And Call Me in the Morning (18 page)

“That really hits your buzzer, doesn't it?” he asked, poking the paperwork.

Zane sighed and pushed the sheets away. “I'd be lying if I said it didn't, and I'm not going to do that with you.”

“But?”

“No but. Well. Sort of.” Zane tracked his visual way back to the top brochure. “Hear anything back from Dr. Kazaran?”

Ah
. “Nope,” Eli was happy to report, sorry he'd ever sent the e-mail in the first place. “The man probably doesn't even remember me. I'm not going down to Duke.”

“You could do some good there.”

Eli raised an eyebrow. “Playing devil's advocate now?”

“Not really.” Zane stroked the DWB brochure. “Did you ever think…”

Eli had no idea where Zane was heading with this. “Think what?”

“Mmm.” Zane was too focused elsewhere. “These guys…seems like they're out there doing what I wish I could. We're days away from the final chop at the free clinic. Maybe not even that long. DWB is making a difference. I'm just marking time.”

Something odd began to gather in Eli's chest. “Zane…”

“I'm not going to do it.” Zane finally tore himself away with a firmness that Eli knew well. Decision made. “I have things to keep me here.”

“Christ, Zane.” Eli searched for something comforting to say and only managed to come out with, “Shame they don't have something like this for the inner cities.”

“They used to. Give us a few days, and we won't.” Weariness replaced Zane's enthusiasm. The man was a regular chimera, and it was a hell of a job keeping up.

But there
was
one thing he could do that'd lift Zane's spirits. Eli hoped.

Here goes nothin'
. No prompts, no demands. With one arm under the table, Eli reached toward Zane and nudged Zane's hand at rest on his knee. “We'll figure out something,” he said, holding Zane's eyes as he took Zane's hand.

Zane looked as if he'd been singed by lightning. “Eli?”

“It's not much, I know.” Eli laced their fingers together. “But it's a start.”

Zane squeezed him, tighter than expected. A good clench. “It's more than you think it is.” He took a pen from his pocket and scribbled three X's on a napkin. “Two can play at this game,” he said, pushing the napkin toward Eli. “What do you think?”

“I think I—” Eli's throat closed. Damn it. “I think you're worth it,” he said instead.
Sorry, Taye. I'll get there. Soon. I hope. Because you're right, it is true. And because I want to.

“You don't have to, you know,” Zane said, gentling his hold. “I already know.”

“Nothing past you.” Eli raised his mug to clink it with Zane's. “Thank God for that.”

* * * * *

Yeah. Funny how things changed.

Eli leaned on his elbows, reading the e-mail for the—fourth, fifth time? An innocent stop in the doctor's lounge and the borrowing of Diana's laptop to check an article—well, no one could resist checking their e-mail, could they?

He wished he had.

Dr. Jameson,

Of course I remember you, and I must say that it is a pleasure indeed to hear from you again. You were one of my most promising students, though if you are as I remember, you are even now scoffing at the notion.

True. Eli ran his hand through his hair. He wasn't anything special. He was old. Not ancient, but c'mon. No hotshot on his way up.

Scoff if you must, then, but I am not the only faculty member who spoke highly of you. It takes great courage to return to school later in life, and even greater determination to succeed. Graduating near the top of your class and putting in their place those still so young they have a shine to them—that takes talent.

Eli wished to God he could stop reading this. Wished even more that he didn't want to believe it. Dr. Kazaran, the tough old bastard, had never outed with something like this back in the day. If he had, Eli wouldn't have considered touching base, crazy salary and grand opportunity in the offing or not. Wasn't as if he planned to apply, after all.

Except Dr. Kazaran had taken that out of his hands.

I am most pleased to hear of your interest in returning to our medical college. In my estimation, you would be an excellent fit, and I intend to refer this matter to the search committee, among whom are many who remember you with equal admiration.

Christ.

I will contact you shortly with their response. Indeed, Dr. Jameson, I do hope that you will strongly consider joining us.

My best to Marybeth.

Sincerely,

Alexander Kazaran

Eli closed the e-mail, deleted it for good measure, and snapped the laptop shut.

Perhaps with more vigor than was wise. Diana, glazed out over a chart, blinked up at him. “Watch the casing, would you?” She got a good look at Eli and tilted her head. “That's not a good face. What's up? The amino acids you were looking up stage some kind of palace revolt?”

“That makes absolutely no sense, Diana.”

“I've been on my feet—so to speak—for twenty fucking hours, Eli. I'm entitled to be as random as I like.” Diana propped her cheek in her hand. “I ask because I care, and because you look—I don't know. If you were a patient, I'd be calling for a nurse right about now. What's wrong?”

Eli pressed his fingers to his temples and tried to think. For all the good it did him. “Let me get back to you on that one.”

“You do that.” Diana took her laptop back and tucked it into its carrying case. She patted Eli's hand. Clumsily and with obvious lack of practice—God, her beside manner left a lot to be desired—but he could tell she meant well. “If Zane doesn't take proper care of you tonight, page me and I'll come kick his ass clear up to his tonsils for you.”

