Great Restorations - 8. Chapter 8

“HEY, Sawyer. Bruce says you’re probably getting bored playing Little House on the Prairie, so why not spend the weekend at mine?”

Frowning, cell phone to his ear, Sawyer stared out the window of his office.

“Come on. It’s been a while. Let’s hang out.” The ensuing pause carried enough suggestion to etch deep lines in Sawyer‘s forehead. “Talk to you soon?”

After a thoughtful pause, Sawyer saved the message.

“Three messages remaining. Next message,” said his voicemail.

Sawyer hit the end button and tossed the phone on his desk. He‘d bet his bank account the other calls were also from Kurt. Once the man got an idea in his head, he didn‘t let it go.

He leaned back. The desk chair protested with a squeak, and the movement kicked up a cloud of fine dust. Leaving the door to his office closed hadn‘t kept the mess at bay. The house was filled with tools and sawdust, not that he cared much; it wouldn‘t be like that forever.

He tapped his cell phone with the tip of his finger. So Kurt wanted a weekend of uncomplicated sex. What irked is that he was considering it. Marc had been in his house all week, underfoot and quietly flirtatious, but they‘d had no time alone. And Marc didn’t seem all that interested in creating some. By yesterday, Sawyer had given up acting like a dog begging for a bone and retreated to his office. This strategy had produced little actual work. Mostly he just snapped at people over the phone, driven to nastiness with frustration. Maybe a weekend at Kurt‘s would help.

He redialed his voicemail and queued up the next message. Bruce’s voice boomed forth. “Saw Kurt yesterday. I suggested he call you.”

Sawyer rolled his eyes.

“Face it, you’re being a bastard, and soon you’ll have no friends left. Go work the kid out of your system before I stop talking to you. Sexual frustration leads to all sorts of health problems. Don’t ask how I know that. Just trust.”

So now he was his friends’ pet project. Pathetic. He was tempted to refuse on principle, but rational won out over childish. He exited his voicemail and sent Bruce a text. The sun was just peeking over the horizon. No chance he‘d be awake and coherent. If you missed me that much you could’ve just said so, he sent. Don’t whine. I’ll come visit this weekend.

The decision made, a curious sensation settled in the pit of his stomach: guilt-laced anticipation.

He and Marc hadn’t made any promises to each other. Hell, they hadn’t done much more than talk shop in days. So why did the idea of spending time with another man leave a bad taste in his mouth?

Mumbling about interfering friends, he pulled himself out of his chair. Time for coffee. He picked his way over a pile of wood blocks and stepped around a toolbox, stubbing his toe on the edge as he passed. Some time away from this chaos was just what he needed. He threw open the door and charged into the hall.

Right into Marc.

Sawyer‘s startled yelp eclipsed Marc‘s grunt of surprise. He reached for Marc‘s arm before one of them crashed into the lumber shoehorned into the narrow space. “Sorry. What are you doing here?”

Marc straightened, gracing Sawyer with a smile, one far too bright for so early in the morning. “I told you I‘d be here early. I have a bunch of things to check before I leave.”

Sawyer blinked with caffeine-deprived stupidity. “Leave?”

With a tilt of his head, Marc‘s warm smile turned concerned. “I‘m pretty sure we talked about this yesterday afternoon. Are you okay?”

Irritation niggled at Sawyer. “Fine. Why?”

“You‘ve just seemed… distracted.”

It wasn’t the word Sawyer would have chosen. “Is that your way of saying I‘ve been an uptight bastard?”

Marc pursed his lips, and Sawyer‘s irritation ballooned. “No,” Marc said. “It‘s my way of saying you‘ve been a bit tense.” He gestured around himself. “Is this getting to be too much?”

“Which part?” Sawyer grunted, taking in Marc‘s dark T-shirt and paint-splattered jeans.

“The renovation,” Marc said, his expression broadcasting he meant no such thing.

“I can handle it.”

Bruce would’ve called him on the lie. Marc didn’t, or chose not to. He opened his mouth before snapping it shut again. With a shrug, he said, “I‘m taking Aunt May to the doctor today. I doubt I‘ll be back in time to catch the gang before they leave, so I‘m progress checking this morning. I‘ll be out of your way in a few.”

