Текст книги "The Dark Horse "

Автор книги: Josh lanyon

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 8 страниц)

Hammond replaced one melon on the pyramid and chose another. He stepped a foot closer as he reached for a plastic tear-off bag. I abandoned my cart and fled. «Hi!» I said brightly as Dan walked into the kitchen.

Dan pulled off his sunglasses and studied the countertops crowded with plates of food: baked ham, scalloped potatoes, cheese macaroni, cauliflower-broccoli salad, applesauce, and pineapple cottage cheese. «Are we having a dinner party?» he asked.

I dumped a pan of corn muffins into a basket, wrapping a tea towel around them to keep them warm. «I just thought I would do something special for supper.»

Dan's brows rose. He tilted my chin up to kiss me hello; a nice leisurely kiss that told me he had missed me and was glad to be home. I resisted the impulse to plaster myself to him and pour out my latest trauma. «Catch any bad guys today?»

I thought my tone was just right but he was frowning a little, still watching me. «Not today.» «Slow day for crime? Everything is ready. Why don't you get changed?»

He ran an absent hand up and down my back. «Okay. You want me to open a bottle of wine?» I nodded. «Let's see. What goes with everything in the pantry?» I considered. «Martinis?» * * * * *

Despite some really fabulous culinary exertions on my part, dinner was not a success. I wasn't hungry and Dan seemed preoccupied, although he listened without interrupting as I chattered on about this and that and the other. Mostly the other.

It wasn't until the third time I reached for the pitcher containing the blueberry vodka martinis, that he stirred. «That's your fifth, chief.» «Third, but who's counting?» He didn't bother to argue. I was irritated, but I tried to keep my tone easy. «Does it matter?»

«It doesn't so long as you're not planning on going for a swim or getting behind the wheel. But you're going to have a hell of a morning.» «Promise?» I batted my eyelashes at him. His lips twitched. «Now that is definitely the liquor talking.»

What did that mean? I thought I knew and opened my mouth to object, but Dan had apparently more to get off his chest.

«A couple of things I've noticed,» he said. «When you're stressed-out you cook for a cast of thousands. And you stop eating.» «I'm eating,» I protested. «You've had one bite of ham and three bites of salad.» «And five drinks. Jesus, am I under surveillance?» «Hey.» His smile was crooked. «Naturally I notice what you do.»

«You notice what everyone does. It's how you make your living. I don't like it when you turn it on me.»

As usual he did not allow himself to be distracted from his point. «So far I've heard about the seasoning in the crab enchiladas at Coral Beach Cantina, I've heard that you're not sure you approve of the sex scene in this new script, I've heard that damn dog crapped on our deck, and I've heard that the weather was perfect this afternoon. When do I hear what's really on your mind?»

I laughed. And I knew I had it exactly right: lazy, untroubled. «Dan, relax. I'm just making after dinner conversation.» There was a funny silence. He said, «You're acting.»

Which I guess was better than being told I was lying, except he sounded like it really bothered him.

I stared at him. He stared back. It felt unpleasantly close to being emotionally strip searched. I blurted out, «I think I saw Paul Hammond again.» He didn't move a muscle. At last he said, «Where?»

«At the market in Pt. Dume. I went grocery shopping after Steve and I had lunch.» Surprisingly, this did distract him. «You didn't tell me you were with Steve.» «It was an impulse. Why do you care?»

«I find it odd. This morning you were freaking over postcards from the grave and in the afternoon you're having a lunch date with Steve.»

«It wasn't a date and it's not like I tried to hide it.» But as I said it, I realized I had been avoiding telling him that I'd been with Steve; I wasn't sure why exactly – or maybe this was why: the instant interrogation. «Is that the issue?»

«Do we have to make an issue of it? You're not on the job now. According to you there's no danger, right? Hammond is dead.»

«I'm not talking about my job,» Dan said curtly. «I'm talking about the fact that we're supposed to be a couple.»

