Play It Again, Charlie (27 page)

“He's different for you,” he had commented carefully, and when Charlie had focused back on him, had held up a hand. It lacked Will's grace, but he pushed forward the dipping sauce for their seasoned fries, and the act at least had made Charlie's mouth twitch up, just for Mark. “You're different too,” he remarked, shrugging to let Charlie know it wasn't a bad thing. His gaze sparked before he blinked it away. “But I see you still like some of the same things,” he'd gone on with a look at the sauce, smiling faintly.

When he'd looked back up, he had been serious, and Charlie had shaken his head. It was a little late to be talking about anything, and he'd never wanted an apology. What he'd wanted there had never been any point in asking for. But at least now he knew why Mark had left: because he'd wanted more from Charlie. He hadn't bothered to say anything, but for right now it was enough to have a
why
. It was something at least.

But Charlie's mouth had tightened again at the time.

“You should have told me,” he'd said, out of nowhere, the words cold and dry as they'd left him, and Mark had slowly lifted his head. There had been more too, a flood of words waiting to be said if Mark ducked again, shook his head. But he hadn't, had only wet his mouth.

“I always meant to.” It hadn't been a surprising answer. Charlie put his hands around the edge of his warm plate. Mark had opened his mouth but then had given a minute shake of his head and sat back, and Charlie had felt hot.

“People should say something before they leave. Give you a reason. Or give you a chance to do something.” Some of the words had come out anyway, words that made Charlie scowl even hours later and shift uncomfortably at how angry they had been.

He finished his beer in a few gulps, knowing he was going to feel worse now. He needed to eat. He stood up.

Mark had only stared back at him before nodding, guilt all over his face. A guilt Charlie should have enjoyed but hadn't. He'd let the silence at their table drag on amidst the chaos of the restaurant, watched Mark's cheeks go from red to white, and felt worse. Finally he had nodded too.

“Now,” he'd started again, forcing his voice to be even, “what is with the glasses?” and when Mark had shot him a relieved smile, he'd been able to relax, even if he hadn't been able to smile back.

Charlie had been too easy on him. He already knew what any of the women in his life would say to that, wasn't sure he would even tell them for just that reason. He put the empty bottle under the sink and grabbed another one from the fridge. He popped the top and tossed the bottle opener onto the counter. The sound of the metal bouncing echoed around him, loud, but not drowning out the soft knock on his door.

It seemed like too quiet of a sound to have come from Will, but when Charlie shut the fridge and opened the door, Will was staring back at him from the threshold, in the same outfit he'd had on earlier, with his hands shoved in his pockets. He still seemed pale, and in the kitchen's light the circles under his eyes were more pronounced. His eyes themselves had a glazed quality. Charlie leaned forward, just a bit, and ignored how Will perked up at that.

Will smelled like citrus and vodka, a scent on him that Charlie hadn't forgotten. “You've been drinking,” he said, surprised after Will's hangover earlier. Will bobbed his head.

“So have you.” He pointed to Charlie's beer. “Not a good day?” he asked with a sideways look, and Charlie opened his mouth but didn't answer. He took a deliberate sip of his second beer.

“What did you do after your appointment?”

Will exhaled and rolled a hand.

“I tried to take a nap, but I couldn't fall asleep. So I've been watching a movie. I got to Julia Roberts dying and then I had to turn it off.” Will didn't move. “That part always make me cry even though logically I know I couldn't care less.” His glance went from Charlie's beer to Charlie's face again. “I sent you a text to see if you were home.”

“A text?” Charlie sent a distracted look toward the living room and his phone. “I'm not used to getting those.” He looked up. It was dark outside, though there were shadows and movement, and then lights coming on across the way as someone went upstairs. “Come on in.” Once he said the words he realized Will hadn't breezed in on his own, but he was already moving out of the way and closing the door behind Will.

Unlike earlier with Mark there, Will didn't seem inclined to pose, though he did push out a breath. He peered around the room, not that there was anything to see, then up.

“What time did you get back?” He had his eyebrows up, seemed in a mood to be reasonable. Charlie waited, crossing his arms. Will slid over to rest by the sink.

“Earlier,” Charlie admitted. Will bobbed his head again, then drew his eyebrows down into a tight frown.

“And you had a good time, I hope?” he pried, sounding anything but hopeful. “With your friend?”

