Hide Out (9 page)

“Shit. Do we have to go?” Trevor groaned.

Shrugging, Pete told him, “We probably should. We need to—”

“Yeah, I know,” Trevor interrupted. “We need to blend. I got it.” He walked over to the laptop set up on the floor and crouched down to close the e-mail program he was using. “Just let me change my shirt.”

Pete lounged against the doorframe and watched him yank his t-shirt over his head, knowing it was just masochistic to torture himself with the sight of so much of Trevor’s bare skin but not able to look away. Trevor grabbed a button-down from the closet and pulled it on, looking up just in time to catch Pete watching. Pete quickly looked away. “Do you think we should bring something?” he asked, gazing out the window at the newly trimmed tree.

“Like what?” Trevor smirked. “Jell-O salad?”

“With marshmallows on top,” Pete added and laughed. He recalled himself quickly and his smile fell away. “Should we pick something up? Chips, at least?” he asked the floor as he struggled to regain his equilibrium.

“Might as well bring some beer,” Trevor suggested. “We already have that.”

“Good idea.” Shooting him a quick glance that didn’t quite land on Trevor, Pete asked, “Ready?”

“You can look at me, you know.”

He didn’t even have to say anything to know he wouldn’t get any words out. Clenching his jaw, Pete just shook his head.

“I didn’t mean it,” Trevor told him. In his peripheral vision, Pete saw him take a step closer. “That whole thing about—”

Pete couldn’t do it. He couldn’t have this conversation a second time. Pushing away from the doorframe, Pete turned toward the stairs. “We’re going to be late.”

Without looking to see if Trevor was behind him, he almost ran down the stairs.

* * * * *

51

Katie Allen

He’d fucked up. Trevor took a drink of his beer without taking his eyes off Pete. He’d gotten scared and defensive and mouthy, and ruined any chance of them ever being…whatever it was they could’ve been. Fuck-buddies, at least. Now, Pete couldn’t even be bothered to look at him anymore.

“Joey!” Marsha was headed his way. “Why are you hiding over here?”

So I can sulk and watch Pete.
He just gave her a shrug and a half-smile.

“Well, come on over here and meet everyone.” She tugged his arm until he relented, following her to the first cluster of people. Trevor recognized one of the men as the lawn-mowing, car-washing, father-of-the-lurking-teen neighbor.

“Joey, this is Abby, Terrance, Michelle, Greg and Len.” Marsha pointed at each person around the circle, ending on the neighbor Trevor had already recognized. He shook hands all around, the names flying out of his brain almost as quickly as Marsha rattled them off.

“So, Joe,” the balding and sweaty one—Terrance?—said. “Where’re you from?”

Shit. Where was it again?
“Cleveland,” he said, trying to keep the relief out of his voice when he finally remembered his cover story after his moment of panic.

“Huh.” Terrance’s eyes instantly glazed over. Trevor pushed back a grin. Pete had picked the perfect city. From the blank looks all around the circle, no one knew much about Cleveland and no one really cared.

“What brought you here to Honeysuckle?” the woman to Terrance’s left asked. Her blonde-highlighted hair was pulled into a high ponytail and her hand looped through the arm of the man on her other side.

“Pete had enough of the corporate world.” He shrugged. “Thought fixing up the house’d be a nice change.”

There was an awkward moment of silence and dropped eyes that confused Trevor for a second before he realized what had just happened. He’d reminded everyone he was gay.

“So, um,” the other woman started. She was a redhead with a round, freckled face. Trevor guessed her to be bald-and-sweaty’s wife. “What do you do, Joey?”

This one was easy to remember. “I’m a graffiti artist,” he told her. Everyone’s faces blanked as if he’d started talking about Cleveland again.

“That’s a job?” Bald-and-sweaty asked.

“Terrance!” his wife chided.

“It’s okay,” Trevor told them. “I’m not a tagger or anything. I do murals, neighborhood projects, that sort of sh—” He stopped in mid-swear. “Um,
stuff
,” he amended.

“I’m an artist, as well.” The man whose arm the blonde woman was clutching spoke for the first time. Trevor got a good look at him and had to admit the guy was fairly handsome—he had nothing on Pete, of course, but he wouldn’t make a person sleeping with him throw up in the morning. He was slim and tall, with dark hair and 52

Hide Out

even features. The man looked like someone who played a lot of golf. He was also giving Trevor a look.
The
look.

