6:02 p.m., Monday, August 13th
Chance woke up to a nightmare.
It seemed he’d barely closed his eyes when the ground erupted into movement. He jolted awake and blinked at the scene around him, uncertain for a moment where he was. Then, as the vibrations crept up his limbs, a sickening sense of familiarity flooded into him.
He didn’t truly become frightened, however, until he realized Kit was nowhere to be seen.
“Kit!” The pitch of his voice rose with his panic. “Kit!”
“I’m here!” The reply came from the hallway.
Within seconds, Kit appeared in the doorway, staggering with every step. Before Chance could do more than process his relief, Kit was on him. He leaped onto the couch and covered Chance’s body with his own.
Chance was too panicked to think. He grabbed on to Kit’s shoulders and held him like he was an anchor. He heard a crack, and something fell next to their heads. Dust swirled in the air—more fucking dust. If Chance never saw dust again, he’d die a happy man.
Don’t think about dying.
The aftershock seemed much shorter this time around. Chance barely had time to pray for the building not to collapse before the pulsing subsided, and once more, everything was still.
Everything except for Kit, who was breathing hard on top of him. His face was tucked into the crook of his elbow. He was so close, Chance could smell sweat and the final vestiges of whatever cologne he’d put on that morning.
He froze. Oh God. Don’t think sexy thoughts. Two seconds ago, you were afraid you were going to die. How can you even think about sex right now?
But with Kit warm and heavy on top of him, it was impossible not to.
When the building settled, and it seemed like nothing else was going to fall on their heads, Kit drew back. A piece of ceiling slid off him and clattered to the floor.
He looked around. “I think we’re okay.”
“You’re on top of me,” Chance blurted out.
Fuck. If his arms weren’t trapped between their bodies, he’d smack himself.
Kit looked startled, as if he hadn’t quite realized it himself. “Oh, sorry.”
“No, don’t be. I . . . Did you . . . Were you trying to protect me?”
Kit stared down at him, brown eyes liquid with emotion. “I, uh, don’t know. When the shaking started, I remembered that you were asleep. I was worried you wouldn’t wake up in time to react if something happened, so I dove in here. I wasn’t— I didn’t plan it.” He turned red all the way to the tips of his ears. It was . . . kind of adorable.
Chance was inexplicably breathless. He spoke without thinking. “My hero.”
And insert foot into mouth.
Kit chuckled and climbed off him. “I have a vested interest in keeping you safe. Otherwise, I’ll have to find a volleyball to talk to.”
Chance propped himself up on his elbows. “Nice reference.” He looked around. “How long was I asleep?”
“An hour and a half.”
“I asked you to wake me after an hour.”
Kit rubbed the back of his head. “I know, but you went out like a light, and you seemed like you needed it.”
“Thanks.” Chance rolled off the couch and climbed onto unsteady feet. “It’s your turn. I’ll keep watch.”
“I’m all right. I got my second wind. I figure I’ll stay up until I can’t anymore. However long that will be. I usually go to bed early.”
That brought up an interesting scenario. They’d both need to sleep tonight. Kit had turned down his offer to share the couch before, but what would he say when it was nighttime? Getting rejected once was about as much as Chance could handle. If it happened again, he was going to scuttle under the desk and hide.
He needed to approach this with delicacy. Kit’s staunch refusal to share the sofa sent some clear signals: maybe he wasn’t into Chance after all. Maybe Chance had imagined there was a spark between them, and Kit was every bit the macho suit he appeared to be.
It made sense, much as Chance hated to admit it. After they’d talked at the office party, Kit hadn’t done anything to pursue him. Chance hadn’t either, granted, but he wasn’t one to take risks. As the more confident of the two, he’d sort of expected Kit to take point. Now, it seemed there was a reason Kit had dropped the ball instead.
If that were the case, shit could get awkward in a flash.
Maybe he’ll curl up on the desk rather than sleep next to me.
Chance shook his head to dispel the gloomy thought. “Well, I could stand some more water.”
“Sure. That’s one thing we can be grateful for. There’s plenty to drink.”
That last word triggered Chance’s memory. “Hey, we never finished looking for your boss’s Scotch.”
“Oh yeah.” Kit glanced around, and his eyes settled on the cabinet. “It’s not in the desk, so if it’s anywhere, it’ll be in there.”
Chance did the honors. He made it through three drawers before he found one that had a leather-bound black box in it. “Please, God, if you’re listening, let this be it.” He undid a clasp and flipped the lid. “Jackpot.”
Kit bounded over. “It’s the Scotch?”
Chance held up a decorative glass bottle filled with amber liquid. “It’s. The. Scotch.”