Something in the way he said it caught me off guard. He was so cool and self-assured that it never occurred to me that he might not be secure about his place in my world.

For the first time it occurred to me that if I had decided to go to Santa Anita with Steve I would have to – should, at least – run it past Dan first.

I opened my mouth but before I could explain, Dan asked, «Did Steve see Hammond?» «No. This was at the market afterwards.» «Did anyone see him?»

«I don't know. I didn't point him out to anyone. He …» I stopped, knowing how it would sound. «He what?» «He was picking out melons. Or at least pretending to.» «I see.» His expression couldn't have been more impassive. «I know you think I'm imagining this. I know –« «Did this guy who may or may not be Hammond make any attempt to speak to you?» I shook my head. «Did he do anything that could be construed as threatening?»

«He was avoiding looking at me.» I couldn't hold Dan's gaze. I knew how it sounded –which is why I hadn't told him. «That doesn't sound like Hammond, does it?» I shook my head. A little more gently, he asked, «Are you sure it was Hammond?» «It looked like him.» «You're not sure.» «No.» I said, «What about the postcard that came this morning?»

«I'll have it analyzed.» My relief was short-lived as he added carefully, «Sean, maybe it would help if you talked to someone.»

I felt like my stomach dropped to my feet. I stared at him. «You mean a psychiatrist?» «Yeah.»

«Dan,» I said desperately, «I'm not cracking up. I did see Hammond. I'm not crazy!»

«I don't think you're crazy.» He reached for me, resting his hands on my shoulders, kneading my knotted muscles. «I think you've been under a lot of strain. First the thing with Hammond, now this business with the postcards.»

«So you agree there is something to these postcards! Or do you think I'm sending them to myself?» I saw by his expression that the idea had crossed his mind. I struck his hands away. «Jesus, Dan! I'm not crazy!»

«I know that. I know you're not sending yourself postcards, okay? But what's wrong with talking to someone? Cops do it. Hell, I've been through it.»

I pushed away from the table. «I am talking to someone. I'm talking to you. I don't need a shrink. So stop using that careful tone with me. Say what's on your mind.»

«Okay,» he said evenly. «Then here it is. I want you to talk to me, and I will help you in whatever way I can and in whatever way you need. But I'm not a doctor and we both know you have a history of …» He changed his mind about finishing that. «I think this kind of prolonged emotional strain would not be good for anyone, and it is especially not good for you.»

I stared at him. When I could speak I said huskily, «I had a breakdown when I was a kid. Yes, I tried to kill myself. That was nine years ago. It had nothing to do with – you know why. You know it was about trying to come to terms with who I was. With realizing I was gay and knowing how my family felt. How my friends saw me. How everyone saw me –thought of me. How they would take it once they found out the truth …»

I couldn't finish it. I got up and went to the railing to stare out at the path of moonlight across the black sea. The hurt and betrayal were almost more than I could deal with. I had told Dan about this in confidence, and he was using it against me now. «You had a second breakdown when you were twenty,» he said quietly.

Hurt gave way to indignation. Obviously he had run some kind of background check on me. Probably when he was first assigned the bodyguard gig, but maybe it was since then. Like this week when I appeared to be losing it.

I wheeled back to face him. «I was depressed. I got help. Voluntarily. It was nothing like the other time. And I've been fine ever since. I'm not unstable mentally or emotionally. Yes, I push myself hard, and I'm under strain – that isn't anything new –«

«This isn't a normal amount of strain,» he interrupted. «You had some freak stalking you for nearly a year and now you've got some other asshole harassing you. Anyone would need a little help dealing with that – and, listen, the last thing I want to do is hurt you, which I can see I'm doing.» I knew I couldn't speak without my voice cracking, so I said nothing.

«I think it would help you to talk to someone neutral. Someone who could help you put this … experience into perspective. Will you at least consider it?»

