Don't Read in the Closet: Volume Four (123 page)

everywhere but at Tim, and he’d deviated from their script. Tim felt

something clench in his gut. Felt his chest get tight.

“You love me,” Tim rushed to interrupt him, suddenly terrified of

what was coming next. “I love you. It should be a good thing. It
could

be a good thing, if you’d just let it.” Since they were flipping the

script, this time Tim was the one to reach out, but Stephen pulled

away, stepped back, leaving a creeping chill working its way up Tim’s

body.

“We could go out. Date. It’s Ann Arbor, not fucking Flat Rock.

No one would care. And if they did, well fuck ‘em.”

“I can’t,” Stephen whispered. “I wish I could, but I can’t.”

“Why?” The uneasiness finally burst free, masquerading as anger.

“If you love me, why can’t you do it out in the open? Why do I have

to be your dirty little secret?” He was shaking now, he’d pretend it

was righteous indignation but, really, that was just another lie.
“No

one would care.”

Then, with one perfectly aimed missile, Stephen obliterated the

fantasy Tim had painstakingly constructed.

“My wife would care.”

So now he was at Candyland. Alone again, naturally. Tim snorted

as the lyrics to the golden oldie echoed in his head. Alone again, alone

always. He wondered what was wrong with him, why he was so

fucking undesirable, except as a quick fuck.

He had a job. A car. He wasn’t sleeping on his mama’s couch in

the basement. He wasn’t a troll. Hell, he’d even managed to graduate

from college, so he figured he couldn’t be
too
fucking stupid. Except

when it came to men, of course.

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His friends had tried to warn him. His mama, whose couch he

most definitely wasn’t sleeping on had tried to warn him. Hell, even

his homophobic old man had tried to warn him, though Tim figured

that one didn’t count since the old man would most likely warn him

about anyone with a dick.

He hadn’t listened. Hadn’t wanted to listen. And while, eventually

he might have listened ,his pride wouldn’t let him, because along with

all the other well-meaning people in his life, Rio had warned him.

Rio, who didn’t want him.

The hair stood up on the back of his neck, and his dick twitched.

Speak of the devil.

Rio slid in between Tim and the stool next to him and gestured for

the pretty little goth chick manning the bar to give him his usual Coke.

“Heya, Princess.” Rio’s voice held its usual amused exasperation.

That tiny note of condescension always irritated him, but tonight? Tim

zoomed past irritated and into angry in less time than it took for Rio to

blink those pretty, ice-blue eyes.

Without bothering to answer – what was he gonna say other than

fuck you? – Tim signaled for another shot. Maybe if he drank enough

he could block out Rio’s scent, oranges and spice and sweat and man.

Fuck.

Anger didn’t even begin to cover it when Rio plucked the shot out

of Tim’s hand and slid it down the bar out of his reach. Rage came

close.

“What are you doing, pretty boy?”

Oh, that bastard.

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m getting fucking shit-faced

drunk. Gimme.” He held out his hand as if he actually expected Rio to

return his drink.

“Tim, babe, whatever it is, getting shit-faced isn’t gonna solve it.”

Don’t Read in the Closet – volume four 753

“Nope. But it’ll let me put it off a day or two.” He snapped his

fingers, wondering why he was provoking the man. He knew damned

well all he was doing was poking the bear – and he knew Rio knew he

knew it. And fuck if he wasn’t confusing himself with who knew

what. Clearly, he needed another drink. “Now hand it over.” Rio just

shook his head. Of course.

Tim slid off his stool, rubbing down Rio’s body all the way. Hard

muscles under damp cotton. He’d been dancing. His scent surrounded

him, and now it surrounded Tim, too, and it was having a predictable

effect. Tim felt his cock twitch, start to fill. And fuck him if Rio

wasn’t getting hard, too.

“And what’s up with the Princess? Pretty boy? Babe? Really,

Sweetcheeks?” Tim leaned in, reaching for his drink, which had the

happy side effect of making him rub all over Rio again. Yep. The man

was definitely hard. “You don’t want me. You give me shit about the

man who does want me.” Never mind that Stephen didn’t want him

anymore. “So what’s with the pet names? Do you just enjoy the mind

fuck, since it’s the only fuck you’ll give me?”

He had his drink now, as well as the full body experience of pretty

much everything Rio had to offer. Not that he was offering it to Tim.

For his part, Rio looked more startled than cynical for a change,

and that was ridiculously gratifying. Then the light dawned, as

obviously as if it was tattooed on his forehead, and Rio gave him a

sympathetic look.

“Ah, shit. The jackass finally showed his true colors, did he?” Rio

cupped his cheek almost tenderly with one big, hot palm. “I warned

you, Princess.” Blue eyes blinked slowly. “Um, Tim.” The correction

sounded so awkward that Tim might have been amused if he hadn’t

been so damned incensed.

“Oh, hell yes. You warned me. And I’m the fucking fool who

ignored it.” Tim tossed his head, dislodged Rio’s hand before he could

get too used to the sensation. Before he could trick himself into

thinking Rio maybe actually cared. Even a little bit.

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“I’m sorry, ba… Tim.” And the bitch of it was, he sounded sorry.

He looked it, too. “You deserve better than some closet case who

won’t be seen in public with you.”

He’d like to say he didn’t know where the bitterness came from,

but he did. The wanting and not having. Fooling himself, trying to

make himself want something different. Hell, he wasn’t mad at

Stephen. He was mad at himself. And he was mad at Rio, because Rio

touched him. Rio called him Princess, and babe, and all the while Rio

didn’t want him.

