TAKE ME HOME (2 page)

“Don’t you have anything better to do than bug me about this?”

“No,” she said. “They cancelled my soap opera.”

“You’re not turning my life into a soap opera.”

“It would be an improvement.”

He laughed at that. He didn’t want to admit to Lorrie he’d been trying to make a move, to talk to Evan about it for a week. The words lingered in the back of his throat. As if they were stuck in a motel room ten years earlier when he’d last gone for it with Evan, and Kyle had freaked over the intensity of his feelings. He’d practically been a kid and hadn’t been ready for that kind of connection with anyone.

Hell, he was almost thirty and still wasn’t.

Would it be like that again if they touched? If they kissed? Could he deal with that?

One night had been all they’d had. Kissing, shirts off, their bare chests pressed together, Evan’s hand down Kyle’s pants, rubbing his dick through the underwear, their tongues moving to a rhythm that was so new, so different, and all their own.

Then he’d pulled away, and Evan must have seen something in his face. Evan had jumped off the bed and said, “We can’t. We can’t fuck this up.” At the age of eighteen, Evan had been screwed over too many times, trusted the wrong boys too often in his youth to believe sex wouldn’t fuck up a friendship, let alone with someone like Kyle. Evan knew the truth.

So did Kyle. They’d fuck, and then he’d leave Evan. That was his MO then. Still was. No wonder Evan couldn’t trust him.

But that was a different time. A different Evan.

He’d spent the last ten years in a relationship and was just starting to get over that loss, the heartbreak. Evan wasn’t ready for something more with anyone. Not yet. This would be about doing what they’d always wanted. About giving in to desire. About a night together that would blow their minds. No matter what Lorrie thought, this would not be anything other than sex.

“Do guys talk about stuff like this?” Lorrie asked.

“How the hell would I know?” He dropped his head to the back of the couch and focused on the ceiling swirls again. Yep, still there. Still that disturbing bright white that practically Take Me Home

5

damaged the retinas. Still too perfect in their uniformity. Like everyone in Hollywood. He needed to get away from it all.

“What are you going to do, pounce on him?”

“Lorrie…”

“I wish I could be there.”

“God.” He sat up. She had a dreamy expression in the chat window. “I do not wish you could be here. If something does happen, I hope we’ll be naked and…” He didn’t say more.

Didn’t say he hoped he’d be buried inside Evan like he’d been dreaming of doing for years.

Evan’s body underneath him. Those blue eyes watching him. That blond hair resting on the dark sheets of his bed. Only, the recent fantasies had Kyle on the sheets, Evan staring down at him, buried in his ass. A knock came from the apartment door. “I gotta go,” he said. “Someone’s here.”

“You’re still coming home for Christmas, right?” she asked.

“No matter what.” He wasn’t going to miss their usual trip home. Evan loved spending Christmas in Ohio. He loved the snow, the lights and decorations, the Christmas carols, the whole sappy affair. No matter how long they’d been living in California, Liberty Falls, Ohio—

known as the Home of the Perfect Christmas Tree—would always be home.

“And what about moving?” she asked. “Are you still planning to move back here after the holidays?”

“I think so. I don’t know. I gotta go. Tell the kids I’ve got surprises for them.”

“You spoil them too much.” Despite her words, she couldn’t hide the grateful smile.

Money had been tight since her husband, Brett, had been laid off in April.

“There’s no such thing as too much spoiling from Uncle Kyle. See you soon.” He gave her a wave, ended the call, and went to answer the door.

A guy in his early twenties stood in a uniform of a short-sleeved button-up shirt and shorts that were a little too tight around the hips and ass like they were stripper pants and he’d be ripping them off as soon as the music started. He held a package wrapped in plain brown paper.

“Kyle Bennett?”

“Yeah.”

“Package for you.” He handed it over. Kyle took note of the visible bulge the tight shorts did nothing to hide, the muscular thighs, the eye contact that lingered between them. Yep, gay.

Kyle almost laughed. Hadn’t he seen a dozen pornos that started out like this? So he did what he always did. He licked his lips, ran his gaze over the guy’s body, and met his stare again.

“I need you to sign for it.” The guy didn’t look away as he held out the electronic signature pad.

