Truth & Tenderness (9 page)

Griffin felt his throat closing up with emotion. Jim’s weight pushed him into the mattress, his soft words squeezing his heart.

“I want to marry you and I want….” Jim breathed deeply, then blew out a stream of warm air against the back of Griffin’s neck. “I want to talk about the future. Who we see—sharing our home.”

“Oh God.” Griffin laughed, searching for a joke before he burst into tears. “I’ve been so scared to talk to you about this. I know your aversion to dirt and drool.”

Jim shrugged, big and warm around Griffin’s body. “Will I traumatize a kid if I’m wearing plastic gloves?”

“All the time?”

“Most of the time.”

“I think Matt knows a shrink—we should talk to her first.”

They joked back and forth for a while, voices growing softer. Griffin felt himself drifting off even as Jim kept talking about buying stock in a paper towel company and swapping out the rugs for hospital-grade linoleum until Griffin fell asleep, content and overjoyed.

E
VAN
HADN
’
T
bought a new suit in a few years and certainly not for a date. But right now he walked into Gotham Bar and Grill with Matt’s hand at his back, wearing a three-hundred-dollar suit and a shiny pair of wing tips.

It was a little overwhelming.

After three weeks of missing each other—and an inordinate amount of phone sex—Evan and Matt had made a very specific plan for the night. Danny and Elizabeth were with their aunt Elena for the weekend, leaving the two men with an empty house. Matt had put Jim in charge of the business phone as a repayment for that “Weekend of Humping” he had previously covered, and Evan had said a quiet prayer that the status quo would prevail in his precinct.

They were alone and focusing on each other.

At the moment, however, Evan paid attention to the classy, filled-to-capacity restaurant, and followed the hostess to their table. Buzzing with energy, Matt pulled out his chair and Evan sat with a tiny smile.

Across from him dropped Matt, looking fit and tan as ever, in a swank black suit and dark blue shirt. The collar was open—and then an extra button that seemed to take the look from “attractive” to “distracting.” Evan did his traditional glance around their surroundings, but even that didn’t stop him from sliding his hand across the table.

Matt’s eyes flashed with surprise, but the smile that crossed his lips as he took Evan’s hand in his was one of absolute delight.

Distracting, times ten.

“To what do I owe this honor?” Matt said softly, leaning forward as he stroked his thumb over Evan’s wrist.

Evan shrugged. “I like that shirt,” he responded casually, delighting at the sparkle that flickered across Matt’s face.

“How much?”

Evan leaned forward, avoiding the candle and flowers between them, avoiding the tables on either side with their chatting diners. “I hope you don’t have any plans to get out of bed until Sunday,” he murmured.

Matt licked his lips.

Evan smirked.

The waiter, who’d probably been standing there for a few minutes, cleared his throat.

G
OTHAM
’
S
FOOD
was amazing, which made letting go of each other’s hands all that much easier when presented with a rack of lamb to die for. Ankles locked under the table, Evan and Matt ate, split a bottle of wine, and shared smug smiles. It felt like a spell wove around them, locking out anything that might upset the moment.

“I want to bottle whatever has gotten into you tonight,” Matt said, wiping his mouth with his napkin. “And then I want to mass produce it.”

“Stop sounding so surprised. I’m capable of—things.” Evan squinted at him over the table. Mr. Lightweight and three glasses of wine—the evening promised to get even more interesting.

Matt snickered. “You called them things.”

“That’s all they’re getting called in public.” Evan rubbed his ankle against Matt’s, and that simple act did marvelous things to everything below Matt’s belt.

“Prude,” Matt teased, reaching across the table to take Evan’s hand in his again.

“I’ll remember you called me that tonight.” When Evan ran his tongue over his lower lip, Matt nearly fell off his chair.

“I’ve created a monster.”

M
ATT
TRIED
his damnedest to get Evan into the men’s room with him, but even slightly tipsy, his boyfriend put the kibosh on that.

