Cole McGinnis 05 - Down and Dirty (7 page)

“Yeah, I throw that party all the time. Only send out one invite so everyone I want there shows up.” Another nudge, this time hard enough to dislodge Ichiro’s attention from the phone and back onto the man standing next to him. “Want to blow this Popsicle stand? Get some space from the hordes?”

“And do what?” Ichiro eyed him warily. Mischief quirked Bobby’s expressive mouth, and for all his mistrust, Ichi was tempted. Family was suddenly complicated, but Bobby Dawson—was a different sort of trouble all together.

“Dunno. Get drunk? Go dancing?” He shrugged. “Does it matter? You won’t be here, and I’ve got a bottle of whiskey we can break in. Call it a favor to the kid brother of my best friend. You look like you could really use it, and you nearly took out the television, Sunshine. Cole loves that TV. Think of the technology.”

He was beyond tempted. Drunk sounded good. Drunk and stupid sounded even better.

Because going with Bobby would be the height of stupidity. Even for him.

“Sure, why not,” Ichiro murmured, standing up from the couch. “What’s the worst that can happen? I puke all over your floor?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time it’s been horfed on.” Bobby grinned at him. “Just let me go pee first, and I’ll take you out of here. Then you can tell me what your dad said that ticked you off so much you had to go and kill your poor phone.”

“Yeah, that’s the thing,” Ichiro admitted softly. “I never found out why he called. Well, except that I’m going to be an older brother. Guess he finally got around to knocking up my ex-girlfriend.”

Chapter 4

I
CHIRO
T
OKUGAWA
was gorgeous. Hands-down gorgeous. With liquid-chocolate brown eyes and a kissable mouth, his face was a blend of innocent and wicked topped off with a shag of red-streaked black hair soft enough to feel like mink through Bobby’s fingers. The body beneath the jeans and T-shirt was tight with lean muscle and soft, sleek skin. A man anyone would look twice or three times at, then declare him gorgeous when he walked by.

But a drunk-off-his-ass Ichiro was simply adorable.

Adorably cute even. If Bobby had any opinion on the matter.

Not that his opinion was being solicited, because at that moment, Ichi was busy ranting about the flaws in a classic television show, gesturing with his shot of tequila as he rambled on.

“See, I’ve
been
to Hawai‘i. That damned island they’re on… no fucking way is it three hours away from anything. Fuck, you can
walk
across a sandbar during low tide to get to the damned thing. And where the hell did the volcano come from? It’s like
dorayaki
! But without the black beans. The island… it’s flat.
Dori
—what is he doing?” Ichi cocked his head, studying the flickering screen. “How the hell can that one make a battery out of salt water and coconuts, but they can’t fix the fricking boat? Explain
that
to me.”

“It’s a TV show. You telling me they don’t have fictional shows in Japan?” He kept his voice light, but it was difficult, especially with Ichiro’s long, warm body snuggled up against his.

“There are! They’re just not like… this. This is… I’m pretty sure the one with the batteries is gay. He doesn’t even
look
at the women.” A bit of tequila sloshed out of Ichi’s glass as he waved it around, making his point to a fairly empty room. “I didn’t watch a lot of television in Japan. There was never any time. No time for anything.”

“Isn’t that what kids are supposed to do when they come home from school? Grab something to eat that’s bad for them and watch stupid television. Those fake monster shows came from over there. Someone had to be watching them.” Bobby took the glass from Ichiro before he could spill any more alcohol on the couch. Not that his couch was pristine by any means, but Bobby was pretty certain it was about three drops of alcohol away from being incendiary if someone had so much as a brilliant idea near it. “Color-coordinated suits, bendy ninja moves—”

“Nope, not for the heir to the Tokugawa family. I went from school to more school. Then I woke up for more school. Like my father before me and his father before him,” Ichiro mumbled. He touched his lips, skimming them with his fingertips. “I’m numb. I mean, I was numb before, but this… wow. I can’t feel my lips.”

“Too much tequila. How about some coffee, and then you tell me why you went to school twenty-four seven?” Bobby was about to get up off the couch when Ichiro put a hand out across his chest, stopping him from moving.

