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NEVER AGAIN. Why’d he always forget how shitty a hangover was? The room spun and his stomach lurched in rhythm as he dragged himself to the bathroom. He sat on the toilet, because, frankly, he was too dizzy to aim. He chuckled at the small irony that Will never managed to force this habit on him. Huh, the guy obviously hadn’t tried getting him piss-ass drunk.
Washing his hands, he eyed his reflection in the mirror. The drinking certainly took its toll. Pale skin, with greenish rings under his eyes, and his worry lines looked so much deeper. He wasn’t quite twenty-eight, but his reflection could’ve fooled him. At least he kept in shape; well, come Christmas he might be a touch—cuddlier. Stupid pecan pie. Mmmm, pecan pie. This year with a cinnamon and chili twist.
His stomach twisted again. Best not to think of food right now. He rested his palms on the marble sink top, waiting for the nausea to pass. Through the door came Paul’s snoring. Shoot, that was loud. Alcohol didn’t do him any favors, either. Except the whole loss of inhibitions thing. That was good. Karl touched his lips where Paul’s had lingered. Really good.
And then that dream. He hadn’t been so turned-on in months. Karl glanced at his burn. That thing had never been sexy before, but now, looking at it, well damn. The details of the dream flooded back, and his blood flooded downward. Karl barely hesitated, threw off his shirt and boxers and jumped in the shower.
It’d been close to six months now since Will. A small flare of loss mixed in his already unsettled stomach. There was still a lot of anger in him whenever he thought about the guy, but there were some good times. Hot times. Caring times, too. Like the god-awful soup he’d made when Karl had been cooped up in bed with the flu.
Karl lathered his hands in shampoo; his shoulders slumped forward at the very welcome first touch. His thoughts darted from Will over the kitchen table with only a Santa Hat on and socks (because the guy always complained of cold feet), and then to that moment when Paul had met his gaze in the bar. It was only a look, but the effect was far more erotic than anything else he could possibly think of. He wrung out an orgasm, the back of his head and shoulders hitting the wall, water lightly spraying his face.
These thoughts completely went against the employer/employee relationship they were supposed to have. But he wasn’t a saint, and the guy was hot. And curious. He was sure of it. And if Paul wanted to, ah, experiment, well that would be fine by him.
Karl stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel, feeling the frown pushing his brows together. This wasn’t really him. He didn’t usually go for something casual, he’d always done the dating thing. In fact, he never did casual. Unless that make-out session with what’s-his-face when he was eighteen counted. Other than that, he’d been pretty picky about the guys he went out with. Maybe it was because he was a safety-freak and liked to know the guy’s history before jumping in the sack. Anyone throwing themselves at him the first time they met, well, it turned him off.
So what was different this time that the idea of touching, kissing, fucking (hopefully) Paul with no strings attached, actually made his heart beat faster? Maybe it was an early midlife-crisis. He was getting older, babysat for a living, and wasn’t one step closer to his dream of becoming a chef. His family hated him, and other than Paul, the boy he’d bullied, he didn’t have a social life either.
Christ. He was pathetic.
Of course, maybe something casual with Paul didn’t disturb him because he knew the guy a little.
Karl quickly dressed in a pair of faded blue jeans, and a brown long-sleeved T-shirt that matched his eyes. Will had told him he looked good in the color. Huh. Why did his ex keep popping to mind, recently? And why did he feel a little guilty when it happened?
Karl furiously rubbed his hair with the towel. Truth was, he knew what bothered him. It was Paul. Paul’s upstanding-ness. Just like that, he’d forgiven Karl and given him a chance. When Will apologized, on the other hand, Karl had doled him out a punch and a string of hurtful words.
Maybe he should take Paul’s example? Karl narrowed his gaze on the cell on the dresser. Picked it up. The time flashed 9:17. He unlocked. Paused. Relocked. Not today. He was no way near as generous as Paul.
