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“If I had three warm bodies in my bed, I don’t think I could leave.” It wasn’t just about having someone warm to curl into, it was the logistics of the matter. If you were in the middle, how the fuck did you get out without putting a knee or elbow somewhere uncomfortable? Though one of them was Sebastian Devlin, so Grady would probably do it on purpose.
“We aren’t together every night, Grady,” Quinn said with amusement.
While spending time apart was perfectly normal at the start of a relationship—and barely six months would definitely be considered the “start”—Grady sensed there was a story there. He didn’t know whether to ask or not. If Quinn wanted to talk to him, he would.
“It was just me last night; no warm bodies,” Quinn continued.
Grady deliberately tried not to think about the fact thathe’dhad a warm body that he’d had to leave in bed. It sounded way less innocent when he said it aloud, so the only solution, clearly, was just not to. The end.
“Persephone not allowed on the bed anymore?” Grady asked to distract his brain, referring to Quinn’s beagle. They’d found her locked in a room at a victim’s apartment a few months back, and Quinn had been in charge of looking after her since Mal was allergic to dogs, and at the time Grady hadn’t realised what a sleazebag asshole he’d been living with, or he might have taken her home on purpose. Quinn had ended up keeping her, and she was spoiled rotten.
“Okay, I take it back. Only one warm body. She wasn’t happy when she had to get up for her morning walk. I imagine she’s asleep on the couch right now.”
“Who needs dog beds?” Grady said with a chuckle.
“Not dogs that think they’re children,” Quinn said wryly.
“Would you two shut the fuck up? Some of us are here to work,” Greer growled from the corner where he belonged.
“It’s not our fault you slack off so fucking much you have to come in on weekends to get your shit done,” Grady drawled.
“Ironic coming from the knob that’s also sitting in the station on”—Greer made a show of looking at his watch—“the weekend. Did you forget what day it was? I’m not surprised. It’s Sunday. That’s the last day of the week. A day of rest if you’re religious. Or one for—”
“Look at you, being all helpful and shit. Kiss my ass, you fucking wanker,” Grady growled.
“Not interested.”
“Cut it out, both of you,” Quinn said mildly, eyeing Grady over the rim of his mug.
Grady rolled his eyes. It wasn’t like anyone would miss Greer if Grady shot him. If Quinn was worried about being an accessory, he could go out for a coffee or some shit. Grady would be finished by the time he got back. They’d never even find the body. “I’m going to get a coffee,” he muttered. It was going to be a long fucking day.
GRADY HADN'T BEEN WRONG. It was almost ten at night before he managed to drag himself home. He’d shoved Quinn out the precinct doors around eight, with an order to go and fuck one of his men—or all of them, Grady didn’t care, he just didn’t want details—and then he had tried to finish up more of the paperwork that had been plaguing both of their desks for far too long. Riley would need to find something new to gripe at them about. Grady would feel satisfied about that if he wasn’t so fucking tired.
He’d had to stop himselfthree fucking timesfrom messaging Lake to see what he was doing. They weren’t fucking dating, and Grady didn’t need to ask him what his Sunday-night plans were in the hopes of them involving Grady in some way. It didn’t matter what Lake was doing, or what he’d planned. They didn’t need to spend every free day together even if they’d spent more time together in the evenings in the last month than Grady thought he’deverspent with a friend. It didn’t matter. Lake went on dates, had his own friends, and did his own shit. Less than two months ago, Grady hadn’t even known the guy existed.
So the fact that Grady had even wanted to ask, that he’d actually had to force himself to put his phone down and not message like a fucking schoolgirl with a crush, told Grady that he needed to cut this off before it got worse.
Before he and Mal had moved in together, they hadn’t spent every second texting, and he’d neverobsessedover what Mal was doing. They hung out when they had time, and wanted to, and occasionally Mal would send a weird meme. But they didn’t spend every moment together that they weren’t working. They didn’t text through the day. And Grady did not have wet dreams about him. And they hadactuallybeen dating.
He definitely needed to nip this in the bud before he did something stupid like getfeelingsfor a straight man. Grady was a lot of things, but a moron wasn’t one of them. It spelled disaster, and he had enough of those right now. Mal cheating, when he’d known about Grady’s past, had showed Grady that trust was a precious commodity, and finding it wasn’t worth the effort or heartache.
He would be careful about how often he responded to Lake and how often they hung out. And there would beno moresleepovers. And no more date rescues.
Grady nodded to himself as he unlocked his front door. It was a solid plan, and he felt better about having made it even if his chest ached a little at the thought of seeing Lake less often.
He froze, registering there was noise coming from the lounge. He unclipped the flap on his gun holster and curled his fingers around the grip as he slowly made his way through. The door had been locked and hadn’t been tampered with. His backyard was secure, and someone would have to be keen as fuck to find a way over the fence. If someone were that eager, they wouldn’t stick around, and they definitely wouldn’t have turned the TV on. Amateurs would have picked an easier target.
He deflated when he noticed the familiar head resting on a pillow. “Lake?” How had he even gotten inside?
When Lake didn’t respond, Grady moved closer, clipping his gun back into place. The smaller man was curled up on his side, mouth open, with one arm under the cushion and the other hanging over the side. The TV was on low, some late-night movie playing in black and white. Noodle Box takeout boxes were littered across the coffee table, only one open and half empty. The Shinobu Koshi-No whiskey that Lake was a fan of was next to it, with two glasses. It looked like both glasses had been used, which made Grady’s mouth quirk up.
He crouched in front of Lake and couldn’t resist brushing his hair from his forehead. It wasn’t long enough to get in his eyes, so it didn’t need moving, but Grady did it anyway. “Lake, buddy, you gotta wake up. Time to go home.” Not ten minutes ago, he’d told himself that he was going to put distance between them. Another sleepover was not what he’d had in mind.
Lake’s forehead wrinkled, and he made a noise as he curled further into the cushion, still sound asleep. The level of trust that would take, especially considering that Lake was first and foremost a soldier, made Grady’s heart skip a beat. How had Lake gotten under his ribs so easily, so quickly? He had to stop it now.
Something in Grady’s heart clenched as he watched the soft rise and fall of Lake’s chest. “Jesus Christ,” he breathed out. There went all his good intentions, in the blink of an eye. What the hell was this man doing to him?
Grady should have shaken him, forced him to wake up. Packed him into an Uber and on his way home. He assumed that’s how he’d gotten there since his car wasn’t out front. Hell, he should have just driven the guy home himself. Anything to get him out of his house so he could find a way to un-bury him from under his ribcage. This was the last thing he needed. It wouldn’t even be a potential heartbreak; it was guaranteed. Lake could never look at him the way he looked at Lake, and he needed to put an end to it.
