Serenading Stanley (16 page)

And finally Stanley said the words. “Because you’re out of my league. People like me grow up knowing our place in the world. We know when we’re overstepping our boundaries. We know when to draw back. I haven’t been able to draw back from you because you won’t let me. It’s almost like you’re… chasing me.”

At that, Roger smiled. “How can you ever hope to be an archeologist if you can’t even see what’s right in front of your eyes?”

“And what’s that?” Stanley asked.

“Me, Stanley.
I’m
right in front of your eyes. And here’s a news flash for you, Stanley. I
am
chasing you. I guess I wasn’t doing a very good job of it if you couldn’t figure it out on your own.”

“Now you’re making fun of me,” Stanley said, and he pulled his hand away. “Maybe I should go.”

Roger reached out and reclaimed the hand. His grip on it was firmer now. Stanley wasn’t going anywhere, and Roger damn well made sure Stanley knew it.

“It’s my turn to say some things, Stanley. Is that all right?”

Stanley had to clear his throat twice before he could find his voice. He was trembling. What had happened? How had the evening gone to crap so quickly?

“Go ahead,” Stanley said. “I’m listening.”

“You’re something else, Stanley Sternbaum. You know that? I’ve never chased anyone before in my life. Just thought you ought to know that.”

“So you
are
chasing me.”

“Yes.”

“What about dumbass? Did you chase him?”

Roger laughed. “Dumbass chased me. I stupidly let myself get caught. You’re different. I’m the fisherman now. You’re the poor trout I’m trying to reel in.”

“But why? There’s prettier fish in the sea.”

Those words almost broke Roger’s heart. “You’re pissing me off, Stanley. Why do you keep tearing yourself down? Why do you keep doubting yourself? Do you really find it so hard to believe that I’m chasing you?”

Again Stanley had to search for his voice. But his fingers seemed to suddenly have more sense than he did. He watched them stroking the back of Roger’s hand. They weren’t just taking comfort. They were giving some back for a change. Well, good for them. Maybe his fingers were smarter than he was.

“Yes,” Stanley said, his voice little more than a croak. His eyes were burning too. He hoped to God he wasn’t going to get all emotional. He was embarrassed enough. Not to mention confused.

Roger leaned over the table and pressed his lips to Stanley’s hand. Then he sat back in his chair. “And stop looking so scared. I’m not going to jump your bones or anything. I’m going to take it nice and slow until you really believe I
am
chasing you.”

Stanley’s fingers were resting over the pulse in Roger’s wrist. He was astonished to feel that pulse tapping away like crazy. Roger’s heart was beating as fast as Stanley’s was. When he realized that, Stanley looked up into Roger’s face. Into Roger’s eyes. Those green, beautiful eyes.

“We can take our time,” Roger said, his face somber. Eager. “Unless you’re not interested. If you aren’t, it would be nice if you told me now.”

Stanley heard the words, but again he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He said nothing.

“Well?” Roger prodded. “I’m not asking for your hand in marriage here, Stanley. I just want to get to know you. I want to be friends. I want you to like me.”

Stanley’s vision blurred as the tears finally squeezed out. “I already like you,” he said. “More than I should.”

He immediately regretted saying those words, but Roger didn’t seem to regret his saying them at all. He reached across the table and laid his free hand on the side of Stanley’s face. His thumb stroked Stanley’s cheek while his fingers cupped Stanley’s ear. At the feel of that gentle hand against his skin, Stanley seemed to lose all inhibitions. He turned his head to press his lips to Roger’s palm. While Roger’s fingertips were cool, his palm was hot. Stanley savored the taste of it.

“Say something,” Stanley said, again feeling his ears burning red.

Roger smiled. “Your lips tickle. And I like you, too, Stanley. Maybe more than
I
should. For tonight, what do you say we simply leave it at that. Just don’t be afraid of me. Please.”

Stanley nodded, touched by Roger’s sincerity. “All right.”

And because he had to lighten the mood at all costs, for himself and for Roger too, Stanley dredged up an evil little grin, and asked, “So what’s for dessert?”

S
INCE
Roger had already eaten the watermelon, which was supposed to be dessert, they opted for another beer instead, moving the party into the living room to Stanley’s least favorite piece of furniture in the apartment. Roger’s sofa.

