Bad Habit Page 13

  “Why’d you answer Reeve like that? Neither?”

  Scott narrowed his eyes like he had no idea what Liam was talking about.

  “Reeve asked if we were fucking or fighting. You said ‘Neither.’”

  Scott’s shrug was confined to an emphatic roll of his lips. “We weren’t doing either at the time.”

  “That’s not what I’m asking.”

  Scott rolled his eyes. “Christ. Braids-dude really got that psych shit into your head.”

  “His name is Deon, and the Army made me go through all that psych shit. Had to go through a lot of counseling after I got hurt.”

  “Sounds like good times.”

  “Well, at least I can recognize an attempt to avoid answering a question.”

  Scott sighed and pulled his lighter out of his pocket and began passing it through his fingers. “Okay. For one, didn’t know if you wanted Reeve clued in to”—he stopped the motion and used the lighter to point between them—“whatever this is. For two….” He paused and rolled the lighter over his knuckles again. “Look, you and I—well, when it’s just us, things tend to go okay. It’s when other people get involved that things go to shit.”

  Like Liam’s mom. And what the hell had been the name of the guy from Organic Chem? Phil? Paul? Something preppy with a P. The one who’d referred to Scott as “your scary, abusive, controlling asshole of a boyfriend.” Scott had a point.

  Liam nodded.

  Scott made the lighter catch, then released it. “So maybe we can take time figuring things out before dragging other people and their opinions into it.”

  “So actually, I’m your dirty little secret.”

  Scott’s lips twisted. “’S fucking hot to hear you say it. Wanna sneak around with me?”

  “Yeah.” Liam leaned to kiss him.

  Scott put a hand on his chest. “Broad daylight in the street isn’t exactly stealth there, Army. Go celebrate with Reeve so I can finish my fucking cigarette.”

  BY THE time Scott went back into the bar, Liam and Reeve were arranging gear on the stage.

  “Mac and Dev are coming in for a quick rehearsal,” Liam said before Scott could ask what the fuck they were doing when the bar opened in under an hour.

  “You clear that with your sister?” Scott looked at Reeve.

  Reeve laughed. “Why are you so afraid of her, man?”

  “Because I’m not stupid. You know Rage Mist is playing tonight.”

  Liam stepped to the front of the stage, and Scott held his breath. Was that metal leg gonna handle the impact if Liam jumped? After a swayed hesitation, Liam walked around to the steps. “It’s fine,” he told Scott as he took the stair onto the floor. “We’ll break down long before they get here, and besides, Reeve says there’s hardly ever anyone here before seven on weekend nights when they have a band.”

  Scott figured his license to toss out troublemakers didn’t extend to a Schimikowski. He sighed and shoved a hand through his hair.

  Liam stretched a hand toward Scott’s head, but he ducked away.

  Lips tight over his teeth, Liam said, “Not like you got it spiked up.”

  “Ran out of glue.”

  Liam tilted his head, raised brows clearly demanding So what the fuck is the problem?

  Scott jerked his chin at Reeve, who was messing with the knobs on his bass. As Liam followed his gaze, Scott slipped away behind the bar.

  Liam lifted the service gate, stepped through, and right on into Scott’s space. “Change your mind?” Liam sounded like he was teasing, but he pressed his T-shirt flat against his stomach for an instant, a sure sign he was nervous.

  “No.”

  Liam took that as permission to crowd up closer, driving Scott’s back into the edge of the bar.

  Scott put his fingers on Liam’s chest to keep some space between them.

  Liam glanced down. “I know we’ve got unfinished business, but the five-finger-palm-exploding-heart technique seems kinda extreme.”

  “Huh?” Scott looked at his hand. He’d been trying to keep from touching Liam more than necessary to get him to back off. The tips of his fingers jabbed right over Liam’s heart, a mirror of the last movement at the end of Kill Bill. How many times had they watched that together?

  Scott flattened his palm.

  This was worse. Now he could feel the heat from Liam’s skin under the thin cotton, the thud of his heart. Back when they were together, Scott had wondered if it would ever go away, the spark that made him feel so goddamned alive every time they touched. It had to fade, right? After five years, ten years? Now he knew better. It was never going away, and no one else was ever going to make him feel like this.

