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  “No.”

  Chapter Six

  I’m so fucking weak. Paul released a long breath and stepped inside the bathroom. He fumbled with the snap on his jeans while Scott pulled the shower curtain and turned on the water. He hoped the hot shower would sober him up—or at least revive his body enough so that he could talk to Scott in a logical fashion. The sting of rejection still burned inside him. Why had he asked Scott to shower with him—knowing in his heart that the answer would be no?

  Scott left the bathroom and Paul grimaced as the closing of the door punctuated the final decision Scott had murmured seconds earlier. A sharp pang cut across his midsection and he groped his stomach, hoping he wasn’t going to be sick again. The agony of being rejected again by Scott brought tears to his eyes. He scrubbed the back of one hand across his face and stumbled toward the shower stall.

  Paul stood with his back to the hot spray of water, letting it wash over his head and splash against his shoulders. Reality was cruel and he had endured enough insults for one night. Surely Scott had left his room. Perhaps he was with his buddies and off to another party by now. He closed his eyes and tried to envision the hot water cleansing his mind, washing away all memory of Scott Carmichael.

  When the water grew cold, Paul roused and turned to shut it off. Drawing the curtain aside, he groped the towel bar for a towel. He swiped the towel across his face then draped it about his waist as he stepped from the shower. The water had succeeded in waking his senses a bit. He didn’t feel quite as groggy as before. He drew in a deep breath, filling his lungs and trying to clear his mind completely. In the past, when he had gotten drunk, he had slept it off. His brows drew together. He hadn’t been drunk in almost a year. The last time he had over indulged, Scott had gotten pissed and read him the riot act. He shook his head. There had been a specific reason why he had drank to excess—but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember. Maybe we had argued. He gazed into the mirror hanging over the sink, then raised one hand and wiped away the condensation.

  His reflection stared back at him. His blue eyes held a look of sadness. For the past month he had gazed at his reflection in the mirror and promised himself he would make it through the tragedy of losing Scott. And for the duration, he had continued to lie to himself. He grimaced. Seeing Scott again, being so close to him, feeling his body again—the experience had revived the hurt he had been trying to push away. He leaned on the sink and tried to convince himself to leave the room and go to bed. The party was still going on and the music blaring in the living room was having little trouble penetrating the thin walls of the old house.

  Paul walked slowly out of the bathroom, tossing the towel at the towel bar as he stepped from the room. Naked, he skimmed one palm across his midsection. His stomach felt funny, but then how else would it feel? He had consumed a quart of beer at least, and a full glass of wine. He licked his lips. His mouth felt as though it was stuffed with cotton. He scratched his belly, then lowered his hand to his cock. It was flaccid, limp as though it would never rise again.

  “Fuck!” Thoughts of what he had allowed to happen between himself and Mitch Wilson surfaced as he walked toward the bed. He had let Mitch jerk him off. He had shot semen across the grass in a tall arc. For an instant, he tried to recall whether he had heard it splatter on the sidewalk. A short laugh leapt from his throat. “I let a stranger jerk me off.” He scratched his cock, fondled his balls. “It would be good to have someone to butt fuck.”

  The noise of the party droned into the room. Paul stretched his arms above his head. His temples throbbed. He was sobering up. The future held a splitting headache come morning. He pulled the sheet aside and stacked up the two pillows at the head of the bed. He had found it necessary to sleep in the center of the bed—just so he didn’t keep waking up and thinking Scott was beside him.

  Weary with the whole Halloween celebration, he sat on the side of the bed. If only Scott had been waiting for him when he exited the bathroom. He lowered his gaze to his crotch. The sight of his limp cock made him wonder why he was having such a thought—Scott would be incensed that he was limp if he would have stayed around. “Damn!” He stretched out on the bed, splayed his legs and placed his hand on his cock. If Mitch Wilson was in the room with him—

  A knock sounded on his door, drawing his gaze across the room and stilling his hand on his cock.

  “Paul. Open up.”

