The One That Got Away (6 page)

“’kay,” Trace said sleepily, shifting to bury his face back in the pillow, just one drowsy eye staying open and training on him for a moment before drooping closed. Safely hidden behind the bathroom door, David looked back at the dozing man. How was it possible for one man to be so erotically tempting and cuddly cute at the exact same time? With a sigh, he quietly shut the door.

About two hours or so later Trace walked out to the kitchen wearing his suit pants and dark socks, but just an undershirt. His damp hair was pulled back into a neat tail at the nape of his neck. He opened the fridge and pulled out the juice, pouring himself a glass. “Morning,” he mumbled, still sleepy and grumpy despite his shower. He was just not a morning person.

David stared at the jug sitting next to Trace on the counter. He never kept orange juice in the house. He didn’t like it. Of course with Trace doing all of the shopping, the contents of the refrigerator were a mix of both of their favorites. It was both comforting and alarming at the same time. “Morning, sleepyhead,” David teased, hitting save on his laptop. His writing had slowed down considerably with only one hand, but at least he had the kind of job he could do from home. And missing Monday morning editorial meetings was not necessarily a bad thing.

Setting the bottle of juice back in the fridge, Trace pulled English muffins out of the cabinet and popped one into the toaster. “Want a muffin?” he asked sleepily as he got butter and a knife out.

“I had one of those premixed omelets when I got up,” David said, forcing his eyes back to his computer screen. “So into the office today?”

Trace dropped the muffin onto a paper towel and fixed it up as he muttered to himself before answering “Yeah.” He brought the glass and the muffin to the table with a yawn, sitting down across from David.

“Gotta work on the Readers’ Choice restaurant reviews. I won’t be home for dinner.” He took a bite of muffin and chewed, head propped in one hand, eyes closed again.

“I imagine I’ll survive. Where are you reviewing tonight?” The blond got up and retrieved the strawberry jam from the refrigerator, snagging a spoon out of the drainer. Setting it down next to his sleepy 
friend, he realized that he knew Trace’s preferences almost as well as Trace knew his.

Trace heard the clink of the jar hit the table and opened his eyes, brightening at seeing the jam. He pushed the muffin halves over for some.

“Kabuki uptown, Raffi’s on Highstreet, and Delectable, the new dessert place. I’m gonna be a whale when I get done. I really ought to make them spread these appointments out more.”

“It’s rough, but someone has to sacrifice and consume all those gourmet meals for free,” David answered, spreading a heavy layer of jam on both muffins.

Trace sighed. “Yeah, and I’ll have to spend an extra couple of hours at the gym to offset the calories. Thank God they only do this every other year.”

Images of Trace half-naked and sweaty swam through David’s mind.

Pushing them firmly aside, he got up to pour himself another cup of coffee, reaching for the sugar with his right hand out of habit and yelping.

“David,” Trace whined, “have some respect for the half-asleep, would you?” He shifted to look over at the other man and then frowned.

“Where’s your sling?” he asked suspiciously.

“Ahh, well…,” the blond stammered nervously. “I sort of got it wet in the shower. It’s still in the bathroom. Right after breakfast I was going to put it in the washer.”

Trace raised an eyebrow and squinted his eyes in disapproval. “Sit your ass down, mister,” he ordered as he stood up and headed back to the bathroom. Looking around, he found it in the floor against the cabinet; he’d missed it when he’d taken his shower. He wrung it out best he could and took it straight to the dryer before heading back to the kitchen to cross his arms and shake his head at David.

David bit his tongue to keep from defending himself. He was a grown man, for fuck’s sake. If he wanted to go one night without the blasted sling, he could do it. Purposefully avoiding Trace’s gaze, he couldn’t tell if the brunet was angry or disappointed, but either way, he felt like he had to explain. “I tried to keep it dry, but the soap slipped and….” He couldn’t very well tell Trace why the soap slipped or what he was doing at the time. Fuck, he was an awful liar. “I tried, honestly.”

Sighing, Trace walked over. “Why didn’t you wake me?” he asked in concern. “I would have helped. That’s why I’m here, David. I’m sorry if it feels like I’m mother-henning you. I’m just worried.”

Running his fingers through his hair, David massaged the knotted muscles in his neck. “I just feel so blasted useless. I can’t even do up my own jeans. I appreciate everything you are doing. I guess I’m just feeling too dependent.”

