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1
Colin slipped out of bed as quietly as he could, tiptoeing on cat feet down the ladder from the top bunk. He hadn’t slept well, but he hadn’t expected to. Deep, restorative sleep was something that eluded him at the best of times, and he was used to waking up tired.
He wasn’t, however, used to waking up on top of his best friend.
He stepped lightly to the floor, wincing when the ancient hardwood creaked under his weight. But Evan snored on, apparently undisturbed under the deep blue comforter that covered all but the top of his head and one dangling foot. So Colin quietly gathered his things, ignoring with the ease of long practice the twist of longing in his belly, and crept out of the room to the bath across the hall.
He emptied his bladder, splashed some water on his face, and used the toothbrush Esme had set out for him to get rid of the fuzz in his mouth. He’d known the round of shots with Spence had been a bad idea, but knowing he’d be lying above Evan all night had him desperate to delay going to bed. When he’d finally gone up, Evan had already been buried under his covers. Torn between relief and regret, Colin had climbed into the top bunk and spent way too long staring at the ceiling. He’d hoped the whiskey would bring oblivion, but it wasn’t enough to overcome the misery of unrequited love.
At least he wasn’t hungover, the two ibuprofen and glass of water he’d downed before bed having worked their magic. He had a faint headache, and he felt thirsty enough to drain Lake Michigan, but all in all, it was a small price to pay for his cowardice.
He winced and spat into the sink, deliberately avoiding his reflection in the mirror above. He didn’t like thinking of himself as a coward, but since after a decade and a half he’d yet to find the courage to tell Evan that he was in love with him, it was the kindest word he could come up with.
Teeth brushed and his belly once again tied in knots, he shoved the familiar self-recriminations aside and began to dress in yesterday’s t-shirt and jeans. They were wrinkled, because drunk Colin hadn’t bothered folding them the night before, and he hadn’t thought to bring a change of clothes. A silly oversight in hindsight, but he’d been too preoccupied with the logistics of his first orgy to think of it.
He thought about asking Esme if he could throw them in the dryer for a few minutes to freshen them up, then discarded the idea. It was early, and though he was sure his hostess wouldn’t begrudge him the use of the laundry facilities, he didn’t want to wake her to ask.
After all, she’d had a busy day yesterday.
Dressed in the wrinkled clothes, his feet bare—because yesterday’s wrinkled jeans were one thing, but he drew the line at yesterday’s socks—he put on his glasses and slipped out of the bathroom. He passed the spare room Tuck and Esme had turned into a library, the door closed on a no-doubt still sleeping Jude, and made his way downstairs.
Spence was sprawled on the living room sofa, one leg stretched out over the coffee table. He was fully dressed, right down to his boots, with a throw pillow over his face and a blanket clutched to his chest. He didn’t stir when Colin walked past.
He stepped into the kitchen, letting the door swing gently closed behind him. A glance at the clock on the stove confirmed that it was still shy of eight o’clock, the sun barely above the horizon. The sky was a typical Michigan winter gray, though according to the weather forecast the early morning gloom would give way to sunshine before long. They were also calling for more snow, which meant he'd be shoveling his driveway again this afternoon.
But first, coffee.
As comfortable in Tuck and Esme’s kitchen as he was in his own, he got a pot of coffee going, then poked into the fridge for something to nibble on. Tuck had promised to make bacon and waffles for breakfast, but Colin always woke hungry, and it would be a while before the rest of the house stirred.
Deciding an apple would hold him over, he grabbed one and nudged the refrigerator door shut just as the kitchen door swung open.
Esme stopped short with a squeak, one hand pressed to her chest. “Oh!”
“Sorry,” Colin said, wincing when the door swung back and hit her butt with a thump. “Sorry.”
Esme waved a hand, her hazel eyes bright. “No, no, it’s fine. I just didn’t know anyone else was up.”
“I can never seem to sleep in,” Colin admitted. “I thought you would, though.”
“Me too,” she said with a laugh and moved forward, her oversized robe playing peek-a-boo with her stockinged feet. “But my bladder woke me up, and I couldn’t get back to sleep.”
“I hate when that happens,” he said over the beep of the coffee maker. “Hope it’s okay that I made coffee.”
“Pour me a cup and we’re square.”
“Deal.”
He got a couple of mugs down from the cupboard while she pulled cream from the fridge, then crossed the kitchen to the breakfast nook. He followed with the coffee, sliding hers across the table before reaching for the sugar bowl.
He was adding his customary four teaspoons to his cup when he caught her wince. “Still sore?” he asked, then bit his lip. “Sorry, was that rude?”
She poured a dollop of cream into her coffee. “No. Why would you think it was?”
He shrugged and stirred his coffee, hating that he felt so uncomfortable. “I don’t know.”
She lifted her cup, eyeing him with amusement over the rim. “You mean because you, my husband, and three of our good friends all fucked me last night?”
Some of the knots in his belly unwound at her easy tone. “Yeah, that.”