Those words, coming out of Mark's mouth and now Will's, made Charlie cough. He uncrossed his arms to run a hand across his mouth. It wasn't funny, exactly, it was just unexpected.

“It was okay,” he responded at last, and got part of that dark frown aimed at him. Will crossed
his
arms, then looked away.

“Did you guys talk cop stuff?” He pulled one hand up to pick at a fingernail, and Charlie felt his eyebrows go up. Will swept a brief, curious look over him. Charlie was wearing the same clothes too. There wasn't much for Will to see there.

“Is this going somewhere?” Charlie asked dryly, and the signs of temper instantly vanished from Will's face. He waved his hands in perfect innocence.

“I just wanted to know. God, Charlie, you're so suspicious.” Will's hands weren't moving with their usual speed. Charlie caught one and frowned, not sure how drunk Will was or if this was more of his hangover.

“That hair of the dog thing is bullshit,” Charlie told him bluntly. Will's pulse was fast and unsteady against his fingers. “You look tired. Are you okay?”

“Am
I
okay?” Will repeated. “Oh, Charlie.” He shook his head slowly from side to side but didn't add anything else, and if Will's mouth wasn't moving, then he really wasn't feeling well. Charlie put his beer down and let go of Will to get a large glass and fill it with water.

Will took it with both hands, then took a small sip. Charlie's scowl didn't ease, so he made a show of drinking some more. But when Charlie stepped back to retrieve his beer, he noticed that Will continued to drink it as he was talking.

“So you had fun last night? I mean after we... .” Crap. Charlie's face burned. “At your party? Aside from too much vodka and champagne,” he went on quickly, and Will's grin flashed at him for a second before Will guzzled down the last of his water. His eyes lit up.

“Well, I got a cake for Dani— the birthday girl, got her wasted. Got myself wasted completely accidentally.” He paused when Charlie snorted. “Got her home around three. Got home myself around four, totally knackered, as Buffalo would say. Woke up as usual at sunup, thank you, Grayson. Wanted to throw up cake. Managed not to.” Will put the back of his hand to his forehead, then shook his fist at the sky. “As God is my witness... .”

“You shall never eat cake again,” Charlie finished for him. Will didn't even look upset, he just smiled.

“Other than that, it was fun. Though I'm not getting that shitfaced at
my
thirtieth birthday. The hangover alone.”

“They only get worse from now on,” Charlie informed him with a small smile.

“Ugh! You had better be lying or I'm going to die.” Will was back to his usual drama, at least. “Then I fell back asleep and woke up around noon. How about you?” He watched Charlie take his glass from him to fill it up again and spent a long moment observing Charlie's leg. No, his hip specifically now. Charlie had been limping a little, but he wasn't in pain.

“I forgot to take my cane with me today,” he explained it away. Will just continued to study him over the edge of the water glass.

“Uh-huh.” He slid his fingers down the glass, then lowered it. “Go anywhere good for lunch?” This, Charlie had a feeling, was Will attempting to be nonchalant. Charlie looked away, though something itched at the back of his throat. He looked back when he felt it was safe to speak.

“If you're here looking for your gloves, they're in the shed.”

Will gave a huff that might have been a laugh. Then he shifted. If he'd been holding the beer bottle, he probably would have picked at the label. Charlie took a long drink, then set the bottle down. Will shifted again, from foot to foot.

“Charlie,” he said, then he froze. “So, a detective? He seemed smart.” He mumbled something else, but he was lifting his glass for a drink so Charlie couldn't make out a word. “You wanted to be a detective too? But things, um, just didn't work out?”

Charlie swallowed the leftover flavor of beer in his mouth, then backed up to lean against the opposite counter.

“I considered it. And no.” He didn't think it was wise to keep drinking, not without eating something, but he took another mouthful before putting down the bottle. Will hummed and appeared sympathetic. Charlie nearly snorted again. He was a horrible actor. No wonder he'd gone with hair.

“But you miss it, just the same, right, Charlie?” Despite the lilt at the end of the sentence, Will wasn't asking.

