Nothing but Smoke (Fire and Rain) (4 page)

Though Michael’s impending orgasm vibrated from his toes to his scalp, his mind rebelled. It shouldn’t feel this good…hadn’t felt this good since Mark.

“Come on.” Nicky tilted his head to the side like he wondered why Michael couldn’t come. Leaning in slowly, Nicky only closed his eyes at the last minute.

His lips were soft, and careful. So different from the rough way he worked Michael’s cock. Against Michael’s mouth, Nicky said, “It’s okay.”

Michael could have cried, that was how hard the orgasm hit. The spasms wrenched from deep in his guts, places he hadn’t reached for a long time, and he curled into Nicky’s arms. He had Nicky by the shoulders, his face in Nicky’s neck. Michael wished he could let go.

“You okay?” Nicky said.

“Oh, um, yeah.” Michael rubbed his nose on the back of his forearm. God, he had to get it together. “Dry weather is hell on my allergies.”

He pulled a packet of tissues out of his pocket and handed a couple to Nicky. Since he couldn’t meet Nicky’s eyes, Michael kept his attention on what he was doing as he tucked himself into his pants.

“Yeah. Me too.” Nicky checked Michael’s expression. “Uh, thanks. That was good.”

“Yeah.” What was Michael supposed to say to a guy who’d just rocked his world but he couldn’t imagine seeing again? “You too.” He darted a glance between the trees to the reservoir. “You want to head out?”

“Yeah.” Nicky walked ahead, over the spongy ground and back to the concrete of the pavement. Another couple guys were fifty yards past and heading into the woods.

Michael felt empty, like a giant hole of need had opened up and he had nothing to fill it. Damn Nicky for stirring up those thoughts about Mark. In the woods, it was like Michael knew Nicky, but in the bright halogens of the reservoir, Michael saw their hook-up for what it was—nothing important.

They got to the parking lot and passed Michael’s car, and Michael figured it would be the end of their interaction. He wished that didn’t make him sad. “This is me.” He gave the Mustang a halfhearted wave.

“Ooh, nice.” Nicky’s eyes lit up. “I haven’t seen one of these in years.” He ran a reverent hand over the rust-streaked hood. “It’s a classic. Is the color custom? I’ve never seen one in purple.”

The rush of warmth spread through Michael’s chest that someone had finally—
finally
—recognized the value of the machine he’d worked to keep running for five years. “I think it was custom. At least, that’s what the guy who gave it to me said.”

“I know a guy who restores classic cars like this. He goes to my gym.” Nicky kept his attention on the car, but the pinch of his lips said he was casting a line and hoping Michael took a bite. “You wanna trade phone numbers? I could, uh, get his info for you.”

“Huh.” Michael never would have guessed Nicky would try and maintain contact, and that’s what Nicky was doing. After all, a Google search would give Michael the names of dozens of mechanics. “You serious?”

“Yeah. Why not?” The tension of Nicky’s shoulders said that his certainty was tenuous.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I wouldn’t have thought you were
out
.” Michael scanned over Nicky’s clothes, from his worn sneakers past his brightly colored workout pants, and to his T-shirt with the cut-off sleeves. Nicky’s leather jacket lay across his motorcycle seat.

Michael didn’t pay much attention to fashion, preferring to shop for brands that were sweatshop-free and made of renewable materials, but Nicky looked like he’d just walked off a Bowflex ad.

“No. I’m not.” Nicky’s voice lowered an octave. “But we could meet up again…” He darted his gaze to Michael’s crotch, and his eyes went dark and hopeful.

The hole in Michael’s chest stretched wide enough to crack the pavement and suck him into the earth. “I don’t date guys who can’t be open in public.”

“Well, uh…okay.” Nicky frowned at the sidewalk.

“Yeah. Sorry.” Michael had no idea why guilt was plucking at his insides. Damn Nicky and those wide eyes of his. They were big and brown—round, with thick, almost swollen bottom lids—and totally out of place on a guy so ripped. Despite his better judgment and everything Michael knew was in his best interest, he pulled out his phone. “But my car’s been on the fritz a lot lately, so if it was just to get the mechanic’s number…”

Nicky’s smile lifted his cheeks. “Yeah. Yeah, just so I can call with the guy’s number. I mean there can’t be too many people who know what they’re doing with your kind of car.” Nicky bounced on the balls of his feet. “I’m two-oh-six, five-five-five, three-eight-oh-seven.”

