The Broken Triangle (24 page)

“Patrick?”

“Hmm? Oh.” Patrick breathed in the richly scented steam rising off his coffee before speaking. “That only works if they’re doing it right back at you. He isn’t. And someone has to make sure you’re happy, and if it isn’t Riley, it’s got to be you.” He hesitated before the last word, longing to substitute
me
for it. “He’s letting you do all the work in the relationship, and that’s not fair.”

Wow. Listen to him sounding all logical and reasonable. Mature, even.

“Yeah.” It wasn’t much of a reply, but Vin was sipping at his coffee, so Patrick let that be an excuse for almost a minute. Vin finally looked at him. “I know. You’re right. But I love him. I’ve loved him forever, it feels like. I don’t know how to let anything else be more important than that.”

“You’re more important than that.” Patrick’s coffee had thick creamy foam on top, and he knew it would taste amazing when he drank it, and that almost made him not want to start. He wanted to be able to make it last as long as possible because he didn’t know when he’d get to have another one. “You’re the only person I know who’s exactly who he is, for real. You can’t let anyone take that away from you. Not even Riley.”

“He’s not,” Vin protested, but he didn’t sound convinced. “I mean, he doesn’t want me to be someone different.”

“Doesn’t he?”

“Not really. He wants me to think before I jump.”

“It’s not like it’s your first tattoo. You did your thinking already, years back. You like them. They suit you. They wouldn’t suit everyone, but they look stunning on you.”

Had he said too much and given away how desperately he wanted to touch, kiss, taste every single place where the ink had sunk into Vin’s body? No. Anyone with eyes—anyone but Riley—could see how the warm brown of Vin’s skin made the perfect background for the ink paintings he’d chosen with care and thought. It wasn’t as if he’d gotten drunk one night and had something tacky slapped on his ass to remind him not to mix tequila shots with, well, anything.

“Yeah, but maybe enough’s enough and I should stop with what I’ve got?”

Vin was all but begging him for advice. Patrick felt six inches taller. It was a heady sensation being deemed responsible. He could get addicted to it.

“The real secret to making a relationship work—okay, not speaking from personal experience here, but I’ve read
Cosmo
in the lineup at the supermarket often enough—is compromise.”

“I either get the tattoo or I don’t. Where’s the possible compromise there?”

Patrick took a small sip of coffee and licked away the inevitable cream mustache. He needed to look serious for this, not adorably cute. “You get it without his initials. Because honestly? I think that’s what’s bugging him the most. Being part of it when he hates them on you.”

Oh, he was good. He was so fucking good.

“You think that’s it?” Vin sounded doubtful, but Patrick could tell from his expression he was already starting to believe it. “God, it is. You’re right. Why didn’t he just say so?”

“Because he thinks he’ll sound like a jerk, because he hasn’t realized it himself yet, because he doesn’t want to be that controlling. Pick one.” Patrick grimaced. That last suggestion took things too far, even if it was true.

“It is controlling, isn’t it?” Vin asked. He screwed up his face as if he’d bitten into something sour. “Why is he doing this?”

Guilt washed over Patrick. He’d made Vin feel bad by trying to help. But was he really trying to help? He decided he was, despite his ulterior motives. “Talk to him. I mean, he’s a good person, right? And he loves you. He must want to find a compromise as much as you do.”

“Well, I’m not abandoning this tattoo just to make him happy,” Vin said. His jaw clenched. “If you’re right about the initials, fine, I’ll leave them out for now, but I’m not going to let his attitude change my mind.”

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s the way to go. You cave over this, you’re setting a whatchamacallit, a precedent.” Patrick nodded. “Slippery slope. He’ll want you to ditch the all-black look because it’s depressing, change your job so you’re working somewhere upscale, and dump your friends because we’re not classy enough.”

The muscles in Vin’s cheeks tensed, the slight wince eloquent as a speech. Patrick gaped at him in silence, waiting for Vin to reassure him. It didn’t happen.

Heat rushed into Patrick’s face, and sparkles danced at the edge of his vision, as if he were going to pass out from sheer fury and humiliation at being judged Not Worthy. “He didn’t tell you to ditch me. He fucking didn’t. Oh, who am I trying to kid? Of course he did. He hates me, always has. What is it? Jealous because we hang out? Or am I just too, too me? Too gay?”

He gulped at his coffee, choking on it, forced to dab at his front to mop up the drips.
Way to go, Patrick
. Smooth as silk.

