Bad Habit Page 10

  “You forget how to get in a man’s pants, McDermott?”

  “Fuck you.” Scott punished him with a hard kiss and his palm barely skimming Liam’s cock through the denim.

  Liam met the attack with an eager grunt, abandoning Scott’s dick to free his own. They both jumped at the first electric touch of their dicks brushing against each other. Liam’s dick rubbed a lick of precome under the hypersensitive ridge before gliding silkily by. It was goddamned fucking perfect, and Scott hated them both for how good it was.

  Wishing he was strong enough to pull away, Scott squeezed his eyes shut and dropped his head to Liam’s shoulder.

  “Still the same stubborn bastard,” Liam breathed against Scott’s ear.

  “Yep.”

  Liam’s breath hitched like he was about to say something else, but he just spat on his palm and slicked them both. Scott echoed his grip and forced himself to watch Liam’s face.

  Wide pupils stared right back, that always irresistible dare, a promise and a challenge. They stroked faster, fucking into their joined grip, the silky hot slide an insane contrast to the rough grip of callused skin. The sensation alone was sweet enough to scare him, but then Liam tightened his grip around Scott’s shoulder and whispered, “Fuck, Scott, you feel fucking amazing,” and tore something loose in Scott’s guts.

  Because tomorrow, hell, as soon as Liam’s balls were empty, he was going to remember he had a boyfriend and a life and the chance to do amazing things and he didn’t need to be tied up with Scott’s waste of a life just because they happened to have been dumped in the same placement twelve years ago.

  “God.” Liam panted and dove at Scott’s mouth.

  Scott shoved a hand in Liam’s still too-short hair and pinned them in the kiss.

  The eventual fallout wasn’t going anywhere, so Scott might as well grab on to this rush of pleasure for as long as he could, even if there was nothing left but ashes when Liam was done with him.

  “Jesus.” Liam groaned against Scott’s lips. “You make me crazy.”

  Crazy was a good word for it, what with knowing the kind of pain waiting on the other side and being unable to resist diving in. Liam’s hips moved in hard jerks, his tongue frantic in Scott’s mouth. It was too fucking soon, but Scott couldn’t stop it. It felt too good. Too much. And they might as well have been fifteen again, because Liam shot all over their hands and bellies. Just the way he grunted, the vibration against Scott’s mouth, had his nuts cutting loose too. God, so fucking sweet, with the jizz-and-sweat smell trapped between them way better than the old mold stink of the storeroom.

  He didn’t want to let go, of their dicks, of Liam’s waist, of the kiss Liam was licking more gently into Scott’s mouth.

  But he’d learned long ago that what he wanted didn’t matter for shit.

  He started to step back. Liam squeezed Scott’s shoulders once and let him go.

  Scott snatched up one of his towels from the crate next to the cot and tossed it to Liam. “Clean up and I’ll give you a ride back to”—guilt sludged in his guts like dirty oil, but he wasn’t going to ignore the truth—“to your boyfriend.”

  Liam made a disgusted snort. “Get on, get off, and get out, huh?”

  Scott slammed down the towel he’d been using, that greasy sensation robbing him of any control of his temper. “What the hell do you want from me, Liam?”

  A corner of Liam’s mouth lifted in a smile. “At the moment, I’d kind of like a place to sit down.”

  “Christ.” Scott huffed frustration at the ceiling like a smoke cloud. “Be my fucking guest.” He waved at the cot. “Something else? A drink? A smoke? My left nut?” God knew Liam’d already had everything of Scott—twice—and hadn’t found any reason to keep it.

  But as Liam limped three steps to the cot, Scott had to ask, “You okay?” Because what the fuck did he know about an amputated leg? He couldn’t see anything wrong under Liam’s jeans. “Does it hurt?”

  Liam grimaced as he eased himself down. “Why? Gonna kiss it and make it better?”

  “Fuck you.”

  Liam ran a hand along his thigh, the flesh and bone one. “I’m not used to wearing it this long. But it’s the other one that’s feeling shaky. Haven’t had sex standing up since….” He didn’t need to finish. The since I lost it was obvious.

  “Or I’m just that good.”