He was right about drinking so much. My head was already pounding. And that much alcohol on an empty stomach was not good. I pushed away from the railing and headed for the glass door. «I'm going to bed.» «Sean –« I slid the door shut. * * * * *

Scratchy beard, warm soft lips on my bare back. One velvety kiss for each link of vertebra in my spine. Kiss by kiss across the little mountains of bone and nerve to the small valley above my ass. I opened my eyes blearily. «How are you feeling this morning?» Dan murmured. «Great,» I muttered.

«You feel great to me, that's for sure.» His mouth moistly nuzzled the sensitive hollow; I sucked in a breath, trying not to wriggle. Closed my eyes. My head throbbed and my gut felt like it was filled with boiling acid, but it wasn't the hangover that made me shiver. How the hell could you be irritated with someone and still crave their touch? I burrowed my head in my folded arms and asked muffledly, «How was the couch?» «Lonely.»

I considered this silently while he slowly rubbed his bristly cheek against my ass –cheek to cheek. «You know, insanity is not contagious,» I said. I thought I was joking, but I sounded sour to my own ears. I didn't think I was still angry or even wounded. I could see how this all looked from Dan's viewpoint. He didn't know me really. I didn't know him.

«I don't know about that,» he said, his breath warm on my bare skin. «I'm pretty crazy about you.» I gave a short laugh. Never at a loss for words, was he?

The mattress shifted underneath as he sat up. «I wasn't sure I was welcome in here,» he admitted.

I raised my head and eyed him skeptically. He wasn't smiling, in fact, just for a moment he looked younger, unguarded.

I shrugged noncommittally and buried my head in my arms again. «It was lonely here too,» I told the sheets.

«Yeah?» I felt him relax. He stroked my flank lazily. I loosened up, rested there, trying to ignore the pounding in my head, just enjoying the feel of his hand on my skin. I wondered if it would be possible to ever get tired of being touched and petted. I wondered how I'd managed to go years without it. Wondered how I would survive if I had to go back to it.

Dan's hand stilled. He shifted around on the mattress, nudging my legs apart. I didn't have time to do more than register this when, to my shock, I felt him spread my cheeks and lick the tender flesh like you'd taste a peach. I bucked, and he gave a low laugh. «Jeeeeesus,» I whispered.

He licked my balls, then behind my balls, working his way back up. I couldn't believe it – this rude kiss. He was such a fastidious and careful guy – and with the papers to prove it. I could not believe this was Dan nuzzling my ass. Maybe I was delusional.

It took all my will power to lie still as his tongue did those shattering things: delicate, wicked, teasing tracery as he worked the sensitive skin around my hole.

Rim job. That's what they called this. Ugly phrase for something that felt so … ravishing. Now there was a good old fashioned word – a Biblical word – and this obviously was not Dan's first time at ravishing someone, and if he kept this up I was most definitely going to come – Slippery heat slowly pressed in.

I whimpered, squirmed, humped. He caught my hips, holding me fast. He kept pressing, pressing.

«D-Danny …» I wondered if I would simply dissolve; my insides felt like hot liquid. My mind felt gray and blank and shaken like the magic screen on an Etch A Sketch.

Dan's tongue circled and then pushed right in. Deep. I could hear myself mewling, inarticulate and helpless, as his hot slick tongue thrust in and out of my clenched-tight hole. And, right on cue, I began to come.

And all those words flitting around in my brain flew away and left me spiraling into some sweet and silent space where the only thing real was Dan's strong arms holding me close.

Chapter Four

When I woke the next time it was hours later and I had the vague memory of hearing the front door close. I rolled over and checked the clock on the other side of the bed. Nearly one o'clock.

I sat up cautiously. I felt a hell of a lot better than I had that morning, that was for sure. I rubbed my eyes, listened to the sound of the sea a few yards away and the wind whispering at the window casements. Beyond that … silence. A safe silence. The security system would be on. Dan was meticulous about that.

