“Yes?”
“Shut up and fuck me.”
One finger became two. “Only if I want to. Remember, the customer’s gotta call the shots.” Damn but this role-playing sent
bolts of lust straight through Lucky.
“Oh hell, Lucky. Just fuck me already.” Bo contracted his muscles around Lucky’s finger. Lightning zinged straight down to
the uncomfortable tightness in Lucky’s jeans.
He freed his cock and slid into the cleft of Bo’s exposed ass, gliding on a slick of pre-come and a generous application of lubricant. He patted
his back pocket for his wallet and froze. Oh shit. Since Bo, he’d stopped carrying condoms in his wallet when venturing out at night. Everything
he wanted he got at home or Bo’s.
He groaned, dropping his head between Bo’s shoulder blades.
“What wrong?” Bo asked, his muscles tensed, and for the first time tonight he sounded unsure.
“No condom.”
Bo thrust back again. “We talked about this, remember? Don’t you want to?”
“Yes, I mean… yeah but…”
“But what? There’s been no one else… at least for me.” A hot stab of suspicion punctuated the words.
“No! It’s just been you since…well, since the Ryerson case.” He nudged Bo’s opening. Oh, how tempting.
One more shove and he’d be in, no barriers, nothing but the two of them, melded into one. Icy panic seized his heart. One plunge, no turning
back.
“Lucky, please. Don’t overthink this. This is me and you and, oh, God, I want you.” Bo writhed, pushing back for all he was
worth.
Hot man. No, hot Bo. Pleading. Wanting. Lucky should take a deep breath, turn off his brain and slide into tight heat, feel Bo wrap around him.
No. Can’t, it’s too soon!
Instead, Lucky wedged his cock in the cleft of Bo’s ass cheeks, gliding on the slipperiness
there. Bo squeezed, giving Lucky more firmness to plunge against.
Lucky reached around, stroking Bo as he prodded as far as he dared.
Do it, do it, do it!
his libido screamed. He rose on his toes and latched his
teeth onto Bo’s neck, panted breaths mingling with Bo’s needy whines. Bo braced his shoulder against the doorframe and reached back,
spreading his cheeks, oh so tempting.
Finally Bo shuddered, reaching up to grab the doorway in front of him. Lucky plunged one more time and stilled, pulse after pulse firing to coat
Bo’s backside while the rhythmic throbbing of Bo’s cock in Lucky’s hand told its own story of release. Lucky molded himself
to Bo’s back, skating his lips across Bo’s cheek and trying to find the words he needed to say. His heart hammered from more than
exertion.
Why balk now? The hottest man to ever notice him, a man who’d give him the moon and stars, wanted desperately to feel Lucky deep inside with
nothing in between.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
In the end he said nothing while pulling up Bo’s clothes, redressing him with cold-numb fingers.
“Bo, I…” he began when the silence between them grew oppressive.
“Don’t…” Bo replied, placing a silencing finger over Lucky’s lips. “You’re not
ready. It’s okay. I understand.”
You do? Good, ‘cause I sure don’t.
Chapter 5
Stupid, stupid, stupid! Why the hell hadn’t Lucky simply taken what Bo offered? It wasn’t like he’d never told the man he
loved him, words he’d never said to a lover before.
I love you
implied some sort of permanence, right? Maybe Bo needed to hear those words
last night.
Lucky stared at coffee made by his own hand, not Bo’s. Bitter dregs. Saturday morning should have found the two of them nestled together in bed,
not him brooding alone in his kitchen. Bo hadn’t followed him home from the alley last night and Lucky, assuming he would, didn’t ask
him to. A quick glance at his phone showed no missed calls and no text messages. Not that Lucky blamed the guy for wanting distance right now. Hell, Lucky
didn’t want to be around himself either, but he didn’t have much of a choice in the matter.
His muscles ached from the punishing two a.m. workout he’d put himself through when he found himself awake and staring at the ceiling, straining
his ears for the jangle of keys and his front door opening.
He eyed the clock. Ten a.m. Surely Bo would be up by now. Hell, he’d probably been for a run already. Cat Lucky slunk into the room from wherever
he’d disappeared to during the night. He blinked disapproving eyes and roamed out to the living room without even pausing to beg for food. Even
the cat sensed how badly Lucky’d screwed up.
He’d choked down his coffee and started on his second cup, a twisty ball of worry in his belly growing rapidly. With shaking hands he texted,
“R u ok?”