  Paul bolted upright in bed. His cock jerked beneath his hand. He stared at the door, trying to reason if he had imagined the voice or if indeed, Scott had spoken to him beyond the door.

  The knock sounded again, a bit louder.

  Paul debated whether to answer the door or remain on the bed and pretend he didn’t hear. Odds were against Scott returning. After all, he had been pretty explicit about not taking a shower with him. Why would he come back now—knowing Paul would have his shower over and be in bed. Had he forgotten he slept in the nude? Paul fondled his cock and stared at the door. If he thought for one second Scott was—

  “Paul, open the fucking door!”

  The words were whispered and tinged with annoyance. Paul threw his legs over the side of the bed and released his cock. Fuck. It wasn’t getting hard anyway. “Who is it?” he called, his brows drawing together in agitation.

  “Scott.”

  Really? He swallowed the comment and hurried across the room to the door.

  “Paul? Are you going to open up?”

  Paul turned the lock on the door and inched it back on its hinges, just enough so he could peek through the opening in to the hallway. His breath caught in his throat when he saw Scott standing in the hall. Without further hesitation, he pulled the door back and stepped aside, inviting Scott to enter his room.

  “You left.” Paul watched Scott step inside the room. He closed the door, secured the lock and turned to stare at Scott. “I don’t understand. Why are you here?” He quickly wished he hadn’t spoken the words. Did it matter why Scott had returned? Wasn’t it enough that he had come back? He felt suspense rise up inside him.

  Scott’s gaze traveled down Paul’s naked length and Paul felt the heat warm his naked flesh. He felt tempted to cup his balls and fondle his cock while Scott looked on. Arousal wafted through his insides.

  Chapter Seven

  Scott shrugged his shoulders. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” He smiled slightly.

  Paul stared at Scott. There wasn’t any visible evidence that he was lying to him. Besides, why would he lie about checking on him? For an instant, the thought that he still cared for him coursed through his insides.

  “Well, I see you’re ready for bed. I’ll leave now.” Scott poked his hands into his jeans pockets and took a step toward the door.

  Paul ran his fingers through his hair. “Why do you give a fuck if I’m okay or not?” It was evident that Scott was going to leave. He hadn’t come back for any reason other than to appease his own fucking curiosity about him. Anger rose in his gut, bitter and acidic.

  “Don’t get the wrong idea, Simpson. I was looking out for you—that’s all.”

  “Well, I don’t need you looking out for me, Carmichael. I can take care of myself.”

  A jeering laugh leapt from Scott’s throat. “Sure you can. You’re still stinking drunk and if I hadn’t helped you to this room, you’d still be lying in the living room floor and the college students would be stepping over your stupid body.”

  Paul’s lower jaw dropped open. Scott had never spoken to him like that in the past. He raised one hand and scratched his belly. He couldn’t think of an appropriate rebuttal to save his life. Everything Scott had just said was true. For a second he imagined himself lying helpless in the doorway of the house and his peers stepping over him, jeering loudly as they tried to avoid stepping on his appendages.

  “Maybe you’re right.”

  “Hell yes, I’m right.” Scott turned his back to Paul and muttered under his breath. “You really piss me off sometimes!” he yelled, w
hirling round and facing Paul. “You claim to be so perfect—and yet you get roaring drunk and make a fool out of yourself in front of everybody!”

  Paul’s brows drew together. “Was it that bad?”

  Scott crossed the room toward the door. He grasped the knob and paused. “It was pretty bad from what I saw. Of course I have no way of knowing what you did before I got here. Maybe you guzzled half the keg and danced on the table.”

  “I don’t think so. I don’t remember dancing on the table anyway.”

  “The point I’m trying to make, Simpson—”

  “Wait a minute. What does it matter to you—whether I make a fool out of myself or not? We’re no longer together. No one will blame you for what I do.” The argument had managed to sober him a little. He propped his hands on his hips and glared at Scott.

  An expression Paul found difficult to read passed over Scott’s features. For an instant he stared at him, trying to understand what was taking place between them. Did Scott still care for him—or was he angry because he had celebrated Halloween by getting drunk?