“No, no coffee. Not yet. Numb is good.” Ichi’s eyes lost focus and grew wet. “Fucker. God, I hate him. Spent all my fucking life trying to be good enough for him, you know? And all he did was push-push-push. He would say to me all the time, ‘Be your own man,
heppiri
.’ Total lie. He didn’t want that.”

“What does that mean?
Heppiri
?”

“His nickname for me. It means useless person. Said calling me that would make me rise to challenge him. He lives to fight—to dominate. It is his… I think he masturbates to that emotion. Causing others pain for no reason other than his own pleasure.”

Bobby frowned, not liking the picture Ichiro was painting. “What about your mom? Did she say anything to him?”

“Ah, Bobby, my mother—she was a piece of rice soaked too long in hot water. People tell you she’s nourishing, but there is no taste, nothing to fortify you. I hear Cole’s pain in his voice when he talks about missing her in his life, and I want to tell him, she was not strong.” Shifting on the couch, he gave Bobby a mournful look. “He would have spent his entire life trying to get her attention, but she was—she would look past you, even if you were her son. She was a ghost the moment she was born. And I loved her, but… she was not someone to reach for. Your hands would go right through her.”

“Well, the one he got in return wasn’t a picnic. I think he’d rather have had your mom—and you—instead of Barbara.
That
is one cold bitch. She and Cole’s dad take asshole to a new level.” Bobby rubbed at Ichiro’s arm. “Your dad doesn’t sound any better.”

“You know he used to blame my mother because I’m stupid—well, I sucked at some parts of school, but stupid?” Ichi snorted. “He used to blame my mother. Said she was a bad influence.”

“Was she?” Bobby traced the vibrant inked lines on Ichiro’s bared forearm. “You had to have gotten this kick from someone.”

“Hah. She was like plaster on the wall in my life. A firm substance of my house but added nothing to function. I don’t even know why she married him.” He belched, his tequila-scented breath strong enough to curl Bobby’s nostril hairs. “This is a nice townhouse… loft… whatever it is. Did it come decorated in early
Animal House
? That was such a weird movie. Why would someone pretend to be a zit?”

Bobby looked around at his living room, slightly disgruntled at the description. It wasn’t the Craftsman mansion like Cole owned, but the divided-up paper-mill warehouse had its charms, especially since the one wall he shared with his crazy cat lady neighbor was a brick one, and being on the second floor, he had the advantage of the building’s old enormous window banks.

Scavenged from a defunct law library, eight-foot-tall solid-backed wood bookcases made great walls, partially to carve himself a bedroom out of the loft space but also so he didn’t have to make his damned bed if he had company. The kitchen was mostly stainless steel and big enough for him to cook in, and other than an enormous television, good sound system, and comfortable couches, Bobby didn’t think he needed much else.

“Okay, let’s get some coffee in you, Sunshine. When you start insulting a man’s house, it’s time to de-drunk you.”

“I wasn’t insulting it. You have no dining room table. Where do you eat?”

“Mostly the bedroom if it’s important. On the couch if it’s a quickie,” he snapped back with a smile to soften his teasing. “Coffee for you. And maybe some food. Did you eat at Cole’s or what?”

Bobby reached for Ichiro to gently move him out of the way, but the man had other ideas. Slapping away Bobby’s hands, Ichi slithered into Bobby’s lap, straddling him.

The once cool loft suddenly got very hot, and for the life of him, Bobby didn’t know where to put his hands.

“Not a good idea, Tokugawa,” he warned.

Even through the layers of their jeans, Ichiro’s round ass was hot against his crotch, and Bobby groaned when Ichi spread his legs apart to dig his knees into the couch cushions and leaned forward to grab at the couch back with his strong hands.

“Ichi—”

“You know what I want?” Ichiro bent his head down until their foreheads touched lightly. “Something really hot and juicy. Something like—”

“I am more than willing. Fuck, I could hammer nails right now, but Cole will kill the fuck out of us.” He spread his hands over Ichiro’s sides, cupping his rib cage. His cock was more than happy to dance its way into Ichiro’s scalding hot body with its promise of velvety clenches and sweat-shiny skin.

