Authors: Katie Allen
He could tell he wasn’t going to get out of talking. “Yeah,” Pete managed to say, turning his head enough to get a sideways kiss on the mouth.
“Good.” Trevor slid off to his side. With an extreme effort, Pete managed to turn over and pull Trevor half on top of him.
With a soft laugh, Trevor settled his head under Pete’s chin. Pete stroked the other man’s hair. “So you like being on top, huh?”
“Uh-huh.”
“So are we going to have to play a game of King of the Mountain every night to decide who gets to be in charge?”
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Trevor chuckled again. “Sounds fun but no. Let me order you around once in a while and I’ll be happy to be your bottom boy the rest of the time.”
With a smile, Pete said sleepily, “Okay, bottom boy.” Although unconsciousness beckoned, something was niggling at the back of his brain and it wouldn’t allow him to drift off. “You ever going to finish the story?”
“What story?” Trevor sounded half-asleep.
“About your dad.”
Trevor’s entire body stiffened, all sleepy softness gone. “Can’t we just roll over and go to sleep? It’s kind of traditional.”
“If you want,” Pete told him, tugging gently on a strand of hair. “I’ll just lie here quietly, wondering how the story ends, staring at the ceiling, not able to turn off my brain, wide awake—”
When Trevor’s groan interrupted his monologue, Pete bit back a grin.
“Fine,” Trevor sighed, sounding extremely put-upon. “How far did I get?”
“You were gay,” Pete reminded him, “and in college.”
“Right.” This time, his sigh was flat and not amused. “I messed around for my first three years, had a gay ol’ time, in fact.”
“Funny,” Pete told him and felt Trevor shrug.
“Lame joke, sorry. My junior year, I met Shep.”
The wash of jealousy hit Pete unexpectedly and he frowned. “Shep? His name was seriously Shep? Like a dog?”
“It was a nickname,” Trevor huffed. “This story can stop at any time, you know.”
“Sorry.” He actually did feel bad for mocking Shep’s name. The guy was dead after all. He pulled Trevor a little closer.
“Anyway…” Trevor stretched out the word. “I met him in the library, as clichéd as that sounds. I noticed this guy following me through the stacks, so I doubled back, circled around behind him and scared the shit out of him by tapping him on the shoulder. When I asked him what the hell he was doing, he told me he was trying to get the nerve up to approach me.”
“Isn’t that cute?” Pete sneered. “Like a fucking Meg Ryan movie, only gayer.”
“And meeting at the coffee shop wasn’t cute?” Trevor demanded. Blinking, Pete said, “But that was made up.”
“Whatever.” Trevor brushed it off. “Just be quiet and let me tell my fucking story, okay?”
“Fine, fine,” Pete muttered, his stomach still tight with jealousy.
“So that was Shep. After that, we started going out. He was my first actual boyfriend.”
His voice went soft as he said it, which just drove Pete even more nuts. He gritted his teeth, holding back the snarky comment wanting to slip out. The worst part was 147
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Pete knew why the fucking story of Shep was bugging him so much—it was because Trevor was
his
first actual boyfriend.
“He said he’d just gotten out of a bad relationship,” Trevor continued. “He asked if we could take it slow. I liked him enough that I said yes—plus I think I liked the challenge of seeing if I could get into his pants. He held me off, though. Said he liked me too much to fuck things up by…well, fucking.
“A couple months went by of kissing and touching with no sex. I had such a bad case of blue balls, I thought I’d go insane. Right before Christmas break, Shep told me he was ready. Before I could rip his clothes off right there in the library—”
“Again in the library?” Pete interrupted, unable to stop himself. “What kind of nerd was this Shep?”
“A gorgeous one,” Trevor shot back. “Dirty blond hair, green eyes, lips that you could just picture wrapped around your co—”
“Enough,” Pete growled, cutting him off. “Just tell the fucking story.”
Trevor sighed. “I’m
trying
. So he tells me that, before we have sex, he wants to meet my family.”
There are so many Shep insults I could say right now.
Pete held back though.
“I’d come out to my dad my sophomore year and he seemed okay with it—not thrilled but he didn’t kick me out. I figured bringing Shep home to meet my dad would be an easy way to finally get Shep into bed.”
“So did you?” Pete asked, sucked into the story despite his loathing for Shep.
