Free L. A. Heat by P. A. Brown Page B

of them and forced Des to stop.
    “What are you doing?”
    “Leaving.” Des walked around him, his hand firmly
tucked into Kyle’s. “I’ve had enough of your lectures. I’m going home with the
man I love.”
    “Jesus, Des.” Chris eyeballed Kyle with a
jaundiced eye. The look was returned. “Let’s at least have dinner—”
    “I’ll call you tomorrow,” Des said.
    Kyle squeezed Des’s hip and nuzzled his throat.
“That’s if I let you out of bed, stud muffin.”
    Chris watched them disappear behind a wall of
jostling men. A shiver crab-crawled up his spine. Suddenly it was as if he was
back in the disturbing dream he’d had the day after his Lexus was vandalized.
All at once he didn’t want to leave the safety of the bar. But he didn’t want
Des to walk off like that.
    Did he dare follow? Was he willing to risk his
friendship with Des over a stupid argument they’d both forget the next day?
Spinning around, he hurried back into the noisy, crowded Pit.
    He squeezed past the press of bodies crowded
around the bar. Bobby was sitting at their table, drinking what was left of
Chris’s martini. He was already drunk.
    “Shit, man.” He tilted the glass back and drained
the last mouthful. “Why don’t you drink something decent like Bud?”
    “Feel free to order what you want.” Chris snatched
his drink back. He grimaced, put the glass back on the chintz tablecloth, and
stood up. “On second thought, I’m going anyway.”
    “Why don’t you grab some shooters while you’re at
it?” He smirked. “Get me a blowjob.”
    Chris had no intention of indulging in a game of
downing shooters with this guy. If he got drunk he’d probably do something
stupid like take Bobby home. He came back with the beer, another martini, and
the Kahlúa, Bailey’s, and Amaretto concoction for Bobby, which he downed with
smooth practice. Only then did Bobby seem to realize Chris had not indulged.
    “Waiting for another emergency?”
    Chris shrugged. “I’m on call.”
    “Life sucks.” Bobby swallowed half his beer and
burped. “And then you die. Well I’m not—on call that is, or dead.” He lurched
to his feet, waving his shot glass. “I’m gonna have some fun. Hey, bartender,
another one of these.”
    Even half drunk, Bobby moved with a grace that was
enviable. Chris sipped his martini and watched, remembering what Bobby looked
like in bed. Naked and hungry. All a brilliant fake-out.
    Chris suddenly didn’t feel like playing the game.
    “Most people come to these places to have fun,”
the voice in his ear made him jump.
    He swung around to find Trevor smiling down at
him.
    “You do not look like a man having fun,” Trevor
said.
    “You just don’t recognize extreme ecstasy when you
see it.”
    Trevor leaned down until his warm breath brushed
Chris’s face. “Hmm, you’re right. I don’t.” He slid his fingers through Chris’s
short hair. Lowering his head, he covered Chris’s mouth with his.
    After some serious tonsil hockey Trevor finally
backed off. He straddled a chair and grinned across at Chris. Chris’s mouth was
numb and his heart beat a rough tattoo. “Jesus, what was that for?”
    Trevor ran his thumb over Chris’s lips. “I don’t
need a reason. Do you?”
    Chris shivered. He thought of what Des had said
and wondered if there was any truth to his words. And would going home with
Trevor change anything? It would be fun, but would it end up being just another
one-night stand he regretted the next day?
    “Hey, lover, let’s ditch this dump and go have
some fun.” Bobby slid back into the seat he had vacated only minutes before. “I
got some nose candy. Or I know where we can score some X, if you’re
interested.”
    “He’s not,” Trevor said. He tugged at Chris’s ear
and slipped warm hands up under Chris’s Izod shirt. “Let’s go back to your
place. We can crack open another bottle of wine and compare notes.”
    “Maybe,” Chris said, refusing to commit, tempted
all the