No immediate answer. He paced. He dampened a cloth and scrubbed down the kitchen counters. Still no answer. He swept the floor, even vacuumed, and yet no
response came from Bo. In less than an hour, he stared at a spotless house, or as spotless as he ever managed.
He flopped down on the couch with his Harley brochure, fantasizing about the machine he’d one day own. Every time he pictured himself astride one
of those sleek bikes, however, a phantom Bo always perched behind him. Oh yeah, to be cruising down the road with his man wrapped around him…
Only, Bo might not be his man anymore. Was Bo insulted by Lucky’s unwillingness to give him what he asked for? He’d said
Lucky’s reluctance was okay, but did he mean “okay it doesn’t matter” or “okay, that’s it,
we’re done”?
Talk about a wood-wilting moment. With pent-up energy and no outlet, Lucky changed into sweats, secured his iPod, and went for a walk.
Clop, clop, clop.
His shoes hit the pavement. Neither he nor Bo took others to bed. Ever since the first time they’d slung each other against a bathroom wall,
Lucky hadn’t looked back. Where was the problem?
With his one other long term relationship, he’d used protection. There’d been no question of commitment. Now, though, with Bo, taking
the final step seemed… well,
final.
Next they’d be looking at property together and picking out china.
Yeah, and what’s bad about that?
If they did settle in together, the whole issue of what the bureau would have to say came into play. And even if the job turned a blind eye to their
relationship, what then? Would he and Bo start to fight like his sister Charlotte and her husband had? Would love turn to hate? Would Bo one day have
enough of Lucky’s ass and walk away? Of course, to his credit, Bo wasn’t a crazy-assed, alcoholic redneck who only wanted someone to
take care of him so he could go out carousing every night.
Lucky stopped, selected Pachelbel’s Canon on his iPod, and turned up the volume. Pushing aside all conscious thought except for the pounding
cadence of his tennis shoes on asphalt and the steady in/out of his breathing, he ran as much as his defective leg allowed.
***
One half-run/half-limp later, his cell phone still yielded no messages from Bo. Lucky’s heart leapt when he found an e-mail on his laptop
entitled, “What are you doing tomorrow?”
A quick check showed the e-mail had arrived on Friday at 5:15 p.m., shortly before Bo’s arrival last night. Funny, he hadn’t mentioned
the message, at least not that Lucky remembered. Lucky read, “I have an appointment with a realtor at two tomorrow, and would like you to come
with me, if you don’t mind.” The e-mail included a link. Lucky clicked and a house appeared, complete with two car garage, three
bedrooms, ensuite master bath and walk-in closet. The square footage easily made three of Bo’s cramped apartment. He’d complained often
enough about needing more room, but one man didn’t need nineteen hundred square feet.
His and hers sinks and closets. Oh shit. One man didn’t need so much room, but two might. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. Was Bo suggesting they live
together? Lucky flipped back to the picture of the master bedroom, mentally inserting a combination of his and Bo’s furniture. He pictured the
two of them, curled up in bed. Somehow the darned cat wound up in the image, tucked into the space between Bo’s bent knees and backside.
Lucky wasn’t ready to embark on a live-in arrangement. He continued scrutinizing the house listing. The fenced yard would be a good place for a
dog, and the garage even had a doggie door already installed.
No! Lucky closed the e-mail. Bo shouldn’t even think about living together, knowing Lucky’s temper and foul moods. No way should they
confine themselves to the same space until they’d figured out how to deal with each other’s baggage. Or their own.
The squirming in Lucky’s gut turned to gnawing. He snatched up his jacket and headed out the door.
A steady stream of folks entered and exited Bo’s apartment building. A smile and a blurted, “Forgot my key” gained him
entrance from a woman he’d met before who probably thought he lived there. His ratty-ass jacket earned him a few stares. Let ‘em look.
He smoothed his hand along a tear in the plastic-whatever-the-hell-you-called-leather-that-wasn’t-real-leather, missing the honest-to-goodness
real stuff he’d worn a few days ago.
Adrenaline coursed through his body, and he paced the elevator, chanting, “Hurry it up!” Finally the doors opened. He trotted to
Bo’s apartment, listening for noises from within before knocking.