“Public lewdness? Really?” Evan hissed as they walked out onto the sidewalk. “Absolutely not.”

So Matt grabbed his ass while hailing a cab. It seemed a good compromise.

Inside the cab, Evan dropped his head against the seat back and Matt had to surreptitiously adjust himself as they zoomed uptown to their next destination. No public lewdness, but how did Evan feel about a blow job in the back of his cab?

“No,” Evan said, and for a second, Matt thought he had spoken out loud.

“Did I say—”

“I know you,” Evan laughed, rolling his head to one side and regarding Matt with fond irritation. “So no.”

“No?” Matt pouted, then dropped his hand to Evan’s knee.

“Matt.”

“Mmmm” was his only response. He tested each inch on the inside of Evan’s thigh, hitching up bit by bit until the fabric bunched and pulled as Evan moved his hips against the creaky faux leather seats.

“Matt.” Different tone this time, softer and pleading. Matt bit his lip as he laid his head on Evan’s shoulder, dancing his fingers up to Evan’s belt.

“Gonna take you home and rip this gorgeous suit off your body,” Matt whispered, laying his palm flat against Evan’s stomach, feeling the trembling, marveling in the moment. “Gonna open you up with my mouth and fuck you all night.” It was a calculated risk—Evan might get mad at him crossing a line—but when he went limp instead of rigid, Matt purred.

And then he bit his tongue to keep from moaning when Evan pushed Matt’s hand between his legs.

E
VAN
STUMBLED
out of the cab at Eighty-Fifth Street, right in front of the venue of the GOAL fundraiser. Tipsy and so turned on, Evan straightened up, then turned to watch Matt join him on the sidewalk.

After he adjusted himself, of course. The expression of irritated pain included flared nostrils and pursed lips.

“Oh my God,” Evan said before hiccupping into laughter. No more wine. Ever.

“You’re a cheap, easy date,” Matt huffed. He put an arm around Evan’s waist. “And I seriously fucking love that.”

Evan pulled himself together, attempting to get his suit to fit, because right now it wasn’t. It was practically falling off—in his mind, at least—as Matt led him through the elaborate lobby and past the evening-shift security.

“Hopefully they know it’s an LGBT event,” Matt said dryly, “so it’s not a surprise you look like a rent boy.”

“I do not!”

Inside the mirrored elevator, Evan got a good look at himself—flushed, rumpled, and still not quite “calm” in his pants. He fumbled with his tie and then his jacket, not noticing until too late that Matt was pressing up against his back.

“Stop that.” Evan tried to be stern—tried hard.

Hard.

But Matt was gorgeous and he put his arms around Evan’s waist and God. That spot at the back of his neck that Matt kissed so gently.

At some point Evan was going to sober up and be horrified by his unexpected behavior. Right now? It just felt good to sink back in Matt’s arms. All his nerve endings were sparking at the same time, keeping rhythm with his heartbeat.

“This night was an excellent idea,” Evan murmured, watching the picture they made in the mirror.

M
ATT
THOUGHT
about pushing his luck. The restaurant, the cab ride, this moment—it wasn’t Evan’s usual MO, and maybe Matt could convince him to find a closet, but no, that metaphor didn’t play right in Matt’s head.

He pulled away and gently put Evan back together, their gazes never breaking in the mirror.

By the time the elevator dinged open, Evan looked slightly less discombobulated and Matt felt like an actual grown-up.

Hand in hand, they walked into the space. High soaring ceilings and Italian architecture greeted them, along with the quiet murmur of the crowd. A small band played jazz standards in the corner.

Three hundred or so supporters of the Gay Officers Action League mingled under dimmed lights, sipping cocktails and writing checks.

Matt generally liked the GOAL crowd. No one gave him shit about his own difficult dealings with the NYPD, and at least a few of the younger officers thought he was some sort of folk hero.

That was nice, he wasn’t going to lie.

