Point of No Return (4 page)

He looked right at me. "But you've had other dates?

Other boyfriends?"

So I opted for the honest truth. I nodded. "Yeah, and it always ends the same." Then I quickly added, "I don't want to get involved only for you to turn around in a few months and leave." I finished quietly, "I don't expect anyone to step back inside the closet for me."

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Kira huffed. "Well, thanks for not even giving me the chance. You know, I thought you said you were interested."

I sighed. I was interested. Too interested. "Believe me, I'm doing you a favor."

"I'm a big boy. I can look after myself," he said with a hurt, somewhat defensive smile.

"I'm sorry," I told him. "I wish it were different."

"Do you think this is easy for me?" he asked seriously. "No one here knows I like guys. Do you think they'd hire me if they knew? In a
cops' gym
?"

I hadn't thought of that.

He walked over into the middle of the room, turned and looked at me. "I think I'll be the one to judge what's good for me." He held up his hand and curled his fingers, motioning me over to him. "Come on, put your hands up."

He stood in the ready sparring position. "This time don't let me win."

I chuckled. Jesus, he wasn't letting me out of this.

Okay, I told myself, I could do this. I walked over to him and mirrored his stance. With my hands up to protect my chin, I jabbed a few times with my left and landed a few with my right.

We sparred for a good five minutes or more. He gave me a few light taps to the face, and when I gave it

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back to him, he grinned at me. "Now, why couldn't you do this the first time we sparred?"

So I told him. "Because the only way for me to not get a hard-on around you was to let you hit me."

He laughed—really fucking loudly—and he

dropped his hands. So I jabbed at him with my right, not expecting him to be so close and my fist connected with his mouth.

"Oh, fuck!" he said, pulling back quickly, holding his hand to his mouth.

"Shit, I'm sorry," I said, but I also kind of laughed at the same time.

"Was that a diversionary tactic?" he asked.

I laughed again. "No, seriously. I mean, I meant what I said about the hard-on. But you shouldn't drop your hands."

"You shouldn't mention hard-ons."

I laughed again, and he chuckled. But he was still holding his hand to his lip, so I told him, "Let me have a look at it." I pulled his hand away to inspect his lip. It was split, there was blood, but his teeth were still intact. I smiled at him. "You'll survive."

I grabbed his drink bottle and threw it to him. And when I handed him his towel, he wiped his face, dabbing it to his lip.

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"Am I still beautiful?" he asked with a smile. His tongue darted out to lick his swollen lip.

I looked at him, split lip and all, and nodded.

He grinned then, making his lip bleed again. "Shit,"

he cursed, holding his towel back to his lip. "I don't know,"

he mumbled through the material. "I think this will cost you dinner."

I snorted, and he groaned. "Now, if you don't mind, I need to fill out an incident report," he said, holding up his towel to show me. "Blood spilled."

He walked out of the room, and I presumed our

training session was over. Jeez, it was only a split lip.

I pulled the tape off my hands, collected my things, and walked out into the main room, where Kira was behind the counter writing in some book. Chris, the gym owner, smiled and shook his head at me. "What are you doing giving my staff a bloody lip?"

I shrugged. "He zigged. He should have zagged," I said, making Chris laugh.

Mitch jumped off the cross-trainer. He tried to catch his breath. "You couldn't have done that last week? When it cost me twenty bucks?"

I rolled my eyes at my partner. He was never gonna let me forget that. Ignoring Mitch, I walked over to the

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counter, where Kira was still writing. "Do you really have to fill out an incident report for a split lip?"

He grinned and handed me a slip of paper.

"Something like that."

I opened the folded paper to find it wasn't any kind of incident report. It was an address and phone number.

And three words.

Dinner. Eight o'clock.

I folded the paper and couldn't help but smile. I hid it in my hand just as Mitch walked over. He was mumbling at me, something about it being my turn to buy at the bar.

"Frankie," my partner said, "you should come to the bar with us. Elliott here owes you a drink for the fat lip."

Kira looked at me then back to Mitch. His swollen lip curled into a smile. "Thanks. But it'll have to be another time, guys. I've got a date tonight."

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Chapter 4

I pulled up at Kira's apartment complex. It was big enough that if I was spotted parked here or even seen going inside, there was no way anyone could know who I was visiting.

But I was still nervous.

This was about to breach the rules I'd lived by for years.

But there was something about him, his dark eyes, his smile…

There was something about him that had me sitting in my car, all nervous about going inside. Part of me was thinking this was reckless. He was too close to the guys at work, the gym, my real life. If it ended badly, or if he was careless with a look, a touch, a comment, he could expose me. He could out me.

I was waiting for the rational part of my brain to tell me to keep driving and forget about him.

But he was just as vulnerable as I was. He wasn't out at work either. He was keeping the same secret.

There was that something about him. Something I was drawn to the second I saw him. Maybe it was his black hair, his dark skin, his smile…

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The next thing I knew, I was walking across the street into his apartment building and knocking on door 7F.

"Ah, hang on," his voice called from somewhere inside.

Bouncing on my toes, I briefly asked myself what the fuck was I doing—when he opened the door.

And he was standing there.

Fuck.

Dark blue jeans, a white button down shirt—and bare feet.

"You're early," he said.

I looked at my watch. seven fifty-two PM. "You said eight?"

And when I looked at him, he was smiling. That steal-my-breath, make-my-dick-twitch kind of smile. I exhaled slowly, and he stood back, silently inviting me inside.

