Inseparable (6 page)

in front of our scrawny tree. Joe lied. It doesn’t look any better with silver tinsel and colorful lights.

“Next year let’s get a real tree,” I blurt out.

Joe’s smile is radiant. The man really is gorgeous. “Hey, how’s your head?” he asks suddenly.

“Feel like watching a little TV?”

“I thought that wasn’t allowed.”

“For the first few days, but you seem like you’re doing better.”

“I’m game. What did you have in mind?”

He pulls a DVD off the shelf and sheepishly holds it up.
Black Christmas
—the original, not the

crappy remake. “I know it’s not exactly holiday fare, but it’s kind of our Christmas Eve tradition.”

I almost say “I know” but catch myself just in time. I’m not ready to tell Joe I remember just yet.

I’m not ready for reality to intrude. “Will you hold me if I get scared?” I tease. Joe grins in delight

and gets everything ready. I pull up my legs to make room, and he settles down on the opposite end of

the couch, just like a dozen times before.

It’s a good movie as far as cheesy seventies horror flicks go, but by the time Olivia Hussey

begins to suspect her boyfriend is the killer, I’ve lost all interest. I can’t stop looking at Joe out of the

corner of my eye. The sleeves of his waffle-knit shirt are pushed up to his elbows, showing off thick,

hairy forearms that are sexy as hell. He catches my shiver. “Cold?” he asks, tucking the blanket tighter

around my legs without even waiting for a response.

My heart is pounding so loudly I can’t believe Joe doesn’t hear it. I’ve never been so terrified in

my life, but there’s nothing like nearly dying to put everything in perspective. If there was ever a time

to take a risk, it’s now. “Joe, how did the accident happen?” I ask in a breathless rush.

He flicks a startled look at me and then quickly turns back to the TV screen. “What do you mean?

You ran in front of the car.”

“But where was I going? Do you know?”

Joe sighs, still staring straight ahead. “We had a fight. You stormed out.”

“What did we fight about?”

“It’s not important anymore. I was being an idiot.”

I wonder what that means. Has he changed his mind about moving out, or does he just feel bad

that I got hurt?

Considering we’ve both seen this movie so many times we could practically recite it verbatim,

Joe is paying unusually close attention. I keep pressing. “So you taking care of me… is that because

of guilt?”

“God, no.” Now Joe looks genuinely horrified, and I breathe a little easier. I hate to think the last

few days have been about Joe trying to ease a guilty conscience. “You’re my best friend—I told you,

I’d do anything for you.”

“Anything?” I stretch my legs out and put my feet in Joe’s warm lap. “I don’t suppose you give

foot massages.” I feel a bit guilty for milking the near-death thing, but then Joe wraps his big hands

around my foot, digs his thumb deep into my arch, and I have to bite my lip to stop from moaning.

Who knew I was such a foot slut? I can feel the heat rising in my face and spreading down my body.

My dick twitches and starts to stiffen, and I try to subtly rearrange the thin blanket so that it’s not so

noticeable. God, I can’t believe I’m so turned on by a foot rub. “Joe?” I whisper. “You, uh, you ever

think about us?”

The hand on my foot pauses. Joe won’t look at me. “Sure. Right now I’m thinking that I need to

get a new friend because this one talks too much.”

“Ha ha. Not what I meant, but nice deflection.” I shift my right foot so that it nestles boldly in his

crotch to make my meaning clear. “Do you ever think about you and me… together? Having sex?” Joe

sucks in a breath and his cock hardens beneath my foot. “Was that a ‘yes’? It feels like a ‘yes’.”

“I wouldn’t do—I would never do anything to make you uncomfortable.”

“Do I look uncomfortable?” I stroke his thickening bulge with my toes, rubbing a little firmer

now. “You know I can always tell when you’re lying, right?”

“Jesus, Adam, what are you doing?” Joe is struggling to get a grip on the situation, but I also feel

what I am doing to him.

“You haven’t answered my question yet.”

Joe finally grabs my foot and holds it still, but doesn’t push it away I notice. “What the fuck are

you doing, Adam? You’re straight.” He sounds angry, but it is fear I see in his eyes. It’s a shock to see

my usually cool and confident friend so ruffled.

