Slow Burn (MM) (8 page)

Brody was panting by the time they made it to the steps, bent over trying to catch his breath, and Zack grinned at his win while Brody glared.

“It’s those damn legs of yours.” Brody pulled at his tee and wiped at his mouth and forehead. “Moose legs.” His shirt came up enough to show a long span of skin, the strength in his abs as he moved, and the cut of his hip, dusting of hair leading down into his shorts.

“You want some?”

Hell yes
. “Huh?” Zack hoped his face didn’t resemble a deer caught in headlights, center stage, in a packed stadium. “What?”

Brody gave him a bemused look and raised an eyebrow. He pointed over to his car. “I said I’ve got a couple of Gatorades. You want some?”

Zack nodded so he wouldn’t have to speak and sound like an idiot. He slumped against the railing as Brody climbed the stairs. Then he remembered and called out, “Hey, we’ve got arms first!”

All he got in return was a dismissive snorting sound. It shouldn’t make Zack smile, but it did. In fact, most of Brody made Zack smile. Whether he was as dry as protein powder or so damn determined and focused, in rare moments he laughed or smiled, or instead of being sexy as hell, he elevated their chitchat into some profound insight and knocked Zack on his ass—it was all attractive. Even moody and disgruntled, the man was still hot.

Normally Zack would be thinking,
He’s gorgeous, sure, but straight
. He would admire Brody and move on. But he didn’t imagine what had happened the other day. The attraction wasn’t completely one-sided. But Brody was either in denial or in the closet—
way
in—and Zack swore he’d never go there again. Everything in his logical side glowered at him, incredulous, yelling,
You, sir, are an idiot!

But Brody made him want to go for it anyway. Leap in, both feet, in over his head. He might drown, but he’d think about it later. Incredulous logical guy was going to have a field day when this all ended with him drowning in his own stupidity.

Brody jogged back down, handing Zack a bright blue bottle before he sat down a few steps up. Dusting the sand off his hands before taking a long swallow from his drink, Zack decided it was time to carefully study the ingredients on the side of the bottle.

“So did I successfully distract you from the push-ups from hell?” Brody asked.

Zack looked up and laughed. Brody would never back out from training. Zack would bet his boat that after this drink he’d be bitching about getting his heart rate back up, but Zack played along. “I can let you off with a warning this time. Buuuut, we’ll just double up next time.”

Brody’s mouth tugged up, just a little, his eyes crinkling in the corners. He took another swallow; this time his hand came to rest on his bad knee, thumb rubbing at the scar. Zack zeroed in on the movement, noticed the twitch of his foot.

“You all right?”

Brody nodded and took his hand away.

Zack wasn’t convinced. “Sure you are.” He took the couple of steps up to stand in front of Brody, hands going to his knee, supporting it as he stretched it out, bending the joint. Feeling the movement, the slide. He watched Brody’s face to see if there was any expression of pain.

Brody stared back at him, hands pegged to his sides but his gaze firmly holding Zack’s. There was absolutely no pain there. A shitload of other stuff but no pain. Intense and scrutinizing, it made Zack very aware that he stood between Brody’s spread legs, hands on the warm, sandy skin of his knee and thigh. Hadn’t they
just
been here?

That same heat and heaviness filled the air faster than smoke. It slowed everything down, sensitizing his fingertips to the fine hair covering firm muscles, the tensing of Brody’s body, the smallest of contractions in his thigh. Zack set his leg down slowly, but left his hand just above the knee, his heart racing, thundering like he’d just sprinted the full length of Folly Beach. He was about to leap. It was insane, but he kept moving closer to the edge because there was no way he couldn’t.

Brody didn’t move. He sat there oozing power and destructive sex appeal like some statue of Ares come to life. Zack was having about a million internal explosions, and Brody’s face was set like stone. Except for the desire so very apparent in his eyes. A need was there. No man looked at another man like that without it. Whether Brody realized it or not, it was burning from the inside, the stormy-gray gaze saying more than if Brody got up and yelled,
I want you! And I’m going to take you right here on this beach!

Zack would let him too. He wanted Brody, and at the moment, he didn’t care about logic or fallout or anything besides answering that look. Zack leaned forward and pressed his lips against Brody’s.

