Maybe it made him stupid that he was having fun with a guy who’d threatened his job and his future, but he was. It reminded him of what he’d had with Nick before the whole thing fell apart. Friendship. As important, if not more important, than the infatuated rush of love and passion that’d eventually overtaken it. Their friendship hadn’t survived Sullivan’s sexual preferences, but with Tobias, the two elements seemed almost to amplify each other. Maybe they weren’t exactly friends, but it was in there. It wasn’t casual and it wasn’t just sex, because if it was either of those things, picking someone else wouldn’t be such a problem.
Shit. He liked Tobias. He really liked Tobias.
Don’t think like that, he told himself as he dried off with sharp, punishing flicks of his towel. He had to remember that Tobias was experimenting and he wanted casual sex and his life was in a period of upheaval and this case was temporary and Sullivan needed a goddamn hormone condom.
By the time Tobias came downstairs into the kitchen, his brown curls still damp against his temples from his shower, Sullivan had managed some semblance of emotional maturity.
“Hey,” Tobias said. His shoulders were tense, his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Um. Sorry.”
Sullivan looked at him blankly. “For what?”
“I fell back asleep?”
“Oh. Nah, forget it.” Sullivan finished stirring the bowl of pancake batter he was working on. “Was gonna wake you up in a minute anyway to eat. Sit down.”
Tobias’s body jerked in the direction of the table before he hesitated, and Sullivan realized they hadn’t had that particular talk yet.
“You’re not my slave.” Sullivan wiped up a spill with a paper towel. “When we’re fucking, that’s one thing, but what we do in the bedroom doesn’t have to match what we do outside of it. The rest of the time, I’d really prefer that you tell me to fuck off if you don’t want to do what I say. Does that work for you?”
Tobias nodded, and went to the table. “How do you navigate all this? It seems so much more complicated than other sorts of relationships. Even casual ones.”
“We’re navigating it right now.” Sullivan poured batter onto the griddle and forced himself to hear casual with more emphasis than any of the other words. “Just like anything else that people do, it’s a series of small decisions, you know? People in the kink community learn to be more explicit about it, that’s all. We talk shit to death. It’s exhausting sometimes, but it’s nice to know where you stand and get what you need.”
As they ate, Sullivan checked his email, where he found a reply from his contact at the DMV. He’d submitted all three plate numbers—anticipating that two of them would be wrong because of the mud that’d partially obstructed their view—and the results were gratifyingly helpful. One was unassigned, one belonged to a hearse in Pueblo, and the other belonged to a beige sedan registered to Cindy Jackman, the owner of a home on Josephine Street in Denver.
Sullivan passed the news along to Tobias.
“The guy picked up Ghost in his wife’s car?” Tobias asked, nose wrinkling in a way that Sullivan firmly told himself was not adorable.
“Could be a sister or a friend.” Sullivan jerked a shoulder. “I’ll check her out, see if I can learn anything about the balding guy, and then I’ll track him down. I’ll give you a progress report—”
Tobias sighed, long-suffering, and Sullivan almost smiled before reminding himself that he needed a hormone condom.
“Let me guess.” Sullivan raised an eyebrow. “You’re coming with me.”
“Yes.”
“And school?”
Tobias blinked, once, twice, three times.
“Forgot about that little detail, huh?” Sullivan finished his pancakes while Tobias stared at his plate, apparently doing some sort of mental gymnastics, judging from the way his mouth had pursed and his brow had furrowed. Finally, Sullivan prompted, “Well? What’s the verdict?”
“I’m not going to class.”
“Okay. We’ll get through this stuff today, and you’ll have plenty of time for homework later. I don’t know, maybe they’ll give you a makeup or something—”
“No, I mean I’m not going back. Ever.”
Sullivan took another bite of pancake. “Cool.”
Tobias slowly lifted his gaze, and his eyes were wide, almost stunned, and his cheeks were flushed. His fingers clamped around his fork. “I’m never going back.”
Sullivan chewed, watching him, and Tobias’s chin lifted mutinously, as if he thought Sullivan might try to make him go, which was stupid, because Sullivan generally thought that doing things you hated was a bad idea in principle, let alone in practice. When it became clear that Tobias was waiting for an answer, Sullivan swallowed and said, “Congratulations. You’re a wild man.”
“I’m not, really,” Tobias said, more to himself than Sullivan, perhaps. “I don’t do impractical things.”
“Sure,” Sullivan said, although he thought that was mostly bullshit, considering the things Tobias had been doing the past few days, and that was only the things Sullivan knew about.
“I think I could, though,” Tobias continued, still probably to himself.
“Cool. Can I have your textbooks?”
Tobias glanced at him. “You’re not going to argue with me?”
“I’m not your mom. Do whatever the fuck you want.”
“You’re bossy enough,” Tobias muttered and Sullivan grinned. “But you don’t think it’s bad? Dropping out?”
“I’d be an asshole if I did. You’re looking at one and a half semesters of college right here, baby.”
“Oh.” Tobias’s face made a cramped, half-smothered expression, and Sullivan’s grin widened.
“You’re judging me, aren’t you?”
“No,” Tobias said quickly.
“Yes, you are. You think I’m one of those guys who partied my way