And the fact that Evan had joined the group first, that Evan served on a committee—that Evan was holding his hand as they walked into the ballroom…

Well, he loved this fucking group like crazy right now.

“Drink?” Matt asked as they navigated the tables, looking around to see where to start. A long row of prizes sat sparkling and inviting under the lights, with folks putting their raffle tickets into huge champagne glasses next to each.

“No. Let’s just get some tickets. I’m feeling lucky tonight,” Evan said, keeping Matt close as they reversed course.

Matt laughed delightedly. “Me too.”

They chatted as they moved along the prize table, hip to hip, dropping tickets here and there. Matt put a handful of little red squares in the glass for a trip for two to Paris, waggling his eyebrows at Evan.

Evan shrugged. “I’m sure if you asked Bennett, he’d send you.”

“Sure. But the point is you and I going to Paris. Alone. Without working.”

Evan’s expression got subdued for a second, and the smile that followed didn’t seem to help the chill that fell over the evening.

“W
HAT
’
S
WRONG
?”
Matt finally asked. Evan had a club soda and Matt a beer; they’d found two empty seats at a back table, right next to an expanse of high windows that provided a view of the river and the bridge. He moved his chair closer to Evan’s side so their bodies touched; Evan’s stiff posture softened a little, and he looked up, his expression serious.

“You’re okay with our lives, right?” Evan asked finally, breaking the pregnant pause between them with six words.

Matt shook his head as if to clear his previous assumptions about what Evan had to say. Being too sexual in public, he’d thought. Maybe. Evan’s boundaries had relaxed over time, but before—that was wild for them.

He wasn’t expecting a wider spotlight.

“Of course I am.” Matt leaned into Evan’s space, grabbing his hand. “Of course. Where the hell is this coming from?”

Evan started to shake his head, opened his mouth as if to say something, but the moment shattered as Matt heard someone calling for Evan.

Casper Vaughn, in a slick black tux, was walking across the floor toward their table.

Evan brightened as Casper got closer, and Matt found himself irritated by the smile on his boyfriend’s lips. Weren’t they just having a serious conversation? Why did the appearance of Casper Vaughn grind everything to a halt?

Standing, Evan extended his hand, and Matt watched a friendly handshake turn into a half hug.

He stood up so fast his chair almost tipped over.

“Matt, you remember Casper, right?” Evan said, stepping back so Matt could offer his hand, presumably.

Matt put his hands in his pocket, just because yes, he was that much of a dick.

“Matt, of course.” Casper pulled out a chair and sat down without an invitation, and Matt decided he was also a dick and rude to boot. “Wow, what a night.”

“Everything looks great. I bet you’re relieved it’s over.” Evan sat down as well, and Matt finally followed suit—after pushing his chair so close to Evan’s he was pretty sure there would be damage to the wood.

“Casper’s the chair of the committee,” Evan said to Matt, and Matt pretended to care.

“Yes. Been working on this pretty much nonstop.” Casper made a hand gesture, then shrugged. “Not like I have anywhere else to be.”

Evan made his sympathetic face. “You should try going out once in a while,” he said. “I know they have some bar crawl thing—Jesse mentioned it at the last meeting.”

“That’s not really my scene. Twentysomethings in skinny jeans drinking microbrews—no, thank you,” Casper said dryly. “I’m looking for something a little different.”

“You don’t have to do anything,” Evan laughed. “Just—go out.”

Matt watched their conversation like a Ping-Pong game, then realized Casper was without a very specific accessory: his boyfriend.

Then the exchange made sense.

Sense that Matt didn’t like at all.

C
ASPER
STUCK
around longer than Evan expected, but he understood. Everyone here was still looking over Casper’s shoulder for Tony, and every single glance was a reminder of something lost. He got it—got it too well. So he didn’t mind when Casper shadowed them from the table to the bar and then went with them to stand by the pillars to listen to the winners of the raffle being read.