“I introduced him to my dad.” Trevor’s voice hardened. “They got along great. I was as happy as a guy who’s about to get laid, watching as they talked and laughed. It got later and later until I finally went to bed and left the two of them alone. I don’t know where Shep slept but it wasn’t with me.”
Pete knew he should be ashamed about how happy that made him.
“The next day, Shep picked a fight about something stupid—I don’t even remember what—and broke up with me. He didn’t come back for spring semester but started working for my dad instead. Within six months, Shep was managing one of his stores for him.
“Turns out though,” Trevor’s tone grew serious, “Shep was actually an undercover cop trying to get evidence of my dad’s illegal activities. He just pretended to be gay in order to use me to get to my father. Somehow, Dad found this out, but not until late that summer, after he’d shared a few of his secrets with Shep.”
Sucking in a hard breath, Pete asked, “Your dad killed a
cop
?”
Trevor nodded against his shoulder. “He thought I was in on it, since I’d introduced Shep to him. My dad asked me to meet him behind the store around 10
o’clock one night, said he had some boxes I could use to move back to my apartment near campus for my senior year. Like a fucking idiot, I went. My piece of shit car died a mile from the store, so I walked the rest of the way. When I came around the corner of 148
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the store, I saw Shep and, without thinking, ducked back against the side—you know, dodging the old boyfriend kind of thing?”
Pete didn’t really know but he nodded anyway.
“I can hear them arguing and then Shep starts begging, which I thought was weird, so I look around the corner and see Dad shoot Shep in the chest three times. It hardly made any noise,” Trevor said, sounding almost bewildered. “The gun must’ve had a silencer on it because it was so quiet. Shep just crumpled. I must’ve made a sound because Dad turned around and looked right at me. Looked at me and raised the gun again and said, ‘You’re late, son.’ I could tell by his face that’s what he’d planned for me too. That’s why he’d asked me to come.
“My dad was going to kill me.”
“Fuck, Trev,” Pete breathed, cupping Trevor’s head and holding it against him.
“I ran,” Trevor went on. “I ran for almost three years, working at shitty jobs in different cities, moving on when I got too paranoid to stay.”
“Why’d you finally decide to testify against him?” Pete asked.
“It just…caught up with me.” Trevor shrugged. “It’s hard to explain. I just couldn’t stand that he’d killed Shep and nothing happened to him. He was free. It started to eat at me until I finally walked into the police station and said I had information on Harold Haas. After that dirty cop almost got me killed last year, I told myself I’d tried to do the right thing but the cops had screwed up and that was that. It was still bugging me though. If McDonald and Salas hadn’t tracked me down, I would’ve gone back. Eventually.”
Pete kissed him, hard and short. “It’s almost over. Once the trial’s over, he’ll be locked up for the rest of his life. You’ll be the free one then.”
“Yeah,” Trevor said. “Soon.” He didn’t sound convinced. 149
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Chapter Fourteen
“You bought a lawnmower,” Morty said approvingly.
Unfortunately
, Trevor thought but forced a smile. “Yep.” Pete had tackled the backyard and Trevor had done the front. Waving away the gnats that seemed determined to glue themselves to his sweaty face, Trevor remembered how much he hated mowing.
Glancing around, he checked out their work. Rhodes and Wash were almost finished edging and trimming, and the yard, although not perfect, looked considerably better than it had earlier that morning.
Pete joined them, tossing an arm around Trevor’s bare shoulders as he inspected the yard. “At least it doesn’t look like we could hide a car in it anymore.”
Trevor laughed. “That’s something, I guess.”
“It’s easier if you keep up with it,” Morty suggested, looking at them sideways.
“We’ll be better,” Pete promised, catching the older man’s hint. “We won’t let it get this long again before we mow.”
Morty gave him a doubtful nod and headed back to his own house.
“Don’t think Mortimer believed you,” Trevor murmured.
Pete snorted. “Nosy old fart. You done?”
“Do you see a big hairy patch of grass I’ve missed?” Trevor shot back. “If you do, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”
Laughing, Pete gave Trevor’s shoulders a squeeze. “Putting the lawnmower back in the shed of death then?”
“Yeah,” Trevor shot him a curious glance. “Why?”
“Thought I might go with you,” Pete told him, letting his hand slide off his shoulder and down his sweat-slick back. “You know, make sure you don’t get injured in there.”
Pushing the lawnmower around the corner of the house toward the garage, Trevor glanced over his shoulder at Pete. “Why do I suspect you have an ulterior motive?”