“Fuck yeah. Crack that baby open.”
Chance dumped the box back into the cabinet and then held the bottle up to the light. “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in my life.” He hesitated. “There weren’t any glasses, so we’re going to have to share.” He braced himself.
To his surprise, Kit chuckled. “I just threw myself dramatically on top of you. I think we can handle drinking from the same bottle. Plus, we escaped certain death a couple of times together. Tends to break down boundaries, you know?”
Chance laughed as well, but his voice came out too high. “Yeah, totally.” Then why the refusal to get close to me before? Have I been reading too much into all of this? “Here, you’re the hero. You should have the first sip.”
Kit took the bottle, pulled out the stopper, and took a generous swig. When he swallowed, he tilted his throat back—exposing a long line of neck—and shuddered before letting out a little moan. “Damn, that’s good.”
Chance was suddenly much, much too hot. “Glad to, um, hear it. Mind if I try?”
Kit handed the bottle over. Chance took a swig, and as soon as he did, he understood why Kit had reacted that way. It was smooth. Oaky. Smoky. But without the charcoal taste of cheaper Scotch, and it seemed to inject warmth into his aching limbs.
“Oh, fuck me.” Chance closed his eyes. “This could spoil me for the cheap shit.”
“It’s probably a two-hundred-dollar bottle.”
Chance cracked an eye open. “Well, then it’s a good thing we saved it for a special occasion.”
Kit laughed, deep and soothing.
Chance took another sip and gathered his nerve. “You have a nice laugh.”
Kit smiled. “Thanks. I didn’t think I’d be able to laugh in a situation like this. I guess you bring it out in me.”
Chance tried not to beam. “Or it’s the alcohol.”
“Maybe. It could also be the fact that this is the first semi-peaceful moment we’ve had all day. Things don’t seem to be getting any worse, even if they’re not getting better. I’m choosing to blame the company, though.”
Chance passed the bottle back to Kit. “Cheers to that.”
They flopped onto the couch next to each other, and for the next few minutes, they swapped the bottle back and forth wordlessly.
After a while, though, Chance got restless. No matter how companionable the silence was, it still left him with far too much room to think. They needed to stay occupied, and Chance knew the perfect way to pass the time.
“So, Kit Gibbons—” Chance took the Scotch and paused with it held to his lips “—let’s hear it.”
“What?”
“Your life story.”
“Oh, no.” Kit grimaced. “I’d rather not. There’s not much to tell.”
“Come on. We’ve got time and little else, so we might as well get to know each other better. Where’d you grow up? How’d you end up working here?”
“Grew up in LA. Got a degree in business. Moved here for a job.” Kit shrugged. “Like I said, not much to tell.”
Chance got the distinct impression that Kit was trying to hide something from him, but he had no idea what. “Yeah, because you’re cutting out all the good bits. It’s an innocent enough question. Pretend we’re at a company function, and we’re making small talk over hors d’oeuvres and cheap wine.”
Kit snorted. “If I did that, I don’t think you’d like me much. I’m a different person here, especially if the guys I work with are in earshot.”
“I liked you at that office party.” Chance fingered the bottle. “I don’t know if you remember, but we were waiting in line for drinks, and we started talking about—”
“Star Wars. I remember.” Kit smiled. “How could I forget?”
Chance licked his dry lips. “Were you being a different person then?”
“No, that time I was myself. It’s when I’m around my team and the higher-ups that I have to put on a show.”
“Why?”
“It’s an old-boys club. They expect me to talk and act a certain way, and for some reason, I go along with it. It’s ridiculous, really.” He met Chance’s gaze. “Guess that makes me fake, huh?”
“It makes you smart. We all act differently at work. We have to. It’s called being a professional. I do the same thing.”
“Really? But you always seem so genuine.”
“Depends on the context. If I’m having a good day, I can muster up a cheerful ‘Good morning’ for the people I see in the halls. But if I’m in the kitchen waiting for coffee, and someone starts talking about their prized stamp collection, I switch over to customer service mode like that.” He snapped his fingers.
“Hm.” Kit smirked. “You must have good days a lot, because you’re always cheerful when you say hi to me.”
“That’s, um, because you always say hi first. And you always seem to be in such a good mood. It’d be a shame to spoil it.”
“Uh-huh. I believe you.” Kit flashed a cheeky grin. “What about you? Are you a local? And how’d you end up working here?”
Chance rested the bottle on his thigh, swilling both words and the remnants of Scotch around in his mouth. Talking about work was the last thing he wanted to do right now—this could be the only real conversation they’d ever have—but Kit was starting to open up. Maybe it would help if Chance shared in return.
