The Square Peg (8 page)

Their pints arrived, the glasses cold enough that ice was forming on the outside,

sliding down the glass, fragile shards destined to melt within seconds. The bar was hot,

the bodies crammed into it raising the temperature nicely. Most of the customers were

male. This was Friday. Friday and Saturday people knew not to come in unless they

belonged or were willing to look the other way.

Shane liked looking. Liked seeing the way people relaxed as they walked in, the

way they got brave enough to get close. Liked it when a man walked by, his T-shirt

hanging from his back pocket, bare skin on display, sweat-shined and hot. Liked the

knowing glances, the silent communications going on, coded glances, questioning

touches.

He wasn’t running a brothel here. He caught someone fucking in a stall, and they

were out on their ear, but he didn’t go in there to check all that often.

Benedict seemed to like watching the crowd too, which was convenient because it

meant Shane could study him at the same time. The bar wasn’t comfortable to lean

against—one of the reasons Shane spent so many hours in the office—but Benedict

didn’t seem to mind.

His eyes were a rich chocolate brown under normal lighting. In the dim glow of

the bar, they were so dark they were almost black. His throat moved enticingly when he

swallowed, but he set his glass down again to focus on the people surrounding them.

The song on the speakers had changed to something a tiny bit louder, so when he

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leaned in to speak in Shane’s ear again, his lips were very close. “What about straight

couples?”

What about them? “Sure. Not so many on the weekend, though. Drink your beer.”

Benedict picked up his glass again. “You’re a bad influence.”

“Ah, but I sell beer for a living,” Shane told him. “I’m meant to be a bad

influence.”

It would have been the perfect opportunity for Benedict to remind him he’d been

doing a shit job selling beer, but he only looked into Shane’s eyes searchingly for a long

moment.

A man passed behind Benedict, jostling him so that for a moment, Benedict was

leaning against Shane, his hand gripping Shane’s upper arm, his lips close enough to

kiss.

Shane froze, his lips parting, ready for something he was certain he wanted and

equally sure he shouldn’t have. The man, no one Shane recognized, tapped Benedict’s

shoulder in a wordless apology and continued on.

Benedict straightened with a jerk, his eyes wide, a flicker of discomfort showing.

He took a hasty gulp from his pint, draining it, and signaled to Vincent for another.

Message received and understood, Shane thought. He watched Vincent slouch

over to take Benedict’s glass, a rare smile softening Vincent’s angular features.

Suspicion and a pang of loss struck Shane like a blow as he watched the two of

them chat. No. Not Vincent. Vincent didn’t sleep with anyone, shrugging off flirtatious

invitations and more serious offers alike. No way he’d go for someone like Benedict—

older, conventional, and as clueless about Vincent’s lifestyle as Shane was about

astrophysics.

Vincent turned to him, nodding at Shane’s glass with a questioning lift of his dark

eyebrows.

“Whiskey,” Shane said. “Make it a double.”

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Chapter Five

Ben’s hand was trembling around his glass as he hurriedly swallowed half the

beer in it in a series of desperate gulps. His tolerance for alcohol was low, and he

couldn’t remember the last time he’d had more than one drink in a night. Actually, that

was a lie. It had been the night Jenson and he had gone to a friend’s wedding, and he’d

had a gin and tonic and two glasses of champagne. They’d gone home early and had

amazing, mind-blowing, alcohol-fueled sex before he’d passed out and slept until noon

the next day.

He’d started the first beer out of a sense of obligation and finished it out of

nervousness. He was drinking the second to try to cool the burning heat in his gut, a

heat that was crawling lower into his balls and threatening to give him a hard-on right

here in this bar, with Shane sitting next to him, close enough to touch.

If Ben touched him, Shane’s thigh would be all muscle, solid, warm. His hand

sliding up that thigh would feel the age-softened seam of Shane’s jeans before brushing

against Shane’s cock.
Christ
. Ben gulped down the rest of the glass. “Be right back,” he

said loudly, not leaning in too close.

He had to push his way past people on his way to the bathroom, most of them

men, half of them worthy of a second or third glance if he hadn’t been so focused on

Shane. His head was spinning, and he felt blinded by lust. It was the beer; it had to be

the beer.

“Whoa, careful there,” a dark-haired man said, steadying him. Ben apologized and

went into the bathroom, letting the door swing closed behind him. It muffled the sound

of the music, which made it a little easier to think.

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Ben went over to the small window and pressed his forehead against the glass,

cooling his heated skin. There was another sound, a familiar one. The wet sound of lips

against skin, accompanied by soft moaning.

“Yeah,”a man whispered. “Suck me. Jesus, you’re so fucking hot.”

Cock hardening further, Ben stumbled to the sink and splashed water on his face.

He needed another drink but couldn’t figure out how to get one without going back to

where Shane was sitting. Shane had wanted this—well, he probably hadn’t wanted to

become the object of Ben’s lust, but had wanted him to get drunk. Loosen up. Get wild.

Ben looked at his reflection in the mirror. He looked wild, his pupils large in the

dimly lit room and his hair out of control. He heard the groan as the man in the

bathroom stall came, presumably into his partner’s mouth.

He couldn’t concentrate on anyone else as he went back out into the main room.

His focus was locked on Shane, on Shane’s shoulders and lips and his big, rough hands.

He wanted to feel those hands on his bare skin. If he’d been sober, the intensity of his

craving might have concerned him, but in that moment, it felt totally reasonable to want

Shane this much.

Shane wasn’t there. It was like a second dash of cold water in his face. Ben went

up to the bar and tried to get Vin’s attention, but he was dealing with three friends

squabbling over what beer to put in the pitcher they were ordering. Shane’s glass and

his had been tidied away, and the dense crowd made it impossible to see where Shane

had gone.