“Maybe,” Pete suggested softly, catching up to him easily, “because I do.”
Twisting the knob, Trevor pushed open the side garage door and backed in, pulling the lawnmower into the cool dimness of the building. “What’s that?” he asked throatily, parking the mower out of the way, all his attention on Pete as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
“I was watching you,” Pete told him, stalking toward Trevor, and just the rough edge to Pete’s voice made his cock begin to stiffen. Trevor took a step back and then 150
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another, his heart pounding. “Your shirt’s off and you’re all sweaty. I kept thinking how much…” He stopped just a foot away.
“Yeah?” Trevor’s voice wasn’t much more than a growl.
Pete smiled slowly, his expression predatory. “How much I wanted to fuck the guy who was mowing the lawn.”
His laugh had a husky edge to it. “Sounds like the start of a porno.”
Bracing his arms against the wall on either side of Trevor, Pete leaned in. “Yeah, it does,” he said, his mouth just inches from Trevor’s. “So what would my next line be?”
Trevor bit his lip as Pete thought. “You missed a spot out there, young man. What should I do about that?”
He was definitely hard now. Trevor sucked in air, his chest working as he stared at Pete’s mouth, the firm, determined, sexier-than-hell line of his lips.
“Teach me a lesson?” he asked tentatively, caught up in the game. Flicking a glance up to Pete’s eyes and then dropping them down, he added, “Sir?” Just the word was enough to make his head spin, with all its implications—restraint and control and rough, dirty sex.
“I
will
teach you a lesson.” Judging by the rasp in Pete’s voice, he was as turned-on by this little skit as Trevor was.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Trevor said breathlessly, his eyes on Pete’s lips again. His whole body shook with the effort of not grabbing Pete and yanking him against him. “What are you going to do to me?”
Pete used his body to flatten Trevor against the wall. Before Trevor even had time to melt into him, something smacked against his head.
“Ow!” he yelped, covering his head with his arms. Pete yanked him away from the wall, tucking Trevor against him.
“You okay?” Pete asked, examining Trevor’s head.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Trevor rubbed the sore spot, scowling. “What hit me?”
Bending to pick something up from the floor, Pete held out a broken piece of a twoby-four. “We must’ve jarred this loose when I, um…”
“Slammed me against the wall?” Trevor asked, taking the piece of wood and turning it over in his hands.
“I wouldn’t say I
slammed
you,” Pete protested. “Nudged, maybe? Pushed a little bit?”
He sounded so defensive Trevor grinned at him. “It was definitely a slam. Don’t worry, though—I loved everything up until I got smacked on the head.” He rubbed the spot again.
“You sure you’re not hurt?” Pete pressed, his fingers inspecting Trevor’s scalp. Swatting at him, Trevor insisted, “Yes! Yes! Quit picking at me like we’re a couple of monkeys pulling fleas off each other, okay?”
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“Sorry.” He dropped his hands. “You’d tell me though, right? If you were hurt?”
“Of course,” Trevor lied. His head was already aching like a son-of-a-bitch. He tossed the piece of wood to the floor next to the wall. “I’m thinking we should get out of this death-trap, though.”
“Right.” Pete ushered him out the side door, hovering like a mother hen. “Let me just check your head in the light.”
“Pete,” Trevor warned. “If you don’t quit fussing, I’m going to sleep in Rhodes and Wash’s room tonight.”
That did it. Pete drew back as fast as if Trevor had bitten him.
“C’mon,” Trevor said, feeling a little guilty for the unhappy look on Pete’s face. “I can’t hear anything up front. I think the guys finished up.” He turned the corner into the front yard to see Rhodes and Wash talking with Sheriff Osgood.
“Sheriff,” Pete greeted him and Trevor jumped. He hadn’t realized how close Pete was behind him.
The sheriff looked over and rolled his eyes. “Don’t you two ever wear shirts?”
“If you’d call before you dropped by,” Trevor grumped, “we’d know to wear our very best.” He knew he was being bitchy but his head felt like shit. Osgood didn’t seem offended by Trevor’s tone. “I need to have a word with these two.” He jerked his head at Rhodes and Wash. “Why’s there blood in your hair?”
“Trev!” Pete grabbed him by the arm and tried to look at his head again. “You
are
fucking bleeding. Why did you say you were okay?”