Heart on the Run (14 page)

At first, he’d worried what Sprocket would think when he opened that drawer…then he’d seen the excitement on his lover’s face. Sprocket didn’t think he was weird or creepy for having a drawer full of toys. He’d liked the things he’d seen…

“
Ahem.” The man himself emerged from the en suite. “Is that coffee for me?”

Tall, broad, tattooed and pierced, with the warmest, friendliest eyes and the most sexy, appealing jawline… “Yeah, it’s for you. Here.” He shoved the tray forward. “I have to go make the stuffed French toast.” The very second Sprocket accepted the tray, Chaz wheeled about and nearly ran for the kitchen.

He hadn’t made it though, when pounding footsteps alerted him that Sprocket had other ideas. The hand on his arm was rougher than usual, the muscle Sprocket threw into spinning Chaz around to face him in the hall shocking.

“
What the hell?” he sputtered, staring at the big man in disbelief.

“
That’s my line.” Sprocket thrust out his jaw pugnaciously. “We aren’t doing this again, Chaz.”

“
I’m making your stuffed French toast,” Chaz responded, staring. Sprocket’s nostrils flared, his eyes narrowed. He was seriously pissed. Chaz had seen him look like this only once before. Last year, just before summer break, some kids had been skateboarding outside Craft Time, weaving in and out of the pedestrians, and knocked over Lydia’s boy, who’d been visiting his mom at the store that day. Toby hadn’t been hurt, but he’d been scared and Sprocket had been furious. “What—”

“
You’re not running away from me without talking about things.”

“
You… I’m not running away,” Chaz affirmed. Heart racing a little, he cast Sprocket a wary glance then headed back toward the kitchen. Sprocket was right behind him; he could feel his presence.

“
Okay. You’re not running away. That’s good. Then what was that mad dash from the bedroom about?”

Jesus. He was blushing again. Being a redhead sucked. “I have to be at work. With Dermot thinking about letting me write menus… I don’t want to give him any reason to think I’m not…” How to explain the way he felt about his job at this moment?

“
Oh. Well, but…”

“
But remember how you wanted to work every shift and put on a good front when Xander thought about making you assistant manager?”

“
Of course.”

“
Well, I’ve been sous chef—which is like assistant assistant—to Dermot for three years. This is my chance at a promotion, even if it’s not a titular promotion. I can’t be lolling in bed with you when I’m supposed to be working.”

A familiar, wicked, teasing grin grew on Sprocket’s face, making Chaz almost reconsider his flight. “So, you’re saying you were dashing off to make me breakfast because the alternative was throwing yourself on the bed and demanding that I fuck you again?”

Stunned by the onslaught of want, Chaz was momentarily speechless and breathless. When he remembered to breathe, the words came out with the air, in a rush. “Yeah. That.” He shook himself, forcing his gaze away from Sprocket and temptation and toward the kitchen.

He made himself concentrate on the food, slicing four thick pieces of fresh bread, whipping cinnamon and pumpkin into the egg wash, heating a griddle. But all the while he was aware of Sprocket…standing a few feet away, uncharacteristically quiet, leaning on the table, watching him.

Watching him move.

Watching his fingers tremble.

Watching his ass.

Chaz shuddered.

“
So…why aren’t you running? You ran last time. Why not now?”

Shit.
“Sprocket…”
Do we have to go there? Do we have to have this conversation?
“I had my reasons then.” Dunk bread in egg wash. Watch air bubbles rise and pop. Put bread on griddle. Wait.

“
And those reasons no longer apply?”

Finally. Poke bread on griddle. Whisk cheese and pumpkin mixture. “No. Those reasons no longer apply.” Flip bread. Lean into the warm body that was suddenly right behind him. Thank god for the distraction of the touch…

“
Okay.”

***

Sprocket felt like a dwerp sneaking into his own house. Well, it couldn’t really be called sneaking since Mason obviously wasn’t home, but if Sprocket had seen the Jeep in the driveway he was pretty sure a trip to the nearest IHOP would’ve been in order. Sure, he could eat a second breakfast and order the Rooty Tooty Fresh ’N Fruity with a coffee and wait it out a couple of hours, hoping Mason finally left. Okay, not a dwerp, more along the lines of a coward.

The idea of being lectured by his best friend didn’t sit well with him right now, not after the perfect night he’d had with the perfect guy. His mind kept replaying it over and over, every noise Chaz gasped, the way his toes curled then straightened, the taste of his most private areas. Fuck, no man looked as breathtaking as Chaz did when he came.

All Sprocket wanted to do right then was drink a huge cup of coffee and remember the low guttural sounds made when he ran his fingernail over the sensitive skin behind Chaz’s balls. He most certainly did not want to listen to his best friend worry about him. So yeah, whether right or wrong, a small weight lifted off Sprocket’s chest knowing Mason wasn’t home.

He slid the key in the hole just as it jerked out of his hand. “What the fu—”

“
Nice of you to finally get home, young man.”

Mason already stood a couple inches taller than Sprocket, so him standing in the front doorway of the house with the step up put him just shy of a foot taller. And damn did that bastard use those extra inches to his advantage, looking down his nose with his spine ramrod straight and his shoulders stiff.

“
Can it,” Sprocket mumbled as he pushed by his best friend. “Where’s your Jeep and grab my keys out of the lock.”

Mason gasped, his voice wavering, “I sit at home all night long wondering if you’re alive, asking myself what
he
does for you that obviously I don’t…and you give me nothing in return. Don’t deny where you’ve been, I can smell him on you and it’s killing me!” Mason flicked his wrist and slammed the door shut.