Trevor cocked an eyebrow when he realized the man was waiting for a reaction. Before he could speak, someone else beat him to it.

“Greg’s a photographer,” the blonde explained.

Shooting an annoyed look at her, Greg clarified in a smooth voice, “Photography is my medium, yes. The way you say that, Michelle, makes it sound like I take yearbook pictures or something.”

She flushed and smiled hard at Trevor. “We’re redecorating one of the guest bedrooms as a nursery. We were thinking of a mural for one of the walls. Maybe you could…?” She trailed off, looking at the man next to her. Greg looked as if she’d suggested they all kill some kittens.

“For God’s sake, he doesn’t do Care Bear paintings,” Greg snapped.

“Actually,” Trevor told Michelle, “I do a lot of work for kids. Let me put some sketches together for you.”
Sketches?
his brain mocked.
Why the hell are you promising her
that, you idiot?
He’d been pretty good at art, especially graffiti, when he’d been in high school but he hadn’t touched a can of spray paint for almost ten years. The only reason he’d pushed the issue with Michelle was because her husband was being an asshole.

“Congratulations,” he said, before Greg said something else dick-like and Trevor started talking about his imaginary degree from some fancy art school. When Michelle stared at him blankly, he waved awkwardly at her mid-section. “On the baby.”

The group went quiet and no one would look at each other.

“Oh,” Michelle said, too fast and high. “We’re not pregnant
yet
. Soon, though.”

“Oh. Okay.” Trevor wondered if he should apologize.

“Hey,” Pete said, lightly bumping his shoulder against Trevor’s. “Want to introduce me?”

“Hey!” Trevor’s relief at the interruption completely wiped away any leftover awkwardness with Pete. “Um, sure. You know Marsha, and that’s Greg and Michelle and Terrance and,” he racked his brain frantically for her name, “Abby?” She nodded and smiled. “And this is…” His words faded away as he turned toward the empty space where their neighbor had been standing. “Where’d he go? Well, that
was
Len, our across-the-street neighbor.”

“Hello.” Pete nodded at the faces around the circle.

“So when is the moving truck arriving?” Abby asked, her eyes darting back and forth between Trevor and Pete. Trevor assumed she was imaging them having sex. He wished he hadn’t thought about that, because now
he
was imaging them having sex. That was a good way to get in an embarrassing position. To slow the hot flow of blood heading to his cock, Trevor thought about balding and sweaty Terrance getting it on with Greg the asshole. That did it.

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Katie Allen

“Actually,” Pete answered, “we’re planning on gradually buying new things.” With a fond sideways glance, Pete slid an arm around Trevor’s shoulders. “We both had pretty pathetic bachelor pads.”

Two can play this game
, Trevor thought, leaning into Pete and slipping an arm around his waist. He felt Pete start and smiled. “Garage-sale chic,” Trevor added, massaging Pete’s hip with his fingers.

“Exactly.” Pete’s voice sounded a little rough. He cleared his throat. “There’s so much work to do on the house, we figured it’d be easier not to have to work around furniture, so we’re roughing it for a while.”

There was another of the uneasy pauses. Greg the asshole’s gaze was locked on Trevor’s hand where it rested on Pete’s hip.

“So.” Marsha’s voice rang out a little too brightly. “Have you met the Nunns?”

“No. Just the priests,” Pete joked.

“The…? Oh!” Marsha laughed. “No, silly, Mark and Chrissy Nunn. Come on—I’ll introduce you.”

She dragged them off toward another couple standing by the grill. Glancing at his watch, Trevor saw barely a half-hour had passed since they’d arrived. He swallowed his groan.

Letting his hand drop a few inches, Trevor pinched Pete’s ass—hard. Pete jumped and glared at him but Trevor was unrepentant. Pete deserved that and more for accepting Marsha’s barbeque invitation. With a silent sigh and a forced smile, he went to meet some more fucking Honeysuckle neighbors.

* * * * *

There was not enough beer in the world, Pete discovered, to make a neighborhood barbeque fun. The best part was taking advantage of the opportunity to touch Trevor. Even if it was just a brush of hands or an arm around his shoulders, every contact thrilled Pete. He knew he’d pay for it later when the Trevor-withdrawal set in but for now Pete was stealing every chance he could get to touch him. They’d eaten overcooked hamburgers and talked and he’d had several beers, but the night was still dragging on, with none of the guests looking in any hurry to be leaving. Trevor had disappeared into the house to use the bathroom about fifteen minutes earlier. Pete glanced at his watch. He’d give Trevor two more minutes and then he was going in after him. It wouldn’t surprise him to find Trevor had escaped through the front of the house and snuck home.

