“You can hand me the washcloth, Bryce.”
“Are you sure? I’m not done with your feet.”
“I’ll get it.”
“Okay,” Bryce replied, sounding almost disappointed. He draped the soapy washcloth on Seth’s shoulder, opened the glass door, and stepped out of the stall. “I’ll see you in the bedroom. I’m calling housekeeping so they can clean up this mess.”
“I’ll be right out,” Seth said, angling his body so only his back remained visible.
AFTER DISCONNECTING
the phone, Bryce went to stand by the window to take in the skyline. Far off to the right, he could make out the London Eye, once the world’s tallest observation wheel. He’d read about it in the tour book Seth had handed him after he agreed to come on the trip. Hopefully, this bout of food poisoning would run its course and Seth would be able to enjoy the rest of his stay in this great city before they embarked on the cruise. Tomorrow would be hectic, and factoring in emergency trips to the restroom was out of the question. Poor guy. Mark’s famous medicine kit better provide the necessary drugs to combat whatever had hit so suddenly; worst-case scenario, there was always the emergency room. What a buzzkill.
He’d done his best to gloss over the unpleasantness, making small jokes to put Seth at ease. It must have been unbearable for the conservative man to be so exposed, but it had tugged at Bryce’s heart to see Seth sitting on the pot covered in his own filth, with tears streaming down his face. He couldn’t let Seth fend for himself.
Bryce hadn’t been lying when he’d claimed to be immune to stuff that normally sent others gagging and running in the opposite direction. He was an ex-jock, for one thing, and had seen his fair share of morning-after crud. Plus, he was in construction, and porta-potties were a way of life. Anyone who had issues with odors wouldn’t last twenty-four hours in his line of work.
Small consolation to someone who’d been with the same guy for twenty years and was entirely out of his depth getting naked with Bryce. Accepting his help while in such a compromising position must have been excruciatingly difficult.
The knock on the door was expected and tore him away from his introspection. Aside from calling housekeeping, Bryce had asked for room service to try to replenish Seth’s fluids as quickly as possible with the least amount of collateral damage. He hoped the soothing chamomile tea would stay down long enough to do the job. Mineral water and soda crackers were included in the order in case the tea didn’t appeal to Seth.
As the waiter was leaving, Seth walked out of the bathroom wearing a white terry cloth robe provided by the hotel. It was the same as the one Bryce had thrown on, making them look more like partners than friends. Seth appeared much calmer, albeit pale and listless.
“How are you feeling?” Bryce asked.
“My stomach is better, but I have a mild headache.”
“I ordered a few things that might help.”
Seth bit his lip, and Bryce could tell he was on the verge of crying again, but Seth surprised him by rallying like a champ. “You’ve been very kind, Bryce. Thank you.”
“Hey, none of that. Come over here and sit down. I’ll practice pouring tea with my pinkie raised like they do on
Downton Abbey
.”
“You’re a fan?” Seth looked shocked. “I never would have guessed.”
“Weird, right? My secretary told me about the show a while back because of a gay character going through all kinds of shit trying to change. She’s a huge supporter of LGBT rights since her oldest son is a member of Team Homo.”
“So you’re rooting for Thomas and hoping he’ll get his happy ending?”
“Aren’t you? I mean, I know he’s a conniving bastard, but I think he’s just suffering from a bad case of blue balls. That would drive anyone crazy.”
Seth shook his head, but he smiled. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”
“Just telling it like it is.”
Seth sank down on the chair, and Bryce poured hot water into his cup without making a mess. When that was successful, he plopped in the tea bag. “Give it a few minutes to steep,” Bryce said.
“You’d make a wonderful butler,” Seth commented.
“Fat chance. I don’t drink that shit, and I sure as hell don’t want to spend all day in a monkey suit. Why don’t those people own any sweatpants?”
“It wouldn’t be historically accurate.”
Bryce watched as Seth picked up the cup and blew on it before attempting a sip. After swallowing, he nodded his approval. “That’s good tea.”
“Glad you like it,” Bryce said. “Let’s hope it stays down.”
“No kidding.”
“Do you want me to get your medicine kit out of your suitcase? It might not be a bad idea to take something for the diarrhea.”