Damned if Ichi didn’t smell as fucking good as he looked, a hint of oranges mingled with tequila and masculine musk. Up close, Bobby saw amber flecks in the man’s deep brown eyes, sparkling fireflies drowning in strong coffee. Much like he was drowning in them. Looking down didn’t help. All it did was bring his focus to Ichi’s full lower lip, now wet from a slide of his pink tongue.

“Yep, some kind of special hell. He promised me. Populated by people who talked at the movies or something. Your brother’s a little cracked in the head, but he would definitely kill us—or at least me.”

“Because I want a hamburger?” Ichiro cocked his head slightly, his eyebrows pulling into a confused frown. “Why? Because I didn’t eat anything there? I wasn’t hungry then. Now I want a hamburger. A really thick one. Something big to bite into—”

“Okay, off of me, then.” He slid his hands down to Ichi’s hips and quickly maneuvered him off. Dumping the slender Japanese onto the couch, he stood, wincing when his jeans dug into his hardening dick. “Coffee and a hamburger. Stay the fuck right there.”

“I’m going to have more tequila,” Ichi muttered as he reached for the bottle Bobby left on the coffee table. “Where’d my glass go?”

“God, you’re going to fucking kill me. No more drinking for you. Coffee.” Taking a few steps back, he snagged the bottle out of Ichiro’s hand. “Shit, I’d offer you a shower, but I don’t think I could take the thought of you naked and wet in the other room while I’m making you food.”

“Thought we weren’t going to do that—sex thing. We agreed, didn’t we?” Ichiro’s eyes narrowed slightly. Then his focus went back to the television, catching on the opening screens of another episode of castaways and a maybe gay professor who was a master with bamboo and seawater. “How many of these fucking things did they make? Wow. This one’s in black and white?”

“Yeah, you just focus your shit on that,” Bobby grumbled. “Fucking cock tease. Maybe I’ll be the one to take a cold shower.”

He got as far as dragging preformed patties out of the freezer when he felt Ichiro peeking into the cold box behind him. His heart slammed into his ribs in shock, and Bobby nearly dropped the parchment-wrapped burgers on the floor.

“What the fuck?”

Ichiro seemed enraptured by the freezer’s contents. “Do you have fries? I like fries.”

“Do you see that barstool over there? By the kitchen counter?”

“Yeah.” Ichi glanced over his shoulder, nodding.

“Go put that sweet ass of yours on it and let me get you a damned burger.” Bobby gestured to the counter. “And don’t get sick on my floor.”

“I’m not drunk.” Ichiro stepped back, stumbling against the counter. “I’m fine. Really.”

“Sure you are.” Bobby guided Ichi to the stool. “Need help getting up there?”

“I can get….” His foot missed the rung on his first try, but eventually Ichi climbed up. “See? I’m good.”

“Don’t fall off,” Bobby warned. “I’m going to make you some of that instant Vietnamese shit your brother pushes on me. It’s like he’s a smack dealer.”

“Okay.” Ichiro folded his arms on the counter, arching his back so he could rest his chin on the back of his hand. Scrunched up and with his hair falling into his face, he looked much younger than Bobby felt comfortable with.

“Thought you’d be all badass and hold your liquor better,” Bobby teased, getting steaming hot water from his in-line coffee maker. After dumping two of the instant coffee packets into a mug, he stirred the brew until it frothed, then put it down in front of Ichi. “Inked up and owning a hog—I’d have thought you could drink me under the table.”

“Mike says I’m a sloppy drunk. Beer—is good. Anything stronger, pfah—he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. I’m fine.” Ichiro hiccupped, cutting off his next sentence. “Except for that. I get
those
. Something else to piss my father off.”

“Okay, you’re going to have to explain that one.” Bobby tapped the mug he’d place under Ichi’s nose. “And drink that. I’ll make you your damned hamburger.”

“The Japanese—we drink. Usually after business. Or during business.” Ichi shrugged, sniffing at the cream-swirled coffee. “He’d take me with him sometimes so I could meet the men he pushed around. I’d get hiccups after one round, and he’d get so pissed off. It was kind of funny, really. The more I drank, the louder they got. Then he’d get mad because I was too hungover to go to school the next day, because
he
could go to work.”