Bo opened the door, eyes wide. “Hey. I’d almost given up on you coming. You about ready to go? I can’t tell you how glad I am
that you’re going to help me house hunt.” No “About last night” or “insensitive prick” or
“loser”, just “glad you’re here.” Lucky didn’t deserve Bo’s gratitude.
“Why?”
“Why does anyone look at houses, Lucky? I’ve talked things over with Walter, and when my probation ends I intend to stay with the SNB.
That means permanence. I’ve always wanted my own home.” He paced to the couch for his jacket.
Lucky often entertained notions of buying his own place, too, but preferred a cabin in the mountains, far from people. Damn the whole having to work for a
living thing.
Excitement tempered by a touch of wariness lurked in Bo’s eyes. “Why didn’t you answer my text?” Lucky ventured.
Bo patted his pockets. His eyes went wide again. “Oh, shit! I must have left my phone in the truck. Why didn’t you e-mail or use the
land line?”
“Bo, I—” A knock sounded on the door. They both jumped and Lucky snapped his jaw shut on whatever lame words might have
escaped his mouth. He’d fucked up. He’d well and truly fucked up, and now couldn’t find the necessary words to apologize.
Bo opened the door. A young woman stood in the doorframe, hand raised to knock again. “Oh hi, Allison. You’re right on time. Are you
ready?”
“Umm…” she darted a troubled gaze at Lucky and back to Bo. “Did I come at a bad time?”
“No ma’am,” Bo assured her. “My friend was…” he cocked his head to the side, a question in his
eyes.
“Um, on my way out the door,” Lucky said.
Bo sighed, staring down at the floor. The two steps he took back might as well have been miles. “Okay, if you’re sure. See you at work
on Monday.” One moment Lucky gazed at his lover’s forlorn face, the next at a closed door. First he recoiled at commitment in one way,
then let Bo down when all the man wanted was Lucky’s company while finding a place to live. It wasn’t too much to ask. “What
the fuck is wrong with me?” The image of Bo’s face the moment before the door slammed burned itself into Lucky’s brain. A
haunted soul stared out of Bo’s eyes that Lucky hadn’t seen in nearly a year—the one who’d explained how someone so
good could get tangled up in drugs, or why a grown man dreaded sleeping alone in a bed at night.
And I did that to him. I should kick my own ass.
***
Dear Charlotte,
I screwed up. I mean really screwed up, as in “I wouldn’t blame him for not speaking to me” screwed up. What can I
do?”
Being a man of many names, Lucky never signed his messages anymore. He sent the e-mail and spent a lonely Sunday. Even the cat wasn’t speaking to
him.
Toward evening, he received a reply:
Richie,
Roses and chocolates are the usual payment for fuckups, but I know you don’t do things the normal way. (Don’t worry, brother dear,
it’s part of your charm.) You have to make right whatever you did in such a way that he knows you mean it. Words won’t get you out
of this one. You need to act. Fast. And, Rich? If you let Bo get away I’ll hunt you down and hurt you. We only met once, but any man who
would come all the way to Spokane and beg to know where you were and not back down even when I pulled a gun on him is worth keeping around.
Love and kisses,
Char
Damn. He’d been afraid of that. She was going to make him figure out how to apologize on his own.
***
Lucky lay in bed, a diesel engine disguised as a cat rumbling into his ear. Bo. His heart clenched. Bo spread out against a wall, begging, not merely for
sex, but for proof that what they had meant as much to Lucky as it did to him. Bo offered everything, held nothing back. Lucky pretty much had spit in his
face.
Bo wanted a house, wanted to include Lucky in one of the most important decisions of his life, and Lucky heard “commitment.” Bo
hadn’t mentioned living together; he simply felt cramped in his tiny apartment. And they were committed already, or as committed as Lucky
allowed.
What should have been mind-boggling alley sex for the record books had fizzled and died. Because of Lucky. No way in hell could he figure out how to right
his wrong. Good thing Cat Lucky slept soundly, for Lucky the Dumbass didn’t sleep a wink.
Chapter 6
“Lucky, got a minute?” Bo waited by the elevator in the parking garage at the Southeastern Narcotics Bureau on Monday morning, a
Starbucks cup in each hand. He passed one to Lucky.
“Sure, what’s up?” Lucky’s heart leapt, and he made sure to skim his fingers over Bo’s while taking the
cup.
Bo gave him a sheepish smile. A man could read a lot into a smile like that, from
I couldn’t help myself
to
it’s not you, it’s me.
“Look, I’ve been thinking…”