  “I guess I’m just still a little protective of you.”

  “Protective of me? Hell! You were never protective of me!”

  Scott nodded his head. “Maybe you weren’t aware of it.”

  Paul narrowed his gaze on Scott. “This isn’t about me. It’s about your own neurotic ideas of always being right. You’re fucking mad because you just realized that I’m getting along without you.”

  “You asked me to shower with you, have you forgotten?”

  “Hell no! I wanted you to shower with me.” He drew in a quick breath. “Now I think I must have been out of my fucking mind to suggest such a thing.” The argument was heating up and he wasn’t certain that was the direction he wanted it to take. He bit his lower lip and stared at Scott, waiting for him to make the next move.

  “You always talk out of your head when you’re drunk!” Scott turned toward the door, pulling up short as he drew near Paul. “I’ve learned not to take you seriously when you’re drinking.”

  “Are you calling me a drunk?” Paul bristled.

  Scott shook his head. “No. But you know how you are. I don’t have to remind you.”

  “Then shut up!”

  Scott frowned and waved one hand at Paul. “Go to bed and sleep it off.” He stepped around Paul and grasped the doorknob.

  “I was in bed when you pounded on my door.” He turned toward Scott as he paused at the door.

  “Then I’m sorry I disturbed you!”

  “Like hell you’re sorry. You came in here to deliberately rile me.”

  Scott turned from the door. “You’re fucking stupid, you know it? You were dead drunk and lying in the floor and I came to your rescue and now you’re berating me for having befriended you.”

  “Kiss my ass, Carmichael.”

  Scott’s gaze followed Paul’s naked length and rose up again to pause at his face.

  “I don’t want your friendship,” Paul bit out. The words stung as he released them from his mouth. A pang gripped his gut. He raised one hand and combed his fingers through his hair. He felt hot and sick and wondered if he was going to puke again. He took a step toward the john, his hand clutching his stomach.

  “What’s wrong? Are you sick?”

  “What do you care?” Paul quickened his steps as he crossed the room. His stomach churned and his head felt as though it were spinning. He lurched through the bathroom door, banged his shoulder on the door casing and lunged toward the toilet. “Holy crap!” A fountain of puke spewed forth the moment he neared the commode.

  The pain in his stomach subsided once he threw up. When at last the worse of the episode was over, he remained at the toilet, his forehead resting on his bent arm, his eyes closed. I’ll never drink again. Feeling too weak to try and get up, he grew content leaning on the toilet.

  “Let me help you to bed.”

  Scott’s voice cut into Paul’s scattered thoughts. He opened his eyes and raised his head. Scott stood in the open doorway of the bathroom staring at him. For a moment his image wavered, then steadied.

  “Come on.”

  Scott stepped into the room and reached for him, grasping his upper arm. Paul didn’t refuse his help. He scrambled up to his knees and allowed Scott to steady his body while he stood. Once he got to his feet, Scott paused giving him time to get his bearings.

  “I can make it by myself,” Paul insisted though he didn’t wrench his arm free of Scott’s grasp.

  “I’m not taking any chances. You already have a bruise on your shoulder from bumping into the doorway.”

  Paul glanced at his left shoulder. The numbing effects of the alcohol were still too great to allow him to feel pain but he remembered ramming into the immovable wall in his haste to get to the commode. He shuffled his feet toward the opening of the room and allowed Scott to guide him by one arm. As he followed Scott into the bedroom, he felt his anger dissolving. “Thanks for looking out for me.”

  Scott didn’t reply or acknowledge that Paul had even spoken. He led him to the bed and released his arm.

  Paul plopped down on the mattress and raised his gaze to encompass Scott’s face. “I’m sorry we argued.”

  “Me too.” Scott smiled slightly and poked his hands into his jeans pockets. “I’ll go now so you can get some sleep.”

  Paul watched as Scott turned from the bed. The pit of his stomach trembled at the notion that Scott was leaving him to sleep alone under the pretence of sleeping off his drunken stupor. As he watched the love of his life cross the room to the door, knowing he might never be in the room again, he felt an urgency he hadn’t known before. He fought the grip of remorse that rose up inside him. Could he bear to watch Scott walk out of his life again? “Scott?”

