Page 127 of Too Close To Home

Jake shrugged. “No idea.”

Harrison looked away. “I see.”

Right. Shit. Bollocks.

Because there it was again. Another little glimpse into the parts of Jake’s life Harrison probably couldn’t begin to understand. Men whose surnames he didn’t know. Sometimes first names he didn’t know either. Sex that happened because both of them wanted it and ended without anyone pretending it had been more than that.

Normally, Jake didn’t give a shit what anyone thought about it. So why the fuck did he suddenly want to explain himself? That it weren’t like he collected conquests. That he didn’t treat people like they were disposable. Sometimes sex was just sex. Easy. Mutual. No promises made, none broken.

Nothing wrong with that.

There had never been anything wrong with that.

Except Harrison was looking at him again, and for one stretched-out second Jake had the ridiculous urge to make sure he knew it too.

Then Harrison’s expression settled back into something more professional. “I need to ask Brodie a few more questions about when he served Andy on Wednesday.”

And there went the fucking door.

Jake stepped aside his real one and gestured Harrison in.

Brodie had offered him easy tonight. Jake had turned him down without a second thought. And now Harrison Black was standing on the threshold of his flat, looking at Jake’s mouth while pretending they were discussing witness enquiries. Apparently, Jake had found something considerably more interesting than easy.

“Can’t believe the prick served him.”

“Hm.” Harrison stepped further inside, and Jake immediately regretted it when Harrison took in the filth.

“Sorry about the mess.” Jake tossed his keys onto the kitchenette counter and kicked a pile of clothes out of the middle of the floor with the side of his boot.

Then he darted across the room to grab the cereal bowl abandoned beside the unmade mattress on the floor and the two mugs of stale coffee he’d left sitting there since God knew when. His mum would berate him for that. And Robyn: “can’t start your day with a messy bed”. So Jake yanked the duvet up, dragging it over the worst of the rumpled sheets before straightening again.

Jesus Christ.

He was an absolute fucking slob.

And DI Harrison Black, a man composed and clean and the epitome of put-together, stood inside the door, taking it all in.

To be fair, there wasn’t much space for him to go anywhere else. The drum kit took up half the room, cymbals glinting in the weak lamplight. The mattress claimed most of the rest. Between the kitchenette counter, the amp shoved against the wall, and the narrow strip of carpet left between everything, the place barely had enough floor space for one man—never mind two.

Unless they got very, very close.

Not much of a problem. But he supposed if this were official business, he should offer the man a brew.

Jake jerked a thumb at the kitchen. “Do you… er, want a drink?”

“No, that’s fine.” Harrison slipped his hands into his coat pockets. “I’ve had enough coffee to keep me awake until the end of the century.”

Jake nodded, then slapped his palms against the back of his work trousers, sending more dust into the atmosphere, unsure what to do with himself.

“I sent PC Murray to speak with your parents as their family liaison officer. But…” Harrison met his gaze. “You said you’d prefer me.”

Something shifted low in Jake’s stomach at the way he said that. Probably because prefer sounded dangerously close to something else.

“Aye.” Jake wet his lips. “I want you.”

Fuck.

He heard it the second it left his mouth, but it was too late to yank the words back. Not that he was embarrassed by them. That was the weird part. Jake had never been shy about wanting a man. If he fancied someone, he fancied them. Usually made sure they knew it too. No point pissing about pretending otherwise when he could be naked in half an hour.