Finally, he answered. “I was born and raised in San Fran, yeah. As for your other question . . . it’s kinda complicated. I got offered a job with Google right before I landed this position. You can see for yourself which one I picked.”
“Google?” Kit’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “You had the chance to work for Google, and you didn’t take it?”
“I know.” Chance waved the bottle at nothing. “I know. Worst decision ever. But this job was closer to home and had better hours and . . . it scared me less.”
Damn. He hadn’t meant to be that honest. He glared at the Scotch.
Kit didn’t seem perturbed, however. He nudged him with his knee. “Care to elaborate?”
Chance shrugged. “I’m twenty-three. I expected to spend a few years working entry-level jobs before I worked my way up, but then bam. I got offered this huge opportunity with all these responsibilities, and I freaked. Suddenly, it was like the training wheels were off, and people were expecting me to race, but all I wanted to do was hit the brakes. I ended up taking the path of least resistance. Guess that makes me a coward, huh?”
For some reason, Kit’s expression turned fierce. “You’re not a coward, okay? I’ve seen you do brave things with my own eyes. It’s normal to be uncertain when you’re first striking out on your own. When I was fresh out of college, I wasn’t the most adventurous either.”
“Thanks.” Chance looked at him sidelong. “Out of curiosity, how old are you?”
“Twenty-five. I’m told in terms of work experience, two years is a lot, even if it doesn’t seem like it. Give it some time. When the right opportunity comes along, I’m sure you’ll seize it.”
“I hope so.” Chance chuckled. “I’d hate to think I’m going to be stuck in customer service for the rest of my life. If I have to tell one more person to try turning it off and then on again, I’m gonna lose it.”
“This isn’t where I want to end up either, if it helps. And I don’t just mean because of this.” Kit waved at the general chaos around them. “I’ve been trying to do the whole climb-the-corporate-ladder thing, but so far I feel more like an office assistant than future management material.”
“I’m surprised to hear that. I always see you walking around with the boss, looking all serious and talking about the bottom-line.” Chance grinned. “It’s very Jerry Maguire.”
“Yeah, it looks that way, but what you don’t see is when Mr. Halford orders me to make coffee or asks me for a report I sent him days ago. It’s infuriating.”
“That makes me feel better about breaking into his office and pilfering his Scotch.” He paused. “Apropos of nothing, you got any family?” Please don’t have a fiancée or something.
“Three younger sisters and one incredible, overbearing mother.”
“Oh, so you’re the oldest? I can see that.”
Kit frowned. “You say that like it’s written on my face or something.”
“Of course not.” Chance fluttered his eyelashes. “More like written all over you.”
His mouth fell into an offended O, but his eyes were mischievous. “Because I exude protective big brother vibes, right?”
“Yeah, actually. I saw the way you were with the people who were trying to get on the elevator. And with Marci and her girls.” And with me, when you threw yourself on top of me.
Kit shrugged and held his hand out for the Scotch, which Chance passed to him. “I dunno. I was doing what needed to be done.”
“You were so great, though. So . . . determined. One look, and I knew you were going to do whatever it took. It was . . . um, inspiring.” More like sexy as hell. Chance coughed. “Sorry, I think the booze is kicking in.”
“No, I understand. I thought the same thing about you. There were times when it was obvious you were scared, but you never cracked. Not even once. And you were still able to laugh and make jokes. I really admire that.”
Chance prayed his cheeks were warm because of the alcohol and not because he was blushing. “Thank you. I have to admit, it was easier when we had something to do. Now that we’re waiting around, it’s hard to stay positive. I don’t know what we’re waiting for. Rescue, or another aftershock?”
“Try not to dwell on it.” Kit took a swig and handed the bottle back to Chance. “We’ll pass the time together. I’m certain someone will come for us.”
Chance considered drinking more but then decided not to. He was feeling light-headed already. “We could check the news again. See if there have been any developments.”
“We could.”
Neither of them moved.
Chance let his head fall back against the sofa. “Are you worried about your mom and sisters?”
“Nah, they don’t live in the city. They’re back in LA. I bet they’re worried about me, though.” He pulled out his phone. “I’d give anything to call them right now and let them know I’m okay.”
“Is there anyone else you’d like to get in touch with?” It was the least subtle Chance had ever been in his life, but he didn’t care. If he had to be stuck in a crumbling building with a handsome man he was incredibly attracted to, he wanted to know if that man was single. Hell, he deserved to know.
“Yeah.” Kit laughed. “But he wouldn’t be able to answer me.” He pulled out his phone and hit the Home button. The screen flashed to life, revealing a picture of an orange cat.
