Bad Boyfriend (13 page)

“No, you don’t get it. What am I, some fag-in-a-box for you to take out to play with when you need to entertain?”

“No. I told you I wanted to see you again. Before everyone started calling me about you.”

“I don’t get it either. Who the fuck are these people to you? Why does it even matter what they think or do?”

“They’re my family.” Quinn wanted to shout it but held it to a whisper.

“No, they’re your ex’s family. But if you want to tie yourself in knots over it, go ahead. Just don’t drag me along.” The words had a final ring to them. Words said before hanging up or walking away, but Eli remained at the rail, which meant he hadn’t stopped listening.

“I thought you were leaving.”

“You leave. I was here first.” Eli shoved at him with his hip.

Quinn shoved back, fighting a smile.

The wind brought fresh bursts of boat exhaust and oil from the bay, the smell so familiar Quinn could almost feel an engine rumble to life beneath his feet, though he hadn’t been on a ship in six years.

It was a story Quinn didn’t like to tell, and thank God he didn’t have to often. The people who mattered knew. Now he told it to the soft slapping waves in the harbor, and Eli could listen if he wanted to.

“About a year before I left the service I got sick. I’d had a headache, and my neck hurt. We were a day out of Norfolk after six months at sea. I only remember feeling really sick, the worst I’d ever felt in my life. I remember going to mess, and then I woke up in the Naval Medical Center in Bethesda almost three weeks later, feeling like I’d rather be dead. But Claire was there. She held my hand when I wanted to tear off my own skin from the pain.”

“What was it?”

“Bacterial meningitis. They gave us a vaccine when we joined, but I picked up a kind they don’t vaccinate for. Four other people on the ship got it. One died, and one of them is deaf. They put me in a coma for treatment, and Claire came down every day. Sometimes with Roger, sometimes with Peter or Dennis. Even when they had to wear full HAZMAT suits to see me, they came in. I was in a coma for a week, and they sat with me. Claire read to me. Roger read to me.” Any light had turned to shards of glass tearing through his eyes into his skull, scraping every nerve until it screamed. He’d wanted to hide away from the pain, but somehow their voices kept dragging him back.

“What about your parents?” The change in Eli’s voice meant he was facing Quinn now, but Quinn could only look at the waves, the sharp tips silver and green and pink from reflected neon.

“My mom died of cancer when I was seven. My dad couldn’t cope. I went to live with my grandparents when I was twelve, but they moved to Arizona when I went into the Academy. They sent a card.”

Eli made a disgusted noise.

“I was barely sitting up when they discharged me, but instead of letting me go to a rehab, the Laurents took me home.” Quinn straightened up and let go of the railing. “I was lucky. No amputations, no scars, no brain damage. The headaches come back sometimes.” Headache was a ridiculous word for splintered glass in every inch of his brain, his hair feeling like needles driving into his skin, but that’s what the word was. “I’d cut off my own arm before I’d hurt them. Before I did anything to upset Claire. She saved my life.”

Eli spread his hands out along the rail. “A bit of background would have helped before you put me on stage.”

“I underestimated your ability to ad-lib.”

“Give me a script this time.” Eli turned so his back was on the rail. “When’s the party?”

“Tuesday at six thirty. It’s Dennis’s birthday. Chrissy’s hosting.”

Eli winced.

“I know. No script. Just try not to go overboard. Maybe take it down a few notches.”

“That I can do.”

“C’mon, I’ll give you a ride home, unless…” Quinn let it hang there, hoping.

“No thanks. I want to walk.” Eli pushed up and leaned in. Quinn met him for a too-short soft kiss. “Night, Quinn.”

This time he did walk away.

Chapter Nine

With no idea in his head but escape, Eli headed west. His feet hit the pavement faster and faster, wind and speed and exertion making his nose run until he had to wipe it on his sleeve. No matter how far he got from the spot where he’d left Quinn, the words followed him.
She saved my life.
Quinn hadn’t been exaggerating. Eli could hear that in his voice. The only thing that had kept Quinn alive was the hold of that family.