But he could make a mean smoothie to help nurse both their hangovers. Karl sauntered to the kitchen where he whipped up a batch of the mixed fruit and ice. He knocked on Paul’s door.
A mumble came from the other side. Welcome enough. He let himself in with the large glass and rested it on the side table. Paul, sprawled over most of the bed, lifted his head, then promptly dropped it back to the pillow.
“Drink this,” Karl motioned to the glass, and Paul’s eyes begrudgingly followed. “It’ll help.”
“Rather not see pink vomit thanks.”
“That bad?”
But Paul’s disheveled hair and clammy skin was answer enough. Karl opened a window to let in some cool fall air. Paul inched himself into a sitting position. “Huh, could be worse. Maybe I will try that drink.” He motioned toward the glass. It was clear he wasn’t moving any further to pick it up.
Karl handed it to him and said with a grin, “Want a straw?”
Paul threw him a dirty look and drank deeply.
“Right,” Karl took the glass away again, his grin only widening, “Ready to go birthday present shopping?”
* * *
Pitiful Paul. Yes, that was the best way to describe the man glued to the passenger seat of his Lamborghini. The least Karl expected was for the guy to show an ounce of enthusiasm for the sweet ride.
Paul groaned again as they went over a second set of speed bumps in the department store’s parking lot. “Just park it here.”
“Less chance of anything happening to this baby if we go up the top.”
Paul muttered under his breath. Nothing friendly, he could imagine. Karl wasn’t exactly feeling the best, either, but at least he kept it together. Paul was just that much bigger than him; surely he shouldn’t be quite so . . . yeah, pitiful.
As they turned onto the next ramp, Paul suddenly lurched forward. “Fuck. I think I’m going to chuck.”
Well that’d do it. Karl pulled into the closest free spot. “Out.”
Paul dared to laugh as he unbuckled and heaved himself from the car.
“Don’t do it near the tires.”
Paul rested his arms on the roof of the car, his head atop. “This is much better. Guess I don’t need to after all.”
A slight glint in his eye made Karl suspicious. Damn, he’d just been played. Paul would pay for that. He locked. Double checked. Then dragged His Pitiful’s ass into the department store.
It took them three hours to find a couple of suitable gifts for the boy, with two stops at the food court for much needed sodas.
Slurping the last of his lemonade, Karl caught sight of a red and gold sign he knew all too well. He dumped his cup in the trash and wound his way to the store. Paul caught up to his side. “Okay, where are you off to?”
Karl pointed and strode into Culinary Heaven, selling top-of-the-line, restaurant-quality cooking equipment. He eyed the show-cased pots and pans, wiping his mouth to check he wasn’t drooling. ’Cause inside, he sure was.
He moved to the German product section at the far wall. Oh-yes, he’d give up sex for those pots. Okay, maybe not entirely, but he could go without for months. Make that weeks. He scanned the pricing and wished he hadn’t. On sale they went for $200 apiece. Add up everything he had earned the past few weeks, minus his other debts, and he wouldn’t be able to afford so much as half a pan. Bugger it.
A hand gripped his elbow, leading him back out of the store.
“What?” Karl said.
“I don’t want to know the overheads that store has. Selling a pot for a couple hundred bucks? —anyway, we’re looking for Charlie.”
“But maybe I was looking for Charlie. You know, something he could start with to get an appreciation for the fine art of—”
Paul arched a brow, a quiver at his lips. Damn it was hot. Especially the way he attempted to keep his amusement under control.
He muttered under his breath and continued with Paul to the next store. Karl glanced at Paul as he paid for some Lego sets. He looked so much better than earlier, hair no longer stuck to fine sweat on his forehead, rather it was mussed—untidy, but suiting him. He’d slipped out of his jacket almost as soon as they hit the air-conditioned shops. Karl most certainly appreciated the clingy, threadbare T-shirt Paul had put on, doing wonders to outline strong shoulder blades and toned stomach—
“What’re you staring at?”
