The Gravedigger's Brawl (6 page)

Ash cried out again and Wyatt released his hair and reached around to fist his cock. Ash bucked against him, writhing wantonly, groaning as he spilled himself into Wyatt's hand. Ash's pleasure seen to, Wyatt pushed him all the way to the mattress, holding him down flat and fucking him without mercy until he came with a stifled shout.

He continued rocking until he was spent, his breath coming in gasps against the back of Ash's shoulder. He made certain the condom came with him when he pulled out, and he flopped onto the sheets, rolling onto his back, gasping for breath.

Ash grunted and turned his head. He was breathing heavily, skin damp with sweat, hair mussed and eyes still lined with the heavy kohl. How it wasn't spread all over his face by now, Wyatt would never know. He looked completely debauched with the rumpled cognac-colored sheets as his backdrop.

Wyatt stared at him for a long time, breathing hard and letting his body recover, stunned by how such a sordid night could feel so fucking beautiful.

Ash closed his eyes. “Jesus, that was fun, Wyatt.”

Wyatt kissed him, a long, languid play of lips and tongues that banked the residual heat between them.

When they finally parted, they sprawled sideways across the bed. Wyatt stared at the ceiling as uncertainty and incredulity flooded in with the cool air of the open window. What had he been thinking? He didn't even know this man, had spent a mere five hours with him getting drunk and pretending not to be intimidated by his perfect face and his unfamiliar lifestyle, and now here he was in his bed? He never behaved this impulsively.

“I need water,” he grunted as he pushed himself off the bed.

Ash didn't move or open his eyes.

Wyatt huffed as he padded into the tiny bathroom, his mind spinning with thoughts of his next move. He stayed in the bathroom long enough to calm his racing heart. The encounter had been incredible, but rather than tiring him, adrenaline was racing through him, burning away any remnants of the drinks that had fueled his initial bravery and foolishness.

He looked at himself in the mirror. What the hell should he do now? Was he brave enough to face someone like Ash in the morning, when all the liquor and sexual tension was gone and there was nothing left between them but an awkward morning after?

When he poked his head back into the bedroom, Ash hadn't moved. One arm cradled his head and one knee was cocked to the side. His other foot hung over the far edge of the bed, just as Wyatt had left him when he'd come inside him. He was sound asleep.

Wyatt licked his lips and swallowed hard, letting his eyes linger. Then he began quietly gathering his clothing.

Ash cracked an eye open and managed a tortured groan as the morning light streamed through the blinds of his bedroom. He was still sprawled sideways on his bed, naked and freezing despite the blanket that covered him.

The place was silent as a grave. Not even the floor above creaked with the footsteps of his neighbors yet. He raised his head carefully and looked around, pleased when it didn't make his head hurt or make his stomach revolt. He knew instinctively that he didn't have to waste his breath calling out for Wyatt Case. Wyatt had covered Ash with a blanket before he'd left, but he was long gone.

Ash pushed himself up and winced at sore muscles and a crick in his neck. “At least it was a good time,” he grumbled.

Despite his attempt at a cavalier attitude, he couldn't help but be disappointed. And pissed off. He knew better than to bring someone home from the bar. For some reason, a sweet museum curator who had spent the entire night talking to him hadn't struck him as the type to fuck and duck.

Ash sighed and shuffled into the bathroom. He stood in front of the toilet and looked out at the street through the bathroom's window. It was the last week of September, but the house next to his building was already flying a Halloween flag at its stoop. A ghost with goggle eyes grinned stupidly at him as orange and red leaves fluttered across the road behind it.

October at Gravedigger's meant big business, and Ash would need to go in soon to help with prep. He had no time to mope about being left alone in bed by a virtual stranger. He huffed and looked down, muttering as he flushed the used condom left in the bowl.

“So, tell me about the hot doctor,” Delilah said as she and Ash prepared the tavern for a busy Friday.

Ash looked up from the napkin he was folding. An unpleasant mixture of embarrassment, anger, and lust settled in him. “Maybe later.”

“Oh, come on! Please? I'll tell you all the details of my night,” she bargained, waggling her pierced eyebrows.

“If I wanted to hear about what Ryan does in bed, I'd ask him.”

“Hey!”

“I'm sorry, was that still a secret?”

“Shut up,” Delilah said, blushing. “Did you take him home?”

Ash rolled his eyes and looked up again. She was smiling, looking at him expectantly.

“Yeah, I did.”

“And? Museum curator: untapped source of impressive lovemaking, or deserving of the dusty shelves?”

Ash couldn't help but smile, though he tried to hide it as he looked down at the napkin again. “Definitely the former.”

“Stellar. Are you seeing him again?”

“No,” Ash answered immediately, losing the smile.

“What? Why? You two were really cute last night. I thought you liked him.”