Fighting the urge to pout, Sawyer gave his own casual shrug. “No rush. Have some coffee.” Then what Marc had said hit him. “She agreed to go to the doctor?”

Marc bit his lip. “Not exactly.”

“Not exactly.” Sawyer folded his arms. “Where does she think she‘s going?”

With a guileless smile, Marc answered, “The new Tom Cruise movie?”

And with that, Sawyer‘s big plan to spend the weekend in Kurt‘s bed evaporated. “Very clever,” he mused, advancing until he had Marc trapped neatly against the wall. “It‘ll be laxatives in your brownies for sure.”

Marc lifted his chin. “I‘ll take the chance.”

He wasn‘t joking, Sawyer knew. The risk of poisoning meant nothing compared to his aunt‘s health. “You could be persona non grata forever after a stunt like that.”

Marc dropped his eyes, but only for a second When he met Sawyer’s gaze again, something dark and painful swirled in his expression. “She may be angry. But she’d never reject me.”

So much anguish in those few words. Sawyer made a silent promise to ferret out the unvoiced pain at some point. A strong compulsion to quash it forever nagged at him. As well as whoever had caused it.

But for now… Sawyer advanced another step into Marc‘s personal space. “Are we alone?” he asked, planting a hand on the wall above Marc‘s head.

“For now,” was Marc‘s quiet reply.

That was how it went: moment to moment. Not much to hang hope on, but it hadn‘t discouraged them yet. Sawyer cupped Marc‘s face in his hands and pushed forward in an ungentle advance. The breath rushed out of Marc‘s lungs at the press of Sawyer‘s chest against his. “This okay?” Sawyer asked.

Cheeks blotchy with color, Marc nodded. His chest heaved.

“Finally,” Sawyer whispered, and then he kissed him, spreading his fingers across Marc‘s cheeks then into his hair, holding him in place. A jolt of pleasure snapped his hips forward. Marc whimpered into his mouth. Cursing again, Sawyer bit along the line of Marc‘s jaw before retracing the same path with his tongue.

Marc was shaking, working at the top button of Sawyer‘s jeans. “Help me,” he said against Sawyer‘s lips. His fingers dipped below the waistband to tease the skin underneath.

All Sawyer‘s strength went into resisting the urge to rip his jeans open and shove Marc‘s hand lower. Instead, he captured the eager fingers in his and said the first thing that came into his head. “Busy tonight?”

Marc went still, then huffed a laugh, most of which Sawyer captured with his mouth when he bent to kiss him again. “No,” Marc said, when Sawyer let him breathe. He gulped twice. “Are you sure?”

“Oh yeah.” Sawyer‘s hands crept up and under Marc‘s shirt, mapping out the dip of his stomach before sneaking higher on his chest. “Bring something cold to drink. I‘ll take care of the rest.”

“I can do that.” Marc‘s fingers unclenched from the front of Sawyer‘s jeans. “What time?”

“Early. I‘m no masochist. How does six sound?”

“Okay.”

They didn‘t separate, and Sawyer was curling his hand around the back of Marc‘s neck to pull him in again when someone knocked on the front door. Marc jumped, but not away. Sawyer grunted his approval.

“I‘ll get that.” He brushed a last kiss over Marc‘s lips. “You go do your progress thing.”

Laughing under his breath, Marc disappeared down the back hall, and Sawyer adjusted himself with a grimace before answering the door. Reba greeted him with a crooked smile. “Sorry about the early hour, Sawyer.”

“I was up.”

“So I see.”

Sawyer resisted the urge to glance downward. He had a feeling Reba would never let him forget it.

“I was hoping to catch Marc before he took May to the movies.” She curled her fingers into air quotes, and Sawyer laughed.

“Quite the plan. Think it‘ll work?”

“Yeah.” Reba popped her gum. “She shouldn‘t suspect anything until the end. May has a thing for pretty boys. Clouds her judgment.”

Sawyer swallowed the I can relate that sprang to his lips, then scowled. He hated censoring himself. Clearing his throat, he waved Reba toward the kitchen. “He went that way.”

