Chasing Forever Page 6

  “By eight minutes, dickhead.”

  “Every minute counts.”

  Donny dropped a kiss to his forehead—a gesture borrowed from their father, and not often used. Right then, though, it meant everything. Mal gripped his brother’s shoulder, the twin who wasn’t even a near copy, but nonetheless occupied half of his heart. “Thanks, Donny.”

  “Happy New Year.”

  Donny exchanged a few more un-pleasantries with Leo and left. The crowd near the door shifted as he pushed through, and Mal glanced toward the end of the bar, leaning out a little to see if—

  “Looking for me?” Warmth pressed gently against Mal’s back, wrapping around him with the scent of cardamom and oranges, wool, and the musky odor of male.

  Mal hunched forward a little, and the pressure against his back eased as Brian drew away, angling sideways to sit on the stool Donny had abandoned. Brian hadn’t shaved, and the white-blond stubble only made him more attractive, giving the lower half of his face a well-defined edge. His blue eyes flashed with humor and maybe one more drink than the hour required. He had a glass in one hand, a puddle of dark liquid clinging to the bottom.

  “Fancy meeting you here,” Brian said.

  Mal rolled his eyes. “You’re going to have to try harder than that.”

  Brian grinned. “How about: I was hoping you might be here?”

  Warmth moved across Mal’s back again, the remembered feel of Brian right there—a flush following in its wake. He worked against ducking his chin, against the shyness he’d combated his entire life. “I’ve heard you’re trouble, Kenway.”

  “Good. Means I don’t have to warn you off.”

  “Does that work?”

  “You wouldn’t believe how well.”

  “Everyone loves a bad boy.”

  Chuckling, Brian lifted his glass as if in a toast. He drained the last of his drink and set it on the bar. “What about you?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Love a bad boy?”

  “I like men.”

  “Oh, nice!”

  Mal found himself grinning. “Are we keeping score?”

  “If so, you’re ahead by two. Keep it up and you might get a prize.”

  Whatever flirting mojo Mal had gained from his last beer failed him then. Either that, or the quick flash of what his prize might be—a fantasy that needed more than a few seconds at the bar to properly unfold—robbed him of words. He cleared his throat, gave in to the chin dip, and pretended interest in his drink.

  The scent of Christmas oranges invaded his space again as Brian leaned in. “Thinking about what you want?” he asked.

  If Mal turned his head slightly, they’d be inches apart. Correction: their mouths would be inches apart. He kept his gaze stubbornly forward. “What are you talking about?”

  “I think you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

  Thankfully, Brian leaned away. He raised his glass toward Leo, who nodded from the other end of the bar. Mal took a long draft of his beer. He immediately felt it when Brian turned his attention back to him.

  “Is your friend coming back?” Brian asked.

  “Who?”

  “The guy you were with just now.”

  “What? Oh, no, that was my brother.”

  “You two seem pretty close.”

  “We’re twins.”

  “You don’t look much alike, though.”

  Relieved the conversation had turned toward the mundane, Mal sat back a little. His right leg, trapped beneath the bar by the brace, shot a small protest up the back of his thigh, and his knee throbbed in warning. PT had been hard that morning. He should have his legs elevated, but figured he had all night—after he’d seen midnight come and go—to prop them up. Most of tomorrow too.

  “We didn’t come from the same egg,” he told Brian. “So we’re more like brothers, I guess.” Except they weren’t. They’d shared that space for nine months and the proximity still seemed to surround them, even fifty years later. “When my hair was longer, the resemblance was easier to see. Our eyes are the same color.”

  Brian nodded, accepted a fresh glass from Leo, and held it up. “What are we drinking to?”

  Mal raised his beer. “Family.”

  What might have been a wince crossed Brian’s perfect features before he smiled, echoing the word softly before taking a sip.

  Figuring family might not be a safe subject—and it often wasn’t for gay men—Mal nodded toward Brian’s glass. “What are you drinking?”

  “It’s a Manhattan. Whiskey, vermouth, bitters. Should have a cherry and I make them with a twist of orange peel, but Leo’s doing the best he can.”

