“Yeah, I noticed,” Damon said dryly, almost like he was replying to Cain’s thoughts, and Cain’s eyes widened.Whathad he noticed? Oh, mother of God, if Cain had spoken during his dream, or…worse. His cock was still semi-hard in his pants right now, for Heaven’s sake. What had he been doing or saying while Damon watched?
The heat in his face doubled, counteracting the cold, damp air of the apartment, and he stood up, grabbing the blanket in his arms and turning away to fold it.
At least you were clothed. At least you didn’t wake up with your cock in your hand. At least…
He cleared his throat. “I was dreaming.”
“Figured that, too. You kept saying something.”
Oh, God.Hehadbeen talking! Was spontaneous combustion real? Could you induce it? He was attempting it right now, if the heat of his cheeks was anything to go by.
“Did I?” Cain’s voice was meant to be casual but came out strangled.
“You kept saying, ‘Idowant it. Ido.’ Do you remember what you were dreaming about?”
“Donuts?” Cain blurted the first thing that came to mind. He averted his face and squeezed his eyes shut. “Probably, you know, donuts... Or something like that.”
“Donuts.” A statement not a question, like he knew Cain was lying.
“Oh, yeah. Mm-hmm. Love donuts. They’re just… the best.”Kill. Me. Now.
“Donuts?” Damon asked again.
“That’s what I said!” Cain fixed him with a glare. “Whodoesn’twant donuts?”
“Right,” Damon allowed. “Anyway, I covered you in the night when I got up. I wanted the windows open and you seemed chilly. You didn’t move at all, even when I took your jacket.” He nodded to the vacant chair near Cain’s feet, where Cain’s discarded jacket, dress shirt, and tie had been laid out.
Okay. Alright. That wasn’t too bad. They’d just confirmed that Cain had donut fantasies and slept like a corpse, and the kiss last night had been so totally forgettable that Damon had likely blocked it out, but this morning definitely could have gone worse.
At least he’d remembered to text his mother the night before and make an excuse for why he hadn’t returned to the party. Darn his sensitive stomach for acting upjustas he was having the time of his life at the fundraiser, but what could he do but go back to the hotel so he didn’t spoil everyone else’s fun? His mother’s terse reply had suggested she could think of a few preferable alternatives.We will be discussing this in the morning, Cain.
In comparison, this mortifying conversation with Damon was a walk in the park.
He looked out the window as he smoothed the blanket. “Wow. It’s pretty gross out there today,” he said, taking a deep breath to calm his nerves. There was no visible sunlight, just a bleak, gray soup that hugged the glass tightly and seemed to seep in through the opening.
Damon shrugged. “I like the fresh air, even when it’s murky. I don’t like being cooped up.” He pursed his lips together like he hadn’t meant to say that much, and Cain found his mind going back to last night.
Everyone else seems finewaiting, but what the hell are we waiting for?
Damon had been locked in a kind of static prison for nearly a year and a half now, and Cain could only imagine he had to fight tooth and claw to regain whatever control he could over his circumstances. For the millionth time, Cain wondered how Damon had survived the plane crash that had killed the Seavers and Amy McMann, and where he’d been for the year before he’d reappeared.
Not that it was any of Cain’s business. Not that he and Damon were friends. Not that they wereanything.
“Is that coffee?” Cain asked, inhaling deeply as he deliberately changed the subject.
It wasn’t a total ruse. The scent was strong in the air - so strong he’d smelled it in his dream - and right now he needed a cup more than his next breath. His brain was full of sticky cobwebs that kept latching onto random thoughts, making him sympathize with Damon more than he could afford to since he still couldn’t come forward about his father, and making him want things from Damon that would only spell heartbreak.
Last night he’d had a pretty good idea about how hecouldmaybehelp Damon fix things, though. And maybe,maybe, he’d still tell Damon about it. He was fairly sure he would take some convincing, and Cain required appropriate caffeination for that.
“Yeah. What passes for coffee here, anyway.” Damon gave that annoyed, humored grunt again, and Cain realized that even wide-awake, he couldn’t tell which emotion it conveyed. “Had a cup a little while ago.”
“Is it instant?” Cain asked. He’d drink it even if it were - he wasn’ttoomuch of a coffee snob, and these were desperate times - but still.
“No, not that bad.” Damon’s eyes met his, and this time the amusement was plain. “But you’ve got to heat the water in a kettle and pour it.”
Cain nodded. “That’s cool. My college roommate had a setup like that. Very hipster.”
“Hipster,”Damon said, testing the word in his mouth. “Yeah, no. Cort’s just a Luddite. Hates all forms of technology.’