There were shoes at the door, and given he was barefoot, I took it he had a no shoe policy. I quickly pulled off my shoes and left them by the door, and when I looked up at him, he was still smiling.

His eyes glimmered. "I wasn't sure if you'd turn up."

I nodded. "Neither was I."

He grinned at me. I was nervous, and he could tell. I took a deep breath and looked into his apartment, looking

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for a distraction. It was nice, not huge, but light, tastefully decorated and clean—and something smelled fantastic.

"Something smells great," I told him.

"Something's gonna burn," he said, walking into the kitchen. "I hope you like paella."

My stomach growled, right on cue. "Um, yeah. I do, actually."

And when I followed him into the small kitchen, I could see the huge pan on the stove. "You cooked it?"

He stirred the pan and chuckled. "Sure did." He looked at me, and again, I was struck by how close we were… how alone we were.

"Want a beer or wine?" he asked. "Or there's soda or water. "He nodded pointedly toward the fridge, and I presumed I was to help myself.

There was an almost empty bottle of Sam's on the counter beside him, so I picked two from his fridge and handed him one. I figured the beer would relax me and give me something to do with my hands so my nerves didn't give me away.

He seemed to pick up on my nervousness—either

that, or I was just really obvious—because he started talking.

He talked about sports, his work, my work, and the guys at the gym as he dished up two plates of paella. By the

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time we were sitting at the table, I was much more at ease around him.

I still got lost when I looked at him. He took a mouthful of rice, and I was transfixed by the fork between his lips. He smiled as he chewed and swallowed. "Are you gonna eat it, or just watch me eat mine?" he asked, clearly amused.

Embarrassed, I shook my head and quickly shoved a forkful into my mouth. And oh my God, it was so fucking good.

I groaned.

He smiled.

"This is really good," I told him with a mouthful of food.

"You sound surprised," he laughed.

I swallowed and amended quickly, "Oh, no. I just meant this is better than a restaurant could do."

He smiled as he ate. "Family recipe."

"Spanish?" I'd wondered about his heritage, whether he was more Asian or European.

He nodded. "My dad's Spanish, my mom's

Japanese. I figured I'd play safe with paella instead of sashimi."

I
think
he was joking. It was kind of hard to tell, he smiled all the time. I smiled back at him. "I like sashimi,

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too," I told him as I scooped up another forkful of rice.

"But this is divine."

He smiled proudly. "I'm glad you like it."

We stared at each other then, and neither one of us spoke. I just looked at him. His dark, smiling eyes, his perfect eyes, his perfect lips…

His perfect, split, swollen lip.

"I'm sorry about your lip."

His hand automatically touched his mouth, and he smiled. "I'm not."

I raised my eyebrows in question, and he laughed.

"I got you to agree to dinner with me."

I chuckled and gave him a nod. "That you did."

He smiled again, picked up his beer bottle and clinked it to mine. "To split lips and dinner dates."

I couldn't help but smile as I tapped my bottle to his.

Kira smiled and started talking about how he got into fitness, how he'd traveled, and how he got started working at the gym. I found myself enthralled by his story, his voice, and the way his neck muscles moved under the collar of his shirt. Then I noticed, a little late, that he'd stopped talking.

I'd been caught staring again.

He lifted his eyebrows and smiled.

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Embarrassed, I huffed out a breath, and I could feel heat creep over my cheeks. Jesus. I shook my head and looked down to the table. Figuring I could use the distraction, I started to clean up.

"Leave it," he said.

"You cooked, I clean," I told him. "Fair's fair."

I put the dirty plates in the sink and turned the water on as I looked through the cupboard under the sink for the detergent. When I found it, I looked up, and he was watching me. He smiled at me, and without a word, picked up a dish towel, and started to dry.

He was right beside me. I could feel the heat of his body. I could smell his cologne, his deodorant,
his scent
. I tried to concentrate on what I was doing, but by the time I was done and wiped down the sink, I knew this was it.

I knew if he touched me or kissed me, I'd have crossed the work/personal life boundary with him. I'd be risking my comfortable, albeit closeted, life.

I could have quite easily thanked him for dinner and made an excuse to leave.

But I didn't want to.

When I looked at him, he gave me a shy smile…

God, those fucking lips.

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I turned back to the sink, trying to get myself together. His voice startled me. "If you want to leave, just say so."

I turned and looked at him. My heart was

hammering, my mouth was dry, and I had to swallow so I could speak. "I don't want to leave."

He stepped closer to me and reached his hand up to the side of my face. "I don't want you to go," he said quietly. And oh-so-fucking slowly, he leaned in and pressed his lips to mine.

I couldn't move.

I couldn't breathe.

His lips moved against mine, just a fraction, and then he pulled away.

There was hurt and confusion in his eyes. He

thought I didn't want this. "Don't you…?"

"Too much," I said without thinking. "I want this too much."

Then my hands were on his face, around his neck, and I kissed him.

Oh, fuck… how I kissed him.

My lips opened his, and my tongue invaded his

mouth. His lips, his tongue, his taste…

He groaned.

That sound… my God, that sound.

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Then his hands were on me and his arms were

around me. I could feel him, all of him. It felt so fucking good.

Desire.

His need, hard against mine.

Just when I thought I didn't want this to ever end, he pulled his mouth from mine.

I was so torn.

I wanted him to take me to bed. I wanted
that
with him.

But I wanted something more.

I wanted to get to know him, I wanted
that
with him. I knew it was far too soon to be thinking relationship, but I wanted something more with him. Once wouldn't ever be enough.