“If I plan on doing anything tomorrow, I suppose I should, although Mark always said it’s best to let the poison out of your body instead of keeping it inside.”
“There’s nothing left to flush out,” Bryce pointed out.
“Don’t remind me,” Seth said. “Would you hand me the kit? It’s a small Burberry plaid case in my carry-on.”
Bryce found it right away and pulled out Seth’s laptop along with the medicine kit. “Let’s put your laptop in the room safe so you don’t have to lug it around on the tour.”
Seth stared. “How come I didn’t think of that?”
“It’s not in your job description,” Bryce said. “I’m the practical one, remember? You’re in charge of dreams and conjuring stories out of the blue.”
“Right,” Seth said, continuing to stare at him.
The color was starting to come back in Seth’s cheeks. He didn’t look like the walking dead anymore, but he was still a bit shaky when he picked up his teacup. Bryce couldn’t help noticing the brown eyes glowing like amber in the morning light, an intriguing blend of yellow and copper tones he hadn’t noticed last night. Seth was really easy on the eyes; too bad he wasn’t at least ten years younger. Bryce would definitely be interested if that were the case, and he had to admit his body had reacted in the shower.
“I should check social media to see if anything is going on.”
“Fuck that Facebook crap,” Bryce said. “You’re on vacation.”
“If I don’t promote myself, no one will.”
“Don’t you have people who do that?” Bryce asked.
“I have a publicist for big events,” Seth clarified, “but I do the everyday stuff.”
“What would you consider a big event?”
“New releases, a book signing, podcasts, conventions, setting up blog tours… are you really interested in my life or just being polite?”
“I don’t have a polite bone in my body,” Bryce said, grinning.
“That’s not true,” Seth countered. “You like to pretend you’re a caveman, but I’m starting to see a sensitive guy behind the gruff exterior.”
Bryce snorted. “Don’t tell my employees, or they won’t toe the line.”
“Your secret is safe with me.”
“Take your pill, Seth, and have some more tea.”
Seth dug through the bag and fished out a bottle. He popped a tiny pill into his mouth and washed it down with the tea. So far, so good—nothing was coming back up. By all appearances, he was recovering nicely.
“Why don’t you take a nap when you’re finished?” Bryce suggested.
“What time is it?”
Bryce glanced at his wristwatch. “A little past noon.”
“I wonder when Harrods closes.”
“What’s up with you and that store?” Bryce asked. “This is the second time you’ve mentioned it.”
“It’s on my bucket list, Bryce. We can’t pass up the chance to see it. They say the locals have started calling it ‘Harrabs’ because the huge Arabian clientele thinks nothing of dropping thousands on the daily.”
“They’re the only ones with that kind of money.”
“Yes, and I’d love to watch them spend it,” Seth said. “Vicarious acquisition is better than nothing.”
“Are all writers crazy, or is it just you?”
“I don’t consider myself crazy. Curious, yes. Observant, for sure. Imaginative, absolutely. But crazy? Nah… I’m not famous enough to be certifiable and still make a living. You’ve got to be rich to afford a nervous breakdown.”
“Mark said your books actually make money.”
“Fancy that,” Seth replied. “Most writers don’t care about the financial gain. I’m not saying it isn’t nice to see those fat royalty checks rolling in—the money is validation in a tangible sense—but I can tell you with certainty that the majority of us would write for free. What drives us is the need to tell a story and crafting it the best way possible. There’s nothing more satisfying than hearing back from a reader who has been touched by my efforts.”
Bryce lifted an eyebrow. “You can afford to downplay the money because you had a rich partner who supported you. Imagine what it would be like if you had to make ends meet on your own.”
“I’ll find out soon enough,” Seth admitted candidly.
“Hey, I didn’t mean to bum you out,” Bryce said.
“No, you just figured a little reality check was good for my personal growth,” Seth quipped.
“Forget what I said. Mark must have left you well off.” Trying to shift the attention off finances to art, he asked, “How long does it take you to write a story?”
Seth shrugged. “It really depends. Some flow more easily than others.”
“Your eyelids are starting to droop, Seth. Let’s move this conversation to bed.”
“You’ll nap as well?”
“Sure.”