  “Yeah. That’s it.” Liam stretched both legs out in front of him. Another inch and the toes of his red Converse would brush the bottom shelf that held the toilet paper rolls.

  Scott thought about sitting next to him, but the cot would probably dump them both on the floor. He leaned against the sink instead.

  Liam looked up at him. “I really did miss you.”

  “No.” Scott shut his eyes. “No fucking way. You don’t get to do this.”

  “Do what?” Liam always had some brass ones.

  “Don’t pull that shit with those soulful eyes. You’re the one who left. You’re the one with a boyfriend wondering where the fuck you are. So don’t act like you feel bad about any of it.”

  Liam dragged one heel back under the bed, then used his hands to slide the other foot back. Staring at the floor, he said, “Nobody’s waiting. He dumped me.”

  LIAM KEPT his gaze on an oily stain on the cement floor as his admission hung in the air. He hadn’t wanted to say anything, hadn’t wanted Scott to go jumping to conclusions about being a rebound fuck, but he’d kept needling.

  Liam had time to feel about as low as the stain on the floor as the silence stretched.

  Then Scott said, “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me.” Bad enough to admit the first time.

  “And you’re just mentioning this now?”

  Liam looked up. Scott was scowling—nothing new there—arms folded over his chest so that the raven’s gleaming eye stared at Liam.

  “Yeah?” Liam was the one who’d recently been dumped. What did Scott have to be so pissy about?

  “Ratfucker.” Scott rolled his eyes.

  Liam had a feeling the insult was directed at him rather than Deon, but he seized on the chance to steer things that way.

  “He said I had ‘unresolved issues’ with my past.”

  Scott snorted. “Ya think?”

  Liam found himself cracking a smile despite how shitty the conversation with Deon had been.

  “And he said he’d been my physical crutch and he wasn’t going to keep being nothing more than my emotional one.”

  Scott sneered. “Sounds like a shrink.”

  “He took a lot of social science courses in college,” Liam offered in Deon’s defense. At Scott’s blank look, Liam added, “Sociology and psychology.”

  Scott stared for a minute, then laughed. “Dude. You were totally fucking a social worker.”

  Liam’s answering smile stretched thin between loyalties. He wished he could tell Scott the worst of it, about when Deon had dropped the psychobabble, his expression raw enough to make Liam’s insides twist in sympathy. “Stop lying to me. And stop lying to yourself. You’re still in love with Scott.”

  As much as Liam had wanted to deny it, to erase that piece of Deon’s pain, he hadn’t been able to. Deon had been safe and easy. Comfortable. Scott would never be anything like that. And Liam still couldn’t stop wanting him.

  “Yeah, I guess,” he said aloud, staring back down at the stain. It looked like a rearing horse, minus one back leg. He shifted his gaze to the shelves, needing an easy change in subject. “So you really think my eyes are soulful?”

  “Blow me.” Scott raised a foot as if to kick Liam’s ankle, then stopped. “Step on up.” Liam leaned back against the cot, which felt pretty much like leaning on his rack in Afghanistan. He nudged the sleeping bag out of the way. Yup. Army green instead of the sand his had been, but basically the same thing. He shifted so his weight balanced. “So this is the guest room at Schim’s?”

  Predictably, Scott took that as a personal attack. “Ain’t the fuc
kin’ Hilton.” He glanced around and lifted a shoulder and a corner of his lip at the same time. “Hey. At least it’s better than the hole at St. Bennie’s.”

  “I don’t know.” Liam pressed his elbows into the stiffness of the cot. “At least in the hole you got a mattress.”

  “And a bucket. Like you’d know.”

  Liam winced. He’d always been able to talk himself out of trouble, but Scott never could squeak by the same way. He always went down swinging. And looking at the shitpile they’d both made of their lives, they hadn’t been quick to learn their lessons from the past. “At least you’ve got an easy commute.”

  Scott blew out an almost laugh. “True.” Then his eyes narrowed, and his voice took on a teasing grumble. “Christ, whine about my bed, whine about trying to fuck in my car. When did you get so prissy?”

  “I’m just not as flexible as I used to be.” Liam smiled.

