Chapter 2
“Careful,” Ian said. “That’s all there is.”
Corey nodded as he sipped at the warm liquor. It coiled around his tongue and slipped down his throat, blazing a heated path in its wake. When it folded into his stomach like a flannel blanket, he wiped his mouth and handed back the bottle. “How long have you been here?”
Ian shrugged and took another swallow. “Long enough to wish I wasn’t.”
Corey watched his friend’s throat as he drank, and suddenly the cold fell away from him, leaving him hot and sweaty as he noticed for the first time just how close Ian sat. Mere inches away. Heat radiated from him like a small fire. How can he be so warm? Here in the dark and the cold and the night, here alone. What keeps him burning here?
One strong hand rested on a denim-clad leg, the fingers curled slightly, and Corey wanted to take that hand in his own, feel those fingers in his. Just to see if Ian was really beside him, here in this hotel room. Just to make sure Corey wasn’t the only one alive tonight, awake in the darkness.
But as he reached for Ian’s hand, his friend asked, “What’s her name?”
Corey’s hand froze in mid-air.
“I don’t remember.” He frowned at Ian’s hand, so close yet so far away, out of reach. He sighed and, lowering his hand to his own bare knee, bit his lower lip to keep it from trembling. “Jesus, Ian, I don’t even know if I asked her.”
Ian barked a short, humorless laugh. “She gone?”
“No.” Corey rubbed at his eyes. “Can I have another drink? Please?”
Ian’s face was an unreadable mask. His eyes burned like twin flames of light; Corey suddenly felt sad and alone and afraid. Of what?he wondered, but he took a deep, hitching breath and tried to concentrate on the bottle in Ian’s hand and not the intensity of his friend’s stare. He didn’t want to know what Ian might be thinking about him right now. He didn’t want to care.
At length Ian asked, “You think you might keep this one?”
“No,” Corey whispered. He blinked back the sting in his eyes and shook his head for emphasis. “No, Ian. The bottle? Please?”
With a resigned sigh, Ian handed him the whiskey and watched as he gulped down a mouthful of the liquid fire. Corey let the liquor bite his throat and wash away the horrible taste in his mouth, the tumult of images in his mind. When he handed the bottle back to Ian, his friend asked, “Are you going to be okay?”
“Maybe.” Corey doubted it. Right now there wasn’t enough alcohol left in that small bottle to give him the courage he needed to go back to his room. Pulling his knees up to his chest, he rested his feet on the edge of the couch and curled into himself. He’d stay here. Right now he just wanted to snuggle into the warmth of the couch and the alcohol and forget everything else but the city shining beyond the window.
He started to lie down when Ian said, “You aren’t staying here.”
“Why not?” Corey didn’t need Ian to tell him what to do. He could stay here if he wanted. He could lose himself in the night and the lights and the stars if he wanted.
“You don’t want to go back?” Ian asked.
Corey shook his head. “I can’t. I just…I can’t.”
Ian sighed and pushed himself to his feet. Swaying a little, he held his hand out to Corey and frowned down at him. With wide eyes Corey looked up at his friend, at the offered hand. “Come on,” Ian said, his deep voice gruff with drink.
When Corey didn’t move, Ian motioned for him to get up. “Come on,” he said again. “You aren’t staying here.”
Cautiously, Corey let his hand slip into Ian’s. The fingers were warm in his; they were real.And soft, softer than he had imagined they would be. “Where…?”
Ian hauled him off the loveseat and stumbled back. “You can sleep in my room.”
Corey tried to pull his hand out of the hot grip but found he couldn’t. He didn’t know if it were because Ian wouldn’t let go, or if his own fingers refused to uncurl.
“Don’t worry,” Ian slurred. “I don’t bite.”
Corey laughed. “You promise?”
Ian finished off the rest of the whiskey and dropped the bottle into a nearby trashcan. The barest hint of a smile curved his lips, and Corey felt flushed and hot again because he had been the one to put it there. 2
Inside Ian’s hotel room, a single lamp shone beside the bed, its maroon lampshade casting a dull red glow that made Corey feel safe. Here it wasn’t as cold as his own room. Ian’s bags sprawled open on the floor, bottles of cologne and shampoo and deodorant cluttered the top of the dresser, and clothes littered the wingback chair by the window. It smelled warm here, masculine, no traces of the faint floral perfume that choked him in his own room. He thought maybe he could crawl beneath the sheets of Ian’s bed and fall asleep without worrying who he needed to be to the person beside him.