“Toward the coffee.” Reba waggled her fingers as she slipped by. “So predictable.”

Back in his office, Sawyer sent Bruce another text. Change of plans. See you next weekend instead.

His phone rang ten seconds later. Regarding the small device like it was a rabid dog, Sawyer gingerly tapped ‘accept’ and held it to his ear.

Foregoing his usual greeting, Bruce launched his tirade with, “You‘re going to give up getting laid for playing house? What’s wrong with you?”

“Bruce.”

“Listen, I get it. The kid’s adorable, but he’s turning you into a real bastard. Take a break.”

Sawyer stood, picked his way across the debris-filled floor, and pushed the door shut with one bare foot. “What makes you think I‘m not getting laid?”

“Seriously?” Bruce asked several seconds later.

“You mean, it‘s seriously not your business? Then yes, seriously.”

More silence. Pleased with himself for rendering the great Bruce Banner speechless, Sawyer spun in his chair until he was facing the window. Grubby with sawdust, it twisted the objects beyond into unrecognizable shapes, but Marc‘s truck, parked just off the driveway along the west wing of the house, was unmistakable. “Still there?” Sawyer goaded.

“Okay, I‘ll admit it. I‘m shocked. So what changed? Marc held a big coming out party this week?”

Even Bruce‘s cynical dose of reality couldn‘t dampen Sawyer‘s enjoyment of the situation. “No,” he answered.

“Then?”

“I‘m hanging up now.”

Bruce‘s laughter burst over the line. “You‘re weak, Calhoun!”

“Have a good weekend.”

“Take pictures,” he heard Bruce yell before he ended the call. The text came in seconds later. I’m serious about the pictures. That camera on your iphone is boss. Photo evidence, or it never happened.

***

SAWYER debated cooking a fancy meal, but settled for pizza. No sense wasting a good steak when a fair chance existed it wouldn‘t get eaten until late. Maybe even until morning. The downside of ordering in was how much time it left to kill between when the crew left at four and Marc arrived at six, which was two hours longer than Sawyer‘s imagination needed. By the time Marc‘s truck pulled up in front of the house, he‘d worked himself into a tight knot of lust.

“Something cold?” Marc handed over a six-pack of dark beer.

“Looks great,” Sawyer said without checking the label. “Come here.” He pulled Marc inside. “You‘re not hungry, I hope.”

“At dinnertime? That‘d be crazy.” He didn‘t resist when Sawyer guided him toward the stairs instead of the kitchen. “But maybe—”

Sawyer looked back.

“A drink first?” Marc asked.

The forced nonchalance penetrated Sawyer‘s haze of desire, and he halted with one foot on the stairs. Marc‘s hand was ice cold. “Yeah,” Sawyer said. “Of course.” He stepped down and folded Marc against his chest, frowning at how his heart was racing. Tangling his fingers in the hair at the nape of Marc‘s neck, he pulled his head back and pressed a kiss to his lips. “Sorry.”

“Don‘t be,” Marc said with a shake of his head.

But he was. He wasn‘t falling into bed with a seasoned partner, something he needed to remember. As always, the thought of Marc‘s inexperience sent a bolt of excitement through him. “I have pizza,” he said. “There‘s always the novel idea of eating it while it‘s hot.”

“And we could drink the beer while it‘s cold,” Marc suggested.

Sawyer snorted and led him down the hall. “Don‘t get all crazy on me.” He scooped the six-pack off the foyer table. “So how‘d it go with your aunt today?” In the kitchen, he retrieved two plates from the cupboard and loaded them up. Marc shrugged. Sawyer laughed at his sour expression. “That good, huh?”

“Well, let‘s put it this way.” Marc tossed a beer to Sawyer and took a long swig from his own bottle. “I saw the new Tom Cruise movie.”

Sawyer inhaled a mouthful of beer. Choking, he said, “But you didn‘t see the doctor.”