Eli didn’t regret a thing he’d done or said to embarrass that asshole Peter, but when he replayed the way he’d acted, he knew he could have been less obnoxiously manipulative with the rest of them. Quinn should have told him.

He could have died. Quinn could have died. But that was years ago. Why should it matter? The feeling that kept Eli climbing up away from the harbor, driving him toward the bars, made no sense. Why should the idea that Quinn had almost died make Eli’s throat tighten around the sharp, quick breaths he was taking?

Eli hadn’t known him then, would never have known him.

His steps slowed as he approached Grand Central. That had been his plan. Hit the biggest place to cruise. Maybe find a different bed to sleep in to avoid the confrontation with Marcy. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d had sex with an equal interest in a place to stay the night.

He reached into his pocket for his wallet, took out his cell and reread the last two texts he’d gotten before Quinn tracked him down.

Careful. Kell told the crazy stalker where you were.

He went to lots of trouble to find you. That’s hot. I like him.

Eli tucked the phone away and went into the bar.

The Sunday night crowd was big enough to make Eli think he’d have competition from pros—if he meant to go through with it.

What was so bad about home? He’d go back to the apartment, tell Marcy he couldn’t make the rent and promise to be out in two weeks. And in two weeks he’d have—he stopped thinking about that and leaned into the bar, more than aware he couldn’t even afford a drink. A hand slid onto his back, followed by the weight and pressure of a taller body beside him. A signal to the bartender, and Eli had a rum and coke in front of him. He was going to thank the guy, get a look at him and decide what he wanted to do, when the hand on his back slid possessively down to the top of his jeans, a light circling pressure.

Eli let himself sink into a fantasy that Quinn had followed him, found him as irresistible as Kellan’s text suggested—rather than the truth that Eli was only an accessory to keeping the family happy. Quinn’s hand drifted over his ass, and Eli tipped his hips to meet the touch, skin tingling, a light buzz in his balls as he gulped enough of the drink to keep the fantasy alive.

The fingers on his ass dipped between his legs, a light brush forward, and then dug into the still-bruised crease as the hand gripped hard.

The fantasy evaporated. Eli wriggled free. “Thanks for the drink.”

Before he could get clear, the guy’s hand wrapped hard around Eli’s upper arm. “What’s your hurry? You were shaking your ass at me just fine.”

Eli got a good look at his face. Hard eyes, flat nose. Probably had it broken in a few fights. Grand Central attracted a lot of men who were only gay when they had a dick in their mouths, men who lived a straight life outside of what they managed to sneak off to get here.

“I said thanks for the drink.” Eli tried to pull free without turning it into some kind of shoving contest.

“Whore.”

“Mmm.” Eli sucked down the rest of his drink and leaned into the unsuspecting son of a bitch. “I like dirty talk.”

The man released his arm, and Eli’s hand shot down, grabbing the guy’s nut sac and giving it a twist so he had his attention. “I said thanks. If you’re looking for a whore, it’s going to take a lot more than a six-dollar drink to get over having to look at your face. I’m going to move on, and you’re going to let me. Clear?”

The man grunted, eyes squeezed shut, lips thinned in a grimace of pain.

“Thanks again.” Eli moved off to another part of the bar.

He’d inhaled the drink fast enough to get a little buzz but couldn’t seem to get into the spirit of things. None of the guys who made eye contact were hot enough, tall enough, or interesting enough for Eli to do anything but flick his glance away in apology.

He was thinking of taking out his phone and playing a game to kill time in case something better turned up later when someone crowded into him from behind as he watched a few guys shoot pool. If it was the same asshole from before, Eli was going to tear off his balls and feed them to him.

“You don’t seem like the type to just watch,” said a vaguely familiar voice in his ear while an interesting package pressed into the small of his back.

Eli wasn’t making the same mistake twice. He turned.

“Jesus.” Round blue eyes under sandy lashes blinked in surprise.