Karl jerked at Paul’s voice. “Daydreaming.” Which wasn’t exactly a lie; there were a few modifications Karl had in his mind . . . Shit, he really should get his head out of the gutter.
“Right, well, give me a hand with this stuff.”
Karl loaded himself with a couple of large boxes, and followed Paul to the lifts, watching the guy’s muscles flex with each step. He really did have a fine ass.
Karl shut his eyes on the images playing out in his head. Jesus. What’d gotten into him? He’d never had quite such thoughts about Paul until last night. That kiss was quite literally screwing with his thoughts. He frowned at Paul in the lift mirror. What did he think about the little incident? And more importantly, would he acknowledge it—whatever curiosity he had—anytime soon?
His gaze slid downward once more, Paul had one foot raised, resting boxes on his thick, long thigh. Sooner would be better. Paul was hot, and he really wanted to . . .
Head. Out. Of. Gutter.
“Say,” Paul said, as they packed the last of the presents, “what would I have to do to convince you to let me drive us back?”
Karl laughed. “Good one.” When there was no response, only Paul’s blank face, his mouth dropped. He wasn’t serious? He’d never let anyone else drive this car. Not even Will, and they were together a while.
He looked at his keys, feeling the jagged side as he rubbed it against his thumb. And yet the idea of Paul driving didn’t seem totally out of the question. He could feel a part of him—a small part, granted, but a part nevertheless—inclined to say ‘sure, go for it.’
Karl frowned, then shook his head—No. Quickly, he slunk into the front seat, in case Paul had any playful tendencies to jump in the driver’s seat.
Paul clicked his belt. “Why not? I’m a good driver. Sort of.”
“Okay, well, ignoring that last comment: because you’re hung-over. You’ve got to be at your best before I let you behind the wheel.”
“So, that’s a maybe? Sometime soon?” Paul waggled his brows, and Karl strained to hide a smirk.
“Not if you don’t respect her.”
“Whatdoyoumean?” He reached out and patted the dashboard.
“If you cared at all, you wouldn’t have pulled a sickie and made me park down here.”
Paul fell back into his seat, laughing. “Busted.” He checked the time as Karl started the ignition. “How on earth is it five already?”
“Doesn’t surprise me. You were almost impossible to lure out of your room this morning.”
Paul glared at him. “Yeah, well, ripping the comforter off worked.”
Karl shook the image of him spread-eagled across the bed from his head. “If only I’d thought of it from the start.”
“The bacon also worked a treat.”
“Wouldn’t have had to bother with that if I’d hidden the comforter properly.”
They continued to grumble the entire drive back, only Karl had the feeling neither of them were really annoyed. And, come on, who was he kidding? He totally would’ve made the bacon anyway.
Once inside, Karl collapsed on the couch.
“Gonna shower,” Paul said, brightly. “Get me ready for this date.” He almost sprinted from the room.
Date. The word sounded somewhat sour in Karl’s head. It wasn’t that he was jealous—well, maybe a bit. His lack of social circle was more than a touch depressing. No, mainly it just confused him. In particular the amount of spring in Paul’s step just then, like he really was excited about the evening.
Maybe he should just confront him about the kiss. Ask him what it was about, and if he wanted to do it again. Hell, he could just kiss the guy and see where it went.
Yeah, great idea, because that’s not going to scare him off. His inner voice sounded a lot like his father, a Mr. Wise Guy drunk on sarcasm. No, if Paul was only drunkenly acknowledging his curiosity, he probably had a few other issues to contend with. He should just wait and see. Subtly watch for signs.
Karl filled himself a large glass of water, and gulped it down. He was lifting the second refill to his lips when Paul waltzed into the room wearing nothing but a towel around his waist, water still clinging to him from his shower. His wet hair, now darker, matted to his head and chest. Karl took a careful sip, still eyeing his defined pectoral muscles.
“Do you have any shaving cream? I could’ve sworn mine was full a few days ago.”
