A Friend in the Dark - Gregory Ashe Page 0,27

But had he ever been asked that before? “I’m a Gemini. That’s what people usually lead with….”

“Gemini is the Twins, right? Christ, are there two of you?” But he said it with a grin.

“No. Thank God. I can’t even handle me.”

“You’ve handled yourself pretty well today.” Sam slid the wadded napkins back and forth across the bar, exterminating the lingering drops. “The cop you were working with got murdered, someone tried to scare you off, and you kept coming. I think you’ve been handling yourself really well for a really long time. Hell, you even handled me when I was a total asshole.” He shoved the napkins away again. “Sorry about that, earlier.”

“You really don’t have to bullshit me.”

Sam swiveled on the stool, and he caught Rufus’s seat and spun him so they faced each other. Sam’s body bracketed Rufus’s, and Rufus was aware again of the difference in size, of the way Sam sat, of their proximity and the radiant heat of Sam’s thighs pincered at his knees. Sam cocked his head as though searching for something, but when he spoke, his voice was neutral.

“I never bullshit about what’s important to me. And you still haven’t told me a Rufus thing. Not a real one.”

Rufus’s heart was beating so hard now that he thought it might crack his sternum. Was it because Sam was close—so close—touching, even, right fucking there for the taking? Or because he’d suggested Rufus was somehow important and no one but Jake had ever made him feel that way? Fuck. Maybe neither. Maybe it was merely because Sam was waiting for a piece of meaningful trivia to keep the conversation alive, something that would ultimately backfire, fuck Rufus over seven ways to Sunday, all because Sam’s thighs were warm and powerful and—he hadn’t stopped staring.

Rufus could barely hear the music over blood rushing in his ears. He wondered if the flutter in his throat was visible. It had to be. It felt like a panicked bird trying to escape. His entire body was practically vibrating from the pressure and warmth of Sam’s touch through jeans and it was a painful reminder of how goddamn starved Rufus was for physical affection. He’d have given his left nut then and there for bare skin, caresses, a kiss.

But Sam didn’t like to be touched. So no way was this going any further.

“I’m ticklish,” Rufus blurted out suddenly. “The backs of my knees.” He smiled and laughed too loudly. “Want to hear a story about that?”

Sam didn’t answer, didn’t move, didn’t even seem to breathe.

“I was having sex with this guy—well, I was about to, anyway. Threw my legs up over his shoulders, but the jackass was wearing some ridiculous polyester shirt he wouldn’t take off, and every time he moved, the material scratched my knees and I started laughing. He thought I was laughing at him. He got angry. I tried to tell him what was wrong, but I was laughing so hard, I couldn’t breathe.”

But Sam wasn’t laughing. The bartender brought the loaded nachos, and Sam handed her several bills and slid the food toward Rufus. After another moment, Sam said, “I’ll ask you again later. A real Rufus thing. Think about it.”

“That’s real. I’ve never told anyone about it.”

Sam was still sitting sideways, ignoring—or oblivious to—the shift in posture and conversation. He shrugged and said, “It’s a funny story.”

Rufus picked up a chip topped with melted cheese and onions and meat, put it into his mouth, licked his finger, and asked around the bite, “What about a Sam thing, then?”

“One for one,” Sam said. “I told you about—” He made a gesture to take in the spilled beer. “You still owe me a real thing. Not a story about how you limp-dicked a guy by laughing at him.”

Rufus shook his head, grabbed another chip, and ate it. “I don’t think so.”

Sam smiled suddenly, touching his own ear this time. “Doing it again.”

“I know. I can’t help it. It’s an Irish thing.”

“It’s—” Sam looked like he might say cute again, but instead, he said, “It’s new. For me, anyway. You’re new. Different. Christ, whatever, I don’t know what I’m saying. This whole place has really fucked with my head.” Sam riffled his hair, put his head in his hand, and then took a long drink of Sapporo. “Never mind. I’ll stop pointing it out.”

But Rufus slid forward on the stool, inching his knees a bit further between Sam’s thighs. “I’m different in a good way?”

A long, slow