With a sigh, Pete settled into a lawn chair next to across-the-way-neighbor Len.

“So,” Pete said amiably. “I haven’t seen your son tonight. What’s he up to?”

“Nothing.” Len shot him a quick, almost panicked look. “Why?”

“No reason.”
This is interesting.
“Guess we’ll just have to meet him another time.”

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Setting his lips into a grim line, Len spoke without looking at him. “He’s busy. School keeps him busy. Excuse me.” He stood up so abruptly his chair wobbled and Len darted away.

“Weird,” Pete muttered.

“What?” Trevor asked, dropping down into Len’s vacated chair. Nodding at a retreating Len, Pete said, “All I did was ask him a simple question about his kid and he bolted.”

“Huh.” With a shrug, Trevor slouched down a little in his chair. “He ran off when you came over earlier too. Think he’s afraid of catching gay?”

“Could be,” he mused and then gave Trevor a look. “Did you take a nap in there or something?”

“What?”

“You spent about two hours in the bathroom.”

Trevor looked away. “Wasn’t that long,” he muttered.

Pete just waited until Trevor blew out a loud sigh.

“Fine,” Trevor said, shooting him an annoyed look. “I had to fend off asshole Greg on my way out. He tried to corner me in the kitchen so he could hump my leg. Where are you going?”

Pete hadn’t even realized he’d gotten to his feet. The bottom of his stomach was cold. “Where is he?”

“Sit down, dumbass,” Trevor hissed at him. “It was no big deal. Don’t start a fucking fight at our first neighborhood barbeque.”

Pete laughed at that. He couldn’t help it. “Our first neighborhood barbeque is a special time,” he mocked, sitting back down. The lingering echo of anger still burned his gut but he knew Trevor had a point.

Reaching over, Trevor slapped Pete’s knee lightly. “You know what I meant,” he protested. “You’re the one who keeps going on and on about blending and all that shit.”

Pete caught his hand before Trevor could pull it back and held it against his leg.

“You two are so sweet with each other,” Michelle cooed as she pulled a chair closer to theirs and plopped down. “I can tell you’re still in that honeymoon period. I remember when Greg and I were like that. We couldn’t keep our hands off each other.”

“Hmm,” Pete told his almost-empty bottle.
Seriously. Not enough beer in the world.
Trevor was silent.

“How did you two meet?” she asked, not seeming to notice the lack of reaction. “I love hearing about how people get together.”

“Um…” Pete’s mind blanked. He’d thought of the cover story basics but not this detail. Of course he should’ve thought of this—it was what everyone wanted to know. Nobody cared about Cleveland.

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Katie Allen

“At a coffee shop,” Trevor said easily and Pete relaxed, squeezing his hand in thanks for the save. “He was walking in, talking on his cell phone and acting like an ass.” This time, Pete squeezed his hand a little harder. Trevor ignored him and continued. “I was leaving with my coffee—the super-sized one, of course—and he plows right into me.”

“Oh no!” Michelle gasped. Pete had to stop himself from asking what happened next.

“So I’m wearing a scalding-hot coffee suit, hyperventilating because it hurts like fu—ah, hell, and here’s the cute guy who caused all of this without a drop on him. So I’m pissed and he’s asking if I’m all right—still with some guy on his cell—and I storm out of there after telling him what he can do to himself.”

“You were pretty rude,” Pete said primly. It was Trevor’s turn to squeeze his hand in warning.

“What happened then?” Michelle breathed, leaning forward.

“I was really pissed. I didn’t even go in for coffee all week,” he complained, shooting an aggrieved look at Pete.

“Sorry,” Pete apologized before catching himself. Why was he feeling guilty? This was a made-up story!

“I finally break down and go in,” Trevor continued. “The place was only a halfblock from my apartment and I make really shitty coffee.”

“He does,” Pete chipped in.

“Don’t push me,” Trevor warned, giving him a sideways glare. “Just telling this makes me annoyed with you.”

Lifting their linked hands, Pete pressed a kiss to the back of Trevor’s wrist. “Want me to make it up to you again tonight?” he murmured, holding back a laugh at the flush that climbed the back of Trevor’s neck.