Marc flashed a tight-lipped smile and took a bite of pizza. “No. But we did almost see the inside of a jail cell for disturbing the peace. I got her as far as the sidewalk in front of the doctor‘s office, and she started screaming bloody murder. Then”—a pained expression crossed his face— “she didn‘t stop until I agreed to take her to the movie. As promised.”

Sawyer pushed him onto a stool and grabbed the seat next to him. “You tried.”

Marc grunted and took a bite of pizza.

“You lost the battle, not the war.” Covering his laugh with a cough, Sawyer said, “Just beware the brownies.”

“I‘m glad you find this so amusing.” Gesturing for Sawyer to slide another beer forward, he took a third slice from the box. “The frustrating part is that she needs to go. I‘ve been watching her this week. She‘s forgetting the simplest things.” His hand curled into a fist, crushing the paper napkin. “Things she‘s known for years. And her short-term memory is messed up too. She‘s tired, but sleeps all the time….” Falling quiet, he stared out the window, meal forgotten.

Sawyer popped the lid on the beer and set it in front of Marc. “Don‘t worry. We‘ll think of something.”

Silent, Marc nodded and picked at a string of congealed cheese. Despite having taken the extra slice, he didn‘t eat it.

Sawyer watched him drain a second beer, then collected the plates and put them in the sink. He stayed Marc‘s hand when he reached for a third bottle. “You don‘t need that.”

A blush spread across Marc‘s face. With a jerky nod, he pulled back.

Keeping a tight rein on his libido, Sawyer leaned back against the counter, dragging Marc with him, who came with all the trepidation of a teenage bride on her wedding night. Sawyer sighed into his neck. “Are you sure about this?”

In answer, Marc burrowed closer, sliding his arms around Sawyer‘s back. Content to let him explore and set the pace, Sawyer matched Marc‘s advances—a hand on his hip, a kiss to the underside of his chin—until his nervousness evaporated. A spiraling, dizzying sexual tension filled the void.

“That‘s better,” Sawyer whispered, shifting their hips together.

Movement in the doorway caught his attention, a flash of brown and gray, and Sawyer lifted his mouth from Marc‘s neck. When he saw who was leaning against the jamb, surprise jolted through him. “What the fuck?” he whispered to himself, but his visitor caught the quiet words and smirked.

Sawyer scowled. What the hell was his brother doing here?

Oblivious, Marc continued his tentative caresses, fingers dipping low over the small of Sawyer‘s back. Frozen, Sawyer held him and stared at Finn. He hadn‘t seen his brother in over a year. Hadn‘t had a conversation that wasn’t conducted over email in three months. What made him think he could walk in here now without an invitation?

Finn‘s smile widened as he brushed a finger over his trim mustache. His suit was the usual: tailored, expensive, and gray, what all the lawyers were wearing these days, though Finn had always favored the color. It complemented his olive skin and dark hair. “Isn‘t this cozy?” he drawled.

Marc went from pliant to stiff in a heartbeat, but when he tried to pull away, Sawyer held him tight. Rather than struggle, Marc craned his neck to look over his shoulder.

Finn‘s hands moved to his hips, pushing his suit coat back to reveal the requisite blue shirt beneath. His lazy smile didn‘t fool Sawyer. As usual, it held little real amusement. His eyes played over the scene, taking in things he had no right to. Sawyer‘s temper began to boil. He pushed Marc behind his back, shielding him from Finn‘s view. “What are you doing here?”

Finn put his hand over his heart. “I‘m hurt, little brother.”

“Bullshit.”

Finally peeling his eyes from Marc, Finn gave the room a quick once over, then eased through the door, swiping his fingers over dust-covered shelves and counters. His lip curled. “You‘re living here? It‘s filthy.”

“It‘s being renovated,” Sawyer explained. Unnecessarily, as he‘d said as much in his email when their grandfather had died.

“When you said ‘renovate’ I thought you meant, I don‘t know”—Finn waved his hand through the air— “new carpeting and some updated lighting.” He brushed his palms down the front of his suit slacks, smearing twin tracks of dust over the material.

“Well, I didn‘t.”

“So I see.” Finn refocused on Marc. “New boy toy?”

“God, you‘re obnoxious.” Sawyer reached back to give Marc‘s arm a gentle squeeze before striding forward. “Get out.”