  He shoved Liam back a step. “Seriously, dude. Did the Army not teach you stealth?”

  Liam stretched his neck out to look over Scott’s shoulder toward Reeve. “He’s cool. He’s not even paying attention.”

  Scott wrenched his head around to check. Reeve was messing around behind one of the amps. “Still not—”

  Liam cut him off with a kiss. Tongue. Heat. Like he was going to fuck Scott right there. The jolt that rocked through him was better than any Johnnie Walker Black shot could ever hope to be.

  Goddamn. Chai didn’t need to worry about Scott touching the stock. Because Liam’s surprise attack was giving Scott the kind of rush that was telling him to make all kinds of bad decisions.

  Liam smiled into Scott’s mouth, and Scott shoved him back hard enough to make the bar glass rattle.

  “Cocky son of a bitch,” Scott spat out, then took a quick breath, trying to calm himself down.

  “Says the arrogant bastard.” Liam smirked.

  Scott caught himself licking his lips.

  “Jesus, Scott, I’m dying here. I need to get you horizontal.”

  “Get a fuckin’ room.” Reeve shook his head as he walked by.

  Scott flipped him off. Fuck. Please don’t let me be blushing.

  “That’s an idea.” Liam rubbed his eyebrow. “We could get a hotel.”

  “Something by the hour? Fuckin’ romantic.”

  “I was hoping for just fucking, but I’ll grab something out of a flower box on the way if it’ll make you put out. Like that’s ever been an issue.”

  “Fucking hate you.” Scott’s cheeks were on fire now. He’d come back and check the stock later. He needed a cigarette break. Another one.

  Liam stopped him on the way past. “Hey, you’re not like….” Liam’s hand jerked in the direction of the stage, but for once, Scott couldn’t finish Liam’s sentence.

  He waited.

  “Back in the closet?”

  Scott had never seen why complete strangers needed to know what made his dick hard. He didn’t lie, but he didn’t usually broadcast it. Made less of a chance someone would need a punch in the face for running their mouth.

  “Fuck, no. Just the same old secretive dick I’ve always been.”

  “So what are you and your secretive dick doing after my show tomorrow night?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “WHY ARE we here again?” Liam peered down the cement driveway to the dilapidated garage. Obviously Scott hadn’t been hanging frozen in storage while they’d been apart, but Liam had never expected that his grumpy-ass boyfriend would develop a social network like a fucking Facebook addict. Cops, music critics, and now people who lived in single-family homes in a nice suburban neighborhood.

  “Need to talk to someone about a part.”

  That at least made sense. Liam hadn’t realized how weirded out this so-called date was making him until the lurch in his belly faded. Then he tripped on a raised crack in the cement and had to steady himself against the side of the Buick. This was stupid. With the time it took to drive over here, they could already be in that hotel room, be recovering for round two.

  Scott shot Liam a look from over the top of the Buick’s roof but at least had enough sense not to ask if Liam was okay. They fell back into step next to each other as they rounded the ca
r.

  “You nervous?” Scott asked instead.

  “Why the fuck would I be?” Liam had been along a bunch of times when Scott was tracking down a part of some kind. The only risk involved was how bored Liam was going to be if they got in deep on carburetor barrels and feedback. Right now, it was enough to be out of the house.

  Scott shrugged. “Big night tonight. ’Specially after that write-up.”

  And a lot of people might show up or they could be playing to an audience of six. Which would definitely be worse.

  “Thanks for mentioning it,” Liam grumbled, though he hadn’t been nervous until just that moment.

  “Figured it was why you were being such a bitch.”

  “Fuck off. It’s from you giving me blue balls.”

  Scott had been so damned busy last night, Liam had barely had time to do more than grind on him as he passed through the narrow hall. When Reeve offered to drive him home after Rage Mist’s first set, Liam had grabbed the chance to stop making himself crazy.

  And now this fucking errand.

  Liam expected Scott to keep going into the garage, but he turned into the backyard. Instead of a junker on blocks, there was a small bricked patio area with a grill and a glass-topped table and umbrella with six lawn chairs around it.

