And Call Me in the Morning (19 page)

“You're one to talk.”

Pearson was the kind of man who'd take that as a compliment, and did. He pounded Eli on the shoulder, again too hard. Christ, this guy had issues. “Yeah, well. Some stereotypes are true, huh?”

“Beg pardon?”

Pearson leaned in and stage-whispered. “Bitchy queen. C'mon. You can't tell he's a little light in the loafers?”

Eli put a couple inches of distance between himself and Pearson. “You don't say. Know that for sure?”

“Please. It's obvious.” Pearson thumped his hands together and chafed them to warm them. “So, where's your wife?”

Not this again. Eli took another inch's distance away. “Marybeth? Austria.”

“Wait, you're married for real?” They'd drawn the attention of Pearson's cohort now. “No shit, man.”

“Let me guess. You're talking about Dr. Novia?”

“You two are always together. Ah, c'mon, don't give me that look. Learn how to take a joke.” Pearson elbowed Eli, all hail-fellow-well-met. “He's about ready to have a meltdown, isn't he?”

Enough. “Not my business and not yours.”

“Jesus. Touchy, touchy.” Pearson backed off. “Look, I'm sorry. You know how it gets when you've been awake for this long. The brain gives way, and the tongue cuts loose.”

Eli couldn't argue with that. “Fair enough.” He sighed in relief when a waitress, cute and blonde and obviously not in favor of Pearson and his gang, slid him a full cup of coffee and a surreptitious pat to the elbow. Apparently he had backup of his own. Good to know.

Richie shouted to him over the racket of the grill and the increased background hum of customers and the ringing of the till. Christ, it'd gotten busy all of a sudden. For the life of him, Eli couldn't make out a word. He gave an exaggerated shrug, made Richie laugh, and figured it couldn't be that important. Probably just passing the time.

“So you should come to a game with us sometime,” Pearson said, picking right up where he'd left off. “I hear you like the Cubs.”

“Who doesn't?”

“The guys and I, we try and get there at least once a season.”

“Sure, me too.” Eli hated this kind of inane chatter, more so from this particular source. He puzzled it over. Why were Pearson and his crew getting on Eli's nerves so? Diana dished out far worse on a daily business, with Holly a not-so-distant second. He wasn't sure.

No, strike that. He knew exactly what bugged him. These guys? They didn't know him, and they weren't sure they liked him. Eli knew he didn't care for them.

If you took the good food out of the equation and compared this place with the raucous customers to the
home
he had waiting for him—Zane, jazz, quiet, leather couch, sleep—wasn't any bit of a contest.

Richie called to Eli again. Damnable distractions. “What?” Eli cupped his hand around his ear.

The blonde waitress who'd slipped Eli his coffee interpreted. “Your order's almost up. Give him five to make the shakes and you're good to go.”

Eli gave Richie the thumbs-up.

“Isn't he great?” She didn't bother being discreet. Eli figured Pearson and his crew probably annoyed her as much as him, and more often. “And his boyfriend is adorable. You should see the two of them together.”

“I've had the privilege.” Eli made sure Pearson was distracted. “So he's really out?”

The waitress nodded.

“And that's not a problem?”

She shrugged. “For some people, I guess. That's their problem.”

Huh. Eli absorbed that, lost in thought until paper take-out bags were coming his way and he'd started to make a path to the till. Then Pearson followed him. Son of a bitch.

“Can I help you with something?” he asked, a curter approach than he'd normally take with a colleague but not in the mood for nonsense.

“Don't take this the wrong way, okay?” Pearson propped his elbows on the counter next to Eli.

In Eli's experience, those words invariably meant,
I'm going to insult you now
. “Uh-huh,” he said as he handed the waitress his credit card. She made a sympathetic face. Richie stood at the back of the grill, quiet again, listening.

“
It's not just you anymore
,” Eli heard echoing in his head.

“You spend a lot of time with Novia,” Pearson said. “A lot of time. Maybe more than you should with one guy. If you don't want people to get the wrong idea, that is.”

“Do they?” Eli did not look at Pearson.

“I guess some, yeah.”

“Like who?”

“I don't know. People.”

Aggravation, divided attention, and eagerness to get home to Zane made Eli's tongue sharper and coarser than usual. Honesty tasted as good as the diner's blue plate special smelled. “Like you, who I barely fucking know and don't really give a shit about?”

“Hey, don't get your back up. I'm just trying to give you some advice. So who's the food for?” Pearson eyed the soup containers and greaseproof bags. “Fuck, you've got enough for an army.”

“I have a man-sized appetite,” Eli said dryly.

Richie's lips twitched, the kid doing his damnedest not to grin. He winked at Eli.

Maybe it was that which gave Eli the courage, or maybe it was being sick and tired of this bullshit. Looking at Pearson and listening to him, a guy Eli probably would have liked in pre-Zane days—plain and simple, a man who said what he thought—it was like looking through a dirty mirror. Smudged and smeared. Who he'd been.

Not who he was becoming. Frankly, he liked the new him better.