My ring glinted on the nightstand. I didn't remember pulling it off, but I must have when I'd come in last night. That had been childish. I picked up the chain and fastened it around my neck.

The floorboard in the doorway creaked and I glanced around. Dan stood there filling the doorway, and I felt the hair at the nape of my neck prickle. He was so quiet. I was sure he'd gone out. «Did I wake you? I just stepped out to check the mail,» he said. The mail. Not easy to speak around the knot in my throat. What would today's postcard read? I'm on the first step … Before I could form the question, Dan said, «There was nothing for you.» «There … wasn't?» He shook his head.

The wave of relief was so fierce it caught me off balance; I had to look away so that he didn't see the effort it took to control my face. I leaned forward, pretended to feel under the bed – like, what was I looking for? My dignity?

The mattress sank. I stiffened as he sat down next to me on the edge of the bed. Then he put his arm around me, and I surrendered to the desire to be held, to be comforted, turning to him, resting my face against his throat. I could feel the warmth of his skin against my mouth and eyes, feel the pulse beating at the base of his neck, slow and steady and calm. His words vibrated against my face. «Did you have a good sleep?»

I nodded. Raised my head. Pretended I was wiping sleep out of my eyes. «Yeah. I did.»

«Your cheeks are pink.» He brushed his knuckles against the bristle on my jaw. «What were you dreaming?»

I thought of what had preceded that deep, deep sleep and felt my face warm. I had dreamed about him but in the dream we had been arguing. I was glad that it had only been a dream, that we were okay again. «I don't remember. Remind me not to drink that much on an empty stomach.» «You want me to fix you something to eat?» Spareribs or eggs benedict? I shuddered. «I think I'm going to work out.»

He smoothed his hand over my back. «Okay, chief. If you're going for a swim or a run, give me a shout. I need the exercise.» I was staring out the window watching the surfers when the phone rang.

«I can guess who that is,» Dan commented. He closed the dishwasher and turned the dial. Maria only came in on weekdays and Dan couldn't tolerate clutter for more than a few hours. My eyes lingered on the broad shoulders beneath the plain white undershirt, lean hips and long legs encased in faded blue Levis. All this and housework, too. «Dude!» called the answering machine over the rumble of the dishwasher. I gave Dan an apologetic look and picked up the phone. «Hey.» «So …» Steve asked cautiously. «Any more special deliveries?» «No.» «No?» He sounded as surprised as I had.

«Nothing since Friday.» I glanced Dan's way. His back was to me, but I knew he was listening. It gave me an uncomfortable feeling.

Next to my ear, Steve said, «Wow. Maybe … maybe it was just that Hammond's last few cards got delayed somehow.» That startled me. «What do you mean? Why would you say that?»

«Dude, chill. I mean cards he sent before he died were delayed by the mail. Not that he's still out there picking picture postcards. And try saying that three times fast.»

«Oh. Right.» I tried to inject a smile in my voice, but I must not have been successful. «You okay?» Steve asked. «You sound … off.» «Fine.» «No more panic attacks, right?» I flicked a look Dan's way. He was watching me openly now. «Nope.»

I wanted to ask Steve if he'd had a chance to talk to anyone at LAPD about the recovery of Hammond's body, but I couldn't do it with Dan standing there. I knew that would not go over well.

«Well, groovy. Nothing to worry about, because it's all over, right? Hey, listen, I've got some good news.» «About The Charioteer?» «Huh? Oh. No. Have you finished reading the screenplay?» «Yes. I want to do it.»

He sighed. «All right. I'll see what I can do. In the meantime, what do you think about doing a voice-over for the new StarCatz series?» «What the hell is StarCatz?»

«A very hot kid's show that NBC plans to use as a mid-season replacement. The creator and producer, Dick Dexa, saw you in Winchester 2010 and he's expressed an interest in you for Captain Starbuckle's teenage son Jason.»

