The Broken Triangle (17 page)

“I don’t mind,” Riley assured him. “Really.”

“I’m sorry I ruined your party.” Vin was subdued, no fight in him as he leaned against Patrick’s shoulder.

“You didn’t. As scenes go, this was nothing for this crowd. Sleep it off, and I’ll call you in the morning.” Riley moved in like he wanted to claim a good-night kiss, but Patrick chose that moment to guide Vin into the elevator, leaving Riley standing awkwardly in the hall with a worried expression on his face.

It was almost enough to make Patrick feel sorry for the guy. Not enough, but almost. It did keep him from making a biting comment, as the elevator door slid shut, about how Riley didn’t need to worry; he’d take care of Vin since obviously his “boyfriend” wasn’t able to. When it had, Vin shuffled closer to Patrick and leaned on him a little more. “I feel terrible.”

“I know. Please tell me you’re not going to puke on me, though? I like this shirt.”

“You’re such a Brony,” Vin muttered, making Marnie giggle.

Patrick smiled at Marnie. “Thanks for the help, by the way.”

“No problem. I just wanted to get you two out of there. He really doesn’t drink at all?”

“He doesn’t even do caffeine much. The Coke probably had him high even without the vodka.”

“Stop talking about me like I’m not here,” Vin said, burrowing his head into Patrick’s shoulder. “Is this how it’s supposed to feel? It’s horrible. I’m saying stuff in my head, and it’s clear. Then I talk, and it’s coming out all mushed up. You don’t sound like that when you’ve been drinking. Not fair.”

“You’re not that bad,” Patrick assured him. “On anyone else, this would be a mild buzz. You just don’t have any tolerance for it. Me, I’ve had years of practice.”

“I remember the first time I got drunk,” Marnie said as the elevator doors opened. “Wine coolers. I kept tilting sideways, and I couldn’t figure out why. Kept telling people it was because of my shoes, so in the end I took them off and threw them in the pool. Then I threw up in the pool. When there were people in it.”

“Good times,” Patrick said, not entirely ironically. He got Vin through the main doors and into the chilly evening. The snow had stopped, but the ground was frosted white with it, their breath visible on the air. “Look, if you meant it about the ride, that’d be great, but I can’t promise he won’t puke.”

Marnie studied Vin. “He looks better now that he’s in the fresh air. I’ll risk it, I guess. We can keep his window down. That should help.”

“No more perfume,” Vin agreed and took a deep breath before pulling free of Patrick. “I can walk.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Patrick said, after watching Vin take two wobbly steps on the icy sidewalk. “But I’d appreciate a shoulder to lean on, so how about you let me hang on to you, huh?”

“Okay. I don’t want you to fall.”

It wasn’t hard to hide his smile against Vin’s hair. They made their way slowly through the parking lot to Marnie’s car, where Patrick folded Vin into the backseat. “I’ll scrape the car if you want to let it run for a minute,” he told Marnie, and bless her, she gave him one of those scrapers that had a built-in mitten to protect his hand. Still, by the time he got back in, he was shivering and wishing he’d thought about a hat and gloves earlier in the evening.

Of course, if he’d known how things would turn out, he would have faked being sick and gotten Vin to give the party a pass altogether. Or tried. With the way Vin felt about Riley, Patrick would’ve had to have broken his leg to manage that.

Marnie paused the car at the edge of the lot. “Okay, where are we going?”

“Right, then I think eight blocks, and a left. Thanks so much for this.”

“Will you stop thanking me?” Marnie said. “You did me a huge favor by giving me an excuse to get out of there when you did. I’m ridiculously grateful. I owe you way more than a ride.”

“You might not be saying that if I throw up,” Vin said weakly.

“You won’t,” Patrick told him. “Don’t think about it. Think about something else, something nice.”

Like me.

The breeze from the open window didn’t do anything to warm him up, but he felt a small glow kindle when Vin, without replying, turned to hug him and stayed there, his head on Patrick’s shoulder. It was more of a slump than a hug, and he didn’t want Vin to go to sleep before they’d gotten inside, because Vin was too heavy to carry, but it felt so good to have Vin turn to him that Patrick pushed his misgivings aside.

They drove in silence for the most part, Marnie concentrating on the road and Patrick’s directions, Patrick giving in to temptation and stroking Vin’s hair. It was as sleek as cat fur, and each tacitly welcomed pass of his hand gave him hope, made him wonder if Vin would ever do this sober and fully awake.