“Not so much,” I confess.

Those thick, expressive brows draw together in confusion. “So what? You hit your head and

suddenly like guys now? It doesn’t work like that Adam.”

“Yeah, I know, Jo-ey,” I snap. Why does he have to make this so difficult? “Don’t you think it’s

time we both stopped hiding?” I slip my other foot beneath his shirt and raise it just enough to get a

good view of the trail of dark hair that rises from his navel and spreads out across his chest. “Nice. I

like a hairy chest. It’s a shame so many guys shave.”

Joe just gapes at me, speechless as his cheeks turn pink. So I push on. “Do you think about me

when you’re with them—all your boyfriends? Do you wish it was me instead?”

“Stop it,” he chokes. His eyes are dark and wet and he takes a shuddering breath. “Yes, okay.

Yes, I think about it.” He looks ashamed, and I want so much to tell him he doesn’t have to be.

Instead, with a suddenness that surprises even me, I throw a leg over Joe’s lap and straddle him,

pinning him to the couch. My ribs scream in protest at the sudden movement. “Jesus, shit, fuck!” I

have to breathe shallowly for a minute. “Shit,” I say once the worst of the pain has ebbed. “That went

a bit smoother in my head.”

“Adam, what the hell—?”

Before I can change my mind, before the pain in my body surpasses the adrenaline rushing

through it right now, I’m kissing him.
Kissing Joe
. There’s no finesse to it. It’s sloppy and desperate

and probably the worst kiss he’s ever received. Right now, I’m sure he’s thinking his best friend is a

total loser—at the very least, an incompetent lover. The thought of it makes me pull back, ready with

an excuse about being hopped up on pain pills. Then I feel his fingers clutch at my hips, holding me in

place, and relief rushes through me. But Joe is still not moving, not speaking, and the silence is

unsettling. He looks at me in shock, like I’m his greatest fantasy and worst nightmare all in one.

“Say something,” I finally say.

“Are you stoned? How many of those pills have you taken?”

“Only Tylenol today.” I lean forward slightly, in case he hasn’t noticed how hard I am. I’m a bit

surprised myself—I didn’t know it was possible to be in so much pain and so turned on at the same

time. “You know, I have a concussion and a couple of cracked ribs—what’s your excuse?”

“Huh?”

“I mean, I really expected more from you. After all you had a ten year head start and all those

slutty boyfriends to practice on.”

Joe growls—literally growls—and while I’m still reeling from that fact, his big hand is on the

back of my neck, pulling me down and fusing our mouths together. This time when we kiss, it is deep

and wet, and there is no doubt Joe is in charge and knows exactly what he is doing. All I can do is

tangle my fingers in his hair and follow his lead. With a gentle bite at my lower lip, he licks inside,

teasing, slowly exploring. Joe sucks on my tongue, sending a shot of heat straight to my balls, and I

gasp against his mouth. This is a million times better than any wet dream or fantasy I’ve ever had.

I touch him everywhere I can reach, my hands slipping up under his shirt and burrowing through

that thick mat of chest hair. Joe makes little breathless noises as we kiss and grope, and it drives me

wild to know that he’s just as desperate as me. He arches up, notching his denim-clad erection

between my ass cheeks, and I grind back against him, shuddering at the thought of him lodged inside

me for real.

The apartment phone rings shrilly, and I feel his muscles tense. “Ignore it,” I say into his mouth,

pressing down on his shoulders to hold him in place. I’m not about to let him up until one, if not both,

of us have gotten off. I’m halfway there, dizzy from the kissing, and he hasn’t even touched my dick

yet. As if reading my mind, Joe withdraws his hand from under my shirt and moves it to my throbbing

cock, rubbing the sensitive head through the flannel. “Oh, shit,” I moan against his neck. “That feels so

good.”

At the hard knock on the door, Joe jerks upright, his face a mask of raw desire and confusion. I

would have laughed if I hadn’t been thirty seconds away from coming. “Don’t answer,” I tell him.