“All right,” Trace said soothingly, moving to lightly pull David’s hand away and replace it with his own fingers, rubbing at the twisted tendons. “It’s only been a couple weeks, and you can’t just start using that shoulder again so fast. But we’ll work on getting you better, okay?”

“Okay. Hmmm,” David hummed. “That feels really good.” David swayed closer, his forehead coming to rest on Trace’s shoulder as the strong arms wrapped around him to massage his neck. It was true that he was tired of being weak—tired of being limited—but he wasn’t tired of Trace being around. In fact, he was getting sort of used to it.

“Your neck’s a mess, probably from favoring your shoulder,” Trace murmured. “And not wearing your sling won’t help, either,” he poked gently. “I know you’re sick to death of it. I don’t remember you ever being laid up this long before.” 

“Guess it just comes from getting old,” David laughed, relaxing even further into the incredible touch. “When I was younger I fell a lot harder than that, stumbling around drunk, and never got hurt once.”

“I told you before; you’re not old,” Trace disagreed, kneading the softening muscles with his fingers, looking down at David with a soft smile. How David could be so self-deprecating and self-confident at the same time was a mystery to him.

David sighed. “I think it was the birthday.”

“This past birthday?” Trace asked, frowning. He’d taken David to a weekend series of baseball games, and they’d had a great time. Was the rest of it not so great?

“None of my other birthdays have bothered me, but forty-five…?

That was the year my dad had his heart attack. He lived another ten years, but he was never the same.”

Trace was quiet for a long moment. “That’s not going to happen to you. Not as long as I’m around,” he said seriously. “I’ll make you exercise with me and eat better.” He sounded determined. “Gotta take care of my best buddy, right?”

“Yeah.” David grinned. “In the meantime, you’ve got to get to work, and I need to placate Lloyd with something printable. I promise: I’ll be good and wear my sling,” he said, backing away from the soothing touch reluctantly.

Stepping back, Trace smiled down at him. “All right. I hope to be home by ten tonight, although I’ll need a forklift to move.” He turned and walked out, back to the office where he’d taken to hanging his dry cleaning every few days. David had even cleaned some shelves off for him.

David refilled his coffee cup and sat back down at the table to wait for his sling to dry. Pulling his laptop closer, he stared at the screen, trying to recapture where he’d been going with his column.

IT was later than he’d intended when Trace dragged himself up to the house, leather case hanging from one shoulder, jacket slung over it, a small box in the other hand. He juggled it all to lift his keys and get the back door open, entering the kitchen quietly just in case David was asleep.

The kitchen was dark, so he set his stuff on the table and put the box in the fridge before moving to stand in the doorway to the living room. David was sitting on the couch with his laptop. “Hey,” Trace greeted, leaning against the door frame.

David looked over his shoulder. Trace’s hair had come loose around his face, his shirt was open with a triangle of his white undershirt showing, the tie hanging loose from the collar. “Oh, hey,” he answered in a slightly dazed voice that showed he’d been deeply engrossed in something. “How was dinner?” Rubbing his eyes, he looked up at the clock. “Damn, it’s late.”

“Filling. Very, very filling,” Trace answered, wrapping his arms around his midsection. “I brought you a piece of the richest cheesecake in creation,” he added, knowing it was one of David’s favorite treats.

“Really?” David asked, perking up. He’d been half-asleep, telling himself that he wasn’t waiting up for Trace, but at the mention of cheesecake, he was wide awake. “Guess I have to make coffee, then. Can’t have a good cheesecake without French roast.”

Trace made a face. “No more food or liquids of any kind for at least twelve hours,” he muttered, turning back into the kitchen and going to start the coffeemaker.

David looked at the retreating back and grinned. It was the little things that Trace did that made him so special. Not that upsetting his whole life and moving in here to babysit him was a little thing, but David remembered lots of times that Trace had brought him a bottle of wine or something local back from a business trip or called him when they’d both been busy and hadn’t seen each other for a few weeks. Trace was just a great friend. And now cheesecake!

“Come in here and talk to me,” Trace called out as he measured the coffee. “I spent all night being stared at by wait staff.”