“Sure.” Kyle reached for the pad and let his fingers brush the man’s knuckles. “You must get pretty tired doing all these deliveries.”

“You got that right. I sure could use a break.”

Kyle smirked as he signed his name. Yeah, he still had it. “Well, I’d invite you in, but I’m supposed to be working.” He passed back the signature pad and added, “Maybe another time.” The guy nodded. “Just order something else from”—he moved in close and read from the package in Kyle’s hand—“Powers, Hunt, and Weinberg.” He gave Kyle one last stare and turned away.

6

Sloan Parker

The man’s ass almost had Kyle calling him back. He hesitated, doorknob in hand, but he knew how it would go. The same way it had the last time he’d been with a guy. Things would get started, then he’d think about Evan, about all the things they could do together, and when he looked down and saw the guy on his knees didn’t have blond hair or those sharp blue eyes, the disappointment would hit hard. So he had avoided the scene.

Truth was, he’d rather be home with Ev. Sex or no sex.

There was no one he enjoyed spending time with more. Evan was funny and smart and, despite his small stature, was the toughest person Kyle had ever known. He admired the hell out of him and…

Kyle slowly closed the door and leaned his forehead against it.

“You’re in love with him.”

“Goddammit, Lorrie.”

He tossed the delivery onto the coffee table and headed for the bathroom down the hall.

The cool water he splashed on his face did nothing to ease his racing heart. He bent over, gripping the edge of the sink in both hands. A bead of water dripped from his chin and ran down the drain. This wasn’t him. He didn’t get panic attacks or worry about what he was or wasn’t feeling for anyone. But this wasn’t just anyone. He stood, not recognizing the wide-eyed, pale, wet-skinned man looking back at him from the mirror.

Yeah, this was what love reduced a man to. Nothing recognizable. He wasn’t about to lose himself like that. Or lose Evan. Because, even if he gave in to what he was feeling, it would never last. He braced his hands on either side of the mirror and spoke to his reflection.

“Don’t you dare hurt him.”

He grabbed a hand towel, scrubbed his face dry, and threw it at the towel rack. It hung there for a second, then hit the floor. He groaned as he picked up the towel and slammed it on the countertop before heading back to the living room and the plain brown package on the table.

Had he ordered something? Porn? No. He hadn’t watched any in a long time. No need.

One thought about Evan sleeping in his guest room, and Kyle was hard and reaching for his cock. It was embarrassing how fast he came. And how often he’d been jerking off lately. Sort of like high school all over again. Like the week he’d met Evan.

Damn. He had to get his mind on something else.

He plopped onto the couch and read the names on the package again. Sounded like a law firm. He’d heard those names before. Maybe his agent or editor had requested it be sent to him.

Or not. It wasn’t from New York. It was from Ohio. That was where he’d heard of the law firm.

His dad had mentioned them once when dealing with the paperwork after the funeral. Kyle’s chest grew tight with the grief he still carried.

He removed the brown wrapping and opened the box. Inside was another box, this one thin, with a letter taped to the top. It read:

Mr. Kyle Bennett,

This completes your portion of the estate for the late Victor Bennett. Please sign the enclosed record of receipt in the presence of a notary public and return to our office at your earliest convenience.

Kyle dropped the letter to the couch, unsure if he could pick up the thin box. Two years since his grandpa’s death. Why were they sending him this now, and what the hell could it be?

Take Me Home

7

He couldn’t deal with opening the box right then. He had to get going. Only an hour until he’d get the news he’d been waiting years to hear.

8

Sloan Parker

“Shit.” Evan Walker checked his watch for the fifth time as he waited for the highway crew to flag him on. He’d never been late before. Sucked to think the only time would be his last day. He’d had the job for ten years and didn’t want Miguel to think he didn’t care. Castillo’s was more than a place of employment for him.

Which was a nice feeling, because after four years of college and six years submitting original and spec scripts all over Hollywood, waiting tables had seemed like the only career he’d have.

Not any longer. He’d just gotten the official word and would be signing the paperwork soon.

Traffic started moving again, and Evan eased the car past the roadwork crew laying asphalt. A shower of debris rained on the trunk of the car as he drove by. He winced.

Please don’t let that ruin the paint job.