By the time Stanley had downed his third beer, he was feeling better. He was feeling a little more secure too. Even if he was still flabbergasted by the fact the man next to him had readily admitted what Stanley had not dared to believe. Roger Jane was interested in him. He really was. Stanley was convinced the balloon of intrigue on Roger’s part would pop pretty fucking soon, but while it was still viable Stanley figured he could handle the pressure of it hanging over his head. At least, he was pretty sure he could. He didn’t figure he’d be courting a broken heart if he simply stuck to friendship as his own immediate goal. Friendship. Period. Don’t ask for anything more, don’t
look
for anything more.

Hell, yes,
Stanley thought.
I can handle that. Maybe.

Stanley couldn’t help but notice Roger’s sofa didn’t have any lumps in it like Stanley’s did. Of course, Stanley’s sofa didn’t have Roger in it either. That was its biggest drawback. Fuck the lumps.

Roger and Stanley sat close, listening to the sound of each other breathe. Their arms periodically touched,
and every time they did and their arm hair scraped together, Stanley sucked in a little gasp of air. They propped their four bare feet on the coffee table in front of them, and Stanley spent the quiet moments contemplating Roger’s gorgeous, sexy feet. They were strong and big, with a scattering of dark hair on the instep and the middle of the big toe. Beneath the cuffs of Roger’s jeans, Stanley could see a beautiful forest of black leg hair just peeking out. He longed to reach down and run his fingers over it, but of course he didn’t.

Still, he couldn’t help wondering what Roger would do if he did.

Sometimes, when they moved just right, their bare feet would bump into each other. And when that happened, Stanley would once again suck in a little gasp of air. He expected to see sparks of electricity shooting through the atmosphere around him, that’s how turned on he was. Having Roger Jane sitting so close beside him was kind of a mind-boggling experience.

Stanley had a hard-on, too, and he really wished it would go away. It was making him nervous.

When Stanley gasped for about the fifth time, Roger asked, “Are you okay? Are you bored?”

Stanley looked at him like he’d just sprouted a palm tree out of the top of his head. “Why would you think that?”

“Sorry I spoke,” Roger said around a tiny smile. And when he said it, he pressed his foot to the side of Stanley’s just to hear Stanley gasp again. Then Roger blushed. Not because he was embarrassed, but because he was turned on.

Roger had a hard-on, too, and he was really regretting telling Stanley there was no hurry about them getting to know each other, that they had all the time in the world. Of all the stupid things he had said in the past ten or twelve years, he figured that one topped the list. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Inhaling a long, shuddering breath, Roger swiveled on the sofa until he faced Stanley sitting beside him. His bent leg rested on Stanley’s thigh, but Stanley didn’t seem to mind having it there. God knows Roger didn’t.

Since his left arm had nowhere else to go, Roger draped it over Stanley’s shoulders like a shawl. Stanley didn’t seem to mind having that there, either.

With his ears burning fire-engine red, Stanley tilted his head back to rest it on Roger’s arm. He closed his eyes for a second while he relished the sensation of Roger’s arm against the back of his head; then he turned to study Roger’s face.

“What are you thinking?” Stanley asked. “If it’s getting late, I can go.”

“Stanley, it’s not even eight thirty.”

“Okay.”

“You promised you wouldn’t be afraid of me.”

“I know. I’m not. I—” Stanley looked away.

Roger brushed his fingers through Stanley’s hair. He gripped the top of Stanley’s head with his long fingers and pivoted it around until Stanley was looking at him again. When their eyes were once again on each other, Roger asked, “I what? What were you about to say?”

Stanley stared at him through eyes as clear as crystal. As bright as diamonds. His heart was once again banging around inside his chest like a cat in a cardboard box. He hoped to hell Roger couldn’t hear it. “I’m not afraid of you,” Stanley sighed. “I’m more afraid of me.”

Roger touched a fingertip to Stanley’s mouth, simply because he wanted to. “I hope that means what I think it means.”

And once again, the two fell silent, only now they continued to study each other’s eyes as the silence grew.

A crash overhead tore their eyes away from each other and made them both look up. The sound came from the floor above.

“What the hell was that?” Roger asked. “Did you get a pet rhino?”

Stanley frowned. “No. I think it came from ChiChi’s apartment. Not mine.”