Sprocket tilted his head, studying the pinched skin around Mason’s mouth, the tears slowly coursing over his cheeks, the vein throbbing in his temple. “Lifetime?”

“
Oh so close, but I was going for Oxygen.”

“
The keys,” Sprocket reminded him, pointing at the closed door. “And the Jeep? Really, how do you differentiate between those two channels?”

“
Oops.” Mason re-opened the door and grabbed the keys. “Jeep’s at the damn shop for round number two. Bruce swears he’ll get it right this time.” He leaned against the once again closed front door and shrugged. “Beats me, they’re both alike I guess… I just did a marathon of
Bad Girls Club
so I was in the zone.”

Sprocket grimaced. “Guess I’m lucky you didn’t welcome me with a bitch-slap and crude come-on. Nice touch with the vein throb, though.” Sprocket tapped his temple before heading to the kitchen. He smelled coffee and hoped the dickhead hadn’t drunk it all.

Footsteps followed him. “Thanks, it’s a gift…and, speaking of cum—”

“
Which we weren’t,” Sprocket interjected.

“
Watcha been up to, Sprocks?” Mason used his sweet voice.

Sprocket could play dumb, or tell his best friend to mind his own business, but really both those options were stupid.

They had eerily identical MOs when it came to relationships—if they were romantically interested in someone, they didn’t dabble elsewhere. No matter how much Sprocket denied that he wanted something to happen with Chaz, now that the opportunity was explicitly present, Mason easily called bullshit on Sprocket’s denials…so the ass knew exactly where he’d been all night.

Sure, during the past year Sprocket hadn’t been a monk waiting for Chaz to fall in his lap. Quite honestly, he’d never expected to renew the friendship let alone end up in the hunky sous chef’s bed again. He might be faithful when he had a boyfriend, but he damn sure wasn’t celibate when he didn’t.

Thanks to Chaz and Wednesday nights, he had every reason to be hopeful now.

Which meant, Mason had asked the question to annoy Sprocket. Anything but a real answer would mean more annoying conversation, and history had proven that Sprocket got tired of this game a lot quicker than Mason did. His roommate had stamina for sure.

“
I do believe you called it drilling for oil, and where’s the coffee?” He eyed the empty pot with contempt.

Mason hopped on the counter next to the sink and crisscrossed his legs. “In my belly. So is bacon and scrambled eggs, wanna see?” He opened his mouth wide and pointed into it.

Sprocket flicked him off as he searched the cupboard in front of him for the bag of coffee. “God, I remember when Grams used to do that to us. I always wondered how she knew what we ate before we got home from school.”

It wasn’t unusual for Mason to hang out over at Sprocket’s house after school. They would head straight to the kitchen and try to sneak a snack, usually some of Grams’s homemade toffee oatmeal cookies—Sprocket hated fruit mixed in with any of his food so Grams always substituted toffee bits or chocolate chips for the customary raisins. But it always seemed Grams knew when they’d already had a snack on the way home. She’d tell them to open their mouths real wide, then she’d stare down their throats and into their bellies while moving their heads left and right, up and down. Finally she’d pull away, and on the days they hadn’t snacked, she’d give them each a cookie, telling them how their stomachs were empty. But on the days they did sneak something, she’d tell them no, they already had chips, or crackers, or even a store bought cookie. No matter how they tried to trick her she constantly knew exactly what they’d snacked on, right down to the flavor of the chips or type of crackers.

“
I know,” Mason smugly said.

“
You do not.” Sprocket finished preparing the coffee maker and hit start.

Mason smirked. “I do so, and if you answer one question for me completely honest, I’ll tell you the secret your Grams took to her grave.”

Sprocket could smell the trap Mason laid, but it didn’t matter. Whether he really wanted to know the trick, or perhaps he just wanted an excuse to gab to his bestie, he knew he would walk right into it and get caught.

“
Shoot.” He nodded his consent.

Mason stared him straight in the eyes and asked, “Do you know what you’re doing?”

“
Aim for the chest,” Sprocket whispered.

“
Pierce the heart,” Mason finished the sentence they’d wrote together in eighth grade drama class for their three minute skit based on the prompt dragon slayer. “Is that what he did, Sprocks? Pierce your heart?”

“
He definitely took aim, but I don’t know if it’s penetrated yet.” Mason snorted but Sprocket continued, not giving the other man a chance at one of his familiar barbs. “And I have no idea what I’m doing. All I know is that the opportunity arose, he invited me to his place again. A part of me swore no, I wasn’t gonna do it again. Even on the drive over there I kept telling myself how stupid the whole damn thing was. But it didn’t matter. Hell, who knows, I might’ve been thinking with my dick, and right now my dick is thanking me for it.”

Mason held his hands up, as if warding off the nastiness Sprocket might tell. “Details not necessary. Well, not right now, maybe after another cup of coffee.”

“
Ah ha ha, not even then.” He prepared his cup with cream and sugar.

“
Being your best friend gets me zero perks, I tell ya.” He held up his hand, fingers touching showing the number zero.

Sprocket accepted the cup Mase handed him from the sink, and waited as the last drops of coffee leaked out. “He didn’t kick me out, that’s a bonus. Said straight up he wouldn’t run. In fact we have plans to go to that haunted house down on Craymore Street Wednesday night. Looks like you’re gonna have to fend for yourself for dinner, cuz the chef will be out.”