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  Paul stared at the moon and willed his senses to sober. The mere thought that he had seen Scott again and lacked the guts to do anything except hide behind a tree from him was all the proof he needed that he must, under any circumstance, get on with his life. He had to banish the memories that kept him from finding someone new and building a relationship he could be comfortable in. Graduation was just around the corner—he would be venturing on a new career. He needed his wits about him, a clear conscious and a level head. He didn’t need to be mentally drugged by memories of an old lover who had chosen to leave him. I have to get a grip.

  Making up his mind to pretend that Scott was nowhere on the premises, Paul drew in a steadying breath and pushed his body away from the sanctuary of the oak tree. It was time to face life and get on with living—but then a tremor of awareness shot through his body. He jerked his gaze to one side as movement invaded his privacy.

  “Boo!” Scott Carmichael yelled. “Trick or treat!”

  Chapter Four

  Paul sucked in a quick breath and stumbled against the oak tree. Scott was mere inches from his face when he yelled and startled him. His heart lurched in his chest. He hadn’t been expecting Scott to suddenly show up and scare the hell out of him. He grabbed his stomach with one hand and sought to steady his body against the tree trunk.

  “Are you drunk?”

  “So what if I am?” Paul mumbled. He felt hot and sweaty. His stomach pained.

  Scott shifted his weight from one foot to the other and poked his hands into his pants pockets. “Oh, I forgot. You think Halloween is just a day to pretend ghosts and goblins exist and a keg of beer is the best treat of all.”

  Paul stifled a moan and swallowed down the urge to throw up. Seeing Scott and having him suddenly appear right before his eyes only added to his agony and his need to empty his stomach. He leaned his forehead against one arm and tried to steady his nerves. Everything seemed to waver before his eyes, even the illuminated pumpkins at the base of the tree seemed to move as he tried to focus his eyes. He sucked in a calming breath, filling his lungs and gathering his courage to face Scott and his reprimanding that was sure to begin any second.

  “You should go to your room and lie down.”

  Paul turned his head toward Scott. He was only a bleary shadow against the backdrop of nighttime sky though he swore he could smell his scent. For a moment, he tried to reason whether he actually was smelling him or not, then mentally chided himself. I’m so stupid. Why can’t I get over this guy? The mere thought that he could identify Scott’s scent even though he was drunk out of his mind, was laughable. I’m freaking in love with this man and I can’t shake the feeling no matter what I do.

  Paul sighed and stepped away from the tree. It was time to separate himself from Scott Carmichael. He took a step toward the sidewalk, intending to leave the yard through the gate when he accidentally kicked one of the lit pumpkins at the base of the tree. His leg buckled and he felt himself falling—only to be caught by a pair of strong arms.

  “You’re drunker than a skunk,” Scott exclaimed.

  Paul fought the pair of hands grasping him around the waist. “Turn loose. I don’t want your hands on me.” He flailed his arms and pushed free of Scott’s helping hands only to wind up stumbling forward. He briefly caught sight of one low hanging limb on the oak tree and the suspended witch on her broom before crashing face first into the obstruction. The branch pushed forward, bent and curled back, tossing Paul against the trunk of the tree and causing the Halloween decoration to become entangled around his neck.

  “You’re embarrassing me, Simpson. For Pete’s sake! Get your drunken ass in the house.”

  “Go away.”

  “I should leave you lying in the yard.”

  “Don’t touch me!”

  “All right! Yell why don’t you?”

  Paul felt the sudden jarring in his bones when he hit the unyielding ground. He plopped hard on his ass at the base of the tree and bumped his head on the rough bark. As he finally came to rest against the trunk, he slapped the paper witch on her broom away from his face, tearing the decoration to shreds in his sudden desire to be free of it and everything it stood for. Anger raged inside his body. The effects of the alcohol he had consumed coupled with the torment of Scott ridiculing him because of his drunken state fueled his anger. If he could manage to sober up—

  “Are you two having your own party out here?”

