Whiskey and Wry (Sinners Series) (6 page)

“It would be fecking great if we both had our shite together at the same time,” Sionn muttered at Rafe one time over a pint of ale. “Imagine that, boyo?”

“It
would
be fecking great,” his friend mocked him, mimicking Sionn’s accent. “The damned world would end. We’re the ultimate gay bromance… a homo-platonic Romeo and Juliet, destined to be a tragedy and dying young while we look good. Well, me anyway. You… well, you should buy stock in a paper bag company so the guys who have to fuck you have something to put over that ugly face of yours.”

Sionn would have punched him if he hadn’t been drunk… and if Rafe hadn’t been able to kick his ass since they were teens. No, he thought as he watched his friend wipe sweat off of his hard chest with his damp T-shirt, Rafe’d grown up mean and played dirty. They’d been too close to the bay, sitting on Finnegan’s patio, and Sionn wouldn’t have put it past his friend to dump him into the freezing water.

“You been up to the house yet?” Rafe gasped in between heaving breaths. “Your aunt’s house, I mean. Not mine. I can still smell your stink from the last time you came over and watched the game.”

“Your dog’s the one that farted, not me. And Jesus, why are you giving me shite about that, Rafe?” Sionn didn’t need to ask him which house he meant. Rolling his eyes at the man, he scoffed. “Don’t tell me she’s called you.”

“Not only did she call me, but she gave
me
crap for not coming over too.” He grinned back, laugh lines crinkling his face. “So I threw you under the bus and said I’d seen you eating at Burger Time last Sunday.”

“While you were escorting a pack of nuns to Sunday Mass, I imagine? Or maybe feeding the poor bread and fish you conjured up out of thin air?”

“Imagine away. You’d be wrong, but the guy I was with could certainly suck the crust off a baguette if he tried.” Rafe gave him an eloquent bow, the beginnings of a graceful dip until Sionn’s elbow dug into his ribs. “Jealousy is not a good look for you, Murphy.”

“You’re a sick and pathetic boy, Andrade.” Sionn began to walk in a broad circle, shaking off the tremors in his legs.

“Speaking of pathetic….” Rafe shook his long hair back from his face and queued it back with a tie. “Anyone been sucking your baguette? You know, diddled your weenie?”

“
Jesus, Rafe!
” Sionn shot an apologetic look at a woman trotting by at a slow crawl. “Have a care, boyo.”

“That was as politically correct as I get, mate.” His friend showed no remorse, other than gracing the frowning woman with a broad smile. The blond’s off-kilter grin was enough for her to return it over her shoulder before she continued down the pier walk. “’Sides, she didn’t seem to mind. So, no sucking, then? Baguette or anything else?”

“No,” Sionn grumbled darkly. Long fingers playing over strings flashed through his thoughts, teasing his mind. “Maybe. Complicated, it is.”

He wasn’t sure if he should mention the guitarist he’d let take up residence in front of Finnegan’s or how just the sight of the man strolling down the pier made his stomach clench up and his dick thicken. There just wasn’t a way to talk about Dee without bringing up his playing a guitar or reminding Rafe of his own failed career.

“Here.” Rafe handed Sionn his half-full water bottle. “Now, how about if you tell me the whole truth? Whatcha hiding from your mostly best friend?”

He was grateful for the water, but he growled at Rafe as he drank. “What makes you think I’m lying to you about summat?”

“If I told you that, you’d stop it.” He smirked back at Sionn. “Then you’d win at poker. I like having you pay my electrical bill. Come on, let’s walk over and get some coffee. I’m freezing my sac off here in the wind.”

“Oh no, can’t have that, can we?” Sionn muttered at his friend’s back.

“Nope, there are too many asses out there I’ve yet to plunder,” Rafe replied dryly. “Especially since it looks like you’re not holding up your end of the deal. Think of it as me taking one for the team.”

“You’re a piece of shite, Rafe. I seem to recall a time when I told you I’d liked a bloke standing over at a bar, and then next thing I knew, you were right up there against him.” He poked Rafe’s shoulder with the water bottle.