“Giuseppe Massone, I know you are in there. We saw your light on.” Joe’s eyes bulge at the

sound of his mother’s voice.

“What the hell!” he sputters.

My thoughts are similar but far more colorful. “I’m going to kill your family, Joe.”

After slipping out from under me, he curses repeatedly on his way to the door, reaching down the

front of his jeans to adjust the erection trapped against his hip so that it’s not so obvious. I’m not that

lucky. My dick pokes obscenely at the loose pajama bottoms. No way can I hide that short of leaving

the room, but it’s too late because Joe is opening the door, and I’m left with no option but to quickly

grab the blanket and cover myself.

“What are you doing here?” Joe cries as his family pours into the apartment, and he’s lost in a

sea of kisses and hugs.

“We’re on our way to
Nonna
’s for Christmas Eve and Mass. Why did you not answer?”

grumbles Mr. Massone in heavily accented English. “Thankfully a nice young man let us into the

building.” The thought of Joe’s dad finding me sporting wood for his only son quickly wilts the last of

my erection. Although I’ve never known him to lose his temper, Vitto Massone is a big bear of a man,

and he terrified me as a kid. I’ve actually seen him crack walnuts with his bare hands.

“Great,” Joe sighs in defeat. “Ever heard of a little thing called privacy? This is exactly why I

moved out.”

“What do you need privacy for?” Maria jibes. “It’s just you and Adam.”

I grin at Joe but he looks away.
Uh oh, not good
.

Fortunately it’s only Joe’s immediate family tonight, but even so, five sisters, their significant

others and children fill up our tiny apartment pretty quickly. I’m kissed and fussed over, and everyone

introduces themselves, which makes me feel supremely guilty for deceiving them. The room is

bursting with so much love that I have to blink back the tears that keep threatening.

Even though the family will be eating their real meal later at Joe’s grandmother’s house, Mrs.

Massone and Joe’s two eldest sisters lay out containers of food on our table. Someone produces a

bottle of wine, which I’m not allowed to have, and the kids take turns bringing me plates of cheese

and roasted vegetables and my favorite
Baccala
salad.

“Look, Uncle Joey,” Joe’s nephew David says, proudly balancing a glass of juice and a small

plate. “I’m helping you take care of Uncle Adam.” The lump of emotion in my throat chokes me as I

meet Joe’s glistening eyes. I feel the heat in my face and know I’m blushing.

The children distract me. They want to see my stitches and bruises, and compete to sit next to

me, which only leads to a lot of squabbling and ends with little Stephanie, who is only learning to

walk, in tears. Just another normal evening with the Massones.

Every time I even shift position to get more comfortable, there are three pairs of hands ready to

do my bidding and another two people asking me if I’m okay. Joe hovers in the background scowling

and oddly quiet, his position as primary caregiver usurped. I know this is their way of showing they

care, but even after all these years, sometimes I still find the Massones overwhelming. Maybe it’s

because I was an only child, or maybe because neither of my parents were really the demonstrative

sort; either way, tonight my tolerance and energy are rapidly dwindling as the pounding in my skull

increases.

Making an excuse to use the bathroom—not even the Massones are pushy enough to follow me

there—I hunt for the bottle of Tylenol in the medicine cabinet, only to recall with a sinking feeling

that I left it on the counter in the kitchen. Shit. Maybe I can just hide out in here for a while and no one

will notice. It’s not that I don’t adore Joe’s family—I love them all—but God, I wish they would

leave so we can be alone and finish what we started. My short-lived peace is interrupted by a knock

on the door. It’s Maria, holding out a selection of pill bottles. “Joe thought you might need these.”

Oh, thank God. Joe saves the day again. As much as I really want to take something stronger, I

settle for two Tylenols and wash them down with the glass of water she’s also brought. The

prescription meds would just put me out for the night, and I can’t leave things hanging the way they

are with Joe.

My eyes meet Maria’s concerned ones in the mirror. “Too much?” she asks softly.

“A little too much, yeah.”

“Sorry.” Maria wraps her arms around herself self-consciously and looks down at her feet.