  Paul winced at the voice. Reluctantly, he peered beyond where Scott stood and spied a number of people watching. Apparently, they had been leaving the house when he erupted in anger. He leaned his head in his hands, ashamed that he had called attention to himself in his drunken state. Even with the alcohol numbing his mind, he knew word would spread all over campus by morning. He would be the laughing stock of the college because he couldn’t hold his liquor. He groaned in agony. Damn!

  “We might be.”

  Paul jerked his gaze toward Scott when he heard him speak. Is he sticking up for me? The thought seemed absurd—Scott often yelled at him for drinking when he knew he couldn’t handle liquor. He blinked his eyes, trying to see Scott clearly.

  “Well, why don’t you two get a room?” A jeering voice yelled.

  “Yeah! I hear Moonlight Motel has a Halloween special. Three can fuck for the price of two.”

  Paul heard Scott laugh and pretty soon everyone gathered around were laughing, too. He closed his eyes and wished he were anywhere else besides there sitting beneath the oak tree, his head in his hands and his stomach tied in knots. If only I hadn’t gotten drunk. He tried to shut out the surroundings and Scott’s presence. Why doesn’t he just leave?

  Paul forced his eyes open despite the solace concealment brought for a second. Scott was the only one still standing beneath the tree. The yard was empty. The hecklers had taken leave. He released a sigh of relief. Bringing his gaze upward, he stared at Scott through the murky darkness. I should be grateful he stayed.

  “Let’s go get some coffee.”

  Scott’s words spun round in his head. His voice sounded amiable and for a second Paul didn’t know what to make of it all. Did he want to spend time with him? Or was he merely feeling sorry for him because he was drunk and his peers had made fun of him?

  “I’d still be drunk. I’d just be wide awake.”

  Scott chuckled and stooped beside Paul.

  The nearness of Scott was somewhat sobering. Though his form seemed to waver before his eyes, and he found it difficult to make out his features, he sensed he was staying because he wanted to. “Why did you come here tonight?”

  Scott straightened, poked his hands into his jeans pockets. “I’m just out celebrating Halloween with a couple of buddies.”

  Paul drew in a long breath. A question burned in his mind and he made a valid attempt to curtail his tongue, yet his curiosity won out. “Who are you fucking these days?”

  Tension seemed to hang in the air, thick and daunting, while Scott appeared to be contemplating his answer. Paul scrambled to his hands and knees at the base of the tree and finally managed to stand though he was wobbly and had to hang onto the tree trunk to keep his balance. His stomach lurched with the movement and his head spun, forcing him to close his eyes for a second.

  “No one in particular, Paul.”

  “Just any Tom, Dick or Harry?” He almost bit his tongue off—the retort was so nasty. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply that—”

  “That I’ve become promiscuous?”

  “Yeah.” He swallowed and tried to see Scott clearly. “Are you—promiscuous?”

  Scott drew in an audible breath. “Not as much as you think, Paul.” He turned as though he were going to walk away, but reversed his steps and leaned so close to Paul that he could feel the warmth of his body.

  Paul’s emotions somersaulted. The close proximity of his old lover brought a flood of memories coursing through his drunken mind. It was all he could do to keep from wrapping his arms around Scott and p
ulling him against his chest.

  “I could ask you the same question. Are you promiscuous, Paul? Are you fucking every Tom, Dick and Harry you can coax into your bed?”

  Paul leaned against the tree, the wind suddenly knocked out of his lungs by Scott’s words. “You know that isn’t true. You know—” Damn! I almost told him I still love him!

  Scott turned and strode toward the gate. “I’m sorry I came around, Paul. I really am.”

  Paul felt as though his heart was being pierced. He opened his mouth to call Scott back, but he was already through the gate and walking down the sidewalk. Tears rose to his eyes further clouding his vision. His stomach churned as a sharp pang shot through his insides and vomit rose in his throat.