  “I heard that!” Leo called from his end of the bar.

  Mal laughed. “I could never drink cocktails.”

  “Have you tried?”

  “Once or twice.”

  “It’s a tolerance thing. Anything you do for long enough gets easier.” One blond eyebrow arched up and down as Brian sipped at his drink.

  Mal grinned at the suggestion of only the good Lord knew what. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He tried for an eyebrow raise.

  Brian grinned. “Now you’re getting it.”

  “Getting what?”

  “How to flirt.”

  “I think I was doing okay before.”

  “Oh, you were. Up by two, remember?”

  “So it’s a game?”

  “Sure. That’s what we’re doing here, isn’t it? Playing a game?”

  Mal’s smile slipped a little. He shrugged. “I dunno. I mostly come here to drink. Because, you know, it’s a bar.”

  “Right. But it’s also a well-known gay bar.”

  “So that immediately means I’m here to hook up?”

  “It’s not Thursday night,” Brian said.

  “I don’t follow.”

  “And it’s cute that you don’t.” Brian’s gaze dipped down, and Mal felt the weight of all that attention on his mouth—along with the press of teeth over his lower lip. Whoops. He quickly rearranged his lips so there was no biting. No chewing.

  Brian continued to study him.

  “Stop looking at my mouth.”

  “How does it make you feel?”

  “Uncomfortable,” Mal admitted.

  “But in a good way?

  Mal swallowed. “Not sure.”

  “I think you are.”

  Mal leaned back a little, putting some distance between them. He rubbed a hand over his head, feeling the warmth of his scalp. The dampness of his short hair. He was sweating and off-balance. His dick wasn’t suffering the same uncertainty, though. Not wanting to adjust his pants, he rubbed a palm along his left thigh, easing an ache that might or might not be there.

  Watching Brian sip his drink, Mal got the sense they were on pause, but that the break would be over very soon. And that he had to be the one to press Play, Rewind, or Stop. Brian obviously liked to flirt and didn’t mind unsettling his partner. He also seemed to know when to take a breath—and Mal could appreciate that. Did appreciate it. It made Brian seem less the asshole his brother and Leo had made him out to be.

  “So, what do you do?” Mal asked, deciding to reengage at a lower speed.

  Brian responded with a quick smile, as if to say, Okay, we can do this, and lowered his drink. “I’m in construction. Management.”

  “Where you don’t get your hands dirty.”

  This time, Brian’s smile was wider. “I wouldn’t say that. I’m a pretty hands-on kind of guy.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “What about you, Professor?”

  “You remembered that.”

  “I don’t forget much. So, are you? A professor?”

  “No, though I do have a PhD.” Why had he felt compelled to share that fact?

  Brian didn’t appear put off. “I can’t imagine wanting to know so much about just one thing that I’d study it for that long.”

  “Yeah? You come across as pretty tenacious.”

  “
Oh, I am, when it’s something I want.”

  “Imagine you really, really want to know the origins of modern language.”

  Brian visibly shuddered. “Uh, no. How about if I imagine I really, really want to know what your mouth tastes like.”

  Wow. “You don’t need to go to college for that.”

  “You’re making me work for it, though.”

  He was, and he was enjoying it. Brian almost made it easy. He led confidently and didn’t seem to mind waiting for Mal to catch up. Like now. He was looking at Mal’s mouth again, but not in a weighty way. His gaze flicked up now and then, and the grin he wore had a lackadaisical quality to it, as though he didn’t mind if this particular gambit didn’t pay off.

  Mal checked the time. What the heck—it was New Year’s Eve and he should get kissed.

  Brian followed his gaze, clearly checking the time for himself. “Want to wait for midnight?”

  “No.” Because . . . “I’m not very good at this.” Okay, that’s enough. Stop talking now.

  “You’re doing fine.”

  “There’re probably a dozen other guys in this bar who would give their left nut to talk to you. Why are you bothering with me?”

  “Why would you ask a question like that?”

  “Because you unsettle me.”

  “But in a good way.”