Michael typed in the number and let it ring until Nicky’s voicemail activated. That way Nicky would have Michael’s number too. “Okay?” Michael’s nerves strung tight until he felt a tension headache gathering under his scalp. He shouldn’t have shared his number. This guy could be a psycho, or a stalker. Or worse, a guy who wanted to see Michael on the side, keeping it some big, hairy secret until Michael was left sobbing manly tears into his pillow.

“So, call me with the number. If you want.”

“Yeah.” Nicky rubbed the back of his neck. “Soon as I run into him again. I have to work tomorrow.”

Michael nodded. “Yeah, well, whenever.”

“Yeah.” Brown eyes searched, roaming all over Michael’s body like they were looking for some answer to a question. “Bye.”

“See ya.” Michael unlocked his car and slid into the front seat.

When his engine coughed to life and cooperated enough to get him rolling out of the park, Michael glanced at Nicky in his rearview mirror.

Nicky hadn’t left his spot on the sidewalk. Maybe Michael imagined it, but Nicky swiped his hand like he was making the sign of the cross.

Feeling guilty about what they’d done? Or hoping they’d do it again?

Michael shouldn’t be getting involved with a guy still in the closet. He’d be thinking about that stupid gesture all night, trying to figure out what it meant.

Chapter Four

Nicky wished he could have gone to the gym and gotten the number for Michael the next day, but since his twenty-four-hour shift started at eight a.m., he didn’t have time to think about Michael much less come up with an excuse to call him. All day, he ran between building inspections, training sessions and a car accident that thankfully had no casualties. As evening closed in, he was in a bunk in the firehouse, resting his eyes for a few minutes, so he’d be fresh if he had to go out on a call.

His phone rang like a siren under his fingers—the ringtone he’d set for his mother.

Nicky tensed before he even answered. “Mom?” His mother never called when he was at work.

“Nicky?” She paused to take a labored breath, as if she could barely get in enough air to talk. Instead of speaking, she coughed in a wet hack.

“Shit, Mom.” Panic washed away his guilt over cursing. “Don’t worry about talking, okay. I’m on my way home.” He kicked out of his bunk and dropped to his feet. “You just have to tell me one thing.”

“Mm-hmm?” His mother coughed more softly.

“Do you need me to call an ambulance?” God, those were expensive. His mother had needed one after her second surgery when she’d developed pneumonia. Nicky hoped like hell she didn’t have that again.

“No.” Her breathing was a little calmer now. Labored, but not gasping. “Just, come home.”

“Yeah.” Nicky tucked the phone under his ear as he rushed out of his station uniform and into his regular clothes. He shoved into his shoes, trying to catch his boss’s eye, since Hank was busy with Cody by the truck. “I’ll be home in five minutes, okay? Set your clock if you want.”

His mother said “Mm-hmm” again, like she didn’t dare speak or she’d cough.

“Be right there.” Nicky clicked off the phone.

As he strode in his boss’s direction, Hank looked up. His quick frown and the slump of his shoulders said that he knew what Nicky was coming over to say. “What’s going on?”

Nicky hated having to leave work. With how many personal days he’d already taken, his leave bank was nearly empty. “My mom’s sick again. She needs to go to the hospital. I’m…” God, he hoped like hell his boss didn’t make a big deal out of it. “I’m sorry, but I’ve gotta go.”

Hank nodded. “I know.” There was a pinch in his lips that said Hank wanted to say something more. Probably that Nicky’s mother needed more than just Nicky and a couple-hours-a-day nurse to look after her.

“Thanks.” Whatever his boss thought of him at that moment, Nicky couldn’t worry about it.

Outside, he kicked over his bike. In a hurry, he didn’t bother with a helmet as he rushed to pull his bike across the sidewalk to the road.

“Motherfucker!” A cyclist screeched to a halt, slamming into Nicky’s side. His messenger bag flew over his head and clocked Nicky in the face. But the kid himself scrabbled away, hopping off his bike.

