Play It Again, Charlie (47 page)

“He should know what dating is. What it means,” he finished with a small pause, wiping his hands over the table. That was the other thing, the idea that Will had asked Charlie to teach him, as though Charlie could just mold Will into what he wanted. He wasn't that kind of man, either, nobody should be, should
want
to mold Will. But there was a sliver of temptation just the same, heat in him at imagining Will doing what he wanted, staying with him.

It was worse than being asked to spank him. That was harmless in comparison. Either Will didn't know what he was asking, or Charlie was reading it all wrong.

He clenched his hands nervously, then relaxed them. He didn't even know what Will was doing right now because they hadn't made plans. “This is ridiculous. I'm a grown man.”

“I've noticed.” Jeanine's smiled slipped out. Charlie glared at her. “And Will is too.”

Charlie shook his head and tried to find an argument that wasn't so flawed. Jeanine interrupted him, smirking.

“Unless there's something you're not telling me, Charlie.”

Charlie glared at her. “It's that he's asking me to... .” No, Will hadn't asked, he'd requested, and the word
dominate
came to mind, but Charlie shied away from that. He wasn't sure, anyway. All he had to go on was the way Will had said,
"If you made me,"
how he'd said he wanted to
know
, even if he hadn't said
what
.

“Boss him around?” Jeanine had been listening and taking him seriously after all. “All the time?”

“No. At least I don't think so.” He exhaled. “I'm not sure.”

“Sounds like a good time for you,” she said again. Then she made a thoughtful face. “Unless you don't want to. And... am I drunk, or did you just say you weren't sure?”

“Both.”

Jeanine rolled her eyes and then pulled her glasses off completely. She put both hands to her forehead and then glared up at him just as he was about to ask if she was all right.

“Did you not say he was an adult?”

In his patrol days, he'd always taken unnecessarily formal speech as a sure sign that someone had been drinking.

“Yes, but he has father issues.” Out loud, it was possibly the silliest argument he'd ever made. Actually, considering who he was talking to, there was no possibly about it.

“And you don't?” If she hadn't been drunk, she wouldn't have said it. Charlie looked away, though there was absolutely no connection between his father leaving and anything that was going on with Will.

“That isn't relevant.” He hadn't been drinking. There was no reason for him to talk like he was in court. Jeanine made a slight helpless gesture, almost a shrug.

“I'm just saying it's not that unusual, Charlie. Why are you so worried... other than, because of... things... ? Ah. Where was I?” She squinted. “Oh yes, you aren't sure. And he's not sure.” Each of her hands was pointing in an opposite direction. “It's bright in here. Probably,” she went on when he opened his mouth to point out, again, that she'd been drinking, “he's
probably
not sure. Because who is in these things?”

“He seemed sure,” Charlie protested anyway. “He definitely wanted me to— ” He hesitated, mostly for the way her eyes lit up with interest. “Discipline him,” he substituted, though it seemed more sexual than the word “spank” now that he heard himself say it.

Instead of the laughter he was expecting, Jeanine leaned back. “Oh,
that
kind of... .” Charlie broke eye contact but had to look back when she leaned back in. “And you don't object to the idea. But you think you should. For
his
good. Riiight.”

The doubt in her voice brought his chin up. “I don't want to hurt him.”

Jeanine reached over to grab his hands for a moment.

“Charlie. My love. My precious. I want to use you as an example of proof that a gay man is still a
man
to those people who doubt that.” Charlie narrowed his eyes. Jeanine moved her hands away to indicate how right she was. “He asked you and you said... .” She pursed her lips to think about it and then nodded to herself and said, “Nothing, I bet, and now that poor kitten is wondering what in the hell and— ”

“Will isn't a poor kitten,” Charlie objected. He was more experienced than Charlie was, clearly. And even if he hadn't answered, he
had
almost spanked him that morning. His body was still flushed, aroused at the idea. God, Will had wanted it, and he'd wanted... he'd wanted... .

“The tequila in my stomach says he is. Tequila in you would make you the kitten.” Drunken logic was irrefutable. Or just not worth the debate. Charlie opened his mouth to try anyway, and Jeanine put a finger over his mouth. “Didn't you
just
tell me he's never been serious before? This is making my brain hurt. Why did you bring this up when I just wanted to go to sleep? It was on purpose, wasn't it? To avoid a real talk?”