Finn blinked. “You‘re throwing me out?”

“I‘m throwing you out of the kitchen.” Sawyer pointed, but Finn didn‘t budge. He leaned around for another look at Marc. Growling, Sawyer sidestepped to block his view. “Finn, I‘m warning you.”

The standoff lasted several seconds, Finn‘s piercing brown eyes boring into Sawyer‘s. Finally, he lifted his chin. “No need to get all protective. I was just curious.” He stepped aside. “Lead the way.”

“No.” Sawyer jerked his chin at the door. “Down the hall, hang a right at the end. My office is the last door on the left. Can you manage that?”

“I think so.”

“I‘ll be there in a minute.”

Sawyer waited until Finn disappeared around the corner, then returned to Marc‘s side. He hadn‘t budged, Sawyer saw. White-knuckled from gripping the counter, he tried to smile. “Your brother?” he guessed.

“In the flesh. Fuck!” He snaked an arm around Marc‘s waist, and when Marc didn‘t bolt, leaned in to press their foreheads together. “Sorry.”

“Not your fault.” He slithered out of Sawyer‘s grip. “I should go.”

If the conversation with Finn went the direction Sawyer anticipated, he should. It wasn‘t going to be pretty. Not that Finn ever did anything without reason. The timing of the visit meant the gloves were coming off. “I don‘t want you to.”

Marc sighed. “But I should.” When he tried to slide past, Sawyer caught him by the waist. Marc accepted his gentle kiss, retreating when it threatened to escalate. “Call me.”

“I will. As soon as I have this sorted,” Sawyer promised. He walked Marc to the front door, watched him climb inside his truck, then detoured to his office.

He found Finn stretched out in his chair, hands crossed over his stomach. He‘d shed his suit coat and tie. His shirtsleeves were rolled to his elbows. Ready for battle. Sawyer took a deep breath before entering. He chose the tactical advantage and sat on the edge of the desk. Staring down his nose, he asked, “Why are you here?”

Finn raised an eyebrow. “A man needs a reason to visit his brother?”

“Most don‘t. You do.”

With a quirk of his lips, Finn acknowledged the point. A measure of tension left him. He sagged backward, brushing a hand over his thick, short-cropped hair. “Surely I don‘t have to spell it out.”

Sawyer shook his head. “Nope. Don‘t bother. Just turn around, drive that fancy car back to the city and mind your own business.”

Planting his hands on the arms of the chair, Finn rose, putting them on equal footing. “He was my grandfather too.”

“Oh, for Christ‘s sake, spare me,” Sawyer spat. “You hated him!”

“And you should have.” Finn swept his hand over the desk, scattering Marc‘s painstakingly drafted blueprints. Sawyer bit back his rebuke. “Especially after what he did to mom.”

Sawyer stooped to gather the blueprints off the floor. “That‘s all water under the bridge. Even she admits it.” He rolled up the papers and slipped a rubber band over the end.

Finn sank back into the chair. “Water under the bridge? Come on, Sawyer.”

Maybe he’d heard what he wanted. But… no. “That’s what she said. She’s fine with it. Why wouldn’t she have said something if she wasn’t?”

“Because it’s you. That’s why.” Finn shook his head, steepled his fingers over his lips, then sighed. “Because it’s you.”

Sawyer’s stomach twisted. “I would’ve never started this project if she’d told me she was against it.”

“Mmm.”

“Finn, I know you two weren’t close. You and Granddad. But he meant a lot to me, and he did care about you and mom. I know he did.”

“That man didn’t know how to love.”

This was an ancient argument, and it had no hope of progressing past where it always stalled. Sawyer cut off his next words and paced to the window. What he wouldn’t give at that moment to see Marc’s truck parked in the driveway.

“So that‘s it,” Finn said. “You‘re going to hermit yourself away in a house that mom hates in this backwater town for the rest of your life?”

“Jesus!” Sawyer slammed his fist on the windowpane. “What is it with everyone? This isn‘t the end of the earth.”

His frustration didn‘t go unheeded, and Finn, always the strategist, changed his approach. “Cute guy. The blond.”