«I hope you're kidding.» Sometimes it seemed like I'd gotten more damn attention from a bit part as a smart-ass strung-out hired gun in a big-budget action adventure flick, than I'd received in my entire film career. «I'm not kidding you. NBC anticipates a mega hit with this show.» «With a cartoon show?» «I know. Unbelievable, huh? Even more unbelievable, they want you.» «But … there's nothing distinctive about my voice.» «What can I say? Dick Dexa thinks you sound like a spunky space cadet.» «Spunky? Funny.»

«I thought you'd like that.» He grew serious. «Sean, listen for a sec. I know this isn't really your kind of thing, but it's an easy gig and … we need it. The artsy fartsy stuff is fine

and it wins awards, but you've got to balance it with something that pays. If it wasn't for your Uncle Sean's trust fund you'd be living on pasta salad and oatmeal these days instead of whatever it is you and The Rock eat for supper.» I said, «I understand. Twenty percent of zero is still zero.»

«Since you put it like that, yes. The decisions you make affect my income too – or lack thereof. I don't have any rich dead relatives.» He had a point, but … cartoon voice-overs?

I hated to disappoint him. I could hear how keen he was on this project. And I did have a responsibility to take jobs that would be good for both of us. I said reluctantly, «The thing is, what happens when the word gets around that a gay man is playing a teenage boy on a children's show?»

«Who cares if there's some kind of lunatic right-wing fundie boycott! All publicity is good publicity.»

«Tell it to Pee Wee Herman. You think I was anxious before, wait till I've been the victim of a blacklisting campaign.»

He laughed. «Hey, come on. You don't want Lenny Norman to hear you talking like that. He'll think you're not Proud and Out.»

Now that bothered me. «It's Out and Proud, and I don't have to prove anything to Lenny Norman. He should be casting roles based on talent and ability.»

«Yeah, well, it's not a perfect world,» Steve said with unexpected bitterness. «So are you willing to read for the StarCatz pilot?» «I'm not comfortable with it, Steve. I'll have to think about it.» Silence. At last he said, «Okay, dude, it's your life.»

I replaced the phone and went to join Dan, who had gone out on the deck. He lay on one of the wooden lounges, reading the paper, which he put aside as I hopped onto the

railing, staring up at the cloudless blue sky. It was a truly beautiful day. The most beautiful day I'd seen in a long time.

«You're sure old Steve doesn't still have a thing for you?» His smile was quizzical. «I'm sure. It's just business.» «What is?»

«The fact that he calls all the time. He's my manager. And, unofficially, my agent. We have to stay in touch.» «Out of curiosity, are you his only client?» «I'm his main client.» He nodded as though this confirmed something. «Do you not … like him?» «It doesn't matter what I think about Steve. I respect your relationship.»

I realized that was the truth. I didn't have to defend or explain – and the fact that Dan didn't demand it somehow made it easy to talk about it.

«The romantic thing only lasted about a year. We really didn't have a lot in common besides my career. I think I got on his nerves and –« «He got on yours?»

«Not exactly. His insecurity makes him unkind sometimes. His humor, I mean. He makes these little digs; they're supposed to be funny, but there's an edge. It was … tiring. Distancing.» «That is one hell of an observation, chief.»

I grinned at his obvious surprise. «Crazy like a fox,» I said, and tapped the side of my head. «But he's been a good friend and a great manager. He's gone to bat for me again and again. Personally and professionally. The fact that the other thing didn't work out … well, that was probably just as well.»

«I think so.» He held out an arm and I slid off the railing and went to join him on the lounge. «We survived our first argument.»

«You sound surprised. Did you think we wouldn't?» Dan speared one of the shrimps out of the salad I had made for his lunch, chewed, his blue eyes thoughtful on mine.