Eli laughed. Diana winked. “Now that's more like it.”

“I think it is,” Eli said. “And I think I know where I want to be instead of here.”

“Now that's what I'm talking about.” Diana shooed Eli toward the door. “Go, go. Do something good. Balance out whatever fucked you up in there,” she added with a wave at her computer. “And don't worry. I won't check the cache.”

“Deleted it.”

“I'd have to say that's probably a good move.” Diana smiled at him. A real smile. It made her look younger and a little wistful. “All joking aside, Eli, what the two of you have… It gives me hope.”

“Yeah,” Eli said, pushing Dr. Kazaran to the back of his mind and letting Zane come to the forefront. There. Felt better already. Though he'd have to tell Zane about this, and that wasn't what he'd call good anticipation. Still. Honesty above all, and better to get it out now than have it come around with sharp teeth later. “Me too.”

Eli let himself into Zane's apartment. They traded about, fair being fair. Minus the pool table Eli guarded with his life, he did have to admit he liked Zane's digs better. A slightly better class of rats, leather furniture only a man with none of his five senses wouldn't enjoy, and now some damn good memories layered on top.

“Honey, I'm home,” he wisecracked as he toed the door shut behind him.

Zane waved from his position stretched out on the couch, arms crossed under his head. He'd loosened his tie and rolled up his shirt sleeves, taken off his shoes, but was otherwise ready for anything. Right now, that seemed to be lying still with his eyes closed, listening to something jazzy and bluesy wafting from his speaker system. Eli glanced at the iPod dock and wished, for a moment, they still did records. A phonograph and a scratch every now and then would make the picture perfect.

He let himself lean on the door frame and look his fill. Zane's hair fell smoothly away from his face, spread out on the couch arm. Little grayer than it'd been a few weeks ago, but no less soft and touchable. A dark shadow of stubble, just enough to work up a beard burn, shadowed his cheeks. Eli could make out the firm cording of muscle in his arms, and then, of course, there was his chest, leading down to his stomach and to the neat fly of his slacks.

He lingered there a moment longer. Because he could, and because he knew perfectly well that though Zane wasn't watching him, he knew exactly what Eli was up to.

Then, to Eli's own surprise, he found himself skimming back up to Zane's face. Narrow upper lip, full lower, well-shaped nose, sharp cheekbones, smooth forehead. He fingered his own face, finding it rough-hewn and too strong in comparison.

Didn't matter as much as it used to, and Eli barely gave it more than one thought, too busy studying Zane. The vague sense of curiosity coalesced in a sudden understanding. He'd always known in a general sort of way that Zane was a good-looking man. Lately he'd come to the intimate knowledge that, for a guy, Zane was hot.

He'd never before realized that Zane was beautiful.

Zane stretched and yawned. He turned to look at Eli in a way that floored him. “Welcome home. Come here,” he said, beckoning. “Listen to this part. The trumpet solo.”

Eli didn't. He was still back there on the word he'd spoken earlier, and Zane had spoken now.
Home
. It was where the heart was, after all.

The temptation to go and sit by Zane, to let what came naturally now and which Zane casually but clearly invited—that was a strong pull. Tonight, Eli thought he wanted more. Something…he didn't know. Something, dare he use the word, romantic. Mushy. Whatever, just something to show Zane how much this meant to him, to have a real home.

An idea came. “Hungry?”

Zane took the question in stride. “God, yes. Breakfast is a long-ago memory. I was thinking we could order in. I've got a taste for…hmm. Comfort food.”

Perfect. Best opportunity ever. “Stay here. You're too pretty a picture to disrupt.” Eli blushed hot while he said it, but the words did make their way out, so he'd call that a victory, as he would the slow roll of happiness that warmed Zane once he'd said them. “And you have a CD's worth of jazz to appreciate. I'll go get us dinner.”

Zane blinked. “No kidding? You wouldn't rather…” He patted his hip. “In case I wasn't clear, I was making the offer.”

“I want to give you something else that matters,” Eli said. “I want to make you happy, not just fucked.”

Zane smirked. “Such a way with words. Hey.” He stretched out his arm. Eli could not help but cross to take it, and to bend down and kiss Zane once, just once. Zane was smiling when Eli drew back. “You're one of the good ones, Eli.”

“Bah.”

“Someday you'll believe it too. We might be too senile to know what the hell we're talking about by then, but I can wait.” Zane stretched out, lazy and contented as a cat.

I want it to be sooner
. One step at a time, though. “Give me carte blanche on what to bring back, yeah?”

“Of course. I trust you.”

And didn't that kick like a mule to the chest? There had been something Eli had intended to share with Zane. Damned if he could remember it now, not with his stomach rumbling and Zane spread out in the manner of a feast.

“I'll hurry,” he said, backtracking toward the door. If he didn't, he'd forget food, and that wasn't the goal.

“Do,” Zane murmured, losing himself in the music. “Maybe I'll whip up something for dessert by the time you get back.”