“I liked being out there.” Charlie gave him the short answer, then inhaled and tried again when Will stared expectantly at him. “Even with all the crap, and there was
a lot
to hate about it.” His chest was constricted. He forced breath out, then in. “I was good at it.” Then he looked back over. There was a delicate frown playing about Will's face. “Thank you, for what you did. It was"— juvenile—"unnecessary, to try to make Mark jealous. But... .” It had felt good. “Thank you.”

Will gave him a blank look that made Charlie blink. He looked like he honestly had no idea what Charlie was talking about, for at least a minute. Then his eyebrows went up.

“Did I?” he said at last, then he elaborated when it was Charlie's turn to look blank. “Make him jealous?” He sounded so pleased that Charlie failed to keep all of the amusement out of his voice.

“Yeah.” Not a lot, not enough to do anything or to say much, but enough. “A little,” he qualified a moment later. Will's eyes narrowed at that, though then he stood up and gestured with the hand holding the water glass.

“Good.” His activity was almost startling after how listless he'd seemed before. Charlie eyed him critically and then stood up.

“Did you eat anything as you were drinking and watching Julia Roberts die?” Charlie indicated his cabinets, the whole kitchen. “I've been debating making myself something. A small something,” he warned, so Will wouldn't expect a full meal.

“Dinner?” Will seemed surprised, but then, cooking
was
magic.

“Nothing complicated. Just some pasta or something.” He sighed at Will's amazed face, and then the soft little, “You'd cook for me?” that followed it. “Just... .” He suddenly couldn't look at Will's hopeful face without wanting to smile. “Go in the other room. Watch TV. Watch a movie or something. Get comfortable. It will only be a few minutes.”

“Yes, Charlie,” Will agreed smoothly, and he left the glass of water at the table as he walked into the living room. He said it as though Mark was still in the room, then switched gears. “Ooh,
The Maltese Falcon
is still here.” Charlie winced. That movie was incredibly overdue.

“The DVD player is on the shelf under the TV,” he called out, staring at his counter for a moment and then spinning around to get a pot, then finding that bag of pasta he'd tossed somewhere the other day. When that was set up, he stood there, realizing that it was too late to make sauce. Well, good sauce. He was standing there watching boiling water when Will suddenly reappeared, pulling out a kitchen chair to sit down.

He bent over and put his head on his arms, but angled it so he could watch Charlie.

“I thought I should watch, maybe learn your cooking sorcery,” he explained quietly. Charlie almost laughed.

“I refuse to say ‘abracadabra’ as I boil water,” he told Will, and Will's snort was muffled against his arms as he adjusted his position. Charlie went back to the cabinet full of cans and jars, then made a face. He turned to Will again. “I don't feel like opening a jar of sauce. Is butter and cheese all right?”

“Fattening and delicious,” Will answered, scrunching up his face. Charlie was just grateful he had fresh cheese and not one of those preservative-filled shakers of Parmesan. He was bent over to search for it in the fridge when Will spoke again. “So are you going to do it? That project thing with him?”

Charlie stared at the two beers left in the case. “I could.”

“Smarty-pants,” Will teased instantly, his cheek on his arm. “I guess I
could
write a book,” he imitated, all exaggeration. Charlie couldn't decide if it was cute or irritating. Will seemed ready to pass out at any moment, and he was still talking about Mark and trying to seem nonchalant. He settled back down on his arms. “So you'd have to work with him again?”

“I never worked with him, exactly.” Charlie came back over to stand by the stove. The steam was making him warm and probably making his hair stick out. The stove was in good condition, it wasn't taking it long.

“But.” Will stopped himself there. Charlie waited, missing his beer. Will looked like he was biting the inside of his lip. “Does he always wear khakis?”

“What?” That was not what Charlie had been expecting to hear. Will lazily rolled one hand.

“Khakis. Does he always wear them? I don't know... it's like women with French manicure acrylics... it tends to read ‘bitch', and not in a good way,” Will explained seriously, and Charlie decided to screw it. He got his beer and took a huge gulp.

“Someday you're going to have to explain to me your clothing and personality type system,” he remarked finally, and thank God, he got the bag of pasta open. He poured it into the pot. It was a few minutes before Will spoke again.

“Tsk, Charlie. Haven't you ever worked retail? This stuff is useful. Is that your first beer? Second?” he asked in amazement when Charlie took another drink and held up two fingers. “Long day, huh?” He didn't wait for an answer. “I could have accepted the khakis themselves, but the polo shirt too... .”