“So this is your place?”

“Yeah,” Patrick said, not bothering to apologize for its run-down appearance. He lived on the edge of a rough neighborhood in a tiny basement apartment that smelled funky no matter how many scented candles he burned, and he’d never be able to move out until he started being responsible and saving money instead of blowing his cash on drinking and clothes.

Which meant he’d still be here when he was an old man, with no hair left to dye outrageous colors and a saggy ass no one wanted to fuck.

It was going to suck to be old him, but that was a long way off, so he didn’t think about it often.

“He’s staying with you tonight, then?”

“My place was closest, and he’s got to be with someone.” Okay, that sounded a touch defensive.

Marnie chuckled. “And I’m guessing Riley knows where Vin lives, but not you, so if he comes looking for Cinderella, he won’t find her? Clever.”

“I just want to take care of him,” Patrick said. It was true. “He’d do it for me. He has.”

“Then you’re a good friend.” Marnie looked at him from between the seats. “You want a hand getting him inside?”

But Vin was already fumbling with the door handle. “No, I think we’re good,” Patrick said. “Vin, hang on a sec. I want to give Marnie my number.” He didn’t have a house phone—did anyone these days?—but he liked this girl, and he doubted Riley would tell him how to get in touch with her.

“Here, put it in my phone.” Marnie pushed a few buttons and handed over a shiny new iPhone.

Patrick entered his number and gave the phone back. Vin was ignoring him and clambering out onto the sidewalk, shuffling long footprints into the snow.

“Text me,” he told her as he got out, instead of saying thank you again, and shut the door.

He’d wondered whose bed he would end up in tonight and who he’d be sharing it with. He’d never expected this.

Did it mean he was on Santa’s good list or the other one?

Hard to say.

“It’s cold,” Vin whined as Marnie drove off. Patrick shook free of his thoughts and got an arm around him.

“I know. Come on, let’s get you inside where it’s warm.”

Warm
was a bit of a stretch. Patrick had always wondered if the upstairs apartments in his building were better heated, because his was always cold. The fact it was half underground should’ve helped, but it sure as hell didn’t seem to. He hadn’t left any lights on, and Vin managed to stumble into the corner of the table first thing.

“Ow!”

“Stay still for a second.” Patrick fumbled for the light switch.

“Sorry,” Vin said, leaning on the table. “I forgot this was here. God, I screwed up. Riley’s gonna be so mad at me for messing up his party.”

“Okay, one, it wasn’t your fault, and two, if he’s mad at you for something that wasn’t your fault, he’s a jerk.” Patrick shrugged off his coat and helped Vin with his. “I’m going to be super nice and let you have the bed, so I hope you’re appropriately grateful in the morning. Assuming you even remember any of this then.”

He let Vin use the tiny bathroom without company, hovering close enough that he would hear a crash if Vin passed out. Heading off hangovers before they arrived was part of his weekend routine, so he made Vin drink a huge glass of water and swallow some painkillers, adding in a dose of vitamin B for good measure. He refilled Vin’s glass and put it on the crate he used for a night table. He’d painted it black and gotten his friends to decorate it with metallic markers, but it still looked like what it was—cheap. Vin had chosen a glittering red and drawn a lopsided dragon.

He didn’t think Vin would throw up, not now, but he put a plastic bowl he used for chips by the bed too and dug out a gag gift he’d gotten on his birthday one year—a night-light in the shape of a penis. He plugged it in and watched the cock glow pink. Tacky as hell, but he hadn’t gotten much else that day, so he’d kept it even though he’d never planned to use it. It lit up the room enough that if Vin woke in the night, he wouldn’t be disoriented.

It was still early, way too early for him to contemplate sleeping, but that was okay. He would put Vin to bed and listen out for him until he was sure Vin was settled.

The bathroom door opened, and Vin came out, arms wrapped around himself and looking thoroughly miserable. “If I die before morning, tell Riley I’m sorry.”

“No,” Patrick said firmly. The whole thing was ridiculous. “Come lie down. You’ll get a good night’s sleep, and in the morning, everything will be fine.”

“I love your bed.” Vin fell onto it and hugged one of Patrick’s pillows. “I love your bed so much. I’m going to spend the rest of my life here.”

