The One That Got Away (4 page)

“So what’s for lunch?” David asked, reaching for the silverware and napkins in the caddy on the table and setting two places, one-handed.

“Turkey and Swiss,” Trace said, pulling a bottle of vinegar out of the cabinet. He walked over and set it on the table along with the plate of sliced tomatoes, then moved the salt and pepper shakers within David’s reach. “Drink?” he asked as he headed to the fridge. It struck him, all of a sudden, how comfortable this was. Of course, they’d hung out on free Saturdays quite a few times, cooking and talking and watching movies or something, so he supposed it wasn’t any big change. David’s comment about affording him was still amusing. 

“What I really want is a beer, but probably not a good idea with the pain meds. Pepsi.” Surprisingly hungry, David started eating, and three-quarters of his sandwich was gone before he realized it. Reaching for the tomatoes now that he had room on his plate, he looked at Trace. “So when do you need to leave? Hardin probably sees this as fraternizing with the enemy.”

Trace glanced up from his sandwich, waiting to answer until he’d finished chewing. “Unless you’ve got someone else to call, I’m sticking around. You really need to be in bed, David,” he said, concern marking his brow. “If you move that shoulder, even a little, and get it out of alignment, you might have to have surgery to put it back together.”

“I’ll make you a deal,” David bargained. “I’ll get back in bed. I’ll even let you give me one of the pain pills that will knock me out for a few hours. You can go check in with your editor before he puts out an APB, and then pick us up a stack of movies and Huwan Cho’s Chinese on the way back.”

“Sounds good to me. Now finish your lunch.” Trace grinned and poked the plate of tomatoes closer before sliding out of his chair to pry open one of the prescription bottles. “You want sesame beef or pork lo mein?” he asked, knowing David’s usual preference. “I’ll get some pot stickers too.”

“How about both, and we’ll share them?” David suggested, knowing Trace’s propensity for snagging food off his plate. Finishing up the last of his sandwich and the tomatoes, he took the pills with the end of his soda.

Standing, he shuffled, obviously stalling. He wanted to say something.

Trace rinsed the plates off in the sink and stacked them to wash later.

When he turned, he saw David waiting. “Do you need something?” Trace asked in concern. David didn’t look like he felt all that well, but he looked 
better than he had some hours ago. Trace tilted his head to one side, his hair tumbling off his shoulder and the wrinkled shirt he’d slept in.

“Could you…. That is, would you… erm.” David fidgeted. “Can you help me get my jeans off?” he blurted.

Smirking, Trace set his hands on his hips. “You know, I would have figured you for a more suave kind of man,” he teased. “What kind of line is that?” he asked as he walked over and handily unfastened the button. “I wouldn’t figure guys would be so easy,” he said as he pulled down the zipper.

David watched as Trace’s long, blunt fingers unfastened his jeans.

His breath lodged in his throat, making his head spin, and he could feel his cock, only fractions of an inch from Trace’s hand, twitch and swell. Fuck!

Forcing air into his lungs, he glanced guiltily up at Trace’s face. His friend was grinning at him, relaxed, teasing. Trace had no idea the effect he was having. Thank you, God. “Yeah, well, then you don’t know men very well. We’re an easy bunch when it comes to getting in our pants.”

Trace laughed and slid two fingers through a belt loop on David’s hip, tugging gently to get him moving toward the bedroom. “I’ll keep that in mind should I ever decide to expand my horizons.”

Something flip-flopped in David’s gut. Trace teasing about becoming bi-curious was doing nothing to calm his libido. Hopefully the meds would kick in soon and knock him out. After following the brunet down the hall obediently, David pushed his jeans to the floor, walking out of them as he crossed the bedroom, and he crawled immediately into bed.

He didn’t open his mouth for fear his muddled brain would say something he couldn’t take back.

Straightening the sheet out from under the bedspread, Trace pulled it up over David. He sat on the edge of the bed, leaned over David to snag another pillow, and pushed it up carefully under his friend’s injured 
shoulder. “There you go,” he murmured, squishing the pillow a little more before looking at David. “Think you’ll be okay? I’ve got to go out for awhile.”

Keeping his eyes closed, David felt Trace’s warm breath on his face.