They were firm and salty and sweet from the Gatorade. Brody didn’t budge. He didn’t move away or flinch, so Zack slid his lips over Brody’s again, relishing the feel, the taste, the brush of Brody’s stubble. He was about to pull away when he felt Brody’s lips part. Pliant, softness giving way, allowing it to happen. The shock of want winded Zack. The slightest brush from the tip of his tongue, and he slid his hand around the back of Brody’s neck, thinking of nothing but the pressure of Brody’s lips against his and the shot of desire as he sucked Brody’s bottom lip between his.

The front of his shirt wound tight before their lips were ripped apart. Brody slid back, looking debauched, thoroughly turned on, and
pissed as hell.

Zack couldn’t get the “Oops?” out of his mouth before he was shoved back a couple of steps.

Brody stood. He bristled before looking around. “What the fuck was that?”

Zack opened his mouth to state the obvious, but Brody plowed on, eyes on fire with something far different than passion. “I’m not a fag,” he ground out.

Zack took another step back. Brody was a lot of things, but he couldn’t possibly be
that
much of an asshole. Zack was at a loss for words.

It only seemed to piss Brody off more, glaring hard enough to peel paint. “I said, I’m not gay.”

“No. You said you’re not a fag.” Zack glared back, wishing he could rage at Brody with everything he had. “You sure about that?” he asked instead.

He pointed at Zack. “Fuck you.” And with that, Brody was up the stairs and gone.

Chapter Eight

The knocking started again. What the hell? He could stand there all night and listen to Zack knocking, or he could answer the door. He knew it was Zack; he’d looked through the peephole. What was wrong with a six-foot-one, hundred-and-ninety-five pound, thirty-three-year-old policeman and homicide detective hiding behind a door from his physical therapist?

Everything. Brody needed his fucking head examined.

Fuck it.

“You’re going to wear a hole in the damn door,” he said as he jerked it open.

“Not if you’d answer it.” Zack stood there, still looking beach swept even twenty-four hours later.

So Brody snapped, “What do you want?”

Zack looked at him like he’d asked what planet they were on. “What do you
think?
I want to talk to you about…you know.” He tilted his head.

“Nothing to say.” Brody moved to close the door on him.

Zack put his hand out to hold it open. “Five minutes, that’s all I’m asking.”

Brody wanted to, but he didn’t close the door.

“I’m…” Zack paused. “I’m sorry. I was out of line yesterday, both professionally and personally.” He lowered his voice. “I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

Brody’s neighbor chose that moment to walk out the door with her bag of garbage. She probably hadn’t heard a word, but she smiled at both of them like she knew exactly what was going on. Not that Zack would care. Brody, however, cared very much. He stepped back and waved Zack inside.

Zack complied and stepped just inside the door, closing it behind him.

Brody stood there, his back against one wall of the hall foyer, arms crossed over his chest.

“I shouldn’t have kissed you,” Zack repeated. “But it doesn’t have to mean the end of us training together.”

Brody didn’t say a word, didn’t move, and he could barely make eye contact. Zack kept talking.

“I misunderstood or misread…whatever. I don’t know. But now I do know how you feel. It won’t happen again. We’ll just rewind to yesterday afternoon and…pretend nothing happened.”

Brody’s gaze darted down the hall to the kitchen and back again. Eventually he met Zack’s gaze. “I can’t pretend it didn’t happen.”

“Yes, you can.” Zack’s brown eyes were big and apologetic. “We go back to training. We run; we do what we’ve been doing for weeks. I made you a promise that I’d get you in shape. We have a business agreement, and I take my work very seriously.”

“I know that.”

“So let me finish helping you. It’s just running and weights. We don’t even have to talk. Not a word. Just work.”

“You?” Brody cocked an eyebrow. “Not talk?” He found it hard to imagine. Zack not being able to talk could easily cause the big man to internally implode and form a black hole.

Never mind that he’d reluctantly miss all the chatter.

“I really am sorry, man,” Zack said.

Brody could tell he meant it, but Zack being sorry wasn’t the issue.

“I know.” Brody again glanced the other way. Zack wasn’t the only one who needed to own up to apologizing. “And I’m…I shouldn’t have said what I said.”

“That you’re not a fag?”

Brody wanted to flinch, but he refused. “Yeah.”

