it shut. “Try it out.” He jerked his chin at Liam.
Liam should be focused on the car, but then Scott crawled out of the other side and lifted his undershirt to wipe the sweat off his face, revealing wet skin sprinkled with dark hair. The lines of muscles on Scott’s abs made Liam’s mouth water. He bit his cheek to keep from pitching a tent right there.
He focused on the deep scowl making a V on Scott’s forehead, but then he wanted to kiss it and force it away with a bad joke.
“Saddle up, cowboy,” Jamie called from the other side of the car. “While we’re young.”
Scott hovered as Liam swung himself into the driver’s seat one leg at a time, glancing down to make sure his prosthetic wasn’t pushing on the gas pedal or brake. As soon as he settled in and put his hands on the wheel, panic knocked the breath out of him. He couldn’t figure out why. It was just a regular dashboard, nothing fancy. Certainly not a jeep. And this sensation wasn’t anything like that watery-guts sensation of taking fire, the skin prickle of waiting for the impact of what you couldn’t hear in time to duck away from to tear through armor and flesh.
Scott crouched and ran through everything about the system that Quinn had already shown them, that the new pedal was connected to a bar that would depress the car’s accelerator for him.
Liam practiced shifting his left foot from the accelerator to the brake. It didn’t feel nearly as awkward as it should, and he had a hell of a lot more control than he did with his prosthesis. Scott looked up at him, lips curving in a twitch of a smile. Liam wanted to grab him and run back to the Mustang, not just so he could kiss a bigger smile onto Scott’s face, but because he’d finally recognized the breathless dread. And it had nothing to do with PTSD or jeeps. This was all him. Always had been. He’d chase something, like getting out of foster care and back with his mom, becoming a doctor, or being able to drive again, but the closer he got to having it, the less he seemed to want it. The only time he hadn’t wanted to run when he got close was with music.