  Scott’s eyes widened. “Oh shit. Sorry. Christ.” He took a step toward Liam, then shoved a hand into his spiked hair like he didn’t know what to do with it.

  “Don’t. I need—” Liam was never going to stop resenting how often he’d had to say those two words in the past twenty-eight months. He let out a breath and went on. “Please just be you about my leg, okay?”

  “What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?” Scott’s scowl was back.

  Liam wished he could smooth it away like he’d used to do. A hand on Scott’s neck dragging him into a kiss or using the grip to hide a caress of his skin if they were out in public. Instead he was stuck with words. “I need you to be the Scott McDermott who doesn’t give a shit about anything.”

  Scott slid down to kneel in front of Liam. “You were always the exception to that.”

  Liam’s stomach acid spewed a burst of guilt, sharp as a punch. And all I did was hurt you with it. Aloud he said, “Yeah, and you can see how much I deserved it.”

  Scott shot a pinched-brow look at the microprocessor knee joint poking through the denim of Liam’s jeans. Scruff-covered jaw clenched, Scott made one tight shake of his head.

  “Hey.” Liam inched forward to brush his knuckles across Scott’s face.

  Scott took a deep breath but didn’t turn toward Liam’s hand. “Scott’s always going to be a little feral,” Liam’s mom had said once.

  Keeping his voice as soft as if he really was trying to coax something wild to come closer, Liam said, “I’m the one you punched, remember? I know I’ve got a lot to make up for.”

  He sounded too much like his mom there, so Liam dragged Scott toward him at the same time Scott reached for Liam’s jaw. Scott’s mouth, soft lips and tingling stubble, made Liam forget where they were. Forget everything but Scott.

  The reminder came when the cot flipped them forward, knocking Scott into the rolls of toilet paper with Liam on top of him.

  Scott’s eyes went wide with concern again, and Liam cut his worry off with an exaggerated sigh. “Ah. Horizontal at last.”

  Scott snorted, then smacked Liam in the head with an oversized roll of toilet paper.

  Liam began the process of trying to shift off Scott, not exactly sure if the resistance on his leg was Scott’s shin, knee, or the cement floor. Scott grabbed his hips to hold him still.

  “Something wrong?” Scott’s eyes studied him, clear and as soft as they ever were.

  “No.” But Liam knew Scott was aware of that difference between them, the thing that could never be the same no matter what they salvaged from the past.

  Scott ran his hand down Liam’s back, over his ass, onto his thigh—the stump and onto the socket.

  Liam swallowed. “You totally said my eyes were soulful.” He batted his lashes.

  The joke worked—or Scott let it work. “Nah, they’re shit brown like mine.” His hands settled back on Liam’s shoulders.

  Liam had spent a lot of time looking for clues to Scott’s feelings in the tiniest reactions of his mouth and jaw, but mostly in his eyes. They were an intense dark brown, especially now, since Liam’s head was blocking most of the light from the bare bulb overhead, but in bright sunlight they had beautiful patterns of wavy starbursts. Scott wasn’t always able to keep how he felt from showing in his eyes. Something Liam would never be able to admit to noticing because he was pretty sure Scott would spend a lot more time with his eyes shut just to hide that vulnerability.

  “According to my license—when I had one—my eyes are hazel.”

  Scott rolled the orbs under discussion in a perfectly clear dismissal. “Whatever.”

  But Liam caught him squinting in concentration a few seconds later. Liam’s spine was starting to ache from the position the shelf put them in, and Scott had to be even more uncomfortable. He pressed up on his palms and shifted onto his left side, legs under the cot.

  “So what’s that about, anyway?” Scott wriggled his back off the shelf, looked around for a spot to stretch out in, and then just sat, tucking up one knee to lean an arm on.

  “What?” Because Liam really had no idea what Scott was talking about.

  “Why can’t you drive?”

  “Oh. I’ve either got to get a car fitted with left pedals or take classes and prove I can drive with my prosthesis.”

  “Which lines their pockets, I bet.” Scott wiped the side of his face on his jeans.

  It had gotten hot in here—or maybe it was just noticeable now that a hard dick wasn’t a distraction.