“No, seriously.” Pearson rattled a bag, then laughed at the two tall milkshakes in Styrofoam cups the waitress added to his pile of loot. “Got a hot date while your wife's out of the country?”

Bite me
was what Eli wanted to say. What he chose to say was, “Nope. She and I are divorced. Dr. Novia and I are spending the night in together.”
Fuck, I cannot believe I just said that.

No. No excuses. No explanations, either. No losing his cool until he was out the door, please God. What was done was done. “Excuse me, gentlemen.”

Well, he'd hoped he could make Taye proud of him. Looked like he'd made a start.

By the time Eli got back home, he was chilled to the bone and couldn't feel his fingers. So good to get into the warmth, and even better to see Zane up and at 'em, busy poking around in his kitchen for plates and silverware.

“Finally. I was about to resort to eating my own arm.” Zane's stomach rumbled audibly as he rounded the kitchen island with his arms loaded. He cracked up at the sight of what Eli held. “You've got icicles in your hair, and you bring me a milkshake?”

“Funny guy. Richie made them.”

Zane hastily shed his load of flatware on the coffee table and made a grab. “That's a different story. Bring that over here.”

“My pleasure.” Emboldened by…whatever it was that had happened at the diner, Eli put his double armful on the coffee table and caught Zane by the bicep. Pulled him in for a quick kiss, one that went a hell of a lot further toward warming Eli clear down to his toes than the central heat. “I gave him a blank check with the food itself. No idea what we've got.”

“Treasure hunt,” Zane said. He returned the kiss with interest, finished with a light slap to Eli's hip that Eli recognized—and enjoyed—as a temporary rain check, and sat to dig through the goods.

“It's Richie. It's going to be good.”

“Why else do you think I'm going after this like a pirate with gold in sight?”

Eli found a place on the couch and pulled Zane down next to him, the food in easy reach of both. He was in the process of reaching for a bag that smelled like heaven when he caught a look at what Zane was wearing and had to stop, cracking up. “Where in the holy hell did you find that shirt?”

Zane beamed at him and turned from the waist to display his tie-dye. A line of Grateful Dead skeletons boogied their way across at sternum level. “You like? I haven't worn this since college.”

Eli smoothed down the wrinkles on the sleeve. “I can see that. I doubt you've washed it since then, either. Smells like patchouli with just a hint of weed, for Christ's sake.”

“What can I say? I was rebellious in my youth.” Zane's leaning over to kiss Eli seemed perfectly natural. “I'm feeling my oats tonight. Still fits, right?”

“Fits and looks good.” Eli found a container of what looked like tomato soup, popped off the lid and took a taste. He moaned in appreciation and pushed the cup at Zane. “Try this, now. Campbell's never tasted this good.”

Zane gave it a try. “Oh God. Amazing. What'd he add? Dash of lemon, dash of cracked black pepper—”

“Don't know, don't care.” Eli stole the container back and set about the busy work of draining it dry. “Think we could hire him as a personal chef?”

“And deprive the world of this? I'm not that selfish.” Zane uncovered a wrapped sandwich that released heady, fragrant aromas of cheese, butter, and bacon. He gazed at it in wonder. “Kill me now.”

“Only if I can have your sandwich.”

“Uh-uh, get your own.” Zane took a thoughtful bite, then made an orgasm face coupled with a sensual moan that Eli already knew were reserved for the best of all possible delights. “My God. My sweet God. Eli, I'm sorry. I'll also apologize to Taye. I'm running away with Richie tonight. We'll hit the Canadian border by morning.”

Eli shoulder checked Zane. “Don't joke about that.”

Zane's hand landed briefly on Eli's thigh. “Don't worry about it.” Grilled-cheese breath kissed his ear, followed by Zane's lips. “I know when I've got it good.”

“Damn well better.” This was better than a holiday morning. Eli checked the milkshakes and only there was he slightly disappointed. He'd thought the color was the lid, but no. They were very…white. “Vanilla. Huh. He'd said he was going to fancy them up.”

Zane switched his sandwich to one hand and studied the shake close up. “Unlikely, unless it's white chocolate.”

Eli took a tentative sip. “Nope. Plain old vanilla.” A thought occurred. “Maybe he was trying to help. Nothing 'fruity.'” He made sarcastic quote fingers before realizing that might not have been such a good idea. The last thing he wanted was to bring that nastiness in the diner here, into his sanctum. “Don't ask. I don't want to tell.”

Zane furrowed his forehead. “Don't ask what?”

“Already you disrespect my wishes.” Eli sat a little closer to show he meant the words in jest, but he couldn't help the abrupt stiffness in his shoulders.

He should have known he couldn't fool Zane. Ever. “Ah,” Zane said, poking the straw in his milkshake. He took a hearty bite of his sandwich. “So what happened while you were out?”

“Is there any getting you to drop this?”

Zane considered that. “Not really.”

He should have known that too. “Some of the doctors stopped by while I was there, and they mouthed off. That's all. Eat your sandwich while it's still hot.”