Roger rolled his eyes. “That explains it, then.
ChiChi
got a pet rhino.”

Another flurry of bangs and clunks and crashes followed. Someone yelled something unintelligible. Then silence.

“This customer must be getting the works,” Roger said.

Stanley snickered. “No kidding. The blue plate special.”

When the silence continued on and on and the excitement seemed to be over, Stanley concentrated his attention on the feel of Roger’s thigh against his own, the reassuring pressure of Roger’s hand at the back of his neck. Their eyes again came together as if Roger, too, was suddenly more aware of the man next to him. The moment Roger’s beautiful green eyes were focused on his, Stanley was lost all over again. They were the most hypnotic eyes Stanley had ever seen. And the sexiest.

Now that the initial awkwardness had dissipated, Stanley was kind of amazed by how much he was enjoying the evening. And with every beer they drank, his enjoyment level rose. So did his hard-on. God, he really was a slut when he drank—or ate marijuana—or simply looked at Roger Jane. Stanley kept his beer bottle resting on his crotch, thinking that might lower the temperature down there, but it didn’t seem to be working yet.

They spoke little, sitting there in the silent apartment, watching the night deepen around them. The only sound that never lessened was the thundering of their hearts. Neither man looked toward the darkened window and the lighted city skyline beyond. As stunning as that sight was, the only view they seemed to care about was their view of each other.

Stanley was astounded by the continued gentleness he saw in Roger’s eyes, the never-wavering concern he saw there. And there was a hint of more than gentle concern there too. There was longing in those looks Roger cast his way. And interest. Interest in Stanley Sternbaum, of all things. Stanley didn’t understand that at all, but he did enjoy seeing it there in Roger’s incredible eyes.

Stanley suspected everything he could see in Roger’s eyes, Roger could also see in his. Neither seemed to feel a need to speak. Their eyes did all their talking for them.

This close, Stanley found himself mesmerized by Roger’s beauty. The man was just so damned handsome. Those green eyes surrounded by long black lashes, the clean lines of his shadowed cheekbones, the fragile, delicate ears. At one point, Stanley reached out and traced the rim of Roger’s ear with his fingertips, just to see how it would feel. Roger smiled and tilted his head into Stanley’s hand when he did, and Stanley smiled back.

When Roger spoke, he could hardly hear his own words. They were lost in the flurry of his pounding heart.

“Can I kiss you, Stanley? We don’t have to. I just want—”

But Stanley never knew what Roger wanted, because he leaned in and pressed his mouth to Roger’s before the man was finished talking. Eyes wide open, Stanley watched as Roger’s eyes closed the moment their lips came together. And slowly, as the kiss lingered, Stanley, too, closed his eyes, lost in the softness of Roger’s lips.

Roger’s strong arms pulled Stanley closer. The kiss deepened. Tongues came gently together. Not pushing, not insisting, just touching. Tasting. Gently exploring. Stanley shivered as Roger’s fingers stroked his back. With his other hand, Roger set his beer bottle aside. He plucked Stanley’s beer bottle out of his hand and placed it on the coffee table beside his own. With cold, cold fingers, he laid his broad hand over Stanley’s ankles, gathering them together, swinging Stanley around to better face him, and folding Stanley’s legs until he was huddled with his knees against Roger’s chest. While he did all that, Roger never lifted his lips from Stanley’s mouth.

Stanley felt like a child, cradled in comforting arms. But he felt like a man too. A man with all the needs of a man. It had been a long time since Stanley had been with anyone. And even then, it had only been sexual. It had meant nothing. A temporary release. This was sexual, too, but it was more than that.
Far
more than that. This time there were feelings involved. A
host
of feelings. And for Stanley most of them were brand-spanking new.

He was in uncharted territory, and he knew it.

He scraped his palms over Roger’s short hair, and when Roger broke the kiss, he only did it to press his face into Stanley’s neck. Stanley’s head fell back as Roger kissed him there. On his neck, on his throat. Stanley stared at the ceiling, so happy to be in Roger’s arms he couldn’t think straight. What the hell were they doing?

“Oh God,” Roger muttered. “You taste great.”

Stanley didn’t know what he was going to say, but he had just opened his mouth to say it when a banging at the front door damn near gave them heart attacks.