Too Stupid to Live(Romancelandia) (19 page)

Sam cocked his head. “To be the director of a department at a state agency, don’t you need to have a degree? I know you said something about college . . .”

Ian gave him a look. “Seriously? You think most guys who’re firefighters never went to school, don’t you? Firefighting’s competitive—most people have at least a two-year degree in Fire Science.” He looked back at his menu. “I got a bachelor’s in chemistry before I became a paramedic.” When he glanced up from under his brows, Sam had that silent “oh” on his lips again.

Hell
. “And I finished up my master’s in public administration while I was recovering from the accident,” he said.

Sam’s eyebrows flew up, though he didn’t look surprised exactly—he looked smug. Ian felt Sam’s foot nudge his calf under the table. “You got yourself some book learnin’, huh?”

Ian laughed loudly enough that people nearby looked at him, but what the hell? Sam was cute.

After telling Ian he’d decided on the cedar-plank salmon, Sam leaned over the table to whisper, “Did you notice the kinds of guys that are in here?”

He looked around. There was the odd male-female pairing, but mostly he saw guys. Usually two to a table, mostly on dates as far as he could see. “Gay guys?” he whispered back.

Sam kicked him lightly in the shin, scowling playfully. “I mean what type of gay guys.”

Ian looked again. He couldn’t suppress the smirk. Definitely a few older guys with very young dates. “Looks like chicken is the house specialty.”

Sam nearly snorted out the water he was drinking. He kicked Ian again while laughing. “Does that mean I’m your boy?”

Yes
. “No.” Ian smirked. “I should have asked Dalton where to take you myself,” he continued, “but he won’t start work until next week. I have a feeling his take on this place would be different than Andy’s.”

“He’s working for you?”

Ian nodded. “Just hired him yesterday. He’s a nice kid. More your type than I am.” He folded his menu and let his eyes wander around the room.

“What do you mean?” Sam asked. Fortunately, their waiter showed up to take their orders before Ian had to answer. After that, Ian got him to talk about what he read. It was supposed to be a simple, polite question, because he wasn’t really into reading—Ian read when he had to, and otherwise didn’t—but Sam was full of surprises.

“You read romance novels?”

Sam lifted his chin and took a turn looking around the room. “Yes,” he answered firmly. “I do.”

“So . . . gay romance novels?”
Were
there gay romance novels?

Sam fiddled with the wine he’d ordered, twirling the glass in slow circles on the tablecloth. “Yes, and het ones.”

“Het like heterosexual?” Ian was trying not to smile. He’d been getting used to thinking of Sam as cute, but this was a whole new level of cuteness.

“Yeah, like heterosexual.”

Their salads came, so Ian let Sam have a breather, but he had no intention of letting him off the hook.

“So, reading romance novels, this helps you with your writing?” Ian asked as soon as the waiter had ground their pepper and otherwise made himself necessary, then left.

Sam sighed and put his fork down, biting his lip. “No. I just like to read them. If anything, they
keep
me from writing.”

“So that’s not what you want to write?”

Sam shrugged one shoulder and took a sip of wine. Ian had a drink of some beer, thinking. “I know you’re getting something out of it,” he finally said. “You like them, but you also . . . study them, right?”

Sam gaped at him. “How’d you know that?”

Ian smiled instead of answering. He didn’t know how he knew, he just did.

Sam took a deep breath. “Well . . .” He paused, inspecting Ian, probably to see if he really cared.

Shockingly, Ian did. He tried to look interested and encouraging, but since he’d never tried either of those expressions before, he had no clue if it worked. Something did, though.

“It’s like, in romance novels, you always have two plots. There’s the relationship plotline, and then there’s a second story arc, you know?” Sam looked at him.

Ian nodded, just as if he did actually know. Hell, this showing interest thing was easy.

“Pretty much, you always know what’s going to happen in the relationship plotline. But the oth—”

“Wait, if you know what’s going to happen, why read it?’

Sam shrugged. “To find out
how
it happens.”

“I don’t get it.” Ian picked up his beer again and took a drink. “Who cares how it happens? It happens; that’s it. Knowing ruins the ending.” Sam looked downright affronted. Ian had to hide his smile by taking another sip.

“Oh, that’s so sad,” Sam said, shaking his head. Ian waited for him to say
what
was so sad, but he sighed and looked down at his salad, carefully selecting his next bite.

“Fine, I’ll ask. What’s so sad?”

Sam looked at him with wide eyes. “You’re one of those people who don’t enjoy life, aren’t you? You just work toward the next goal you set for yourself, never thinking about how you get there, only satisfied by reaching it. And when you don’t reach it, you feel a sense of failure, right? Oh Ian, that explains so much about you.”

What
? He could only stare.

Sam burst out laughing, and it took Ian a few seconds to put it all together. Sam was
giving him shit
. That was just . . . beyond cute. It was
darling
.

“Oh my God,” he muttered, dropping his head in his palm.
Darling
. This was way out of hand. Next thing he knew, he’d be calling Sam “kitten” or something. It was enough to put him off his salad. But he found himself smiling by the time Sam sputtered to a grinning stop.

They argued about whether knowing the ending of the story ruined it or not right through dessert. Sam tried to relate it to rugby, but since he didn’t know anything about the sport—and Ian refused to help him—he ended up saying only, “You don’t just play the game to win, right? You also play to
play
.”