“Fuck me.” Eli knew his own eyes had to be bugging out of his head. “Peter.”

Peter recovered first. “I was thinking about it.” As his wide mouth curved in a smile, Eli was furious with himself for noticing the full lips, the lazy blink of those eyes, the broad solid shoulders, everything that would have made Peter hot enough to fuck if he weren’t Quinn’s slimy, cheating, closeted ex.

Eli wished for a wall at his back, protection and room to breathe as Peter filled in the space Eli had made by turning around. “Does your wife know where you are?”

“Does Quinn know what a little slut you are?”

“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time he’s made that mistake.” Eli managed to get his back against a post supporting a partition. It felt a little safer. “But Quinn and I have an understanding.”

“Liar. He’d never go for that. Tell me really.” Peter leaned in so his lips brushed Eli’s ear, and maybe getting his back to a wall had been a mistake. “You’re one of his students, right? He paid you.”

Eli laughed and turned his head, hoping the ends of his hair whipped Peter’s face. “I’d have paid him. God, remember his cock? The way he moves it. Mmmm.” Eli licked his lips, only half faking the enjoyment of the memory.

Peter’s hands landed on the post above Eli’s head. “Who do you think taught him that?”

Eli laughed again. “Not you.” As much as Peter deserved to have his nuts twisted, Eli would have to settle for just fucking with him. He reached up and put his hand around Peter’s neck. “You’re aching for a dick in you. Bet you’re dying to suck me off.”

Peter leaned down, liquor-soaked breath strong on Eli’s cheek, leg sliding between Eli’s. “Yeah. I’ll blow your fucking mind.”

Eli moved his hand until his thumb pressed against Peter’s lips. As he sucked, Eli ground his dick onto Peter’s leg once and then shoved him away. “In your fucking dreams, asshole.”

Peter’s eyes narrowed.

“Oh. And see you Tuesday. I’ll try to remember to bring your wife a strap-on.”

When Eli insisted he’d find a ride and meet Quinn at his house on Tuesday, Quinn anticipated a disaster. An over-the-top outfit with sequins. A see-through mesh top with matching pants. A kilt and a bright blue mohawk. But opening the door to Eli’s knock, Quinn found something worse.

Eli wore a suit. Navy blue, a blue dress shirt and a red-and-blue-striped tie. His hair was slicked back from his face, and as he made a nervous adjustment to his tie, Quinn could see his nails were free of polish. One hundred percent conservative by anyone’s standards. The problem was Eli looked like a fifteen-year-old in his school uniform. Remembering there was a sexually active man long past the age of consent under those clothes set up a battle between lust and shame in Quinn’s body.

“What’s wrong?” Eli’s brow furrowed, a vulnerable confusion Quinn never would have seen with his hair hanging over his eyes.

Quinn swallowed back the response of
Everything
and tried concentrating on anything but how much better that silken tie would look binding Eli’s wrists, teasing his cock.

“The tie’s too much. I knew it.” Eli fidgeted with it.

“What—why?” Quinn managed.

“You asked me to tone it down.”

The sickest feeling wasn’t because Eli’s suit made Quinn feel like a dirty old man, or that it drew more attention to Eli’s age and slender body than if he’d been wearing the kilt and mohawk, it was that Quinn had forced Eli into something so wrong on him.

“I didn’t ask you to turn it off. You look—wait. I’m fucking this up.” Quinn moved so Eli could step into the house.

Eli nodded.

Quinn shut the door and turned back. Running a finger along the tight collar of Eli’s shirt and smoothing his tie, Quinn said, “You did this for me. Because of what I told you.”

Eli smiled. It still looked wrong. Quinn missed the self-confidence behind the grin that showed that one slightly crooked tooth.

“Now that’s the kind of response that will get you a blowjob, Mr. Maloney.”

Quinn controlled the urge to shudder. “Christ. Please don’t call me that.” There was the grin he’d been looking for. “In the interest of time, I’ll settle for a kiss.”