Chance didn’t know how to react. “You have a cat?”
Kit frowned. “Why do you sound so surprised?”
“I dunno. You don’t seem like a cat person.”
“What do cat people seem like?”
“There’s no good way to answer that question.” Chance laughed. “What’s your cat’s name?”
“Snap. He’s my squishy little fluff ball, and I’m not ashamed to admit it.” Kit put his phone away. “This must sound strange, considering the situation we’re in, but I think I’m more worried about him than I am about me. He’s locked in my apartment—assuming it’s still standing—with nothing but the food and water I left him this morning. If something happens to me, there’s no one to take care of him.”
“Try not to stress about it. Cats are resourceful. If your windows are busted like these”—Chance pointed at the empty panes—“he can climb out and find food and water.”
“I guess.” Kit furrowed his brow. “I don’t want him to run away either, though.”
“Is he chipped?”
“Yeah. Good point. If anyone picks him up, I can find him again. I hate not knowing, though.”
“I know how you feel. My family lives out in the ’burbs, and I have no idea if the earthquake hit them or not. They could be hurt, or worse.” Chance pulled out his own phone, scrolled through the gallery, and selected a photo of his nephews. He held it up for Kit to see. “My brother’s kids. Their names are Allen and Daniel.”
“Handsome boys.” Kit studied the picture. “They look like you. How old are they?”
Chance wanted so badly to read into that, but he restrained himself. “Eight and six. Old enough that, in theory, they don’t need to be watched every second, but also old enough to know what bottle rockets and dog poop are. And creative enough to find ways to combine them.”
Kit laughed—really laughed: head thrown back, shoulders shaking—and for a few seconds, the dark cloud that’d been hanging over them dispelled. “If Allen and Daniel ever need a babysitter, let me know. I’ll send over my youngest sister. Jill’s got nerves of steel. In our house, she’s the one who catches spiders barehanded and takes them outside, while I cower in the corner.”
Chance laughed too. “If we see any spiders, I volunteer to deal with them.”
“I appreciate that. So, are you close with your family?”
“Probably closer than most, since we live in the same area. We get together for every birthday and holiday, and I get to watch the nephews whenever my brother and his partner want a night out. They pay me in unconditional love. What a rip-off, right?”
He waited for Kit to laugh. When he didn’t, Chance looked over.
Kit had a curious expression on his face. “Partner? Is your brother . . .” He made a vague waving gesture that Chance recognized well. It was a way to avoid saying the dreaded g-word.
“My brother’s married to a woman. Referring to significant others as partners is a force of habit for me.”
“Ah.” Kit paused. “So, do you have a partner?”
Chance’s heart thudded in his chest. “No, much to my mother’s chagrin. She wants me to settle down and give her grandchildren right away, like my brother did. I wouldn’t mind, but I haven’t found the right, uh, person yet.”
Kit nodded but didn’t respond. He gazed out the broken windows, eyes unfocused.
Chance scrambled for something to say to fill the sudden silence. “What about you?”
“Hm?” Kit looked back at him.
“Are you seeing someone?”
Kit opened his mouth to answer, but then he flinched.
Shit. I pushed him too far. Chance needed to keep himself in check. They were both a little drunk, and not just on alcohol, but on fear and adrenaline as well. Kit could be opening up to him because of that, and for no other reason. Alcohol and desperation could make people do strange things.
“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. I didn’t mean—”
“No, it’s not that.” Kit touched the side of his head. His fingers came away bloody. “My head suddenly started throbbing. I noticed earlier that I’d cut myself, but there wasn’t time to do anything about it. When I laughed, it must’ve started bleeding again.”
“Oh shit.” Chance remembered seeing blood on his face earlier, but three coats of dust later, he’d forgotten about it. “We should clean that out. We can use some of the water, or even the Scotch.”
“No, we can’t waste drinking water on a cut.” Kit stood up. “I’ll go to the bathroom and get some paper towels. It’ll be fine.”
Chance wet his dry lips. “Want me to come with you?”
“No. Like you said before, it’s safer here. I’ll be right back.”
“Okay.” Chance’s stomach flopped. “Will you at least take the Scotch with you? I’m pretty sure it’ll do a decent job of disinfecting the cut.”
Kit took the bottle without looking at him and then made his way to the door. At the last second, he turned back. “Hey, Chance?”
Chance had faced the windows to avoid watching him go. At the sound of his name, he turned his head. “Yeah?”
Kit’s eyes were soft and a little uncertain. “This was nice. Getting to know you, I mean.” Without another word, he ducked out the doorway and disappeared down the hall.