“I don’t remember him, so he probably was a shitty fuck.” The blond shrugged. “See? I’m all about sacrifices. I did him so you didn’t have to.”

“You’re all about your dick getting off.” They’d spent a lot of time together as kids, less as adults, and Sionn realized he’d missed the man walking beside him.

“Well, yeah.” Rafe took the bottle from Sionn’s hand before it could be used on him again. “But at least I admit it. Come on. I’ll buy the coffee. You talk.”

Chapter 3

Little boy, smile oh so sweet

Swinging your ass on C-town’s dirty street

Pick up your heels, move that sweet ass along

Stay here much longer

Someone’s gonna do you wrong

—
Virgin Kiss Blues

R
AFE
listened as he always did, his soulful brown eyes intent on Sionn’s face, and silent, taking in everything his friend said. Sprawled out over one of the chairs in front of the coffee shop, the man’s fingers played with the handle of his cup, tapping at the ceramic surface. Sionn talked until he was nearly blue in the face, describing how he’d been about to move the musician along until he’d gotten up close.

Then everything changed.

It was a stupid thing. Something from songs or bad mushrooms, but there he’d been, staring out the window at a man he knew nothing about, and his heart… skipped. For the first time in his entire life, he felt something in a place of his soul he never knew existed.

And Sionn was man enough to say it scared the living shit out of him.

“So yeah, there you go.” Sionn stared back at his friend. “I’ve now got a guitarist playing in front of Finnegan’s, and it’s driving me nuts.”

“And you’re… interested?” Rafe picked at the kernel of attraction Sionn refused to look at. “More than a kiss interested, chickenshit.”

“You sound like you’re reading one of those women’s magazines there, Rafe.” He made a face at his friend. “How do you know if you like him? Seven ways to make him notice you? We’re guys. We don’t do shit like roses and chocolates.”

“Murphy, if you don’t have roses and chocolates in your life, that’s a sad, sad thing. You’ve not fucked anyone in a long time.” The blond snorted when Sionn opened his mouth to protest. “Come on, when? Before you went to Europe this last time?”

“Yeah, before everything went to shit.” It was hard to admit and even more difficult to stare down the rut he’d worn himself into. “He’s not the kind of guy who’s going to stick around. Hell, I’m not sure I’d want him to. It’s not like I
need
sex.”

He’d never been good at lying to himself, and the whopper he’d just told Rafe was so large, Sionn was surprised he wasn’t choking on malted milk and chocolate. Rafe’s laughter was loud enough to turn heads, and their server popped out to the patio, nodding when Sionn waved her off.

“Everyone
needs
sex.” Rafe took in a shuddering breath, calming himself. “Sionn, out of all us guys, you’re the one who needs that white picket fence and two kids thing. Me, not so much, but you… shit, I’m waiting for you to stand on a porch someplace, stomp your feet, and scream about your biological clock ticking.”

“Shit’s just been… crazy in my head since I’ve been back,” Sionn ground out when the blond wiped his eyes. “I don’t know if I’m even solid enough to
think
about another guy. I even went to go talk to someone a bit. How nuts is that, now?”

“What’d she say?” Rafe smirked at Sionn’s assessing glance. “Don’t give me that look. I can’t see you unloading to a guy. Sorry there, man, but you’re more of a talk-to-a-chick kind of guy. If your therapist was a man, you’d either look at him as someone to bang or not interested in.”

“
She
told me not to feel guilty about Oona’s getting shot.” It was impossible. Most days he only briefly felt that searing pang of remorse in his chest. Before he’d let Dee play, it’d been worse. Now, the mornings held more of a… hope to them, knowing that the musician would show up at some point to play guitar and talk. “How that hell can I
not
feel that? I was
there
.”

“We’re Catholic,” Rafe pointed out. “Is that even possible? Not having guilt?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” A seagull pecked at the ground a few feet away from them, and Sionn tossed it a bit of his sticky bun. A small war escalated over the crumbs, and the first bird battered off the newcomers with his wings, gulping down the bread quickly. “They say we’re sinners because we’re gay. Do you feel guilty about that?”