«It's still a milestone.» I selected a cherry tomato from his plate and popped it in my mouth. A little burst of sweet tangy juice on my tongue. «I guess it is.» «Have you ever done this before? Lived with someone?» «No.» «Why?» He lifted a shoulder. «Maybe I have a few trust issues of my own.» I frowned. «You think I have trust issues?»

His smile was quizzical; he didn't actually answer me. I remembered the subject was supposed to be him. «So what kind of trust issues do you have?»

«Maybe that's not the right term. It's probably a cop thing. People can get a little weird when they find out you're a cop.» «But it's probably a turn on for a lot of guys, right?»

He seemed to be looking inward at some unpleasant memory. «Sometimes. A lot of times, the opposite.» He impaled another shrimp, chewed, swallowed. «There's a reason cops have a high divorce rate. The hours are brutal, it's a high stress job, and you can't talk about it most of the time.»

I opened my mouth, and he said, «I mean it's the kind of stuff you don't want to bring into your own home, not that someone wouldn't be willing to listen.» There was something in his eyes that made me feel young and naive.

I said slowly, «And I guess it takes a toll being afraid the person won't come home.»

He didn't say anything, just looked at me. I felt my breathing go funny like I was about to have one of my famous panic attacks. He said, «I'm careful, Sean. There are no guarantees in life, but I'll do my best to come home to you.» I nodded.

He hadn't really explained the trust thing. Or had he? I guess he was saying that he needed to be trusted as much as he needed to be able to trust. Which was pretty much the same way I defined trust.

I opened my mouth to make another brilliant comment, but Mrs. Wilgi's four-footed feather duster came hurtling across the sands toward us, barking hysterically. «Jail break,» Dan remarked. «I keep hoping he's going to run away.» «He has. To you.» The dog planted itself at the foot of the stairs to the deck, yapping thinly. «I was hoping for something further from home. Like Mars.» «I told you not to feed him.» «What happens if you shoot him? You have to fill out a lot of paperwork?» «Yep.» «It's your lucky day,» I informed Binky. He barked all the harder.

It was my lucky day, too. Dan and I had survived our first real argument and somehow come out of it a little stronger than we had been. We walked on the beach and talked, cuddled on the couch and talked some more. Casual talk. Nothing life or death – no mention

of loony stalkers, dead or alive – no reflection on where we stood as a couple. Just … talk. Like real couples do.

Late in the afternoon Dan went out to rent a couple of DVDs and bring back my favorite guilty food pleasure – Taco Bell. I think my Friday night culinary binge had unnerved him. Or maybe he was just getting tired of my cooking. We settled on the sofa with bags of tacos and burritos to watch Cool Hand Luke, one of Dan's favorite flicks – and one I'd never seen.

We'd just got to the famous, «What we've got here is failure to communicate,» line when the phone rang. I stopped crunching. Dan sighed and hit the pause button. «It might not be Steve,» I pointed out. «I do know other people.» «None of them seem to have this number.»

«True.» The beach house was my get-away. I liked the fact that when I was there I was basically inaccessible – or had been before Paul Hammond had somehow found out about this place.

The phone rang the third time, the machine picked up, and Steve called, «Dude! Are you there?» «I'll make it quick,» I promised.

«I'm not going anywhere.» He smacked my butt as I crawled over him and off the couch. I picked the phone up in the middle of Steve's imperious, «Sean? Are you there?» «I'm here.» «Dick Dexa called again. Have you thought about the StarCatz role?»

«How is this going to work if I land The Charioteer? When would they need me in the studio?» An awkward pause.

«Look, Sean, Lenny Norman hasn't returned my calls. I don't think you're going to get The Charioteer.» My Taco Supremes began to churn. «Can I try calling him?» «No, you can't try calling him!» «I just mean –« «I know what you mean. Do you trust me to handle your career or not?» «Of course I trust you – barring the sudden passion for cartoon cats.» I was teasing, but he said shortly, «Do you want the part of Jason or not?» «Doesn't Dexa want me to read first?»

