Chapter Three

“Oh.” The word hung in the air as Trevor tried to decide what to make of that very bold—very unexpected—statement. “I’m not sure what to do with that,” he admitted. Any other guy and he’d have him naked by now, but he’d never fallen for a straight guy before. Or mostly straight. Or a guy who thought of himself as straight.

“Do we have to do anything with it?”

“No,” Trevor said, hoping he didn’t sound disappointed. For months, he’d wanted exactly this—for Ollie to admit that there was an attraction between them. For him to acknowledge—to both himself and Trevor—that he wanted to do something about that.

“Right,” Ollie continued. “It’s just, you know, my mind is spinning.” He waved his hand in the general vicinity of his head. “I mean, I’m not gay, so why would we?”

Because you’re curious. Because you’re attracted to me. Because you want this as much as I do.

He didn’t say any of that. Instead, he just shrugged, flashed a cocky grin, and said, “I thought you were the guy who’d try anything once.”

To his relief, the statement didn’t freak Ollie out. On the contrary, he chuckled, his entire body seeming to release the tension that had been coming off him in waves. “So now you’re a pineapple?” Ollie teased.

“Jerk,” Trevor said, dropping back down onto the settee, then reaching for his glass and downing the rest of his whiskey in one swallow.

“Seriously,” Ollie said, lifting his own glass and swirling the now-dwindling ice cube, “I—honestly, I don’t know. But the bottom line is that you’re a good friend. I don’t want to screw that up. Did I?”

“Not even close. And for the record, I don’t want to screw that up either.”

“So we rewind?”

“Full stop rewind. Absolutely.”

“All right. Good.” He motioned to his pants. “I think I’m going to change into something less cheesy. I’ve got the TV set up in the other room. You up for watching a movie?”

Trevor leaned back, walking the tightrope of how much he could tease his friend under the current circumstances. “The other room? Didn’t you tell me yesterday the only other finished rooms are the kitchen and your bedroom?”

“Yeah. It’s in the bedroom. Streamers all ready to go.”

“Come on, man. Are you trying to torture me?”

Ollie shot him a sideways grin that just about melted Trevor. “Damn right I am.”

And just like that, the tension eased. “You can be such a prick McKee. I swear, I don’t know why I keep you around.”

Ollie shrugged, then shoved his hands in his pockets, his eyes not quite meeting Trevor’s. “Maybe you like the way my ass looks in jeans.”

Trevor forced himself not to laugh. “Well, yeah, there’s that.”

Ollie looked up, they shared a grin, and the last of the invisible band around Trevor’s chest dissolved. It felt good to be back to normal.

“You mentioned something about a whiskey pairing with cookies,” Trevor reminded him.

“Trust me. That’s not something I’d forget. You take the bottle back. I’ll go get some more ice and the cookies.”

By the time they’d finished the first John Wick movie, they’d polished off two glasses of whiskey each and finished every cookie in the box.

“I think I’m in a sugar coma,” Ollie said.

“I think I’m drunk,” Trevor countered. They were sitting on the bed, propped up against Ollie’s padded headboard, and as soon as he got home, Trevor was going to tell Leah the entire damn story just so he could get the props for making it through the afternoon without making a move on Ollie. A real one, not involving dropped pizza.

Then he was going into his bedroom, shutting the door, and jerking off. Because, damn, he was knotted up tight, and if he didn’t release some of the tension, he would probably just explode in the night.

He shifted to see his friend more directly and say goodbye, and that’s when he saw the chocolate on the corner of Ollie’s mouth.

Never in the entire world had a tiny smear of chocolate looked so damned erotic, and despite the talk in the other room about not wanting to screw up their friendship, right then he wanted to throw all of that bullshit out the window and just go for it.

Wanted to lean in. To use the tip of his tongue to lick away the chocolate. And with the taste still lingering in his mouth, to press his lips over Ollie’s until the other man opened to him. Until he surrendered. Because he would—Trevor was sure of that. All the talk about rewinding. About not screwing anything up. About Ollie not being gay.

It was all just so much noise.

Who gave a fuck if Ollie was gay or not? Whatever he was, he wanted Trevor. Of that, Trevor was certain. And god knew Trevor wanted Ollie.

And that tiny smudge of chocolate could make it all happen. It would be so easy. Just lean in and lick. And everything would change.

He could see it all play out in front of him. Ollie’s gasp of surprise, his body going tense, only to loosen as Trevor deepened the kiss. As Ollie responded, tentatively at first, and then with gusto.

He’d take it slow, but he’d have him naked soon enough, and he’d trail kisses down Ollie’s seriously ripped chest and abs until he reached his cock. And by then, he’d have Ollie so damned aroused he wouldn’t protest. On the contrary, he’d beg.

That’s what Trevor truly wanted. For Ollie to ask for it. Because once he did that, there were no more questions. Once he said please , all bets were off. And, yeah, it would change their friendship, but it wouldn’t destroy it. Because even though he didn’t know it yet, Ollie McKee was Trevor’s. And soon enough, Trevor was going to claim what was his.

But not tonight.

As hard as it would be to leave, tonight he was going home. A little bit drunk, a lot horny, and very much alone.

Damned if he didn’t have his work cut out for him. But it was his own fault. Because what was he thinking falling for a guy like Orlando McKee?

* * * *

Ollie had never been so relieved and so disappointed in his entire life. He should never have invited Trevor to his bedroom, because the whole damn time he was watching the movie he was thinking about what if .

If Trevor had quizzed him on John Wick , he wouldn’t have had a clue. Except for the opening bit about the dog. After that, his head was somewhere else entirely.