“He doesn’t get it,” Vin said, hitching his chair closer to Patrick’s like that would help somehow. “You don’t know what his life’s been like.”

“Right. Poor Riley, with his perfect face and his ridiculous bank account. You want me to feel sorry for him? No way. I’m trying to be fair, but I am not joining in on this round of Poor Little Rich Boy.” Patrick wanted to punch something, but he knew if he did, he’d end up with bruised knuckles. “I love you, but don’t ask me to do that.”

He only had a moment to be horrified he’d let the L word slip out, because Vin was already rushing in to reassure him like it hadn’t even been spoken.

“I’m not,” Vin said. He reached out and touched Patrick’s hand much too briefly. “I’m not, I promise. I wouldn’t. I want you to understand what it’s like for him, because it’s not his fault he doesn’t get it. He never had to worry about if his parents could afford to pay for his after-school sports, or how he was going to pay his bills, and it’s not fair to blame him for that.”

“He’s got an imagination. He should use it so he knows what it feels like to look under the couch cushions for enough money to buy a slice of pizza.” Patrick had totally lost control of his emotions; he was all over the place. “He doesn’t have to not like me because he ‘doesn’t get it.’”

Vin bit his lip and shifted his coffee cup on the table. At least he wasn’t going to lie and tell Patrick that Riley liked him. That was something. “He doesn’t know you,” he said after a long pause.

“He doesn’t want to know me.” Irritated and hurt by Vin’s blind loyalty, Patrick stood. “Thanks for the coffee. If you’ve finished using me as a way to rubber-stamp what you’ve already decided to do—because we both know you’re getting that tattoo—I’m heading out. Dave suggested saving money on overpriced lattes by investing in a coffeemaker, and there’s always one or two at the thrift store.”

“You can’t get one from there,” Vin protested. “People donate them for a reason. It’d be clogged up or break inside a week.”

Patrick couldn’t deny it. “Then I’ll lower the standards your boyfriend doesn’t think I’ve got and go back to drinking instant. All I need for that is a pot to heat the water in, and I’ve got one of those.”

“You hate instant!”

“I hate spending thirty to forty dollars a week in places like this even more.” Patrick had been stunned by that total, but he’d added it up twice, and some weeks it was closer to fifty if he treated himself to a lemon-and-blueberry muffin or a giant ginger molasses cookie to go with his drink.

“I’ll buy you a coffeemaker!” Vin blurted it out like he hadn’t thought about it before offering, but he didn’t try to take it back. “If you’ll come with me. Please? I want to get the tattoo, but I don’t want to do it alone.”

“So now I’m someone you keep around so you won’t have to be alone?” Patrick let himself sound hurt, because he was, but also because he wanted to know how Vin would respond to the accusation.

“No.” Vin stood. He gazed at Patrick, and he didn’t look mad or upset. He looked hopeful. “No. I want you to come. Not just anyone. You.”

A shiver of pure longing hit Patrick. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. You know I don’t go around saying a bunch of stuff I don’t mean.”

“Okay,” Patrick said, fighting to keep the elation he felt from showing. “But you’re not buying me a coffeemaker.”

Frowning, Vin said, “I’m not?”

“I might be a slut, but I’ve never charged for it. My company or my ass are both free to a friend.” Too late, he realized where his unruly tongue had gone, but he rescued himself with a giggle. “Well, in your case, let’s concentrate on the company part, huh?”

Was that a speculative gleam in Vin’s eyes or a reflection of the sunlight coming through the window? “Sure. But when you do buy one, tell me, because I’m buying you a couple of pounds of beans to go in it.”

“One bag of beans,” Patrick said. He added, “My favorite flavor is maple bacon,” to see what reaction that would get.

Vin rolled his eyes. “On the days when you get taken over by aliens, sure. Is that flavor even real?”

“Real, if revolting, yeah. So what is it, then?”

Vin smiled, smug and confident. “Chocolate raspberry on Sundays to go with your
pain au chocolat
. The rest of the week if you go for the flavored crap, it’s always something involving hazelnut, but you’ll take it any way it comes as long as it’s strong. And sweet.”

“You make it too easy for me,” Patrick said sadly. “There’s no fun in twisting what you say to sound dirty when you already filthed it up.”

“Poor thing,” Vin said and patted his shoulder. “I’ll do better, I promise. Plenty of opportunities, and I won’t stomp over your best lines.”