“Set a wake-up call for an hour,” Seth said, standing. “I’m not wasting my day sleeping.”
“How about an hour and a half? That’ll give us plenty of time to check out the Saudi princesses.”
Seth nodded. He turned back the bedspread and crawled in, still wearing his robe. As soon as his head hit the pillow, he closed his eyes. Before drifting off, he murmured, “This is nice.”
Bryce placed the call on the automated hotel system, removed his robe, and climbed into bed. He always slept in the buff and wasn’t about to change an old habit to protect Seth. He could deal with it. While waiting for sleep to suck him under its spell, he pulled out his phone and updated his Grindr profile. The moment he changed his location, he received ten hits. Curious, he clicked on a few to check out the guys. There were some who caught his eye, and one of them wasn’t too far away. He debated leaving his cushy bed but decided he was fine for now. He declined the hookup but mentioned he’d be at Harrods later in the afternoon.
WHEN THE
phone rang at two, Seth opened his eyes immediately. He was a relatively light sleeper and well enough to respond to the wake-up call despite the jet lag and food poisoning. What he wasn’t expecting to see was Bryce standing naked by the bed, holding the phone to his ear. Seth immediately shut his eyes but, unable to resist temptation, opened them within seconds. God… why did he do it? His cock, already half-hard from the wake-up boner—even if it was afternoon—sprang to attention. He wasn’t fourteen and Bryce wasn’t the first man he’d seen naked, for fuck’s sake. Mark hadn’t been gone that long, and they’d had an average sex life, in spite of the insidious disease that had snuck in under the wire. In truth, Mark had made tender love to him the night before he took his life. Seth felt disloyal for even looking at Bryce, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away. How in hell was he going to get out of bed if he couldn’t control his body?
“You up?” Bryce asked, looking in his direction.
Oh God… am I ever.
“Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.”
“Do you mind if I use the bathroom first?” Bryce asked.
“Go right ahead,” Seth replied. That would give him a few minutes to get his act together if it was even possible. He rolled onto his stomach the moment he heard the bathroom door close and pressed against the mattress, hoping to tame his stubborn erection. The friction only made matters worse, so he sprang out of bed and went to stand by the window. Surely, the view of a city he’d been dreaming of for five years would make him forget the naked man in the other room. It did help, and by the time Bryce emerged from the bathroom—thankfully in his robe—Seth felt he could take the next steps without disgracing himself.
He shouldered past Bryce without speaking. In the bathroom, he disrobed, got into the shower stall, and turned on the cold water. He yelped in shock, but he was now too busy shivering to be remotely interested in beating off. He soaped his groin and armpits, rinsed, and shut off the water. Looking down at his traitorous organ, he was happy to see it had subsided to a normal state. Stupid thing had a mind of its own and could turn the most decent man into a manwhore within seconds. The very idea brought Seth up short, and he apologized to Mark. He’d started talking to his dead partner in his head so people wouldn’t think Seth had gone over the edge, but a lifetime of sharing wasn’t easily discarded, especially when it ended so abruptly. It would take Seth a while to get used to the silence. In the meantime, he’d continue as before: bitching at Mark for being a selfish asshole and leaving him, asking for help if he needed it, and begging for understanding when he’d done a bad thing. And he could spin it any which way, but lusting after Bryce was definitely in the bad category. Hell and damnation.
Seth hoped Mark wasn’t too upset with him for having this weak moment, but really, rooming with a guy as hot as Bryce was bound to have repercussions. Right? Of course, this was all Mark’s fault to begin with. How could Seth possibly manage on his own? He’d never had to before. Mark had been his left brain, leaving him free to explore his artistic side. Now he was supposed to act like he’d morphed into Buddha overnight and knew all the answers to life’s mysteries. Shit… if his man came back to earth for one second, he’d bitch-slap him for leaving with no warning.
“WHAT IN
the hell are we looking at?” Bryce asked.
They were at Harrods standing in front of the small shrine to Princess Diana and her lover, Dodi Fayed. A champagne glass—smudged with her lipstick—and an engagement ring, purchased the day before the fatal accident in Paris, were in a Plexiglas pyramid surrounded by flowers and candles.
Seth gave Bryce an incredulous look. “Don’t you recognize Diana?”