“You're a paranoid drunk.” Charlie pulled his hands off the table, then moved restlessly over to the sink where he filled a glass with water and came back to give it to her, not that she touched it.

“Bossy. I don't need a babysitter,” she reminded him. “Charlie. What you should do is simple. I'm afraid you've reached that point in your relationship where you have to talk. To
him
. Not to me. I need to sleep.” She got to her feet and stretched, waving him away when she stumbled a step and he stood up to help her. She said it so easily, as though there wasn't a cold knot in Charlie's stomach at hearing the word. There was nothing to say that wouldn't give away too much.

“You don't think it's"— alarming, alluring—"dangerous for him to offer that?” Charlie didn't think he was making sense anymore, but Will calling him daddy was one thing, Will wanting Charlie to show him how to behave with someone was another, wasn't it?

Anyway, there was nothing wrong with how Will behaved, except for the part where he did stupid and dangerous things, like work off the Internet, or bring home strangers, or ask men he barely knew to dominate him, and someone who cared about him ought to tell him that.

If Charlie did that, it would be about Will, not himself. Seeing to Will's needs, making sure he was happy.

“To offer that? Or offer that to you?” Jeanine cut into his thoughts. “Charlie.
You
are in my kitchen on a Saturday night, stone-cold sober and worrying that you might hurt him. You are hardly a sick psycho or a super jerk.” She spoke slowly, slurring her S's ever so slightly. Then she patted his shoulder only to fall into it a second later in another fit of giggles. “Just think of it as being
very clear
. Like a tour guide.”

“It's not teaching a class,” Charlie griped, above her, but holding her steady. She shook her head.

“No, it isn't. It's... .” She blindly rolled one hand. “Letting him know what's okay. What you'd like. Like reading him his rights.” Her laugh changed to more of a snicker. “I'm in trouble for that one. I bet he has a cop thing too!” She thought she was hilarious. That she was also right not only didn't help, it made it worse. If Will was
only
in it for Charlie to boss him around, whatever his reasons, it couldn't go much further, either.

He swallowed, but his voice was dry and even as he slid a hand to her back.

“Maybe when you're hungover tomorrow, I'll mention that statement to you.”

Jeanine immediately pushed herself to her feet, but held herself up with the hand at his shoulder.

“Charlie, you are... .” She leaned closer and touched a finger to his nose. She smelled like hot sauce. “Adorable.”

“You are so ready for bed,” he told her, and she pulled away to wiggle her eyebrows at him.

“So are you.” She shot him a knowing look and then batted him away as she stood on her own. “Go home, Charlie. Call your muffin. Ask him to come over and play house with you. All he can do is say no, and that's better than not hearing anything, right?” Jeanine swayed in place, but her frown stayed where it was. “Right?”

Charlie frowned back at her for using her instructor voice on him.

“But to take that much from somebody else... I shouldn't. He shouldn't ask for that without knowing— ”

“How much you worry about him?” Jeanine sighed, then patted him one more time, then used her hand to make a “call him” gesture by her ear.

“Do you need help?” Charlie didn't move away, though he could feel the heat in his face and the line between his eyes.

“Go!” She waved him away, then called him back to pat his cheek. “Drive carefully, kiddo. And call me tomorrow, let me know... .”

“Know what?” It was foolish to ask, and he knew it the second the question left his mouth. Jeanine grinned widely, but her response was muffled by her yawn.

“How he answers. Because he will.”

As though that wasn't exactly what Charlie was afraid of.

Near midnight, and the apartments were quiet and the courtyard dark, but he could see the shadowed interior of Grayson's apartment through the closed sliding-glass doors. Will was likely gone, but Charlie stopped abruptly at the flicker of light inside the apartment. He realized the TV was on right as the glass door slid open and Will stepped out.

He came right to the ledge, and Charlie could see that he had a T-shirt on and that his hair was tousled.

Charlie closed his phone and shoved it into his pocket. He was willing to admit to himself, silently, that he was afraid that Will had gone out and brought someone back with him again. He had every right to.