  Chapter Five

  Paul opened his eyes and tried to discern the noise surrounding his body. Were his ears playing tricks on him? Voices sounded in one direction, music played in another. He flexed his hands, feeling grass between his fingers. The aroma of fresh earth filtered to his nose. He attempted to right himself, placing one palm against the ground and raising his upper body. The stench of vomit wafted upward to assault his senses. He moved abruptly trying to get away from the odor and feeling the urge to check out his clothes. Had he vomited on his shirt?

  His mind felt fuzzy, as though he had been under great duress and forgotten what had taken place before he woke up on the ground beneath the oak tree. Had he passed out? He reached a hand to the sturdy trunk and tried to grasp a hold. It was a chore to try and pull his body upward, to get to his knees and then to his feet. He felt wretched. His head throbbed. His stomach felt queasy.

  The sight of the lit pumpkins at the base of the tree brought his thinking around. It was still Halloween and the party was still in full swing inside the old house. He could see people milling about the front porch and gathered in small groups in the yard. He belched. The effects of the beer he had drunk still lingered in his body but his stomach felt empty. Perhaps it was good that he had thrown up. The action had gotten rid of most of the liquor. Maybe he’d sober up now.

  He wrenched his gaze toward the street. Scott had been there earlier. His anger had driven him away. He stared down the avenue as though his desire for him would bring him back. He gritted his teeth. He had blown the opportunity to be with Scott again. He had fucked up everything. He combed one hand through his hair. He needed to get inside—to go to his room and crawl into bed. He needed the night to be over.

  With caution on his mind, he began the tedious trek to the front porch. The smoke machine was still puffing out gray mist and a slight breeze was blowing the fine spray across the yard and upward into the oak tree. Paul blinked his eyes, trying to clear his vision as he left the safety of the tree. It was imperative that he make his way across the lawn and into the house without anyone being aware that he was dog drunk.

  His feet felt heavy and his legs were wobbly. As he approached the porch, he was assaulted by the volume of the music playing in the front room of the house. If he could manage to get to his room, would he be able to shut out the noise and get to sleep? He grasped the railing at the stoop and paused briefly, assimilating the distance between the porch and the step. Placing one foot on the step, he relied on the sturdy railing to support his body while he carefully ventured onto the porch.

  “Hey, Simpson. Is that puke on your shirt?”

  Paul frowned at the remark. If he weren’t drunk and in need of crawling away into the dark abyss, he’d come back with a smart retort and put the heckler in his place but as it happened, he felt completely helpless. He brought one hand to his shirt and felt the wetness, then sought the speaker of the remark.

  “It’s pumpkin puke, man. It’s Halloween.”

  Tripping over his own feet, he felt himself falling and managed to grab hold of the door facing just before crashing to his knees. Pain shot through his legs and his palm burned from sliding down the wooden doorjamb but the onslaught of embarrassment that flooded his body quickly overrode the jolting injury. The blurry sight of legs and feet squeezing past his body as he tried to get up in the tight doorway only added to his unease over the situation. The urge to disappear gripped his mind and for a split second, he wished he could evaporate into thin air and never return to his old life.

  Hands caught Paul beneath the armpits and hoisted his body upward, then circled his waist and drew his body against a warm length. A breath caught in his throat as he turned his head and glimpsed Scott pressed against his side.

  “Keep your mouth shut. Don’t say another fucking word. I’m taking you to your room.”

  The trek across the crowded room took a little time and all the while Paul tried to clear his fuzzy mind. It was more than he could have ever asked for to have Scott at his side again—even though his words of warning were less than kind. He tightened his arm around Scott’s shoulder and tried to walk beside him as they pushed through the drunken revelers partying in the room.

  The hallway of the old house was nearly as crowded as the living room. Paul allowed Scott to propel his body along, his arm tight about his waist. Thoughts that perhaps Scott would stay with him filled his mind as they drew near the door at the end of the hall. He tried to tell himself to sober up, to get a grip on reality and perhaps, once they were in his room, he and Scott could talk, perhaps work things out. His emotions soared at the prospect of patching up the relationship.