As a co-owner of the bar, Ben approved of Shane wandering around, talking to

customers, and being friendly. As a man with a voyeuristically enhanced hard-on and

an urgent need to get Shane naked and moaning, he found it inconvenient to say the

least.

He wove through the crowd, looking for Shane, but even a more thorough search

of the office and back rooms was unsuccessful. Ben gave up. Wherever Shane was, he

wasn’t in the bar. Shit. Ben went outside, shivering as the cool air hit him, the drop in

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the noise level a shock to his ears. He wandered around outside for a while, but Shane

hadn’t come out for a smoke—if he even did smoke—or a break from the heat and the

music.

Ben sighed and tilted his head back to survey his property. Lit up and lively, it

didn’t look so bad. He was getting some curious looks from people walking by, but the

way he was swaying probably told its own story, and amused sympathy went along

with the curiosity in most cases.

As he stared up, craning his neck, he saw a light was on high up enough that it

had to be Shane’s apartment. Ben would have slapped his forehead, but he was fairly

sure he’d miss.

There had to be another entrance than the one he’d used before, but he didn’t have

the mental energy to deal with finding it. Instead, Ben went back through the bar and

up the steps to Shane’s door. It was closed so he knocked. Loudly.

“I told you,” Shane said from the other side almost immediately. “They’re in the—

” The door opened, and he blinked at Ben. “Sorry. I thought you were Vincent.”

“Right.”

“Thought you’d gone home.”

“Really. Even though I said I’d be right back?” Ben was pretty sure he didn’t

believe Shane, but not a hundred percent sure. He didn’t like being unsure. And Shane

was the one who’d done this—insisted he come see what the bar was like on Friday

night, given him beer, looking like a fucking wet dream in jeans.

Okay, he’d lost the thread of that analogy somewhere along the way. “I need a

glass of water.”

Whatever Shane had been thinking, that got his attention. “Come in. Sit down. Did

anyone give you anything?”

“I’m tipsy, not an idiot,” Ben said as Shane pushed him toward the chair he’d

occupied the day before. “What are you doing?”

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“You just said you wanted water.” Shane turned back toward Ben, the cupboard

door still open behind him, a glass in his hand.

“I don’t.”

“You’re maddening,” Shane said. Ben watched Shane’s lips as he spoke,

wondered what they’d taste like on his. “Well, what do you want, then?”

“You,” Ben said desperately, and grabbed on to Shane’s upper arms and kissed

him, pushing him back against the countertop.

Shane struggled, giving Ben a taste of how much strength was held in that wiry

body. It seemed more of an instinctive reaction to being grabbed, because when Ben

immediately released him, letting his hands drop easily enough, but truly reluctant to

lose the kiss, Shane pulled him closer, muttering “idiot” under his breath. Ben didn’t

know which of them Shane meant. Maybe both of them. They deserved it.

“Want something, do you?” Shane said, his lips twisted in a sneer Ben longed to

wipe off with another kiss. He put his hands back where they’d been, mirroring Shane’s

hold on him. They were touching each other, but still at arm’s length, tangled in mixed

signals like they’d been from the start.

“You know what I want.” Ben glanced down and smiled when he saw evidence

that he wasn’t the only one aroused. “Yeah, you want it too.”

“What if I do? Doesn’t mean I want it from you.” Shane licked his lips, his eyes

wide, his breath coming in quick, choppy gasps, as if he couldn’t pull in enough air. Ben

liked that look on him—a mixture of defiance and panic. “What’s lit your fucking fuse

anyway?”

“You’ve got men sucking each other off in your bathroom,” Ben told him. “It’s not

what I’m used to. I thought you should know.”

“Liked listening, did you? Kinky bastard.” There was a flush rising, staining

Shane’s cheeks and his neck. Ben wanted to strip Shane’s clothes off him and see how

far down that flush went, trace it with his tongue, taste the heat, the need.

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Instead, Ben slid a hand up along Shane’s arm. He traced the line of Shane’s jaw

slowly, then moved his thumb down to rest on Shane’s throat. “You have no idea,” he

murmured.

“Show me,” Shane said, and it sounded like a challenge.

It also clipped short whatever had been holding Ben back. He leaned in again,

intent on Shane’s mouth, letting his hips pin Shane’s against the countertop. The solid

shape of Shane’s erection made Ben groan softly into the kiss, and Shane willingly

parted his lips and let Ben lick his way inside. Shane’s mouth was warm and tasted like

beer.

“What about you?” Ben asked. He bit Shane’s lower lip, then released it, watching

it go from pale to reddened. “If you don’t want this, with me, this would be the time to

tell me.”

“Want it. Doesn’t mean we should.”

Ben could understand that. He nodded. “Let’s do it, get it out of our systems, and

forget it.”

Shane’s eyes narrowed, a sexy fucking smolder going on that whetted Ben’s

appetite as much as the kissing. “I’m not that easy to forget, but you can try. Course,

your brain’s gonna be fried by the time I’m done, so that might help.”

“Promises, promises.” The taunt felt like flirting, the rough edges of this encounter

just perfect. Sex with Jenson had been smooth, predictable, mildly satisfying at best,

looking back at it.

This wasn’t going to be mildly anything. This felt raw and intense, and they’d

done nothing but stare at each other, kiss, and mouth off.

“Fuck you.”

Ben let Shane know just what he thought of that idea with another kiss, combative

enough that when he pulled back, his lips stung. “Did you bite me?” he asked, rubbing

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at his lip with his thumb and checking it for blood. There wasn’t any, but his lip still

hurt.

“Maybe.”

The smirk on Shane’s face was infuriating, but in an exhilarating way. Shane had