“It's bad for your eyes to watch TV in the dark,” he remarked. He couldn't tell if Will was alone.

“
That's
what you have to say to me?” Will was quiet. “Really?” Charlie frowned at the apartment and fought back what he wanted to ask, rephrasing it into something not much better.

“Have you been here all evening?”

Will's hands came up. “It isn't about where
I've
been.” He was only illuminated by what moonlight there was and the shifting light from the TV. Another few steps would turn on the security lights, but neither of them moved. “It's about you, and why... .”

Charlie lifted his head, not that he could make out much of Will's expression. He wasn't sure he needed to, not with Will using that frosty and indignant tone. He thought of Mark, and the few words he would toss out before disappearing, and his stomach twisted. Guilt. Fear. Of the two, fear was greater, trapping words in his throat.

“What have you been doing?” He nodded in the direction of the TV, ducking Will's gaze for a moment only to look back when Will answered.

“Waiting.” Will ran a hand through his hair. “I thought I was supposed to. But maybe I'm not good at this.”

“This?” Charlie could barely hear himself, and exhaled. His mouth was open. He closed it for all of a second. “Waiting? You waited for me?” There hadn't been anything on his phone because Will had been here, waiting for him? “It's Saturday night,” he said stupidly, wondering why Jeanine had told him to talk when, as usual, all the wrong things were coming out of his mouth.

“It's almost Sunday morning,” Will corrected him, and Charlie got the impression of a stiff posture.

“You gave up— ?” He coughed. “I thought you'd be out.”

“And I thought you'd be here. Guess we both got it wrong.” Will slid his hands over the ledge, and Charlie kicked himself forward, his head going all the way back to keep Will in sight.

“I'm sorry.”

Will looked to the side, though his hands didn't move, as though the stillness that had been in him the past few days hadn't gone away. But he gave a short, low laugh.

“It's not like you have to tell me where you're going or anything, Charlie. I mean, it's not like we're,
that
. I could have gone out. I just felt like staying in.” Will looked back, angling his head to one side as he waited for Charlie to explain or let him off the hook. Charlie squeezed his eyes closed, then reopened them and studied Will's uncertain posture.

“No, I should have called. I meant to.” He swallowed to make his mouth less dry. Will didn't seem angry, or
as
angry, anymore, just confused, or tired. Charlie owed Jeanine another dinner. “Staying in would have been nice. I would have liked that.” Will had shifted. The TV light was behind him, but he was facing Charlie more directly. Charlie hoped that meant he was listening. “Sorry.”

“Oh.” Will's fingers rolled along the ledge.

“What else did you do?” The balcony was too high for Charlie to get anywhere close to Will, though Will probably didn't want him closer. He certainly hadn't invited Charlie any nearer.

“Watched movies and maintained my high standards of personal beauty.” Will looked over at the wisteria tree, but was giving Charlie sidelong looks as he drummed his fingers.

“Standards of personal beauty?”

“Nails. Waxing.” Will used one hand to wave gracefully over his chest. Charlie frowned but didn't comment, didn't get a chance to, anyway. “What were you up to, Charlie? If you don't mind me asking.”

Charlie refocused on Will's face, what he could see of it. It seemed obvious, but evidently it wasn't, not if he had to explain even this.

“I don't mind.” It was as clear as he could be with his mouth dry and his pulse thundering. “Jeanine had man trouble and margaritas. I had to make sure she was all right,” Charlie replied carefully. Will muttered something that sounded like, “Of course you did,” then he spoke up.

“I know how that is. A straight woman with a broken heart and a blender. Is she okay now?”

Charlie froze, then shook it off. “She's fine. We actually had them on the rocks.” Which was useless information. “She'd like to meet you.”

“You talked about me?” Will's voice rose. “Again?” His hands fluttered, and the soft motion almost let Charlie relax his stiff shoulders. “Damn it. How do you do that? You make it hard to be mad at you, Charlie. It's so irritating.”

“I'm sorry,” he apologized again immediately, but Will's voice went even higher, making Charlie glance around, though he didn't tell Will to be quiet.

“That's
more
irritating!” Will jabbed a finger at him. “Why are you sorry? I'm the one who's being the drama queen.”