As for right now, he ought to take a cold shower. But the truth was, he liked the way he felt, his body tingling, his cock on alert. They’d been playing at flirting, and damned if he wasn’t aroused. So much that he’d almost let the whiskey take over. So much that he’d almost poured a few extra shots in the hope that Trevor would take advantage of the situation.

So why didn’t you ?

And wasn’t that a hard question? And one that was getting harder to answer every time he asked it. And he’d been asking it for months. Ever since the Mercury case. Maybe even before.

But that case had solidified it. Being in that club with Trevor. Seeing him dance. Feeling that connection when Trevor focused on him. Probably just because he didn’t want to focus on some anonymous face, but that wasn’t what it had felt like. It had felt real. And more than once Ollie had caught himself thinking not about the money laundering scheme at the club but instead about what could happen in the small room when Ollie “paid” Trevor for his services.

A room that in reality they were using to pass information to each other, but which was intended by the club owners to be used for sex. And they’d been alone in there so many times, Trevor half-naked in a g-string, the room steamy in the faltering air-conditioning, and the memory of the way he’d gyrated on stage, his eyes glued to Ollie’s playing in Technicolor in Ollie’s brain.

Who was he kidding? For that matter, what was he hiding from? What was the worst that could happen? Losing the friendship?

He didn’t buy that. Trevor knew Ollie’s hesitations. If he freaked, Trevor would totally get it. And if the whole thing turned out to be one giant clusterfuck—haha—they’d just go back to their corners and redefine the relationship. Hadn’t they proved on the balcony that they were more than capable of mature, grown-up communication?

Or maybe Ollie was freaking about the possibility of Nikki and Jamie and Damien and Ryan finding out. But so what? They wouldn’t care. They loved him. Except maybe for Damien. And he couldn’t imagine it impacting his job, but if it did, there were others. His parents might be surprised, but they loved him, too. All they wanted was for him to be happy.

And with every day that went by, Ollie was more and more convinced that at the core of it, his happiness and Trevor were inextricably intertwined.

That, of course, was why he’d almost protested when Trevor said that he ought to go home. But what would have been the point? He’d already told Trevor nothing was happening. So, what? Trevor would have crashed there, and Ollie would have spent the night wishing that his friend would slide over from his side of the bed so that Ollie could finally have a taste of what he’d been fantasizing about for months. Because despite all his justifying, Ollie wasn’t ready to make the first move.

He should have, though. He should have leaned in with that whole pizza thing. Instead, he’d freaked.

Seriously, he was a fucking coward.

Or maybe he wasn’t. Maybe Trevor wasn’t what he wanted. Maybe this was just Ollie’s psyche finally putting his relationship with Courtney to rest. Because even though it had been years since they totally pulled the plug, he hadn’t dated anyone seriously since Courtney had told him she was done being a ping-pong ball in the off-again/on-again relationship Ollie had been steering.

Fair enough.

God knew, Ollie had been a shit. He liked Courtney. Hell, he loved her. But every time they got close to the wedding, he’d gotten cold feet. Because maybe he didn’t love her enough. Maybe he didn’t love her like that .

He couldn’t blame her for finally tossing her hands up. She’d put up with him for longer than he deserved, and the way he’d bounced her around was at the very top of his list of lifelong regrets.

That, and not asking Trevor to stay.

Because, yeah, he wanted Trevor. And trying to convince himself otherwise was ridiculously, fucking stupid.

Shit.

The realization slammed through his head with such force that there was no denying it. Despite the talk on the balcony, once they’d settled down for the movie, that’s what he’d expected. Maybe not sex, but something.

And, come on, let’s be honest, he’d expected sex. Especially once he’d seen the way Trevor looked at him after the movie. Like Ollie was the secret surprise in the cereal box.

Still, he could hardly blame Trevor for going home, especially after how Ollie had freaked out about the damn pizza.

Ollie was an idiot. Not only that, but he was an unfair one, too. He owed Trevor the truth. Not the bullshit we can be friends even though you’re attracted to me truth, but the real truth. The truth that Ollie was attracted right back. And he was just too confused or scared or unsure to do anything about it.

He’d spent his whole life thinking he was going to find a woman. Get married. Follow his parents’ path. Then he met Trevor and everything shifted. How did he deal with that?

For that matter, could he trust that? What if the attraction was some sort of emotional and sexual rebound from the fiasco that was Courtney? He didn’t want to hurt Trevor like he’d hurt her.

And now you’re really being arrogant, McKee. He’s attracted to you, sure. But that doesn’t mean wedding bells. You’ve slept with friends before. Look at Jamie. You’re both fine. You even joke about it. Pursuing whatever this is with Trevor doesn’t mean your whole life is going to flip. It doesn’t mean a massive identity crisis. It just means you’re hot for the guy. And, yeah, unexpected, but real. So why not pursue it? You can still be friends. You know you can.

Maybe.

Or maybe he was justifying.

He was definitely thinking about it too much. Because right then he needed to go to sleep, but his head just kept spinning and he was so damn tired of these whirling thoughts filling his brain.

Apparently, identity crises were a pain in the butt.

With a sigh, he forced himself to just be still. To let sleep come to him. To think soothing thoughts. Like the fact that no matter what, he’d see Trevor tomorrow because Ollie had insisted he take an Uber home, which meant that Ollie had the keys to Trevor’s BMW. He’d take it over in the morning, and in the light of day, all this angst would seem stupid and pointless.

Or, at least, he hoped it would.