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“I know you’re in there. I either want a full apology or give me my stuff, Cayson! Right now!”
Cayson rubbed at the stress quickly building behind his eyelids. Glancing over at the clock on his nightstand, his eyes widened. It was after midnight. “Why isn’t anyone letting me sleep?!” As soon as the complaint left his mouth, he jumped up, remembering Quick.
Cayson was out of bed and yanking his robe on as fast as he could. He’d just cinched the tie at his waist, and Quick rounded the corner of his stairs and was in his bedroom, pulling him protectively closer with one arm, while the other hand held a scary black handgun.
“Are you okay?” Quick asked him sternly, checking his watch.
“Yes. I was just on my way to the door,” he said, sounding annoyed. Taking a step back from the embrace to make sure his robe was tight; he looked up and almost came all over himself and his imported oriental rug. Quick was shirtless, with only his jeans on. They were unbuttoned and the zipper was partway down. Cayson could see the black briefs Quick wore underneath and wanted to drop to his knees and bury his nose in the dark cotton covering that glorious cock. But it was the tattoos. Goddamn, they were everywhere. Some bright and vibrant with color, some black and gray. He was dying for a chance to get up close and personal with them. No matter what was happening at any particular moment, the sight of Rome bare-chested would always make him pause and drool. Roman’s name truly fit him to a T.
BANG! BANG! “Are you in there, Cayson? You big idiot! Open up, I have something to say!”
“He’s gonna wake the damn dead,” Cayson grumbled, moving quickly down the stairs with Rome close on his heels. He didn’t see this ending well. What the hell was Joe doing screaming outside like that? It was a sure way to draw unneeded attention. In his quiet neighborhood, surely someone had already called the police. Cayson needed to hurry and get rid of him before Joe was arrested and charged with disturbing the peace.
Fact of the matter was Joe treated Cays like a business arrangement, not a partner. So if Joe’s feelings got bruised because Cayson no longer wanted to be his doormat, well now that was Joe’s problem, wasn’t it? Cayson wasn’t going to give Joe much of his time.
“And Roman, please put that gun away, for Pete’s sake.” Cayson shoed him back further against the wall behind the door, so when he opened it, Rome couldn’t be seen. He didn’t need his huge date overreacting. “Dr. Joe has a very sensitive ego, so I guess he’s trying to save face. Don’t worry, I’ll get rid—”
BANG! BANG! BANG! “Right now, Cayson! I want an apology.”
The last word sounded slurred now that Cayson was right at the door. Oh, god, please don’t be drunk. Cayson hesitated before opening the door. If Joe was out of his mind from having his pride wounded, was it a good idea to let him in? His first thought was no, but he began to unlock the bolt lock anyway.
He tried his best to put on his groggy, sleep-roughened voice, hoping he could convince Joe to do this some other time. “Joe, w-what are you doing here at this hour?”
“Le’me in so we can talk,” Joe demanded on another slur, but this time a slight belch followed the command. He had on the same clothes as earlier, appearing as if he’d been at a bar this whole time, getting shit-faced. Cayson could smell Joe’s rancid breath through his storm door. There was a permanent frown marring his brow, like he’d made an angry face and it got stuck that way. No. This wasn’t Joe. Wasn’t the prim and proper friend he’d made years ago. This crazed man wasn’t the distinguished anesthesiologist who refused to even check his mail if he wore anything other than a fully pressed suit. Joe’s hair was all over his head and his severely wrinkled shirt was untucked. Cayson had never seen Joe like this. Especially not drunk. Being drunk and disorderly was uncivilized.
“I have a real early day.” Cayson’s tone was light and held not even a trace of meanness. “We can talk tomorrow if you want, okay? Sit there on the steps. I’ll call you a cab.”
“Don’t need a damn cab. Now, let me in.”
“No. Joe, I’m really tired.”
Joe scoffed, his lip turned up in repugnance. “I just bet you are, Cayson Chauncey. So did you finally get screwed the way you wanted? Are you finished acting like an ass?”
“First of all. It’s none of your business. You’re drunk, Joe. You’re going to find yourself up shit’s creek without a paddle if you don’t stop all your yelling and banging on my door. I’m sure you’ve woken everyone on this street.” Cayson glanced up and down the street and noticed that Quick’s truck wasn’t where he’d left it. He’d obviously moved it for this reason. He’d been right. Joe came back, just as he’d predicted.