  Scott went on. “How do they even know? About your leg, I mean.”

  “Man, you have no idea how much paperwork this”—he tapped his fingers against the socket—“generates. You thought Banana-Nose Joe was bad with all those packets of English homework at St. Bennie’s.”

  Scott ignored Liam’s attempt to derail him with memories. “Have you practiced at all with the prosthetic?”

  Liam shook his head. “I was more focused on walking.” They’d only been going to take his crushed shin at first, and somehow, after the failed attempts to fix it with pins and the endless knifing pain, he’d looked forward to getting that over with. The second amputation, after the infection that cost him his knee, that had taken everything he had to fight back from. If they were going to have a serious conversation, Liam needed to sit up. He got settled on his ass, then rolled up, catching Scott staring at the still-open waistband of his jeans.

  “Well, you’ve got the walking part down all right.”

  “Yup. Sometimes I can even chew gum at the same time.”

  “Whoa now. Must have been taken some serious work from your PT.” Scott winced. “Sorry.” He cupped the back of his neck. “Uh. If he cut you loose, where are you staying?”

  Liam thought having to confess he’d been dumped was as awkward as this could get, but there was more fun to come. He started to answer, then stopped. Great job. Anything else you want to do to draw attention to the bad?

  “Actually, I’ve been living with my mom. Since I got out of rehab.”

  “Your mom?”

  “She’s sober now.”

  Scott scoffed. “Again? How long this time?”

  “Really. Like for years. Even got married while I was in the Army. I’ve got a stepfather and stepbrothers and—” Liam stopped before he babbled about having his own room and that his stepbrothers played peewee football.

  Scott stared at him for a second, then pushed up off the floor. “Guess I should probably get you home to the family, then. But I’m not walking you to the door.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “DO YOU want me to give you money for gas or something?” Liam asked when Scott made a sudden left off York Road. He tried to peer around at the gauges.

  It was almost 4:00 a.m., but maybe Scott knew where a gas station was open.

  “Nope.” Scott pulled into a lot near the university’s stadium. A couple of cars sat close to the field house, visible through the humid fog under the streetlights. “You gotta work today?”

  “Weekend off. Unless someone calls in.” Liam glanced around
them. “If you wanted to get off again, we could have just stayed back at Schim’s.”

  “True.”

  Scott against him, that wild dizzy rush that was them together. If they could still have that, maybe—

  Scott turned off the engine, popped open his door, and stepped out. When he came around to Liam’s door and opened it, dread skittered like a spider through Liam’s stomach. Scott wouldn’t do this. He wouldn’t pay Liam back by leaving him out here five miles from home. The Scott he’d left six years ago wouldn’t have done that. But people changed.

  “Get out,” Scott said, holding the door open.

  Liam could call his mom, of course, or Greg, or even Deon. Reeve might still be up. Someone would come get him so he didn’t have to walk back. Scott sighed, glared down, and grabbed Liam’s arm. “C’mon.”

  Liam shook him off, then turned and planted his feet to heave himself up. “Okay. Jesus, Scott, if you wanted to be an asshole about it, you could have told me to call for a ride—” His reflexes had him grabbing the keys out of the air before he realized Scott had thrown them.

  He stared at them—it. Just one key on a thick ring with a leather snap. The key to the Mustang. Scott’s Mustang.

  “C’mon. Before the jocks start showing up for football practice. You could drive stick before, you can drive it now.”

  “I don’t know if I can. You don’t know if I can.”

  “Not a lot for you to hit here if you can’t.”

  “But the transmission.”

  “Will be fine. Let’s go, Walsh, we’re burning moonlight.”

  Up till now, no one had offered to let Liam try driving with his prosthesis. And as much as Liam had hated the need and dependence that created, the fear of trying and failing had been worse. It was easier to resent it and keep his mouth shut.

  Liam walked stiffly over to the driver’s side and sat, then used his hands to drag his right leg in and get settled. He shifted his foot from the brake to the gas, back and forth. He’d done that a couple of times in Greg’s Fusion, alone in the garage. But never with any pressure on the gas, never with the car in gear.