“Nah. Tomorrow you’ll go home and start wondering what you ever saw in me and my shitty little apartment.” The thought was depressing. Patrick sat down on the edge of the bed, a box spring and mattress on the floor, and pulled the covers up over Vin.

“You’re stupid,” Vin said, voice muffled by the pillow.

Patrick sighed. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“I’m cold,” Vin said a moment later. “Freezing. Aren’t you cold?”

“No, and neither are you. You’re just drunk.” Patrick petted Vin’s hair. It was meant to be a brief, soothing gesture, but it turned into something more. Vin’s hair was so soft that Patrick found himself running his fingers through it.

Vin muttered words Patrick couldn’t understand.

“What?”

Turning his head to the side, Vin said, “C’mere. I need body warmth.”

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” It was a stupid thing to say, because if Vin remembered it later, it would be all kinds of ammunition.

“You’re wrong. It’s a great idea.” Vin shifted to make room for him, and reluctantly Patrick kicked off his shoes and got under the covers. “Mm. Much better.”

At least they were both dressed. Though he’d have to make Vin take off his jeans, or they’d dig into his stomach, and the state Vin was in, any added discomfort wasn’t a good idea. Once they were warmed up, he’d suggest it, help as needed, and slide out and onto the couch.

Oh God, was he really thinking about peeling Vin’s black jeans down his legs, exposing olive skin dusted with dark hair and the black boxer briefs he knew Vin wore? The clinging ones, outlining every curve of ass, every luscious inch of Vin’s cock, which would be pushing against the fabric as it hardened, molding it promisingly as the warmth of Patrick’s breath—

He groaned, then bit down hard on his lip before he said something stupid. Like suggesting Vin get undressed. Because that wasn’t a good idea. Practical, yes. Normal, even. No one slept in their clothes on purpose, after all. No matter what the time of year, Patrick always slept bare-ass, hating the constriction of even a T-shirt.

It was still a very bad idea. He was only human. A horny, distressingly sober, desperately-in-love human.

In love? Was he? With Vin? Vin, who was fixated on his high school crush, blinded by the romance of getting his dream-come-true ending and off-limits, taken, spoken for. That Vin?

No. Not going to happen. He liked Vin. A lot. He was attracted to him, yeah. Vin wasn’t his type—not his type at all—but Vin was still hot with that repressed-virgin thing making him as tempting as a chocolate truffle, even though Riley had technically bitten into Vin’s soft center—and that wasn’t something to dwell on. Patrick had bumped into Riley’s first hookup, and after the mildest of threats and hissed reminders of how long they’d been friends, he’d gotten Jazz to spill every detail.

Riley’s cock was adequate—something Patrick tried to be glad about for Vin’s sake—but he didn’t know what to do with it.

“He’s one of those poke-and-push guys. Took him forever to line up. Then he shoved in so hard my throat was sore the next day. Nice, though. Not a jerk. Just average.”

“Well, they can’t all be supersexy studs,”
Patrick had said magnanimously and bought Jazz a drink out of gratitude and guilt.

So that was it, then. He cared about Vin as a friend.

And the fact he couldn’t stop stroking Vin’s hair didn’t contradict that conclusion at all.

Another groan escaped. He was fucked. He fell in love and out once a month, but none of those men had done more than ream his ass with dedicated thoroughness, telling him what a sweet little slut he was if they were the poetic type. What he had with Vin, one-sided though it was, felt totally different. Scary but right.

“If you want to puke, you can use my bowl,” Vin murmured sleepily.

“I’m good,” Patrick said. “Hey, Vin? You love Riley, right?”

“Hmm?”

“Riley. You remember, your boyfriend?”

Vin snuggled a little bit closer. “Mmm-hmm. He’s nice. Even though I’m no good in bed. It’ll be better next time, he says.”

That was alarming, and probably more detail than Vin would reveal if he were sober, at least without Patrick begging for it. “What will be better next time?”

“You know. Me.” Vin’s arm had been loosely draped over Patrick’s waist, which was fine because they were both fully dressed. They weren’t doing anything wrong. Now, though, Vin grabbed a handful of the back of Patrick’s T-shirt and tightened on it. “He says it’s supposed to hurt the first few times, but not like that. I was too tense or something.”

“He hurt you?” Patrick tried not to sound too horrified, because sure, getting fucked up the ass could hurt even if it wasn’t your first time, but the thought of someone hurting Vin was something else. Vin didn’t answer. “Vin? Riley hurt you?”