“Oh, it gets better,” he sneered. He needed to shut up before his

humiliation was complete, but the tequila and his own lacerated

feelings wouldn’t let him. “Did you know about the wife? ‘Cuz I sure

as hell didn’t.” Rio looked surprised. But then, of course he hadn’t

known about the wife. Tim was pretty sure if he had, he’d have added

it into his periodic warnings about Stephen. “’Course, the wife didn’t

know about me, either.” He giggled. Oh, too much booze if he was

giggling. He must have swayed a little bit, too, because he was

plastered all up against Rio again, and if his stunning revelation had

doused the guy’s hard-on any, man, Tim sure couldn’t tell.

Then hard arms were around him, pulling him in tight. He buried

his face in Rio’s neck, breathing in the sweat and spice. He was

leaving smears of eyeliner on Rio’s skin, his t-shirt. Fuck, he probably

looked like a raccoon himself, thick black rings running down to his

cheeks.

“Why waste your heart on him, babe?”

“Who else am I gonna waste it on?” He didn’t even try to pull

back. He was perfectly happy where he was, surrounded by Rio.

Besides, he didn’t want to see that perfect, narrow face tight with

disapproval, or worse, with regret. “You don’t want me. Who else is

worth the effort?”

Rio jerked back, caught Tim’s shoulders and held him at arm’s

length.

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“When did I ever say I didn’t want you?”

Okay, maybe he hadn’t said it in so many words. But after that

first time, that first mind-blowing, earth rocking, fucked him senseless

time, this hug was the first physical contact Rio’d initiated in months.

What he’d actually said was, “You don’t want a relationship. Not

with me.”

“I said that.”

“You did.”

“I didn’t.” Tim frowned. Too much tequila, cuz Rio wasn’t

making sense. Rio must have read the confusion on his face, because

he shook his head impatiently. “Want a relationship.” It was a non-

sequiter until Tim played their conversation back. Then it made sense,

but it still didn’t make sense.

“That’s what I said,” he finally mumbled, confused. Rio’s hands

were still hard on his shoulders, holding tight when he tried to shrug

them off, to move away.

“You aren’t hearing me.” Tim wondered why the other man

insisted in dragging out the torture. They both knew what he’d said.

Tim was drunk, but he wasn’t deaf. Or stupid. Much.

“I
didn’t
want a relationship. Six months ago I didn’t. I didn’t

know you, except that you were an exceptional fuck.” Rio’s eyes grew

dreamy. “A
truly
exceptional fuck.” The other man seemed to shake

himself out of his memory of that truly exceptional fuck, though his

dick looked to be doing its best impression of a crowbar in his tight

jeans. “And that was all I was after. A quick, dirty fuck. No do-overs.”

It was slowly sinking into Tim’s tequila-soaked brain that for the

second time tonight the script was being flipped on him. This time by

Rio.

He knew he was being slow,
exceptionally
slow, even, he thought

with an inner sneer aimed totally at himself. But he still couldn’t stop

his stupid mouth from running.

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“You were after a fuck. You got it. You don’t double dip. I got

that. So what changed?” Had anything? Was he so fucked up by

Stephen and the liquor and his own damaged fucking brain that he

was totally misunderstanding what Rio was saying? Because that

seemed a hell of a lot more likely than the alternative.

“Babe, you were always here. Always funny and flirting. Fucking

smart. And scorching hot. And for the first time I wanted that do-

over.”

“You never said…” He was babbling. Confused. Diarrhea of the

mouth.

“What was I supposed to say, Tim?” For the first time his given

name sounded natural coming from Rio’s lips. He didn’t like it much.

“You’d met the man of your dreams, even if he was a total lying

prick. You were in love with him. You didn’t care about me.”

Tim didn’t even try to stop the laughter, just let it take him, shake

him and spin him around. No wait, the spinning was all in his head.

Finally, with a last snort of sloppy amusement at the look on Rio’s

face, he broke free of those hard, hot hands and moved away from the

bar.

“I’m going to dance, Sweetcheeks.” Oh, dear. Oh, my. He was

giggling again, but this time he didn’t fucking care.

Rio was watching him, lips tight, ice-blue eyes narrowed,

something that looked a lot like speculation swimming in their depths.

He thought that, just this once, Rio was going to let him have the

last word. And, as tempting as it was to have that last word be

sweetcheeks, there was something even more important he had to say.

“And for the record, I never said I loved him.” At least not to Rio.

“And I
never
said I didn’t care about you.” So, there, you beautiful

bastard.

He made it halfway across the dance floor, right to that spot in the

middle where he could lose himself in the music, surrounded by sweat

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and skin and lost in the thumpa-thumpa, before a hard, hot hand on his

shoulder spun him around.

Rio. His eyes glowed like the pale blue heart of a flame. He

twisted his hand in Tim’s shirt, and the next thing Tim knew he was

being yanked up hard against Rio’s slim, muscular body.

“I want you.”

The man wasn’t yelling, the music was so loud it was jarring his

internal organs, but somehow Tim heard him. He blinked hard, not

sure if he was hearing him
right
, though.

Flame-blue eyes burned into his own plain brown. It was as if Rio

was scorching away the bullshit, searing away his resistance.

“I want a relationship with you.”

Oh, fuck. He was lost, and he knew it.

He knew it was all there for Rio to see, written on his face in big,