  Brian smiled, and Mal let his lips curve upward in response—because Brian was right. Heck, yeah, he was uncomfortable and it wasn’t because his legs ached. Or the creeping fatigue from PT. The knowledge that even getting to the bathroom was a journey he had to plan. He wondered, then, if he should grab his crutch, pull it out of the shadow of the bar, and show it to Brian, and quickly realized that if he did, he’d be making another excuse. Besides, he didn’t want to have sex with Brian tonight.

  Actually, he did.

  But he wasn’t going to have sex with Brian tonight. Brian Kenway obviously enjoyed playing games and much as Mal suspected he’d enjoy a night in Brian’s bed, he knew it would probably be a one-off thing. No one put this much intensity into friendship. Brian saw him as a hookup. Nothing more.

  Mal didn’t do hookups. Since his breakup with Noah, he’d preferred loneliness to the sharp disappointment of connection and separation, or the simple fact that people so often weren’t who he thought they were in the light of day.

  He glanced at the clock over the bar. “Three minutes.”

  Brian showed him another grin, this one not at all lazy. “Need some practice puckering up?”

  “Fuck you.” Resisting the urge to stretch his lips, lick them, get all loose and ready for a kiss, Mal laughed. Then licked his lips, damn it.

  Brian chuckled softly and raised his glass for another sip. He did it slowly, as though knowing Mal would watch him swallow and wonder what the drink would taste like on his lips. His tongue.

  “Want a taste?” Brian asked, offering him the glass.

  Mal accepted the glass and took a quick sip. The drink was strong and his head spun lightly. Putting it aside, he licked his lips again, tasting bourbon and something sharper, drier. Vermouth? The bitters touched his tongue last, a tangy aftertaste, and he could imagine how well an orange peel would go with the drink.

  He was wondering how Brian managed to smell like oranges when the countdown began.

  “Ten, nine, eight . . .”

  Brian hadn’t leaned in. Should he do it?

  “Seven, six, five . . .”

  Should he take his glasses off?

  “Four, three . . .”

  What if he missed?

  “Two . . .”

  What if the kiss landed on Brian’s cheek or nose or—

  “One!”

  Oranges, cardamom, cinnamon, and musk. Warmth whispering across his lips in quick invitation before pressing down, lightly, without demand. Somehow their noses didn’t collide. Somehow, Mal’s lips were parting before a swipe of Brian’s tongue.

  Brian didn’t invade, though. He teased. He waited.

  Understanding flashing inside his head like a cracked blind at dawn, Mal leaned in and kissed back. Offered up his mouth. Tasted. Hummed at the delicious flavor of whiskey and man. The persistent hint of orange. The prickle of stubble as their mouths moved and realigned. He touched his tongue to Brian’s and opened his mouth. Brian swept inside and the warmth at the back of Mal’s neck now must be Brian’s hand. Oh God, it felt good.

  So warm.

  So necessary.

  Then Brian was shifting back, blinking slowly, and noise crashed into the perfect bubble of their kiss, breaking the moment apart with cheers of “Happy New Year” and the lambent strains of “Auld Lang Syne.”

  Mal breathed. Quaked. Ignored the near pain behind the fly of his jeans. Took another breath. “That was . . .”

  “Some kiss.” Brian’s grin had that lazy aspect again. His eyes were hooded. Shifting on the stool, he pulled his wallet from his back pocket. “Did you drive?”

  “Yeah.” They were at that part of the evening already?

  Could he?

  Just this once?

  Brian was flipping through his wallet, examining cards, peering inside the billfold, poking his thumb under the flap holding his driver’s license. Mal glanced down at the picture and it was, unsurprisingly, a good one. While everyone else managed to resemble a death-row candidate on their license, Brian wore a sunny and handsome smile. Mal checked the date of birth and discovered Brian was two years younger than him.

  When he looked back up, Brian’s expression had lost all traces of lazy intimacy. “I need to go,” he said.

  “Huh.”

  Brian tapped the bar. “Leo.”

  “What’s up?”

  “Can I settle with you tomorrow?”

  “Sure. Leave your wallet at home?”

  Brian held up the well-worn fold of black leather. “No, my credit cards. All of them. I can stop by with some cash in a little bit—”

  “Don’t worry about it. You can pay next time you’re in.”