“Nope. Not a fucking shred of guilt.” Rafe’s wolfish grin made Sionn chuckle. Then the blond sobered. “But killing’s different. Someone dying in front of you is different. You did what you could, didn’t you? You popped the guy after he shot her. You didn’t give him time to shoot the kid again, and she’s running around shopping her head off now. You’re supposed to feel guilt about that? Because he was on your team? You didn’t hire him. He worked for the same firm you did. They’re the ones that fucked up.”

“He was probably supposed to have gotten the whole family.” He chewed on his upper lip, thinking back. “It’s just a pretty shitty thing to happen. No kid should die because her father wants to change the world. What happened to
wanting
to be the good guy, eh?”

“Dude, some people die just because they’re in the way. You and I know that one.” Rafe’s eyes darkened, and something passed between them. “You did your job, and someone else fucked up. It came out the way it was supposed to. You’re sitting here with me all emo like some eyeliner-wearing angst boy, while I’m still the hottest thing in San Francisco.”

“You know what I thought about when I was lying on the floor?”

“Oh my fucking God, this fucking hurts?” Rafe shot back. “Or maybe, hell, am I dying and I haven’t slept with Andrade yet?”

“Right, boyo, like
you’d
be what my last thought would be,” Sionn murmured, picking up his coffee again. “I was pissed off because I was thinking how much of a fecking brat she was. Like a minute before everything went down, that’s what I was thinking, then I’m on the ground because one of the team shot me.”

“Pretty sure you think that about me too,” Rafe snorted. “Probably will be thinking it right before you lower me into the ground.”

“Probably.” Rafe kicked at his shin, and he yelped. “Hey, just don’t go looking for pallbearers yet. I’d probably drop you right now. Give me a few months to get the scar tissue to go down.”

“Not planning on dying any time soon. I’ve already taken a shot at it, remember? Didn’t like it,” he pointed out. “So, let’s get back to the reason I’m sitting here drinking coffee instead of slamming down some pancakes down at Mel’s… you know, that guitarist you wanna bang.”

“He’s probably not even—”

“You know what this reminds me of? High school,” Rafe exclaimed, slamming his hand on the steel-topped table. The cups rattled in their saucers, and a knife skittered across the flat surface, smearing butter on the edge of Sionn’s hand. “You hanging out behind the guys and not going up to anyone at the dance.”

“I was gay,” Sionn pointed out. “At a Catholic school. Who the fuck was I going to ask to dance?”

“Me. I would have danced with you.” He shook his head. “But see, that’s not the point.”

“What is the point? Because you’ve lost me, Andrade.”

“The point is that you don’t take risks—”

“And you take too many,” Sionn cut in.

“Focus, Murphy, focus. We’re talking about your tight ass, not mine.” As reprimands went, it was soft, but the tap of a fork’s tines on the back of Sionn’s hand was enough to get his attention. “Go ask him out for dinner. Enough with the damned coffee chats. Take a fucking chance. So you don’t ride off into the sunset on your damned matching unicorns. That shit doesn’t matter. Just go do something fun. If you get laid and things get funner, then even better.”

“Is funner even a word?” He cocked his head at Rafe.

His friend sighed and motioned to the waitress for a refill. “It sure as fuck won’t be if you don’t even try.”

H
E
WAS
surprised to see Dee slouched in the far corner of the patio when he got to Finnegan’s the next day. It was very early, so early the seagulls hadn’t descended from their perch on the pub’s roof. The only people on the pier were the hardcore locals who jogged or walked regardless of the city’s mercurial weather, and while he enjoyed the brisk air and a good run, peeling through fog banks and shivering wasn’t Sionn’s idea of a good morning.

The bay was lost behind a thick soup, with little promise it would clear up anytime soon. No, it was going to be a day of sparse crowds and lean tips, but there he was, splayed out on the captain’s chair Leigh brought out for him to sit in. And from what Sionn could tell, it looked like it was going to be a blues kind of day.