Sawyer‘s hackles rose. “Leave him out of it.”

“Have I struck a chord?”

He had, and that he saw it spelled danger for sure. “Since when is my personal business any concern of yours?”

A nostalgic smile crossed Finn‘s face. He lifted himself to his feet, looking more weary by the second, and drifted over to the dusty bookshelves. “Since you turned fifteen and I realized we‘d never come to blows over a woman.”

“Lucky for you.” As soon as he said the words, he ached to snatch them back. Finn‘s life goal was to outpace Sawyer. It was stupid to draw attention to that race now.

Finn had inherited their father‘s fascination with the law, Sawyer their mother‘s love for the written word. There was never any doubt who she‘d favored, much to Finn‘s chagrin and Sawyer‘s embarrassment. Finn was wedded to his plans and routines while Sawyer rolled with the punches. As boys, the competition had almost destroyed their relationship. Finn had been proud of his slight build and sharp features until Sawyer had grown tall, broad, and classically handsome. The difference opened yet another rift between them.

Strangely, Finn had never exploited his knowledge of Sawyer‘s sexuality, even as a teenager. They never spoke of that one kindness, but Sawyer thought of it often. Which didn‘t mean he let his brother bully him. He ran his hands over his face, already tiring of their usual game. He missed Marc. “Can we get this over with?”

Finn turned to face him. Twin spots of color had appeared on his cheeks. “I thought we agreed you’d sell the house.”

“No. That‘s what you wanted. I didn‘t agree.”

“You‘re actually going to live here? Why?” Finn spreads his hands.

“Listen, I built some good memories here. I‘m not ready to let them go yet. Maybe I never will be. I don‘t know. But the fact is, you don‘t have a say in it one way or the other because it belongs to me.”

“The golden boy gets the golden goose, just like always.” Finn’s soft voice barely carried across the room.

“You‘re the only one who ever saw it that way,” Sawyer replied, voice strained. “This discussion is over.” He stood. As tempting as it was to throw Finn out on his ass, he couldn‘t. “Do you have somewhere to stay tonight?”

“You‘re going to shelter me from the elements? Even after I let your nightly entertainment escape?”

“You know what? Fuck you. Enjoy the drive.”

Finn pinched his lips together. Sawyer‘s irritation had finally penetrated, then. About time. “Ahhh.” Finn tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling. “All right, Sawyer. You win. For now.” His face lost its hostile expression. “Thank you. I‘d appreciate your hospitality.”

At times, Sawyer questioned whether Finn put them through these scenes out of some perverted need to bicker. “You‘re in luck. As of a few weeks ago, I have a fully furnished guest room. It even has cable and internet. You should love it. You can hide there happily until morning.”

Finn followed him into the hall. “You were expecting me?”

“Hardly. It was for Bruce.”

“Ah, Bruce.” They climbed the stairs without speaking. Sawyer crossed the landing and opened the double doors that led to the guest suite. Finn joined him in the doorway, and together they surveyed the room. “That explains the king-sized bed. How is Mr. Banner these days?”

“Still thinks you’re an uptight prick.”

Finn‘s snort was cut short by the pile of towels Sawyer dumped into his arms. “I suppose I’ve been called worse.” He sighed. “And he’s not wrong.”

“He had some choice words about how to cure your condition too, last time your name came up.”

“Good to know some things never change.”

“I wouldn‘t mind some things changing,” Sawyer mused, referring to several issues at once, but Finn only latched on to what concerned him.

“Don‘t get sentimental on me. My heart can‘t take it.”

“What heart?” Sawyer asked, then closed the door on Finn‘s bark of laughter.

Downstairs, he dialed Marc‘s number but hung up before the call went through. A night of pleasure wasn‘t in the cards. Not with Finn lurking upstairs. He put the pizza in the fridge, grabbed the rest of the beer, and retired to his own room for a night of mindless television. He was still juggling beer bottles and the remote when his phone rang. Sawyer answered without checking the number. “Miss me?”

“Didn‘t I say as much on my message?” a voice replied, not Marc‘s.