“I did.” Ash picked up the stack of silverware he'd just prepared and met Delilah's eyes as he rounded the bar. He was about to tell her what had happened when a loud thump from upstairs interrupted him.

Delilah jumped, and Ash almost dropped his carefully rolled bundles of silverware as he looked up.

“What the hell was that?” Delilah asked.

Ash shook his head, and there came another thump from above, followed by a rattling and skittering that sounded like something scurrying across the floor.

“If we have mice up there, Caleb is going to hit critical mass,” Delilah said.

“That's a really big-ass mouse.”

Delilah propped her broom against the nearest table and headed for the door to the upstairs. “I'm going to go check it out.”

“Hold on! What are you doing?” Ash hurried to unload the silverware and follow. “You don't know what's up there, it might be dangerous. Hold on.”

“Ash, I don't need a big bad man to protect me, okay?”

“Do I look like a big bad
anything?
” Ash asked, laughing as he put a hand on his chest. “Seriously, though, hold on.” He went behind the bar and knelt to pull out the locked box that Caleb kept under there. It held an old .22 Colt revolver. Ash took it out and checked to see that it was loaded, then stood again.

“Maybe it's a ghost,” Delilah said with relish.

“Yeah, that's the most logical explanation,” Ash muttered as he walked back over to her.

“You know we've been getting tons of people saying they saw a face in the mirror in the bathroom? Creepy stuff.”

“I refuse to acknowledge what you just said. There's been some weird break-ins around the neighborhood lately, Caleb was telling us about them the other night.”

Delilah frowned. “Oh.”

“You can't just go heedlessly charging into danger, you need to know these things,” Ash admonished, smirking as he handed her the gun. “Take this when you go.”

“What?” She laughed and smacked his chest, ignoring the weapon. “No, now you have to go with me.”

They both jumped as something slammed against the locked door right beside them. Delilah put Ash between her and the door, her hands on his arms as she peered around him.

“Who's there?” Ash called out, the gun hanging uselessly in his hand.

The only answer was a chilling scratching sound on the door, like stiff fingers trying to find purchase on the smooth wood.

“I'm so out of here,” Delilah whispered, and Ash felt her step away.

He shook his head and stepped forward to reach for the doorknob, clutching the .22 like the small caliber might do more than just piss off whatever he shot with it.

“No, no,” Delilah hissed, clutching at Ash's suspenders as he gripped the glass doorknob and turned it.

There was a flurry of movement from the other side of the door, brushing and thumping and scratching, and when Ash pulled the door open and pointed the gun into the darkness, a bird shot out of the stairwell into his face.

Ash screamed. Delilah screamed. The bird screamed.

Ash's world became a confusion of feathers in his face, shouting in his ear, being hit by a broom whenever Delilah missed the bird, and the overwhelming urge to duck under a table. When the dust and feathers cleared, the bird was perched on the decorative molding on top of the front window, and Delilah was laughing hysterically as Ash pulled pieces of straw from the broom off his clothing and out of his hair.

He grumbled as he looked up at the bird. It was large and black, its feathers an almost iridescent indigo. It had a black bill and yellow eyes that blinked rapidly at them as its chest heaved.

“Poor thing.” Ash moved slowly as he went to the front door and propped it open, looking up at the bird as he did so.

“He's a grackle,” Delilah said as she helped him open windows.

“Huh?”

“My dad was a bird enthusiast,” she said with a shrug. “That's a grackle.”

“What do I care?”

“I love the way that word sounds. Grackle.”

Ash laughed. “Are you high already?”

Delilah grinned and gave him a wink. “At least it wasn't a ghost.”

It was only Monday morning, but Wyatt Case was sitting and staring at the vintage Thurston poster on the far side of his office, unable to concentrate.

He had never had a one night stand before. Never. He had never dealt with the aftermath, such as it was. He had never left a person he'd just had sex with, drunk, in bed without even a word of good-bye. Hell, he hadn't even said thank you. Were you supposed to say thank you? Would that be insulting? Wyatt didn't know. He knew you weren't supposed to leave without telling the person you'd just screwed that you were going, though.

The knock at his door didn't even register. It wasn't until Noah stuck his head into the office and said his name that Wyatt tore his attention away from the poster and blinked at him, trying to get his eyes to focus.

“You're in early,” Noah said with a frown.

Wyatt's first instinct was to be ashamed. He wondered if Ash had told Noah over the weekend about their little rendezvous. He shrugged.

Noah slipped into the office and closed the door behind him. “What's up?”

Wyatt rubbed his hand over his face and closed his eyes. “I'm a complete bastard, you know?”

“Wow, news flash.” Noah swiped at some dust as he sat in the only empty chair in the room. Everything else was stacked high with books and frames Wyatt had never gotten around to putting back up after the office had been painted over the summer. The Thurston poster was the only thing he'd hung.

Noah furrowed his brow as he studied Wyatt. “Wanna talk about it?”