“I’ll be fine, Dad. Go. Before Hardin fires your sorry ass and you have to move in with me.”

Trace chuckled quietly. “All right. I’m going. I’ve got my cell.” He reached over and turned out the lamp before he walked over to the bathroom to turn on the light and pull the door partly closed. He paused at the threshold leading to the hall, looking back at his best friend and sighing softly. At least David would be okay. Seeing him hurt really bothered Trace. Mouth quirking fondly, he left to run his errands.

DAVID shifted on the couch trying to get comfortable. After trying several positions, he had discovered that the corner of the couch seemed to work better than his favorite recliner. Unfortunately, on some days, no position was comfortable. David pressed the play button on the remote.

Five days into his forced restriction, the two men had developed a routine.

Trace left for a few hours in the morning and a few more in the afternoon to get his work done, making sure he was home to do all the cooking. In the evenings they were working their way through a tall stack of DVDs that Trace had brought back that first night. Almost two weeks later, David could barely remember what it was like without Trace around all the time.

David shifted again, his back aching from holding his shoulder still in the hated sling. “The popcorn almost ready or should I hit pause?” he called out, knowing Trace hated missing the beginning of a movie. 

“Pause, please!” Trace said loud enough for David to hear as he blankly watched the microwave tick down the time. His mind was on work tonight, and he doubted he’d actually comprehend the movie although he’d sit and watch it to keep David company. David was trying hard not to be a bear, he could tell. It was kind of funny, really. Blinking when the microwave beeped, he realized he was grinning. Shrugging, he pulled out the hot and steamy bag, tossing it from hand to hand.

It had been different staying over at David’s the past couple weeks.

They got along really well in close quarters (so far anyway), like they’d been sharing the house for much longer. Trace had decided he liked having the company, even if it was quiet, somewhat-unlike-David company. And it beat going home to an empty apartment. He was a social creature and had always thought David was the same, but now he realized he really didn’t know that for sure. Yeah, they got along fine, but there wasn’t a circle of friends around the two of them. Trace had his—and in theory David had his. Trace wondered what else David did besides hang out with him. He hadn’t had much at all in the way of visitors. Even if he wasn’t into casual sex, surely he got in some companionship somehow.

Trace walked over to the fridge for cold drinks, pulling it open.

Hmm. Grocery run needed. He added it to his list of things to do tomorrow. He needed to go home and wash clothes and feed the cat (who was really giving him hell over being gone so much), pick up his clothes at the cleaners, conduct a series of interviews at the Performing Arts Center, turn in the latest set of music reviews, make a list of pending restaurant reviews, pick up some more DVDs….

So he was distracted when he walked into the living room, carrying two drinks and the big bowl of popcorn.

David watched in horror as Trace tripped over the coffee table, popcorn and soda flying up into the air in slow-motion like a bad comedy.

Without thinking, he reached out to help, cursing as pain knifed through 
his shoulder, his arm dropping limp to his side. “Fucking hell!” he cried out, dropping back to the couch.

Groaning, Trace rolled over to his back from where he had fallen on his knees. He stared up at the ceiling. “Ouch,” he mentioned conversationally.

“Yeah,” David agreed, his voice a little shaky. “Who are we going to get to move in and take care of us if both of us get hurt?”

Trace turned his chin to look up at David. “You okay?” he asked, his face lining with concern.

“No, actually it hurts like hell.” David swallowed. He was getting tired of always whining. Extending his good hand to Trace, he shifted forward to help him up. “I think we need something stronger, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I think so too,” Trace said, wincing when David helped haul his butt up. He looked down at the scattered popcorn and was thankful he hadn’t opened the soda cans. “Let me get this cleaned up, and I’m going to the liquor store. You’ll have to switch Vicodin for Maker’s Mark,” he told David as he leaned over to pick up the bowl and scoop most of the popcorn off the carpet.

“I’ll live, and you don’t have to go to the liquor store. I’ve got a stocked cabinet under the CD player. My poker club doesn’t do the cheap stuff.” David pointed to a set of doors in the entertainment center. “Unless you really just need to get out for a bit, which I’d totally understand,” he added.

