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Dex didn’t stir.
“I am not carrying your ass, so you better wake up.” He took hold of Dex’s face and tilted it toward him. His lips were still swollen from their kissing, and without thinking about what he was doing, he leaned in and pressed his lips to Dex’s. There was a faint groan and a shuddered sigh before Dex stirred. Brushing a few strands of fallen hair away from his brow, Sloane stared into sleepy eyes. “Hey. I need you to wake up enough to walk. Can you do that for me?”
“Mm,” Dex hummed, pushing himself to sit up. Quickly taking advantage of Dex’s semiconscious state, Sloane got out of the car, closed the door behind him and ran around to Dex’s side to help him get his seat belt off. Dex leaned into him, inhaling deeply.
“Smell good,” he murmured, his eyes drifting shut.
“No. No falling asleep yet. Come on. On your feet, Agent Daley.” To his amusement, Dex nodded and grabbed onto Sloane’s arm, pulling himself to stand. Sloane locked up the car behind them and led Dex up the two sets of metal stairs, an arm wrapped around his waist. Arriving at the elevator, Sloane propped Dex against his hip as he pressed the button. A couple of near misses later—where Dex almost slipped out of his grip—they finally reached the seventh floor. He fished his keys from his pocket, unlocked his apartment, and got Dex inside. The guy was like a zombie, dead to the world but somehow still walking. At least he wasn’t drooling.
With the front door secure, he dropped his keys into the little bowl on the table beside it, and helped Dex through the dining room to the living room, to the plush, black fabric couch. Sloane sat him down, tossing Dex’s leather jacket onto one of the armchairs, and then he tried to lay Dex down on his back, but Dex twisted his body and flopped down on his stomach.
“Okay, then.”
With a heavy sigh, Sloane crouched down to pull off Dex’s Converse sneakers and put them on the floor next to him. He shifted Dex’s legs up onto the cushions and stood back, watching as Dex let out a loud groan and turned over, his shirt riding up in the process to reveal flat abs, and a thin blond happy trail that disappeared underneath the band of his underwear just visible from beneath the low-riding jeans. Dex flung an arm over his closed eyes and his shirt rode up farther. This was a test, wasn’t it, to see if Sloane would give in to temptation?
Well, he was stronger than that. He didn’t care that Dex’s lips were slightly parted as his chest slowly rose and fell, his stomach exposed, his other hand lying dangerously close to his crotch. Sloane’s gut clenched, hit by another spark of desire. He’d been hoping what happened in the car had been a one-off, a momentary slip brought about by Dex catching him off guard.
What was wrong with him? To make matters worse, Sloane knew what Dex tasted like. He’d dug his fingers into Dex’s skin, held him close for a few agonizing minutes. Sloane couldn’t keep his brain from conjuring up images of Dex naked, in his bed with that amazing ass in the air. He shrugged out of his jacket, hung it on the hooks on the wall beside the door and left his boots on the shoe rack underneath. When he walked back into the living room, his gaze fell on the photo frame on the bookshelf, and he stopped cold. A photo of him and Gabe with the team had his heart sinking to his stomach.
What was he doing? Walking up to the bookshelf, he picked up the photo. Gabe’s smiling face sent a flash of remorse through him. Was he a terrible person for feeling attracted to Dex? He missed Gabe, no doubt about it, and he still loved him. There were times when he woke up in the middle of the night, rolled over and before the haze of sleep wore off, could feel Gabe there in bed beside him.
Dex let out a soft groan, capturing his attention. Did he even feel something for Dex or was he lonely? Had he really been so out of it that having someone make him laugh had him believing he was attracted to them? He returned the photograph of Gabe to the shelf, knowing what he had to do. He had to forget about Dex. It wasn’t fair to either of them. Sloane wasn’t ready for a relationship and fucking around for sex wasn’t going to be conducive to their working relationship. The thought was painful, but no more painful than the thought of another broken heart.
Chapter 10
CRAP. HE felt like warmed-over crap. Maybe a few more minutes in bed would help.
Dex rolled over and his bed disappear
ed from under him. He hit the floor with a painful thud and through his haze of confusion managed to roll over, a deep frown coming onto his face at the sight of an unfamiliar ceiling. Bolting upright was immediately regretted. He shut his eyes tight for a moment, willing the room to stop spinning and for the pulse in his brain to go away. When it was clear neither were ready to depart, he opened his eyes.
Where the hell was he? Shit, had he gone home with someone? He looked down at himself and figured being clothed and sleeping on a couch were good indications he hadn’t had sex. Damn, why couldn’t he remember how he’d gotten here and with whom? Slowly standing, he scanned his surroundings. The living room was hella nice. It had exposed brick walls with black shelving units running along the wall from floor to about waist height where they turned into several large drawers. Books, framed pictures, and knick-knacks filled the units.
The furniture fit nicely with the loft’s rustic look. There was the dark three-seater Dex had fallen off of, a dark wood coffee table in the center, and a dark loveseat on the other side. Next to the coffee table to one side sat two light-colored armchairs and behind the loveseat, a long wood table with two lamps. The shelves across from him housed a vast collection of movies, along with a sweet flat screen TV. On the far wall were two large windows, and he peeked out to find the apartment building had a great view. It was right on the High Line, which meant pricey. Wherever he was, it was tidy, clean, and elegant. From the corner of his eye, he caught a framed photo of his team.
Shit, he was in Sloane’s apartment? What was he doing here? Oh my God, please tell me I didn’t try to sleep with him. Not that Sloane wasn’t absolutely and totally fuckable, but that would bring on all sorts of drama neither of them needed right now. He tried to remember last night. He’d been drunk, but not amnesia-inducing drunk. Taking a moment to calm himself, he sat down on the edge of the couch, mentally retracing his steps from the moment they’d left work.
Work! Holy shit, what time was it? He looked at his watch. “Oh my God!” It was past ten in the morning. “Sloane!” Dex jumped up, took one step and toppled face first into the carpet. “Son of a bitch.” He gave his stupid sneakers a kick. “Sloane!”
There were a series of thumps from somewhere to the right, and then Sloane came through one of the doorways, Glock drawn.
Dex sat up, his eyes wide at the sight of Sloane in nothing but snug black boxer briefs and a loose gray V-neck shirt, his hair sticking up in every direction looking like he was ready to kick some ass despite being in his undies. Fuck. That was hot. Sloane quickly scanned the room until he found Dex on the floor.
“What are you doing down there?” He put the safety on his gun before helping Dex to his feet.
“Uh, I tripped.”
“You tripped?” Sloane gaped at him. “Is that why you’re screaming bloody fucking murder?” Sloane whacked him in the arm. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“Sorry.” He remembered why he’d been screaming and grabbed Sloane’s arms. “He’s going to tear us a new one!”
“What? Who?”
“My dad. We’re like three hours late!”
Sloane’s lips broke into a smile before he started laughing. “Don’t you think I would have woken you up? Jesus, Dex, I called Maddock this morning and let him know we were going to be in late.” Sloane slid his Glock up on the highest shelf out of sight before walking off, chuckling.
“Wait, we can do that?”
