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“Sure,” Jason said. He kissed Kennedy back. “If you want to.”
Until that moment he had not considered that he and Kennedy might continue any kind of relationship beyond their current assignment. Most probably Kennedy did not mean that they would literally discuss his past at a later date, was just softening the rejection. Not that he was overly prone to politeness.
Was there potential for him and Kennedy to…?
What?
They lived in different states, to begin with. Then again they both traveled extensively. It was not inconceivable they might hook up again.
And that was probably all Kennedy meant. The sex was good with them, so why wouldn’t they, er, socialize if they happened to find themselves with free time while in the same city. And maybe in that unforeseeable future Kennedy might even be in a more confiding frame of mind. That’s what he meant.
Right?
And that would be fine with Jason. Either would be fine. He liked Kennedy, but he wasn’t making long-term plans either. He wouldn’t mind reconnecting at some future date. And if that were to happen, he wouldn’t mind if Kennedy confided in him—but he also didn’t mind if Kennedy kept his secrets.
Everybody had secrets.
He woke to fragile sunlight and the knowledge that he was alone. Again.
Jason opened his eyes, peered at the clock and then at the indented pillow on Kennedy’s side of the bed.
Five thirty on Thursday morning. Jesus Christ, Kennedy was an early bird. Did he not understand the pleasurable possibilities of waking up with someone in a warm bed when you had a few quiet minutes to greet the day?
No. He probably did not. Given the fact that he had, as far as Jason could tell, barely slept the night before. For Kennedy, the night was more about accommodating the scheduling needs of others than requiring sleep himself.
Inviting Jason to crash here had been kind. Jason recognized now he had been more shaken than he’d realized by his fall. He remembered jerking awake at one point—one of those instinctive, spasmodic reactions to the sensation of plummeting down—and Kennedy’s arm had tightened around him.
“You’re okay,” he’d said softly. Just that, but even half asleep, Jason had heard and believed.
It gave him a weird, wobbly feeling in his belly to think of it. He was either close to falling for Kennedy—or desperately in need of breakfast. Desperately in need of breakfast, hopefully.
And right on cue, the motel room door opened, and Kennedy, in sweats, T-shirt, and sunglasses, carried in coffee and a bag of something that smelled promisingly of breakfast sandwiches. Jason’s stomach growled.
“I heard that,” Kennedy remarked.
Jason sat up. “I wondered where you’d got to.”
Kennedy threw him a quick, faint smile. He set down the paper bag on the desk and handed Jason his coffee. Jason checked under the lid that no pollutants had been added—Kennedy doctored his own coffee with sugar and cream—and took a life-saving swallow.
“Thanks. I needed that.”
“How’d you sleep?”
Jason nodded. He said a little self-consciously, “Thank you for that too.”
“Sausage and egg or bacon and egg?”
“Sausage.”
Kennedy tossed him one of the breakfast sandwiches.
“Did you sleep at all?” Jason asked.
“Me? Sure.” Kennedy unwrapped a sandwich and took one of those gigantic bites. He grinned sharkishly at Jason.
“I’ve been thinking.” Jason delicately picked paper out of his mouth. He had been a little too enthusiastic tackling his own sandwich. “Boxner is our guy.”
“I see. This again.”