Trace completely missed David’s last comment as he scooped up popcorn. “Poker club?” he noted as he walked over to the CD player he’d used many times over the years. “I didn’t know you played poker. Much less in a club.” He crouched down and opened the cabinet. “
Holy shit
, David! What kind of poker is it, high stakes?” he asked in surprise. The 
lines of bottles inside weren’t even of the not-cheap variety; they were of the damn-expensive variety. “Jesus,” he muttered as he started shifting bottles around.

David shrugged the best he could with one shoulder. “It’s a group of guys I grew up with. We play pretty high stakes, yeah, but over the years, I’d guess we’re all pretty close to even. Jared’s on a roll right now, but he needs it. His ex fleeced him last year.”

Trace glanced over his shoulder, somehow both happy to know for sure that David had other friends, but a little jealous that he wasn’t included. He held out a bottle. “What do you want? I’ve never even tried most of this stuff. Kentucky bourbon’s about as good as it gets on my paycheck.”

“Second one from the right with the black label,” David instructed.

“You should try it. Collecting rare and exclusive single malts has become sort of a hobby among the group. Whenever we travel, we bring something back. The rule is you bring a bottle for everyone in the group.

We’re playing this weekend. If you’re still around….” David’s voice trailed off, not wanting to presume anything, but secretly looking forward to introducing Trace to his friends.

The younger man’s brows were up in his hairline. “A bottle for everyone in the group?” he exclaimed as he pulled out the requested bottle. “Dear God. You better hope you win that night.” He stood up after grabbing a couple of glasses from another shelf. “Ice?” he asked.

Meanwhile, he was thinking about the hinted invitation. He’d vaguely thought about going out, but maybe he could hit a club some other night.

“Ice!” David barked, outraged. “Sacrilege! If you want to water down your scotch, there’s a bottle of Jack Daniels from the corner liquor store in there somewhere.” 

“Geez, okay, okay!” Trace answered, thumping the bottle down on the coffee table in front of David. “Give the uneducated a break. I didn’t play cards and drink hard liquor in school. I was poor.” He unscrewed the cap and handed it over to the other man. “Hell, I’m still poor. Must be why I’m an arts reporter. I hit all the swank parties on my expense account.”

“How do you think we got un-poor?” David laughed. “Every one of us paid our way through college playing poker and pool.”

Trace grinned as David poured the glasses. “Somehow I never would have taken you for a shark, David. Isn’t that interesting?” he drawled, sitting on the couch next to him and propping his feet up on the table. “I figure I’ll be here this weekend unless you’re miraculously healed, but I’ll be a third wheel. I don’t know anything about poker except how to make a full house.” His brow furrowed. “Maybe.”

Immensely pleased that Trace still planned on being around by the weekend, David grinned. He’d always felt like he valued his privacy too much to share his home, one of the reasons he’d never invited anyone to move in with him even when they’d been pretty serious, but having Trace around was easy, enjoyable, even a little addictive. “There’s a deck of cards in the side table drawer. You’ll have to shuffle, but I can teach you enough to get by,” David offered.

Trace leaned over to dig into the drawer. “All right, but no laughing.

I spent much more time flipping quarters and making out than playing cards,” he warned. He scooted farther away from David and set the deck in between them, then reached for the glass and took a cautious sip. He immediately moaned and closed his eyes. “Aw, hell. I’m ruined for life.”

David’s mouth quirked. “Good scotch and a good lover will ruin you every time,” he murmured, cutting the deck. His arm was still tingling from his earlier foolish move, but the pain had subsided to a low throb.

“We’ll start with five-card stud.”

 The dark-haired man grinned. He happened to agree, at least with the second part of the sentiment. “I’ll shuffle and deal. Don’t mess with that shoulder,” Trace said, wiping his bottom lip with the back of his hand before taking up the cards. “I’m going out on a limb and guessing five cards each,” he said drolly. “What are we going to bet with?”

“Popcorn?” David suggested, reaching for what had been salvaged back into the bowl and dumping even piles in front of them. Throwing three pieces in the center, he popped another five into his mouth. “Ante up. That’s what you have to bet to play the hand.”

Trace followed suit with three pieces and half a handful in his mouth. “Okay. Five-card stud. Heh.” He tilted his head, eyes flashing in amusement, and prodded for information. “This group of yours… enjoys standing stud?”