He needed to buy a car. He’d been borrowing Kyle’s for months now. A part of him didn’t want to admit buying a car would mean his relationship with Dennis was really over. The man he thought he’d spend his life with was never going to take him back.

Not that the car had been his. A gift. That was why he’d left it in the garage the day he’d packed his stuff—the last day he’d tried to get Dennis to change his mind. He’d told himself to walk out of there like a man, his head held high.

It hadn’t quite gone as he’d planned. Unless tears and groveling were synonyms for pride.

The next morning at Kyle’s, he’d woken up on the couch with a hangover, another part of him relieved it was over. He wasn’t sure he could face Dennis after that level of embarrassment.

Evan reached the back parking lot of the restaurant and pulled in. The lot was full, and he almost didn’t find a space. Castillo’s had to be swamped if the valets were using the employee lot. He’d never seen it this busy after they’d just opened for the night. He got out, grabbed his bag with his uniform, and jogged to the back entrance. He found Miguel standing by the door.

“Well?” Miguel asked, bouncing on the balls of his feet, despite his large stature. Miguel had played college football and liked to brag there hadn’t been another player who could take him down.

“They offered me the job.”

“To write for The Agency?” Miguel asked.

“Yeah.”

“Damn. Congratulations.” Miguel tugged him into a bear hug and squeezed tight, plastering Evan’s head to his chest. Miguel had been like a father to Evan since the night he’d been a freshman in college, standing in the doorway of the restaurant, soaking wet, desperately in need of a job and ready to convince Miguel he could handle the busy crowd on Friday nights.

Take Me Home

9

Miguel had taken one look at Evan and handed him a uniform. Evan had figured it was the desperation in his voice Miguel had been unable to resist.

Or maybe it had been the fact he’d been dripping water all over the restaurant’s entranceway. He’d walked from his USC dorm room to Castillo’s through the pouring rain as soon as he’d seen the help wanted flyer at the campus job fair. The same day he’d found out about the fee for the special lecture series featuring fifteen of the top TV and film directors. He hadn’t had enough money to cover the class and get through the year without a better job than scraping plates in the campus cafeteria.

Castillo’s was supposed to be a temporary gig. Now, ten years later, here he was.

“This is great,” Miguel said and gave Evan’s back a series of heavy pats. He drew away, and for a moment, Evan thought he saw tears in the man’s eyes. “You worked hard to get here.” Yeah. He had. It seemed like it had taken a damn long time too. He knew better. He was lucky to be landing the shot he’d gotten. A shot a hell of a lot of writers waiting tables in LA would kill for.

“Come on,” Miguel said as he turned to the door. “Everyone is dying to hear how it went.”

“Not yet. I want to wait until the paperwork’s all signed.” Miguel stopped, a shocked look on his face. “But everyone already knows about the meeting. And you’re leaving for your vacation. I told them if it went well today, this would be your last night.”

“I know… I don’t want to jinx anything until it’s a done deal.” He had to wait until the network finalized the terms of his contract with the show’s executive producer. If all went well, he’d have a seat in the writers’ room for one of the leading dramas on network TV in two weeks.

If not, he’d be back waiting tables.

But the real reason he wanted to keep the news to himself for now? He wanted to tell Kyle before anyone else.

Kyle had not only given him a place to stay, he’d read every screenplay and teleplay Evan had written since their senior year of high school. Kyle had always believed Evan would get to this place.

“Well,” Miguel said, “then you should take tonight off. Go on home and celebrate.”

“Nah. You’ll need me. Looks like a busy crowd already.” Evan had promised Miguel even if the interview had gone well, he’d finish out any scheduled shifts until he left for his usual holiday trip to Ohio.

“All right,” Miguel said. He opened the employee entrance to Castillo’s. “I’ve got to take care of a little crisis up front.” He paused and made eye contact with Evan. “I’m proud of you, kid.” Then the big man was gone before Evan could say anything in response.

Evan ducked into the employee break room, changed into his uniform, and stashed his clothes in his locker. Well, not his locker for much longer. He couldn’t believe he wasn’t going to be working at Castillo’s anymore. He dropped onto the wooden bench that ran the length of the room. He couldn’t believe his life was about to change yet again. He barely recognized it as it was. He didn’t have his car. Didn’t have a home. Didn’t sleep in his own bed. He was sleeping in Kyle’s spare room.