A Friend in the Dark - Gregory Ashe Page 0,70

pink and blotchy. He scratched at his cheekbone where one freckle in particular stood out in stark contrast to all the others. “I guess you got lucky. Nearly nine million people in this city, and you happened to drop in on me.”

The Taj came, and Sam took a long pull, watching Rufus over the brown glass. “Very lucky,” he said when he pulled the bottle away.

They ate. When the bill came, Sam flipped through his wad of cash—his rapidly shrinking wad of cash—and tucked the money under the plate. Then, standing, he held out his hand. With one of his crazy Rufus grins that was somehow both bashful and full-on shit-eating, Rufus took it.

Jake’s apartment wasn’t far from the little restaurant. They walked, and although the city continued its normal bustle—the breakneck pace of all those people trying to be where they needed to be, get where they needed to get—Sam found himself sliding through the throngs, Rufus guiding him through the press. Horns, shouting, the rumble of a hundred thousand engines idling at red lights—it all became a sound wall in Sam’s head, but instead of fighting it tonight, he crashed into it and let Rufus tow him. A trim woman, older, looking like a million bucks, played a mean game of chicken, and she flipped Sam a double bird when he veered at the last second. Even that couldn’t shake him. He just floated after Rufus.

Then they were inside Jake’s building, Rufus tapping the mailbox, taking the stairs, passing into the relative dark of the apartment. No more waiting; the thought was a pile of gunpowder in Sam’s belly. As the door closed behind him, he planted himself and pulled back, reversing Rufus’s momentum, drawing the redhead into his arms, turning so that he could bear down on Rufus, pressing him against the door.

He kissed Rufus on the neck. He kissed him on the ear. He kissed his cheek. His lips ghosted over Rufus’s once, twice, like testing for heat that could burn. And then he kissed him, really kissed him.

When the kiss broke, Sam brought his mouth to Rufus’s ear and whispered, “I think you were going to tell me how hot I am. At length.”

Rufus laughed, but it sounded like a shaky exhale at best. “Oh, that’s right….” He put his hands on Sam’s face and caressed his stubble with one thumb. “You are, quite possibly, the hottest man I’ve ever had the pleasure to stare at.”

“Pretty good,” Sam said as he moved down, nipping at Rufus’s collarbone. “B for effort.”

“Christ,” Rufus gasped before managing, “I finally made the Honor Roll.” He gave Sam’s hair a tug so he could kiss his mouth again. “I stand corrected—you are definitely the hottest man. Maybe since time began.”

A little rumble worked through Sam. He slid one hand under Rufus’s tee. He wanted contact, yes, but he also wanted to grab. To possess. His hand slid up over smooth skin. His thumb flicked a nipple. “Better, but you know what they say: practice makes perfect.”

Rufus gulped like a landed fish. “I think I was absent from school during that lesson.” He slid his hands down Sam’s back and under the hem of his shirt. “I can’t believe you look at me like this. You could get anyone. I bet you do.”

The words caught Sam; they suffocated the gunpowder smoldering in his gut. He pulled back and tried to catch Rufus’s gaze, and then he kissed him.

“What’s my policy on bullshitting?” Sam asked, his thumb rubbing a slow circle along Rufus’s areola.

“You don’t,” Rufus whispered. He gripped Sam’s back harder, dug his nails into warm flesh.

“Not things that are important to me. You are important to me. You’re smart. You’re brave. You’re kind. I can tell you the things that would make most assholes run away, and you find a way to make them better. And you are gorgeous.” Sam slid down to his knees, rucked the tee up, and planted a kiss on the galactic disc of freckles low on Rufus’s belly. “But, gotta be honest, you’re lucky you’ve got all these freckles.”

Then he worked the button on Rufus’s jeans. The zipper on the fly stuttered on its way down, and then Sam dragged the jeans to Rufus’s knees. His hands came up again, stroking over the cotton briefs, heat radiating through the thin fabric. He palmed Rufus once, the cotton wet and bunching under his fingers, and pulled his hand away. Something was running through Sam, something like