Sawyer froze, beer halfway to his mouth. “Kurt?”

“I thought you knew that, based on your greeting, but apparently not.”

“No,” Sawyer said, flipping on the television but keeping the sound muted. “Thanks for the invite, but I can‘t get away this weekend.”

“Bruce said you could use some company. Just thought I‘d offer. No big deal.”

And it wasn‘t, Sawyer knew. They understood each other. Their encounters defined casual, which was the only reason Sawyer had considered the idea in the first place. No strings. Just relief.

“Maybe some other time,” Kurt said.

Disconcerted, Sawyer found he wanted to say no. “Maybe,” he replied, lost in thought.

“Uh-huh.” Kurt laughed under his breath. “Nice knowing you, Sawyer. And I mean that. Take care.”

The line went dead before Sawyer could reply. Just as well. He’s not sure what he would’ve said in reply. He settled back on his pillows, feeling curiously lighter. After a few minutes of channel surfing, he dialed Marc again. This time he let the call go through.

Marc answered on the first ring. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah.” Sawyer eyed the closed door to his bedroom.

Like he could read Sawyer‘s mind Marc asked, “Is Finn still there?”

“Yeah, but I put him to bed.”

Something like a snort drifted across the line. “Was he being bad?”

“Always.” After one full body stretch, Sawyer rolled onto his side, cradling the phone between his ear and the pillow. He shut off the television. “Sorry about earlier.”

“It‘s nobody‘s fault.”

“I‘m not so sure about that.” In the background, paper rustled. Sawyer heard the clink of ice cubes in a glass. On an evil impulse, he asked, “What are you wearing?”

The rustling paused. “You did not just ask me that.”

“So what if I did?”

“What are you, twelve?”

“Now you‘re just stalling.” Grinning, Sawyer turned out his light, then fell back onto his pillow. “Where are you?”

“Bedroom.”

“You never answered my first question.”

A trickle of exasperation entered Marc‘s voice. “You go first.”

Sawyer slithered out of his jeans. “Okay. I‘m wearing… nothing.”

“Should‘ve known.”

Diffused moonlight cast a glow over the bed, helping Sawyer to find the small bottle of lube in his bedside drawer. “Don‘t sound so shocked.”

Marc‘s low laugh shot to the tips of his toes. Sawyer lowered his hand to his stomach, fingers scratching at the sparse trail of hair that started below his navel. “You‘re still stalling,” he accused, breathless.

“Hmmm.” More rustling, not paper this time. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” Sawyer croaked.

“Nothing now. I couldn‘t let you be the only one who‘s naked.”

“God, I love your competitive spirit.” Sawyer coated his fingers with the lube and closed his fingers around his erection. “Send me a picture.”

“Oh, hell no.”

“I promise it won’t end up in the wrong hands.”

“Not gonna happen. You’ll have to wait for the real thing.”

“Tease. Fine. Keep talking.”

“Talk?” Marc stuttered. “About what?”

“I don‘t care. Anything. Tell me about your day. Tell me about the movie. The drive home. What kind of jelly you had on your toast this morning.” He smiled at Marc‘s soft peal of laughter. “Just talk to me.”

“Let‘s see,” Marc began, “I really wanted to kill your brother tonight.”

“Take a number.”

“I didn‘t want you to stop touching me,” Marc whispered.

Hissing, Sawyer arched into his fist, stroking twice more before he could stop himself. “Hell,” he breathed, moving his trembling hand back to his stomach.

“What are you doing, Sawyer?”

“What do you think?” He kicked the sheet away. “Keep talking.”

Marc‘s breathing picked up, whistling unevenly. “Tell me what you‘re doing.”

“Right now?” The hand on his stomach twitched.

“Yeah.”

Tilting his head back onto the pillow, Sawyer stretched his fingers the last few inches and brushed the tip of his cock. He closed his eyes. The darkness and Marc‘s strained voice made a near perfect fantasy. “Right now I‘m thinking about touching you. Isn‘t that what you want?”

Marc‘s breath rushed through the phone, and underlying that, Sawyer heard another sound, one that made his mouth go dry. The steady whisper of flesh on flesh. “How?” Marc asked. “Touching me how?”