Eli swallowed roughly. He doubted Zane had chocolate cake or tortes in mind, damn fine cook though he might be on his own turf. “Is that a fact?”

“It is.” Zane's lips curved like the Mona Lisa's.

“Then I'll hurry.” Eli wanted to kiss Zane again, but somehow the anticipation seemed sweeter than diving in for immediate gratification. There was one advantage to being older when first trying this. No, two. For one, appreciation of the journey. For the second, appreciating properly what he had. “Back before you know it.”

Zane gazed at Eli through soft gray. “I'll be here.” His look was a kiss, one Eli tucked close to his heart as he headed back out into the Chicago night and the cold, cold rain that he noticed almost not at all with that kiss held close to keep him warm.

Only when he hit the corner that'd take him to the restaurant he had in mind did Eli remember he'd planned to tell Zane, right away, about Dr. Kazaran's e-mail. It'd have to wait, but he wouldn't forget again. Food, fun, truth. More than likely, the kind of sex he couldn't get enough of. Love.

What could possibly go wrong?

* * * * *

“Couldn't stay away, could you?”

Richie. Manning the counter by himself, no less. Eli draped his soaking jacket on a wall hook above a rubber mat. “You're a fine one to talk. Haven't been here since this morning, have you?”

Eli doubted it. Richie looked fresh and as rested as one could in a busy diner. Twenty-four hours and it never seemed to slow down. And they said New York didn't sleep. Try Chicago sometime.

Richie waved off the mild concern. “I crashed out for a few. Besides, Taye's on tonight too. What am I going to do at home by myself?”

“Sleep some more?”

“Nah. We need the money.” This close to Richie, Eli could see shadows beneath his eyes. He wondered, worried, wanted to make them an offer of help if they were in real financial trouble, but Taye was a proud man and he didn't doubt Richie was the same. Richie tried to make light of it. “You know what interns make. If I bust my hump, the tips I get here bring us just about even.”

“Can't earn much money if you're worn out.”

“We're young; we'll cope.” Richie did seem cheerier now that he didn't have to maintain a cool, remote, and discreet 'tude. “Don't worry so much. I've got it covered. Though maybe not if I keep chatting.” He flipped a clean hand towel over his shoulder. Eli could have seen now, if not before, how well Richie and Taye matched. “So what can I get you?”

Diner food was diner food was diner food, but there was always a chef's special, and if Richie was the chef, it had to be good. “Throw me some suggestions, would you? Dinner for two, me and Zane. I'm looking for something made for enjoying on a cold night. Something that'll stick to your ribs, but not like a slathering of concrete.”

“Comfort food,” Richie said with a decided nod. “Sit tight. I think I know what to get you—if you trust my judgment?”

Eli considered that. Why not? The man made a masterpiece out of Folgers. “Consider yourself given carte blanche.”

“Fantastic. Have a seat. Won't take long.” Richie ducked behind the grill and got busy.

Eli tried to crane his neck to see what Richie was up to. Rustling wrappers and the sizzle of the grill could mean anything. He leaned on the freezer display in search of a better view. In that he failed, but the cold beneath his arm gave him an idea. “Do you do milkshakes here?” In season or out, Zane was a fiend for ice cream and only rarely indulged. Couldn't get much more into indulgent comfort than that, could it?

“Sure, we've got supplies. Really basic flavors, though.” Richie popped briefly out. “Just got some fresh fruit in. I can dress it up some, if you're interested.”

Eli chuckled. You could take the boy out of the bistro, but you couldn't take the cuisine out of the food-hearted. “Culinary school, huh?”

“As fast as I can. Milkshake?”

“Two.” Eli made the peace sign. “Fruit's good. Just be careful you don't use strawberries,” he called, having to raise his voice to be heard as Richie ducked away again.

“Right, strawberries, got it,” Richie called back, almost drowned out by a rush and sizzle from the grill.

Christ, that smelled good. Eli closed his eyes and breathed deep, savoring the aromas. He could feel his need for a triple bypass growing, but in a place like this, who was able to care?

The bell over the door jingled to admit a crew of guys that looked somewhat familiar to Eli. The green and blue and magenta of scrubs peeked through their jackets. Though unsure if they'd recognize him, Eli gave them a wave.

“Jameson, right?” The tallest and leanest of the group, bespectacled and going bald, ambled directly up and shook his hand.

“Pearson?” Eli guessed. Not someone he regularly interacted with, and not someone he particularly cared to. Pearson had a look to him that suggested shiftiness.

“That's me.” Pearson took a few seconds too long letting go of Eli's hand, trying to squeeze too hard. Jeez. Talk about your masculine insecurities. “What are you doing down here with the rest of us peasants?”

“Hey, don't look at me. My friends have rarified tastes. I'm teaching them that plain and simple is just plain good.”

“Right on. Hey, uh—cook guy?”

Eli snorted.
Cook guy
. If this kind of diner was Pearson's familiar stomping grounds, he'd eat an empty soup can without salt.

“Be with you in a sec!” Richie shouted back. He waved at them over the back of the grill.

Pearson rolled his eyes. “Attitude, huh?”