“I’ll survive it. I’m gay, Brody. It’s not the first time I’ve ever heard the word or had it flung at me.”

Brody’s eyes snapped back to Zack’s. Imagine. To just be able to say it. To say it just like that.
I’m gay
. Like it was no big fucking deal. Like it wouldn’t be the end of who you were. “You’re a decent guy. I was out of line saying something like that to you.”

“Okay, so, fair enough. We were both wrong, so we’re even Steven. Tomorrow we can go right back to training like nothing ever happened.”

“I…” Brody shook his head. “It’s not that simple. I can’t. It’s too…” He pulled a face. “I can’t jog with you every other day like it’s nothing.”

Zack nodded, the air around him changing to some defeated cloud that didn’t suit the man at all. The broad shoulders sank; damn it but it made Brody want to say to hell with it. Anything to stop Zack looking like a kicked puppy.

“If I could forget it,” Brody tried, “I would. But I can’t. We can’t be workout buddies. Trainer and trainee. Whatever. We can’t meet up and pal around like I never kissed you. It doesn’t work like that.”

Zack blinked a few times and said nothing, and then he looked at Brody like they’d just met for the first time.

The confused look continued.

“What?” Brody asked.

“You mean like
I
never kissed
you
.”

“That’s what I said.”

“
No
.” Zack shook his head. You said like
you
never kissed
me
. As in you”—he pointed to Brody—“kissing me”—then himself.

“No, I didn’t.” Brody knew his face was either going ghost white or fiery red. What the fuck?

“Yes. Yes, you did.”

“Well, what the fuck ever. You know what I meant,” Brody snapped.

“Brody, do you… If you need to talk to someone about this, we ca—”

“No! Do not start with me, Zack.” Brody bowed up and moved into Zack’s personal space. The last thing he needed was to talk about any of this. Not with Zack, not with anyone. “I don’t need to talk to
anyone
. Whatever fucking kind of mind tricks you think you’re going to play, forget it.”

“I’m not playing any mind tricks on you,” Zack insisted. He didn’t move. Didn’t get into Brody’s face but didn’t back down either. “I think you’re doing a good enough job mind fucking yourself.”

“Fuck you!”

“You could if you weren’t such an asshole, punishing yourself for being gay and living so damn deep in denial you can’t even
see
straight much less
be
straight.”

Brody shoved him back, pushed at his chest. “Get out. Get the fuck out of my house, right now.”

Zack moved out of his path but didn’t leave. “Shit. I didn’t mean— You
have
to see what’s going on here. You can’t act like I’m making all this up. It isn’t just me. I’m gay, not delusional.”

Brody clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth, every muscle in his body tensing. Who the fuck did Zack think he was? Coming in here, acting like he knew jack shit about his life or anything else?

“Tell me why,” Zack insisted. As always, he just wouldn’t shut up. “Tell me why us kissing is the end of the goddamn world. You’re not married. You’re not even in a relationship…”

The man had no clue. No idea what it was like to live Brody’s life, have his past, and live in his world. In Zack’s life it didn’t matter, it wasn’t the end of his world, and it just made him all the more attractive. Shit. Brody wanted to live in that world, but Zack didn’t.

“Brody.” Zack moved back into his line of sight. “Talk to me. You’re standing there like you want to beat the shit out of me, and I can tell you right now, I won’t let that happen. Words. Use them. I’m not the damn enemy, I swear. Use your mouth, not your fist to—”

Brody grabbed him. He had no idea what he intended, but he felt trapped. Trapped in this hall, in life. Trapped in his fucking head, trapped by Zack, by everything. He had to get out. He gripped the front of his shirt and shoved Zack back against the wall, fully expecting him to come out swinging. Brody would if someone did that to him. Instead Zack just looked at him. Ready to defend himself but refusing to raise a hand against Brody.

And that was what sealed it. Part of him wanted to let loose on Zack for being everything he’d denied for so long. He’d fought against it, lied about it, snuck around, and hid like the fucking coward he really was. He could blame Zack, and they’d go down swinging, probably beating the shit out of each other until he was too bloody and battered to hate anymore.

But Zack just stood there. Big brown eyes still as sincere, still as accepting. Handsome face wanting to understand what Brody couldn’t express. Wanting to help. Wanting to know. Wanting…Brody.