  No parts, no car, no people.

  That was until the back door slammed open. Bare feet slapped against the wooden steps as a guy—young at first glance—bounced down them, cradling a coffee mug. An electric-green silk bathrobe left most of his smooth chest bare and ended just above the leg hole of the boxers that looked too big for him. He definitely did not look like a guy interested in cars.

  He sauntered right up to Liam and subjected him to a brief scrutiny; then the man’s wide lips suddenly curved into a grin. “Hel-lo, sexy. I was so hoping it was you.”

  Liam froze.

  “Are those big shades blocking most of your gorgeous face because you’re so famous or ’cause musicians’ rep for party drugs is well-deserved?”

  “Hey, Eli.” Scott grabbed the mug from the guy’s hands. “This is Liam.”

  What the fuck was going on? Scott had always acted disgusted by guys like Eli, guys who, according to Scott, “shoved being gay in your face.” Now he was friendly enough to walk into this Eli’s yard and steal his coffee.

  “No fair,” Eli complained. “I was distracted by the eye candy.”

  Liam didn’t know whether to be flattered or pissed off. And Scott was no fucking help. He just snorted a laugh.

  Eli poked Scott in the chest. “You’re disgustingly early.”

  “I was told 10:00 a.m.” Scott avoided Eli’s attempt to steal back the mug.

  “Exactly.” Eli rolled his eyes. “Go in and help Quinn.” He gave Scott a little push. “After you bring out more coffee.”

  Liam watched Scott, knock-your-fucking-teeth-out-for-looking-at-me-wrong Scott McDermott, let this prissy guy put his black-polish-tipped fingers on him and order him around.

  “C’mon, let’s sit.” Eli led Liam over toward the table.

  Since Scott had already disappeared into the house, Liam shrugged and followed.

  “What the fuck is this?” Liam selected a seat that put the table between him and Eli.

  “A table. Where we’re going to have brunch. Hopefully, this will fulfill the commitment to outdoor living I apparently made when I talked about how much fun it would be back in March.” Eli flung his bangs back with a toss of his head.

  Liam reached for his own hairline, missing the length that had let him—let Scott—play with the cowlick that flopped on his forehead. Liam had started growing it out as soon as he joined the band, but it had a ways to go. “Scott said we were here to find a car part.”

  Eli shrugged. “No reason you can’t eat while talking cars.”

  “Had breakfast before I left.”

  “Both of you?”

  Liam smoothed the edge of his shorts over the socket of his leg. “I’m not his mother.” His own had served up some eggs before Liam made his escape.

  “Christ, I hope not.” Eli leaned back in his chair. “Just thinking it’s not like he’s got a kitchen where he’s living.”

  Shit. Liam hadn’t thought of that.

  Eli went on, “You ever have a time where you didn’t know where you were sleeping that night?”

  When his mom was coked up, she’d disappear sometimes, but she always left him somewhere. With relatives, in a hotel room with some food. When he got older, he sometimes wondered whether his mom or someone from Child Protective Services would come for him first. “What did Scott tell you?”

  “About you?” Eli’s brows arched. “Nothing. Why?”

  Liam swallowed. “My mom….” He thumbed away the sweat trickling into his eyebrow. “Well, it wasn’t great sometimes, but we didn’t end up on the street.”

  Eli’s eyes narrowed. Liam couldn’t figure out how a short guy in a chair could look down on him, but somehow Eli was managing it.

  “You and Scott?” Eli asked.

  The back door banged open, saving Liam from needing to answer. Scott stomped down the two steps, arms full of mugs and plates. After hipping the load of plates and silverware onto the table, he thunked a mug in front of Liam and then slid the other to Eli.

  “Be right back with your sugar, you pussy.” Scott tapped Liam’s shoulder.

  “Nah, grew out of that in the Army.” Liam turned. “Besides, I can get it myself.”

  Scott sent back a face shrug, brows up, lips compressed, his version of a low-key whatever, man. “Food’s just about ready.”

  “Thanks,” Eli said.