“You got it.” David strolled in and opened the refrigerator to retrieve the box. Opening a cupboard, he pulled out a dessert plate. Looking up, he caught Trace watching him strangely. “What? A good dessert deserves first-class treatment, not to be shoveled out of a Styrofoam container.”

Trace snorted. “I ate off fine Limoges china tonight, and believe me, sometimes it doesn’t help.” He shook his head, hitting the button to start the coffee brewing before turning and flopping in a chair at the table. “Oh God.
Kill
me now.”

“You want some antacid?”

“I want a stomach pump,” Trace muttered, head tilted against the back of the chair. “The food was pretty good, really. There was just way too much of it.”

“You don’t have to eat all of it, you know. Most critics just sample a few mouthfuls of each dish.” David checked the coffeemaker, the cheesecake sitting in front of him so tempting. It occurred to him that he hadn’t really eaten dinner. No wonder he was starved. 

“Oh believe me, that’s all I do. Thing is with these fancy restaurants, they bring you course after course after course—and even two or three bites adds up.” Trace shifted on the chair. “I think I’ll just explode right here. It’ll be easier to clean the tile than the carpet.”

“I’d rather you not explode anywhere in my house if it’s just the same with you. Finally,” David sighed as the light on the coffeemaker lit up.

Trace looked over, amused. “I swear, I think you love that coffee more than the cheesecake.”

David grinned. “It’s a mutual love affair. Each makes the other better.” Slipping the first forkful of cheesecake into his mouth, he closed his lips around the fork, his eyes closing in orgasmic bliss. “Mmmmm….”

Trace chuckled. “See, I know how to turn you into a big pussy cat,”

he said with a smile. “Who else knows that?”

“Might be better than sex,” David murmured, taking a sip of his coffee. “Will you marry me?”

“I don’t know. You’re awful difficult to live with,” Trace said with a wink. “Although I like your house a hell of a lot more than my apartment.”

He toed out of his shoes, leaving them under the table, and got up to grab a bottle of water.

“Well, you know high-maintenance partners are the best lovers,”

David teased back.

Trace turned around and leered at him. “High maintenance, are we?” 
he drawled. “My, my, really opening up now, aren’t we? I’ll have you know I have never had any complaints.”

David chuckled, a low seductive sound prompted by the late hour and really good cheesecake. “If we were playing poker, I’d call.”

The younger man grinned, amazed at the sex just dripping from David’s voice. It was like nothing he’d ever heard from his friend, and he surprised himself by shivering. “Good thing we’re not, ’cause I suck at bluffing,” he said, screwing the top off the water bottle and taking a drink before sighing gustily. “No food until three p.m. tomorrow, I swear to God,” he muttered.

“Poor baby,” the blond purred. “How many restaurants do you have tomorrow night?”

Trace covered his face with both hands and moaned. “Three more.”

He made a mocking sobbing noise, only to look up and not see any sympathy from David. In fact, David was going at the cheesecake like a starving man. “David, I know you love cheesecake, but you eat that much sugar that fast, you’ll be the one who’s sick.”

“I might have forgotten to eat dinner,” David admitted, putting the fork down long enough to take a sip of coffee.

Trace’s eyes narrowed. “Might have forgotten? I’m betting you remember one way or the other.”

David’s eyes shifted guiltily to the floor. “I ate lunch,” he justified.

Glancing at the clock, Trace closed his eyes for a moment and visibly restrained himself. He leaned back on the counter, hands clenching on the edge as he swallowed the urge to get angry, and made a decision.

“Okay. Well, you just solved one of my problems,” he said, voice deceptively casual despite the unhappy bent to his shoulders.

Confused, David stared at Trace, brows drawn together. “Huh?”

Trace pushed himself away from the counter and walked over to David, setting one hand on the table and one on the back of David’s chair.

He leaned down close to meet David’s eyes. “I’m taking you out and wining and dining you tomorrow night.”

A shiver traveled up David’s spine, even though he knew that Trace didn’t mean it the way it sounded. An unexpected pang that Trace wasn’t actually asking him out shot through David’s gut. To regain his balance, he teased back. “Sure you can afford me?”

“Oh, tomorrow night, money is no object. Caviar and champagne, filet mignon and crusted Australian bass, lobster bisque and duck salad, scallop crostinis, French vanilla crème brûlée…. Whatever your little heart desires, you can have,” Trace said, his voice smooth and dark, like velvet.