“Good.” Patrick followed him out the door into the cold. “Now if your rust bucket will start, we can go ink up a few more square inches of your skin.”

“It can be my early Christmas present to myself,” Vin agreed. He slung an arm around Patrick’s shoulder, no more than a friendly gesture. Patrick didn’t have to think of an excuse to pull away, because the van was right there, and in a second they’d be in it with the gearshift between them. “Merry Christmas to me.”

“Merry Christmas to you,” Patrick echoed and climbed into the front seat like the dutiful best friend he was.

Patrick blinked and looked again at the photo of some guy’s tattoo in the huge photo album balanced on his knees. “Wow.” He tipped the book toward Vin. “Some people are brave.”

“Braver than me.” Vin made a face. “Not my style.”

“I don’t even want to think about how much that must have hurt.” Tattoos in general Patrick could understand. But having your dick tattooed? Including your balls? Yikes. If he ever met anyone who didn’t believe masochism existed, this would be all the proof they needed.

“It would cross the line for me,” Vin agreed. The annoyance that had made his voice sharp, his movements jerky, had faded, and he was the Vin Patrick was used to, mellow, philosophical even, totally Zen.

If Patrick had been waiting for someone to poke needles into him, he would’ve been jittery, stalking around the place, unable to settle. Restless as a butterfly, his mom used to say back in the days when she considered him to be her God-sent cherub or something equally nauseating. Having a mop of golden curls and big blue eyes had a lot to answer for. The gold had turned to a nondescript shade between light brown and fair, and he’d needed glasses by the age of eight, but that was what hair dye and contacts were for. Now he was blond and blue-eyed on his terms, on the days he felt like it.

Independence was a wonderful thing. No wonder Vin felt restive with Riley clamping down on him.

But Vin loved the jerk. Patrick sighed and covered it with a cough when Vin gave him a questioning look. Vin unhappy and angry upset Patrick. There was only room for one of them to be dramatically depressed, and he had that role down, baby. Christmas was four days away. He could fit in a visit to Riley and do some bridge building. Get to know him. Give him some tips on handling Vin—no. Not that. But do something to salvage the sinking ship.

He wanted it to sink, sure, but Vin didn’t.

“Vin? Ready for you.”

Jasper was as hunky as ever, just Patrick’s type before he’d settled down. Pity he was straight, but Patrick allowed himself one quick, appreciative glance for old time’s sake. He hadn’t had sex in how long? Jesus. His dick would be wondering what was going on and planning an intervention. He was enjoying the sense of saving himself for Vin, though. Celibacy felt as deliciously kinky as the night he’d let two guys spank him at the same time, their big hands bouncing off his butt until it was steaming.

“There’s a chair for you,” Jasper told Patrick, pointing at it. “You can sit near him if you want, but wherever you end up is where you need to stay until I take a break.”

“Sure.” Patrick slid the lightweight metal chair across the floor to the opposite side of the padded one from where Jasper had his supplies set up.

“This okay?” he asked Vin.

“Yeah.” Vin reached out and squeezed his hand. “Thanks.”

“Nowhere else I’d rather be,” Patrick told him. “Unless you start bleeding a lot, in which case I might rather be unconscious on the floor.” He glanced down. “And this tile looks hard.”

“You wouldn’t be the first person to hit the floor, but it’s usually the person getting pierced,” Jasper said, grinning. “Not even because it hurts. It’s a blood-pressure thing. You’ll be okay.”

“Warn me if you hit an artery.” Patrick stuck out his tongue.

Vin rolled his eyes. “You’re such a drama queen. You’re supposed to be reassuring me, not making me worry my blood’s going to shoot up to the ceiling like a geyser.”

“You’re not worried,” Patrick told him, watching as Jasper cleaned Vin’s skin with rubbing alcohol and applied the stencil he’d spent the past half hour working on.

“No, I’m not.” Vin sounded far away, his breathing settling into a slow rhythm after a few deep, centering inhales and exhales. More yoga stuff. Patrick had to go to a class. Really. Not this side of Christmas, but in the new year, with all those resolutions waiting to be kept for the first time. Hmm, what color mat would go with his hair no matter what shade it was? Vin’s mat was black, sexy in a stripped-down way, but Patrick had seen the rolled-up cylinders in every shade of neon and hankered for lime green or hot pink. They weren’t the most relaxing colors, though. Suppose he got a leaf-green one for the meditation classes and a fire-engine red for the hot yoga Vin loved?