Forever

Chapter 7

“Well, I’ve never known you to do that before. Anyway, I’ll go to Home Depot and pick up some paint chips. Maybe I’ll pick up some power tools too. For Wills.” He grinned and winked at me, then entered his apartment.

I looped the extension cord over my arm and went back up to my apartment. Did he think buying his lover toys would make it up to him?

Maybe it would, but I knew if Mann misjudged me that badly, I’d mop up the apartment with his skinny ass—

His ass really wasn’t skinny. Under those Brooks Brothers suits he wore, it was actually one of the best I’d ever seen.

Well, I’d just f**k him into next week.

Maybe Matheson would do that, although from what I’d learned, he usually bottomed for the rent boy.

I shook my head, locked the door, and started a pot of coffee brewing.

* * * *

I was sitting in bed, propped up against the headboard, my feet crossed at the ankle, reading the Washington Post. Quinn had flung a bare arm across my waist and buried his dark head against my hip. I rested my hand on his hair, and occasionally I’d run my palm over the soft strands.

On the nightstand, a cup of coffee was steaming gently, and I reached for it, took a deep sip, and then replaced it.

The grip on my waist tightened and just as quickly relaxed, and I knew he was awake.

“Good morning, sunshine.” I tossed the newspaper to the floor.

“I’m sorry, Mark.”

“For what?”

“This can’t have been the most restful of nights for you.” He rolled onto his side and pushed the hair out of his eyes.

“Not for you either. How are you feeling?”

“All right. Better.” Quinn sounded surprised. “I was actually able to sleep.”

“Good. Want some breakfast?”

“I’d like that. Is that coffee I smell?”

“Yep. Fresh ground too.” I took the cup from the nightstand and offered it to him.

He took a cautious sip. Usually he preferred his coffee with a little half-and-half and sugar. “This is good.”

“Don’t sound so surprised. Of course it’s good.”

“Of course.” He laughed, gave me the cup, and got out of bed. I did too. What was the point of staying in bed if he wasn’t there with me? “I’m going to shower.” He eyed the casual sweats I wore. “Why don’t you get changed? As soon as I’m done, I’ll dress, and we can go out for breakfast.”

“I’d rather stay home today.”

“Oh? You don’t have to baby me, Vincent. I’ve had nightmares before, you know.”

“Look, Mann. Me wanting to stay home for a change has nothing to do with you. Did you ever stop to consider that I might have had a shitty week?”

I didn’t like playing the guilt card, not with him, but as I’d hoped, he didn’t question the fact that I never complained about how my week went.

“I’m sorry, Mark.” He blew out a breath. “I don’t want to come off like a prima donna, but I’m really not in the mood for Aunt Jemima or Jimmy Dean.”

“I’m going to cook you breakfast.” I glanced at the clock. “Brunch.”

“You don’t cook, Mark.”

“What makes you say that?”

“You’re not the only one who can have a dossier on someone, you know.”

“You’ve been looking into my background?” I put all the affront I could into my expression.

“Ass.” It didn’t work. He knew me well enough to know I’d expect nothing less from him. And that from him, I’d accept it.

“Trust me, babe.” I ran my knuckles under his chin, and he slitted his eyes and just about purred. Damn, I was good. I leaned down and licked his lips. I could taste the coffee on them. “Just take your time. Meet me in the kitchen when you’re done. Dress is optional.” I waggled my eyebrows at him.

He rested his palm against my cheek, then slid it to the back of my neck, pulled my head down, and kissed me.

“Thank you, Mark.”

“For what?”

His lips twisted in a lopsided grin. “For getting me through the night?”

I shrugged. “Well, you would have done it for me, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes. I would. I hope you know that.”

“Well, there you go.” This was getting too sappy. I whacked his butt. “Go take your shower.”

* * * *

About half an hour later, Quinn sauntered into the kitchen. He looked more at ease than he had since the weekend we’d first gone riding together.

“Good timing.” I put a couple of small crockery pitchers of maple syrup into the microwave to warm.

He gave me an absentminded smile and held out his arms. “How did these get here?” He was wearing the clothes I’d left on the bed for him, a pair of casual black slacks and a turtleneck jersey that brought out the green in his eyes. “I don’t remember leaving these the last time I slept over.”

“You didn’t.” I’d picked them up when I’d realized that most of the times he came here, it was a spur-of-the-moment thing, and he had to go home in the same clothes he’d worn that day. I studied him carefully. “Those clothes look good on you.”

Color warmed his cheeks. “Thank you. Let me know how much I owe you.”

“Sure.” I grinned at him.