Which made total sense, but Ian refused to admit it. He couldn’t kill his grin though, even as he argued right up until Sam gave in, throwing a piece of bread at Ian and then blushing furiously, looking around to see if anyone had seen.

It was so cute, Ian laughed. Fuck it, Sam
was
darling. That didn’t mean anyone had to know Ian thought that. As long as he never slipped and used the name—or any other similar term of endearment—he’d be golden.

“Okay, kiddo, you ready to get out of here?”

Sam smiled up at him. “Thank you.” Then he stood, giving Ian a few necessary seconds to recover from the wattage of the kid’s gratitude.

Weird how, on a real date, all he really needed to get out of it was making Sam happy.

Dinner had been so easy—well, eventually—and this silence was anything but. Sam didn’t like it. He was supposed to feel comfortable with quiet between them, but he had to clamp his teeth together to keep from babbling nervously while Ian parked the truck in a guest spot at Sam’s apartment building.

And actually, the night hadn’t been comfortable so much as exciting and fun and
omigod
Ian was turning off the engine. Sam froze like a scared rabbit, staring out the windshield with all his might.

“Do you want to come over to my place tonight?” Ian asked, and Sam nearly jumped. Well, he might have a little. Hopefully Ian wouldn’t notice, but it would be hard not to since there were parking lot lights everywhere and the whole cab of Ian’s pickup was bathed in that sort of orangey color of the kind of lights that they put in parking lots—

“Sam?”

Deep breath
. What was
wrong
with him? He’d had sex with this guy. Why was this so different?

Duh
. Because it was a date, not a hookup. “That wasn’t just sex.” He forced himself to turn his head and look at Ian across the cab. “That was, like, dinner and conversation and a date.”

Ian looked at the steering wheel, following its curve with a fingertip. “Yeah.”

“Why?”

“I might, um, have feelings for you.”

Ker-thump
went Sam’s heart. “Like, friendship?”

Ian twisted his fists around the steering wheel. “Well, yeah, and maybe more stuff . . . I mean, it’s more than sex, yeah,” he said in a low voice.

Oh my God, how sweet was this shy, nervous guy where that uncaring bastard used to be? It was enough to give Sam courage. “When did you decide that?”

Ian muttered what sounded like a string of curses, then cleared his throat and spoke up, still barely loud enough for Sam to hear. “I kinda thought that since I came to your place last Saturday.”

Well, that was just . . . irritating. “What was with your parameter, then?”

Ian huffed a big breath, still gripping the steering wheel like he was choking it. “I just . . . I didn’t want to hurt you if I was wrong and it wasn’t more than sex, or maybe not enough more, I don’t know. Hell.”

What a completely adorable idiot. Couldn’t he see what was going on here? Obviously not. “What if
I
hurt
you
?”

Ian jerked his head around to look at him, eyes wide.

Sam barely kept himself from smirking.
Take
that
little dose of reality
.

Sam had agreed to come home with him. Ian was happy about that, yeah, but also completely freaked out. Something had changed in the cab of his pickup, and he had an idea it might be the balance of power, which he really didn’t want to think about.

Just go with the flow. It’s a learning experience
.
You’re learning about emotional connectedness
.

That night he learned a lot about Sam. He learned that a blowjob made Sam’s toes curl and his hips lift off the bed. When he reached for a condom, Sam breathlessly said, “Wait.”

“Wha’?” Ian had thought all systems were go. He was sure as hell getting a green light from Sam’s body.

Sam rolled onto his side and pushed on Ian’s chest until he fell onto his back on the bed, while Ian mostly tried to hide that his chest was heaving. Sam looked at him seriously

Holy fuck, were they going to
talk
? Now? Ian just managed not to groan.

Sam took a deep breath. “Can we do it standing up?”

“Huh?”

“I’ve never been with anyone tall enough,” Sam said, not quite looking at Ian. He lay on his side, one hand pillowing his head, nervously running fingers up and down Ian’s arm.

The thought of Sam up against the wall, his pale skin and long, bony back and that tight little ass tensed up and waiting for him—that was pretty damned appealing. Ian cleared his throat. “You want to try it?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Sam whispered, running his hand up to Ian’s shoulder and stroking the muscle there. Finally he raised his gaze, too, meeting Ian’s.

He couldn’t help but kiss Sam. Not because his blood was pounding inside him—and it was—but because Sam was just . . . Sam. “Go stand next to the closet, facing the wall.”

Sam immediately did what Ian told him, palms pressing into the wall, hips tilting back and butt muscles tensing up. He looked like prey—trying so hard to hold still he was nearly quivering with it.

Ian took his time, rolling on a condom and dropping the lube on the nearby nightstand, watching Sam shiver. He took two steps forward, nearly touching Sam’s back, then slowly ran his fingers over Sam’s skin to feel the bones underneath. He explored each vertebra while Sam tensed under his hands.

The balance of power had shifted back to him.

Maybe.
Does it matter
? Maybe.

When he reached between Sam’s legs, intending to tease behind his balls, he found a surprise. Ian explored with his fingers, taking a second to figure it out, watching all the muscles in Sam’s neck and shoulders clench up as he gently flicked the ring hanging there. “What’s this?” he whispered, then kissed Sam’s neck below his ear. He tugged gently on the new body jewelry.

Sam gasped. “I got rid of the barbell and put a ring in.”

“For me?” Ian asked, his breath tripping over itself.