  Mal reached for his wallet. “I can cover it.”

  “That’s not necessary. Listen . . .” Brian’s eyebrows crooked together. “Thank you for the kiss.”

  Mal swallowed, unsure if he was supposed to say you’re welcome or thank you in return.

  Brian seemed to hesitate for a second, and then he tapped the bar again. “I’ll see you around.” A quick smile, a flash of blue eyes and raised brows, and then he was gone, taking the scent of oranges and whiskey with him.

  Mal stared after him for a moment, until Brian got to the door, and then he stopped, because staring at a closed door was kinda pathetic. He turned back to the bar and put his credit card next to the spreading puddle under his glass. “Why don’t you ever give me a coaster?” he asked.

  “I did. From now on, you only get one. Any more and you’d leave too much of a mess on the floor.” Leo took the card. “Just the beers?”

  Mal licked his lips. Tasted whiskey. Wanted to scowl. Wanted to go hide somewhere. “You can add Brian’s tab.”

  “He won’t thank you for it.”

  “I’m not doing it for thanks. It’s . . . the holidays.”

  “Must have been some kiss.”

  The flush that had heated his back and shoulders, his neck, finally worked its way up Mal’s face, heating his cheeks. He dipped his chin.

  “I don’t have to tell you—” Leo began.

  “Anything. I can handle myself.”

  Shrugging, Leo turned away to run the card.

  Mal gave in and looked toward the front door of the bar. It opened, and his heart jerked upward. Two guys, neither Brian, pushed inside, and the door swung closed. Mal leaned against the bar and exhaled slowly.

  It was just a kiss.

  Probably meant nothing to a man like Brian Kenway. He’d left as soon as it was done. Mal should be hurt by that, but he decided not to be. Even though he was.

  Damn it. It was just a kiss!

  Mal licked his lips
again.

  Brian had never been cockblocked by an empty wallet before. Inconvenienced by one, spent too much of his youth trying to fill one, but not this.

  God, what a mess.

  What a kiss. That kiss had been . . .

  Brian hadn’t been planning to stop by the Colonial. It wasn’t on the trendy side of Morristown Green, and the entire building had a derelict feel to it. Appearance aside, it wasn’t his kind of place. Not that he had a kind of place. That would mean people knew where to find him.

  He scanned South Park Place for traffic before crossing over to his cozy little neighborhood. Then he scowled and muttered because this was the third time he’d made this trek in a week.

  The professor hadn’t been there this past Thursday. Brian didn’t think he’d ever seen Mal there on a Thursday. Yet Brian had gone and waited. He’d waited last night too. He hadn’t meant to stop by tonight because it was New Year’s Eve, and he could have had his pick of any number of flexible fucks at the Frog. And yet . . .

  The kiss had been worth it. So worth it.

  And Josh had some serious explaining to do.

  Brian picked up his pace, the anger boiling off his skin pushing the cold night back. Turning onto King Street, he looked for flashing lights, half expecting to find his house up in flames. Not that he usually equated theft with arson, but his mood tied them together nicely enough. It’d be just his luck to have found out that Josh had left a bag of popcorn in the microwave too long, resulting in a fire.

  The condos were intact, lit from within in and without, and all except his hung with Christmas lights and wreaths. Scowling, Brian stomped down his neat little path, up the steps, and to the front door, key already out.

  He called for Josh as soon as he pushed the door open. “Josh! You up?”

  Silence greeted him. Brian checked the time. Barely twelve twenty. Had he gone to bed already?

  “Josh?”

  Brian glanced into the dark family room, paced down the hall to the kitchen, knocked on the door to the hall bath, and checked out his den. All quiet. All dark. He jogged upstairs. Listened at the door to the spare bedroom where Josh had been staying, before opening it a crack.

  “Josh?” he whispered. Then, “Josh!” He was supposed to be pissed off.

  Nothing stirred. Brian flipped on the light. The bed was empty. Unmade, cold, and flat. The guest bath was empty. His own bedroom was dark . . . but not as neat as he’d left it. His closet door hung open and the light in his bathroom had been left on.