«Sean, it's a fucking cartoon, not Ibsen. Dexa wants you. Can I tell him you'll take the role?» My pulse sped up. I hated arguing, especially with Steve. I said haltingly, «No. I'm not comfortable with it.» «Okay! Shit. Was it that hard to give me a straight answer?» «No. I just know you think I should take the part.»

«Yes, I do. I think you need to start working pretty soon. I was right about Winchester 2010, wasn't I? But whatever. If you're not comfortable, that's cool. We'll find something else.»

I opened my mouth, but before I could speak, he added, «And, yes, I will try Lenny Norman one more time.» «Thanks, Steve.»

I hung up and returned to the couch, climbed back over Dan's legs. He caught my hand and pulled me down half on top of him scattering taco wrappers and shredded cheese and lettuce. «Everything okay?»

«Fine.» I shifted onto my side and stretched out beside him, resting my head against his chest. He smelled like suntan oil and tacos and himself. Heady stuff. He put his arm around me and started the film again. I thought that maybe this was the best part of being a couple –just relaxing together, spending time with someone you could be yourself with. To my surprise I realized that I was starting to be myself with Dan. Little by little I was letting my guard down and worrying less about who he might want me to be versus who I was – I thought something in his easy acceptance of my … vulnerabilities made that possible. Of course, he hadn't had to put up with my ticks – quirks – for very long. He hadn't had more than a taste of life in the fish bowl, and we hadn't had to deal with my irregular hours or my being away for weeks on end.

There had to be some reason he wasn't already taken. It couldn't be for lack of offers. Maybe he really did have trust issues.

The movie ended and Dan said he had some paperwork to catch up before bed, heading for the spare room, which he had turned into his makeshift office. Through the wall I could hear the indistinct rumble of his voice on the phone while I did Pilates in the weight room next door. Kind of late for phone calls, I reflected, but cops don't work regular hours.

I finished working out, took a quick shower and retreated to the bedroom to watch some TV and make notes on the Charioteer screenplay. I refused to think that I wouldn't get the part. I knew how persuasive Steve could be when he wanted, and if Paul Grady was pushing for me to co-star, I knew I still had a shot. Dan joined me in the bedroom as I was idly surfing through the channels.

«One thing I never noticed about The Charioteer,» I told him. «A lot of the misunderstandings between Laurie and Ralph and even Laurie and Andrew could have been so easily resolved if they'd just talked.» «That's true of most relationships, isn't it?» «I guess so.»

Of course, Laurie hadn't asked questions because he hadn't been ready to hear the answers. He had been afraid of the answers.

«Hey, go back,» Dan ordered, pulling on a pair of plaid sleep pants, and staring at the TV. I groaned. «Turn it back.» I flipped back to the cheesy horror film. He bounced down beside me on the bed. «That's you!» «Don't remind me.» We studied the on-screen mayhem in silence. «Your hair,» Dan remarked finally. «Yes, it's the scariest thing in the film.» We watched for a few more minutes. «So … you're actually the star of this? Do you get the girl in the end?»

«Please, Dan,» I said, «This is heterosexual romance. The girl does not 'get it in the end.'»

His laugh sounded surprised – and I could guess why. I slanted a look his way and he shook his head. «You're asking for trouble, chief.» «How many times do I have to ask before I get some?»

He raised his brows and then lunged. I fell back in the nest of pillows, bringing my knee up – but watching where I put it because the last thing I wanted to do was really put him out of action. I planted my foot in his chest and he rolled over, taking me with him. We wrestled around, laughing. I liked the fact that though I was tall – six feet – Dan was taller. And I liked the fact that – although I was strong and worked out regularly – Dan was

stronger. It didn't threaten me and I didn't feel any of the competitiveness I usually would have.

He got one arm around my waist and the other around my thigh and managed to flip me over onto my back. The Swedish mattress swallowed my frame a few obliging inches. «The bed is having me for dinner,» I said, laughing up at him.