  “Menage?” a voice asked. Paul felt a pair of hands grip his ass cheeks. He jerked his head over his shoulder and spied a freshman smiling sweetly in his direction.

  “Not tonight,” Scott replied, pushing on down the foyer.

  By the time they reached the bedroom, Paul was eager to find the key and unlock the door. Scott released him to lean against the wall.

  “Give me your keys.” He held out one hand and stared at Paul. “Hurry the fuck up.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Unless you want a threesome—or more.” He released a long breath. “Find your keys, dammit.”

  Paul thrust his hand into his jeans pocket in search of his room key. His fingers touched various objects but not the key. “I hope I haven’t lost it,” he mumbled.

  “You’re fucking on your own!” Scott bit out. He turned and started down the hallway.

  “Wait! I found it!” Paul dragged the key from his pocket and held it out for Scott to see. “Look!” He waved the key at Scott. Please come back.

  Try as he might, he couldn’t rid his mind of the effects of the liquor he had gulped down or clear his eyesight so that he could see Scott’s face plainly. He felt helpless and at Scott’s mercy. He held his breath and waited for Scott to make a decision. When he saw him turn back in his direction, he didn’t try to hide the smile that stretched across his lips.

  Scott snatched the key out of Paul’s hand. Mumbling beneath his breath, he jabbed the key into the lock and turned the knob. “Get your drunken ass inside,” he ordered, grabbing Paul by one arm.

  Paul hurried to comply, pushing his body off the supporting wall and angling his feet across the threshold of the room. Keenly aware that Scott was following him, he aimed his feet toward the bed in the far corner of the room. “I need to lay down.”

  He heard the lock on the door click as he made his way across the room. It was good to be safely inside his sanctuary and away from prying eyes. His drunkenness had brought about more comments than he cared to remember and come morning, he was sure he would recall each verbal insult with alarming clarity. Damn!

  As he veered his feet toward the bed, he remembered he had vomited on his shirt and suddenly pulled up short. I can’t get into bed with puke on my shirt. He grasped the hem of his t-shirt and yanked it over his head. His chest felt wet and he soon discovered that the vomit had gone through his shirt and was on his skin. “Fuck! I need a shower.” He threw the shirt on the floor, then remembered it was soiled and bent to pick it up. As he leaned forward, his head swam and he lost his balance. In the next instant, he crashed against the nightstand beside the bed and
ultimately landed on the carpet.

  “I don’t know why I’m bothering with you, Simpson! Dammit! You make me so mad when you drink! You know you can’t hold your liquor—” Scott rushed across the room and yanked Paul up by one arm.

  The action was brutal, but Paul was numb from the liquor. He chuckled and wound one arm around Scott’s neck. “Thanks, buddy.”

  The feel of Scott’s muscular body melding with Paul’s naked side aroused his emotions all over again. He leaned into Scott’s sturdy chest and deliberately slowed his steps as they crossed the room to the bathroom. The longer he could stay pressing against Scott, the better it made him feel. Sober or drunk, he loved Scott and nothing in the world seemed to prove otherwise. He turned his head and stared at Scott’s face as they crossed the room. Scott’s handsome looks had been the first thing that had attracted him. He had Italian ancestors and his chiseled features belied the dark countenance of the race. His eyes were dark brown, almost black and framed with long thick dark lashes. He wore his hair shoulder length, sometimes capturing it at his nape. Paul shivered uncontrollably. It always turned him on when Scott pulled his hair back. There was something about the look that instantly aroused his male senses.

  “Will you shower with me?” Paul heard his slurred voice, as the words seemed to fly from his mouth. For an instant, he held his breath in lieu of meeting Scott’s gaze.

  Scott halted his feet and Paul bit his bottom lip. Nervousness welled up inside him as he gazed at the side of Scott’s face. The wait seemed to draw out, lengthen, until Paul thought for sure Scott wasn’t going to answer him at all. He waited for him to look at him, to acknowledge that he had indeed actually spoken. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Scott turned his head and met his gaze.