  Scott halted his feet and turned to look at Paul. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

  “I want you to stay with me.” The words were softly spoken yet seemed to echo inside the room despite the blare of rock music seeping through the walls. “Will you stay with me?”

  Chapter Eight

  Seconds seemed like hours while Paul waited for Scott to say yes or no to his invitation to stay the night. He sat on the side of the bed and looked at Scott with want and desire in his brown eyes. His naked chest heaved with emotion as he silently prayed that the love of his life would spend the night.

  “We broke up, remember?”

  Scott’s words stabbed at Paul’s heart. What could he say that would make him change his mind? What could he offer him? Was there something he could bribe him with? His thoughts spun.

  “But it’s Halloween—our holiday. We should be together.”

  Scott laughed and shook his head. “I suppose you’re right.”

  Paul’s pulse jumped in his wrist. A wide grin pulled at his mouth as Scott started back to the bed. Arousal streamed through his body like a hot flow of electrical current starting in his core and branching out along his limbs. His heart began to pound in anticipation and his head began to clear. He inched back on the bed, making room for Scott on one side.

  Scott paused mere inches from the side of the bed. “Are you going to tell me to shower before I get into bed?”

  Paul swallowed hard to relieve his dry throat. He shook his head. “It’s enough that you’re here.” He held out one hand. “I want to undress you.” His voice was low toned, husky. “Will you let me?”

  Scott stretched one arm toward Paul, placing his hand into his.

  Paul tugged Scott onto the bed beside him. His heart hammered a rapid tattoo against his ribs as he reached one hand to the front of Scott’s shirt and began releasing the buttons through their buttonholes. His hand shook as he brought his gaze upward to Scott’s face. Is this really happening? He flattened his palm against Scott’s chest. Yes. He’s really here. I’m not hallucinating. “I can feel your heart beating,” he whispered.

  Scott covered Paul’s hand with his own. “You’re very vulnerable when you’re drunk.�
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  “Are you going to take advantage of me?” Paul chuckled and returned his attention to unbuttoning Scott’s shirt. “Because if you are, I can be very cooperative.”

  “I know you can.” Scott slid one hand onto Paul’s naked thigh.

  A shiver of utter delight quaked through Paul’s insides. “I’m so glad you’re here.” He pushed aside the fabric of Scott’s shirt and touched his skin, flattening his palm against his chest. The sheer pleasure of touching him caused him to close his eyes. He inhaled his scent, drawing the male musk deep into his lungs.

  Scott’s hand moved on Paul’s bare thigh, inching upward before stopping. “I’ve missed you.”

  Paul halted his hand. Had he imagined Scott’s words? He opened his eyes and captured Scott’s gaze. “Have you really missed me?” He swallowed down the unease gathering in his throat.

  Scott nodded his head. “Yes.”

  Paul’s emotions spilled over. Tears quickly misted his eyes and he hurried to drop his gaze for fear Scott would learn the depth of his love for him.

  “When I saw how drunk you were tonight, I knew I couldn’t leave you. I had to take care of you. You’re very vulnerable when you’re drunk.”

  “Is that the only reason you…stayed?”

  “No.” Scott drew in a long breath. “I’ve really missed you, Paul.”

  Paul felt his emotions soar. He leaned toward Scott, pausing to gaze deep into his eyes, before kissing him. When his lips pressed atop Scott’s, and Scott began to kiss him back, he had the intense sensation that he had died and gone to heaven. Where else could he find such bliss—if not in heaven?

  Paul placed one hand on Scott’s cheek and took control of the kiss, slicking his tongue along Scott’s lower lip and then sliding it inside his mouth. He tasted the sweetness of his mouth, felt his gum and teeth, teased his tongue until Scott groaned deep in his throat. He pushed his shirt off his shoulders, baring his chest. His cock pulsed in his crotch, aroused with the display of compliance Scott exhibited.