Zane dropped his sandwich on the coffee table. Might have seen that one coming. Eli rescued it and stuffed a bite in to keep his mouth busy. Dear God indeed. You couldn't call this “grilled cheese.” It wasn't Gruyère and Dijon and pancetta on fancy bread, more like Swiss and cheddar and bacon on white, but be damned if it wasn't better.

He chewed industriously, hoping Zane would stop watching him with the narrow-eyed laser focus. “What aren't you telling me? Ah.” His forehead smoothed. “They gave you a hard time, didn't they? About me.”

“Fine. You want details?” Eli sat back heavily and let his hands fall to his lap. “It was bound to happen sooner or later.” He tried to ignore the rising pounding of his pulse, and the nerves in his gut that reacted ill with the sandwich and soup. “I'm not sure what they deduced. I'd say they weren't brain surgeons, but with that group, they might have been. Not that that means they know jack shit about anything else.”

“Eli. Stop deflecting.” Zane squeezed his knee. “I need to know what happened. It's—”

“It's you too. I know.” Appetite gone, Eli pinched the bridge of his nose. “They made insinuations. I didn't refute them.”

Silence from Zane. A quiet that went on long enough that Eli frowned and turned to look to see exactly how Zane had taken that.

He'd not known what to anticipate, but it hadn't been a look of near wonder and a slowly growing smile, one of the rarest of all of Zane's smiles. Something soft and shy and almost boyish.

“Don't go thinking I'm a hero. I've never been that scared in my life, not even in the force.”

“There's courage, and then there's courage,” Zane said obliquely. He leaned in to kiss Eli, not on the lips but on the forehead, and while he was there settled into the curve of Eli's arm. Eli wrapped it around him without thought. “Are you okay?”

“I'm not sure.”

Zane rubbed his head against Eli's shoulder. “Still.”

Eli stroked Zane's hair. “Still. So we'll see what we'll see. Probably? Nothing will come of it. Nothing more than the usual, anyway. A hefty handful of gay jokes, maybe some panties snuck into my locker. Bah.”

Zane could probably feel the faint tremors running under Eli's skin. “Do you know what courage means?”

“I think I have a pretty good idea.”

“Maybe not.” Zane's head rested over Eli's heart. “It means doing what needs to be done despite being scared shitless. You make me proud.”

Eli blushed to what felt like a bone-deep degree. “Bah.”

“Someday you'll learn to take a compliment. I'll keep trying.” Zane stroked the back of Eli's hand. The “good” that Eli had felt before when coming in unannounced, and the immediate sense of hominess, both rolled easily back in under Zane's touch and the soothing sound of his voice. “You know there'll be more than talk this time.”

Maybe so. Didn't mean Eli wanted to talk about it. “Leave it for now, Zane. Just for now.”

Eli didn't miss Zane's small sigh or the resignation that passed through him. “I'm not good at living a lie, Eli,” Zane said. “Is it so bad of me to want to be like this without worrying?”

“Bad, no. Realistic, yes.”

Zane sat up straight and tugged his T-shirt down. “Realism is another word for cynicism, and they're both fucking overrated.” He rummaged through the bag. “He threw in two pieces of chocolate cake, even.”

“Zane—”

“No, forget it.” Zane tried to grin. He didn't fool Eli for a second. “Like you said. Not now. This is good food, and I'm starving, so I'm not going to waste it.” He softened. “We have time. I do. And I love you.”

Hearing it again, spoken with deliberate intent, hit Eli no less hard than the first time he'd heard the words. “Zane,” he said, the name not so much a word as a sound carried on breath. “Zane, I…”

Zane pushed his leg to Eli's, one solid line of warmth. “It's okay,” he said, though Eli had the clear picture back now and knew it really mostly wasn't. “I can wait. You brought me a milkshake. I want to drink it before it melts.”

“Here.” Eli offered Zane a plastic spoon from the bag. “Just in case.” It was a shitty substitute for what Eli wanted to give, and knew he did, but couldn't. He sucked firmly on his own straw and focused on the taste of sweet ice cream sliding cold and smooth over his tongue.

Zane said it before Eli could, just as surprised. “That's not plain vanilla. I still feel like a five-year-old chugging this instead of good scotch—”

“Liar. You adore shakes.”

“I've got to admit it's tasty.”

“Not half bad, no.” Eli pried off the lid of his Styrofoam cup and used his straw to sift. Toward the bottom, he spotted the hidden treasure. “Huh! Fruit on the bottom. Leave it to Richie. I swear that guy could whip up a feast out of a dried cheese rind and a half box of crackers.” He prodded the fruit. “Blueberries. Very nice.” Over the sound of Zane taking a hearty slurp, he asked, “Did you get the same?”

There was a pause. The sort of pause that made Eli turn his head fast. What he saw—Christ. Color drained from Zane's face, betraying a sheen of sweat that disappeared under fast-rising red.

The cup dropped from Zane's hands.

“Zane, what the hell?”

Zane didn't answer. He made the kind of noise no one ever, ever wanted to hear from someone they loved and shoved at his sides.