Sawyer picked up his own rhythm, and damn it, he‘d been too close too often today. His orgasm was already a sharp taste in his mouth, an ember of heat in his stomach. He rolled his head back and forth on the pillow. “Every way possible. Gonna make you come, Marc,” he rasped. “Over and over again, every way I can think of, until you beg me to stop.”

Marc gasped, then gave a low, hoarse cry, and Sawyer was lost, spilling over his fist and onto his stomach. He clenched his teeth, trapping the groan in his throat. Even though the walls weren‘t thin, he wasn‘t going to risk giving Finn the satisfaction.

They lay quietly for several minutes, the silence easy and comfortable, before Sawyer spoke. “And that,” he said, still shaky, “concludes our adolescent activities for the evening.”

“Concludes?” Marc asked lazily, voice gruff. “What about your promise?”

“Meant every word, sweetheart.”

“Then?”

With a self-satisfied smirk, Sawyer said, “You’ll have to wait for the real thing.”

***

HE‘D grown used to Marc‘s team invading his house every morning. What he sacrificed in privacy he regained in strong, dark coffee. Sometimes Reba brought donuts—rich, crème-filled balls of flaky dough that Sawyer could‘ve become addicted to. Until he found out that Rachel had baked them. They never tasted the same after that.

“Morning, Tim,” Sawyer said, breezing into the kitchen.

Perched on the counter next to the coffee pot, Tim raised his mug, then filled one for Sawyer. “You‘re up bright and early,” he said.

Sawyer took a sip of the scalding liquid. At least the burn dimmed the sappy grin he couldn‘t keep off his face. “Yep.” He surreptitiously searched the kitchen. “Get a ride with Marc this morning?”

“Yep,” Tim echoed. “He‘s still outside.”

“And everyone else?”

A racket from the hall answered his question. They entered in a line: Karen first, wearing a beige sweater dress, hair in a flawless French braid; Rick on her heels, looking like he‘d just rolled out of bed; and Reba in the rear, bearing Rachel‘s famous donuts. Their overlapping, “Good morning, Sawyer,” brought his smile back full force.

“Morning,” he addressed the group.

Karen used a tea towel to brush the dust off a chair, then sat, crossing one leg over the other. “Someone looks happy this morning,” she said, arching an eyebrow at Sawyer.

“Two someones,” Reba amended, digging in the pastry box. “Marc was all smiles too. Must be something in the air.”

Clearing his throat, Sawyer turned to rummage in the fridge for orange juice. Christ, now he remembered why he hated this kind of deception.

Rick bit his donut in half, then spoke through lips covered in powdered sugar. “I’m not happy. Did you watch that game last night? I‘ve never seen so many blown calls.”

Karen returned his indignation with a blank look.

“The football game,” Rick said, enunciating each syllable.

“I didn‘t watch it,” she admitted.

Rick rolled his eyes. “Tim?”

Tim smirked over the rim of his coffee cup. “I was washing my hair.”

Marc arrived in time to see Rick choking on his donut. “What‘d I miss?”

“The usual.” Reba held out the donuts. Marc took one, and childishly, Sawyer ached to slap it out of his hand.

“Feel like something more substantial?” he heard himself asking. “I could make omelets.”

“Ooh!” Rick‘s hand shot into the air. “Me!”

Finn chose that moment to arrive, pressed and dressed like he was stepping into court instead of a cramped car for a three-hour drive. This morning‘s suit was also gray, but with a white pinstripe. The polish on his loafers was bright enough to reflect the morning sunlight pouring through the windows. “Good morning,” he said when the room fell silent. “Please don‘t stop on my account. I‘m just stopping in to say goodbye.”

Karen rose with the grace of a queen and stepped forward, hand outstretched. “Hello, I‘m Karen.”

“Finn.”

“My brother,” Sawyer clarified, and that might have been a happy end to a potentially explosive situation, but of course, Finn loved to stir up trouble. He greeted everyone with a cordial handshake, turning to Marc last.

“Nice to see you again. Sorry about last night.”