  Scott tromped back up the stairs. Liam couldn’t figure out which felt more out of place in a suburban backyard, Eli in his expecting-an-orgy clothes or Scott in his almost transparent sleeveless undershirt, ripped-knee jeans, and steel-toe black boots.

  When the door shut behind him, Eli turned back to Liam. “So—”

  “I didn’t know ‘brunch’ was some kind of code for ‘job interview’ now.” Liam was tired of feeling like he’d missed the first half of a movie. “Exactly what the fuck am I applying for?”

  The smile over the rim of Eli’s mug suggested pissing Liam off was totally the point.

  He shook his head and curled his hand around his own mug. “Am I supposed to ask your permission to date him or something?”

  Eli snorted into his coffee. “God, no.”

  Confidence and bossiness masked how really young Eli might be. With only his eyes under the floppy black hair visible over the edge of the mug, he looked barely out of high school.

  With a sigh, Eli settled his mug back on the table. “I was homeless for almost two years. That taught me we have to make our own families. Queer families. I’m not saying all straight people are assholes—”

  “When are you not saying that, kid?” A familiar redheaded man came around the corner of the house carrying two lawn chairs, a big-eyed, tiny-bodied spaniel trotting behind him. “Don’t believe it.” He snapped open one of the chairs. “Eli’s a total heterophobe.”

  Eli tapped his chin with his middle finger.

  Recognition hit when the guy made a dismissive snort. You two are peas in a pod. The cop from that day at the car show. He had to be twice Eli’s age. Liam guessed after a year on the street, any kind of sugar daddy looked good.

  “Where’s the classy part of your comedy routine?” Eli demanded.

  “Did you just call Gavin the straight man?” The cop put his hands on his hips.

  Eli spluttered. “Fuck you. I haven’t had my coffee.”

  The cop grinned. “Gavin is in the kitchen with your daddy. Said you made a special recipe request. You’re welcome for the chairs, by the way.”

  “We all contribute as we can. With brains or skill or”—Eli cast a gaze over the chairs—“manual labor.”

  The dog jumped up onto one of the lawn chairs, circled three times, and curled up, nose to tail, eyes fixed on the cop.
>
  As much as Liam hated admitting he needed help, right then he was praying for rescue. The cop was someone Scott worked on cars with. Maybe if Liam threw out something about two-barrel carburetors, Scott would appear just to remind Liam he didn’t know what he was talking about.

  “Liam. This is Jamie.”

  “Yeah, we kinda met before.” Jamie gave Liam a semifriendly once-over and stuck out a hand. As Liam shook it, Jamie added, “You staying clear of tent poles now?”

  Liam forced himself not to reach for his nose.

  “Now how is that any fun?” Eli demanded. “Assuming we’re talking about the fun kind of tent poles?”

  Liam shoved himself away from the table and stood. “I need to talk to Scott.”

  “Who knew talking tent poles was so stirring?” Eli said.

  Without bothering to comment, Liam stomped up the stairs, his uneven steps making his frustration hotter.

  The door opened into a kitchen that smelled like breakfast in heaven. Coffee, eggs, peppers. And bacon.

  A solidly muscled guy with salt-and-pepper hair and wiry scruff stood at the stove and stirred a giant pan of home fries. A vaguely familiar man with model-type cheekbones leaned against the counter, and Scott—fuck—all Liam could see of Scott was his ass. His perfect ass. The ass Liam’s dick should be in, except they were stuck at this stupid little party.

  Liam reached for Scott’s belt loop, then put his hands in his pockets to avoid temptation. Fuck if Liam would be able to stop himself from groping that ass if he put his hands on Scott. And these guys already acted like they were two beers away from a gangbang.

  Scott straightened and put a pitcher on the counter. “This the one?”

  The guy at the stove glanced over. “Yup.”

  Liam knew the second Scott saw him, knew by the slow blink and the quick bite of his bottom lip.

  “Hey.” Scott’s voice was husky, close enough to I-just-had-a-dick-down-my-throat to make Liam’s cock go from aware to half-chub.

  “I need to talk to you.” He started to back Scott into the hall.