Crap. He’d forgotten to replace it after the last Charlie-shaving-cream escapade. “Sure. It’s in the bathroom cupboard.” Silently, he added, the bathroom you never use, even though it’s right next to your room. That little fact had surprised Karl. It was for his privacy, no doubt. But even drunk and hung-over, he’d crawled down the other end of the apartment.
Paul left Karl with a casual ‘great, thanks’.
After a quick adjustment, Karl moved back to the lounge and tried to concentrate on one of his favorite cooking channels. But for the most part, he stared at the screen without actually seeing what was on it. His thoughts kept drifting, his mind unfocused. Two things were to blame: Paul and the hangover.
On the way to the kitchen to see what it was he could make himself for dinner, he met a suited-up Paul (jacket hanging over one arm), pulling at his tie with almost a pout.
Karl laughed. “You don’t like them,”—he pointed to the dark green material—“so why?”
Paul dropped his hand. “I could do without them—”
“Just ditch it, then. Go casual. Be yourself and all that.”
“—but the restaurant I picked wouldn’t appreciate it.”
Karl shrugged. “Where’re you going?”
“Rapunzelle.”
Karl actually froze. He felt his muscles go rigid. “You got seats at the Rapunzelle? The Rapunzelle?”
“Is there another? Yes, The.”
A half-squeak-groan sound—a mixture of shock and envy—erupted from his mouth. That was the most reputed restaurant in the city, hell, maybe the state. He’d only ever dreamed of going there. Some dream, too. And here ‘boiled potatoes, fish, and a vegetable will do’ Paul was about to experience it instead of him. Him and some chica he might not see again. Life.
It doled out shit for luck.
Paul was watching him as he fumbled around the knot in his tie. Karl forced down the jealously, though it didn’t go away completely. He opened the pantry cupboard, Paul in his peripheral vision.
“Dammit.” Paul chucked the jacket onto a dining table chair next to the game shelf. He took off the tie and re-did it. “Better.” He touched his head. “Think I’d better take a couple of pain killers.”
Karl reached for the box of medicines Paul kept in the pantry, up on the top shelf. He pulled it down, opened it and fished for the pack, preparing two white pills and a glass of water as Paul slid into his jacket.
Paul knocked them back, his Adam’s apple rising up and down as he gulped the water. The glass clattered on the bench. Karl averted his gaze, only to return it when Paul said a soft, “Thanks.”
Their eyes connected. Paul’s were smiling, warm. There was something Karl found fond about the way Paul’s cheeks rose, and skin around the eyes crinkled.
“No probs,” he breathed, not sure if Paul would be able to hear it. Karl’s gaze dropped to his jacket. White dust was smeared in a stripe across the sleeve. He looked back at Paul’s face, the smile had faded somewhat, a small etch of a frown in its place, but he continued to stare. Karl leaned over the counter toward him, reaching out to wipe off what was probably some of Charlie’s chalk. Only, as he touched Paul’s arm, Paul jerked back, his frown deepening.
Karl pulled away again. What the hell? “You got some chalk on you,” he explained, though he heard the annoyed edge in his voice.
Paul rubbed the spot, his face turned toward the floor. Quickly, he spun and charged toward the door. “Gotta be on my way, or I’ll be late.”
Karl watched the back of Paul’s jacket, until it was out of sight. He shoved the medicine box back into its rightful spot. Then eyed the glass sitting on the counter.
Slowly, he picked it up, just holding it in his hand. Paul’s reaction to his touch made his stomach feel a little hollow. It wasn’t like they didn’t touch. Paul had happily dragged him out of Culinary Heaven. Karl glanced at his arm, as if he could still feel the pressure. So why the jerk?
Karl dropped the glass into the dishwasher, closing it with a sigh. He knew the answer: it was that look. The intensity of it before Karl had leaned toward him. Maybe Paul thought it meant something else.
And maybe the thought had briefly crossed his mind as well.
Man, he was definitely confused.