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“Oh, he knows.” Zander never once took his eyes off Scotty. “You know that. I know that. And if he wants to throw himself on his sword, who am I to stop him?”
Scotty blinked. What did that mean? Was that—Was Zander going to agree?
“He’s not gonna do shit.” Vince’s voice rose, and Scotty heard the strain in it. The worry.
He broke away from Zander’s stare, so strong and almost tangible, and focused on Vince, who was trying to sit up, expression pinched.
“Hey.” Vince glowered between Scotty and Zander. “Don’t speak for me. This is my choice and you’re not going to take it from me. We made a deal”—he directed that to Zander—“and I pegged you as a man of your word.” He paused, narrowing his eyes at Zander. “Was I wrong?”
Zander shrugged. “Talk to your boy, not me.”
Vince exhaled loudly then released his grip on Scotty to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I swear you two are just…” A rumbling sound echoed between them, Vince’s stomach growling, which he ignored to continue scolding Scotty. “Weren’t you cowering in a corner, afraid of your own shadow, like, two seconds ago?” He lifted an eyebrow. “What changed?”
There was nothing to smile about and still Scotty’s lips curved. “I just—I figure I’m not gonna live to see morning, so why the fuck not? Besides”—he touched Vince’s knee—“I think you’re one of the good ones, and people like me need as many of you as we can get.”
Vince smiled. And then his stomach rumbled again.
Scotty pulled back. “You’re hungry. Let me get you?—”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine.” Zander stood and went over to a few boxes stacked in a corner, rummaging through them before coming up with several containers of cup noodles. “You should eat something other than chips.” He glanced at Scotty. “You too.” As they stared at him, he left the room holding the noodles.
Vince cupped Scotty’s jaw. “Hey, listen.” When Scotty faced him, he pressed his lips together, expression turning pensive. “Please, listen. Don’t antagonize Zander. Please. I’ve made my decision.”
“But you can’t.” That was a whine and Scotty didn’t even care. “You can’t leave me.” It was weird. It felt as if they’d been locked in the shop for months when it’d only been hours. Felt as if he’d known Vince all his life. There was a draw there Scotty didn’t quite understand, but he wasn’t up for questioning it. Not then.
“I don’t want to leave you.” Something flashed in Vince’s eyes—regret maybe—and he stroked a thumb across Scotty’s jaw. “I wish things were different.” He blew out a breath. “But they’re not.”
Scotty circled Vince’s wrist, holding his hand to his face, ensuring Vince kept touching him. “But they could be.” He tilted his chin up, leaning closer to the other man while remaining conscious of Vince’s wound so as not to hurt him. “If you want things to be different, change them.” They were close enough for him to press his forehead to Vince’s. To feel the other man’s breath on his face. It warmed Scotty’s belly. Stirred him in a way he hadn’t been in a long time, a feeling he should probably be ashamed of. But he welcomed it.
Welcomed, too, Vince’s touch that slipped from his jaw to his nape, fingers firm, pressing deep. Scotty’s breath shuddered in his lungs as he gazed into Vince’s eyes. What was happening, he couldn’t really say. But he could admit not wanting to move from their current position, to not caring about the hows and the whys.
Not when Vince’s lips brushed his own. Soft and tentative. Testing. Scotty didn’t think he’d ever been properly kissed. Or maybe it had happened while he’d been high and couldn’t recall. Either way, Vince’s lips on his felt like a first. Like a moment he never wanted to forget and he was fucking glad that he was sober for this. That he’d be able to recall the texture of Vince’s lips, the way they curved against his. How they felt—firm but still somehow soft.
He moaned, reaching out to Vince, clutching his t-shirt, fisting it, and parting for him. Their tongues met and Scotty’s breath hitched. Vince grunted, deepening the kiss, fingers spasming on the back of Scotty’s neck.
Scotty would always remember his taste. Would always remember the fire that spread through his body, shooting down his spine and settling in his groin, waking his dick from its long slumber.
Fuck. His head spun. So that was what it felt like to want someone, to experience pleasure without the artifice of drugs tainting it. He inched backward, just enough to break the kiss. “Vince.”
Vince blinked at him with eyes that seemed to sparkle, lips wet, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “I’m sorry. I?—”
Scotty kissed him this time, hard and bruising to shut him up because there was nothing to be sorry for. He wasn’t sorry. Vince’s hand on his neck drifted down Scotty’s back, caressing, drawing little moans.
A sound filtered in and he ignored it, but Vince was the one to pull away first, though he took his time. When Scotty cleared his vision, he glanced up to find Vince’s stare trained over Scotty’s shoulder. Scotty followed his gaze.
Zander stood in the open doorway, staring at them, features as hard as granite, eyes darker than Scotty had ever seen. He carried three containers of the noodles in his hands, steam escaping out the open tops. The aroma made Scotty’s stomach rumble, but that wasn’t what caught his attention.
No.
It was the outline of Zander’s very obvious, very impressive erection pressing against the front of his jeans.
13
He’d never been a voyeur before, but something in Zander wished the other two hadn’t noticed him. That they hadn’t stopped kissing. That way he could stand in the doorway and watch them while torn: Wanting to stay and watch. Wanting to join in.
But things like that weren’t for him, so he ignored the ache, the pressure in his groin, and entered the room. He gritted his teeth, trying not to let his gaze roam over the two men—the way they sat so close together, bodies still touching.