“Ow!” Nicky grabbed his cheek. Glad as he was that he hadn’t hit the kid, he grimaced at the feel of wetness in his hand. “You okay? I’m sorry.”

Desperately, Nicky tried to help the kid while keeping balance. But even with his feet planted firmly on the ground, Nicky wobbled.

“Asshole!” The cyclist gave him a shove, almost knocking Nicky off the bike. The kid must not have been too badly hurt because he threw a leg over his saddle and rode off. “Fuck you!” he shouted, giving the finger as he rode away.

Nice, considering it was the damned bicyclist who’d been riding on the sidewalk in the opposite direction from traffic.

Gritting his teeth, Nicky accelerated to head toward home. He might need a bandage over the scrape on his face, but he’d deal with that once he’d figured out things with his mom.

After sprinting the stairs, he hauled open the front door.

“Mom?” His shout met silence, nothing over the sound of the television. “Mom?” His mother was on the couch, asleep from what it looked like, except that her chest heaved on another cough.

She always looked pale in the reflection of the TV, but Nicky flicked on a light and saw that her lips were blue. “Shit!” He rushed to her side, feeling for her pulse and listening with an ear over her mouth for breathing. Both her heartbeat and her respiration were shallow.

Damn her for saying she didn’t need an ambulance!

Nicky dialed 9-1-1 from the home phone next to the couch. His buddies at the station would most likely be the ones to come over. They’d get her to the hospital a hell of a lot faster than Nicky could get his mom’s Lincoln out of the garage since the car hadn’t been driven in months. Nicky cursed that he didn’t have it in the driveway already, battery fully charged.

“This is 9-1-1, what is the nature of your emergency?”

Nicky gave all the information the dispatcher would need. Then he held his mom’s hand and waited for her nine-hundred-dollar ride to the hospital to arrive.

Michael’s phone buzzed from his messenger bag, and though it was against the law to use a cell while driving, he dug around to check the caller.

Nicky.
Interesting that he’d finally called. Michael had given up on him since he hadn’t heard from the guy in a week.

Checking his rearview, Michael pulled over. He answered the phone with a curt “Yeah?” because Nicky might have been hot as anything, but Michael didn’t like to be kept waiting.

“Hi, Michael?” Nicky whispered as he spoke, his breathing as loud as his words. “It’s, uh, Nicky. From the park.”

“Yeah. I remember. Vaguely.”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” Nicky cleared his throat. “Actually, I haven’t been able to get to the gym. So, um…I couldn’t get that guy’s number for you.”

A likely story. Nicky looked like he’d never missed a day of working out in his life. “No worries.” Michael checked his side-view mirror, making sure he’d have room to pull out once he got off the phone.

“I can go over this afternoon. See if he’s around.”

Michael had no idea why Nicky was dragging this out. He’d obviously just claimed to know a mechanic to get Michael’s number, and then chickened out of calling. “Nah, that’s okay. I’m happy enough with my regular guy.”

“I think the shop is on Rainier,” Nicky threw in.

“Well, that certainly narrows it down.” Michael didn’t care that he sounded bitchy.

“I mean, Rainier down by where I live. In Beacon Hill.”

That still didn’t give Michael much to go on. “Listen, thanks for trying, but—”

“I want to see you again.” There was noise in the background like Nicky had gone outside and was standing by a busy road. “I…I wanted to call.”

“If you had wanted to call me so badly, you would have.” Michael quoted the combination of
He’s Just Not That Into You
and Dr. Phil that he’d meditated on in the months following his breakup with Mark.

If a guy wants to call, he’ll call. If he wants to be with you, he’ll make it happen.
How many times had he told as much to Henri in those first two years of college when Henri fell in lust with a different crush every week?

“I had some stuff come up in my personal life.” Nicky’s voice was low under the rumble of what sounded like a semi on his end.

Ah, yeah. The
lots of stuff going on
excuse. Michael had heard that line before. “Your thumb was busy? That’s all you needed to dial a phone.” Michael wasn’t pissed Nicky hadn’t called—it was the lie that annoyed him.