The man he loved. Even as he angled his head to take control of the kiss again, his tongue touching all the corners of Patrick"s mouth before Patrick regained the lead, he cursed himself. He"d known for years—maybe since they"d first met two decades ago—
that he was at least part way in love with Patrick, but he had managed not to admit it, even to himself.
Until now.
Which, actually, was about the worst timing imaginable. Because even with Patrick"s tongue halfway down his throat, he knew Patrick was straight. And when this kiss ended, that really heterosexual, old-school, Boston-Irish, hard-assed cop was going to return. For Patrick, this kiss would be an aberration.
For Brandon, it was a stolen moment he"d remember for the rest of his life. Even if it hurt like fucking hell.
Damn it, he really should have just stayed home.
13
Samantha Wayland
Chapter Two
Patrick managed to keep an iron fist around his emotions until he was through his front door and had it locked behind him. Then he let loose.
“Fuck!” he shouted, slamming his fist against the wall.
What the fuck had happened? What in the name of all that"s holy had he been thinking, kissing Brandon like that? Sure, the original get-rid-of-the-nasty-dude plan had been solid, but that had only required him to do one thorough examination of Brandon"s tonsils with his tongue, maybe two— not the twenty-three attempts he"d been completely absorbed into before they"d finally broken apart.
And then, could you say awkward moment from hell?
Brandon had stared up at him with his lips swollen, his cheeks flushed, his chest heaving for breath and for one moment, Patrick had seriously contemplated kissing him again. He"d wanted to. His aching, needy cock had begged him to thrust up against the rigid shaft outlined by Brandon"s tight leather pants, but instead he"d stood frozen, fighting panic, fighting need. He"d let the panic win, let his stupid big mouth take over and declare, “Well, I guess our little performance was convincing. Want another beer?” Like it hadn"t meant a thing.
“Fuck!” He shouted again, hitting the wall once more, kicking it for good measure, then stormed into the kitchen. He needed a drink. He needed a kick in the ass. Not that he hadn"t already had one of those, damn it. He"d see the hurt on Brandon"s face, the way his eyes had tightened, the color draining from his cheeks before he"d turned away.
Patrick had hated that. Hated himself for causing it.
Whipping the refrigerator door open with enough force to tear it from its hinges, he stood blank-faced, staring into it like an idiot. He"d already forgotten what he"d been looking for and searched the contents for some reminder.
A-ha! Beer. Shit, yes, he needed a beer.
Yanking a long-neck bottle from the carton, he cranked off the cap and took a deep pull, nearly choking as he swallowed past the knot in his chest.
He was such a fucking jerk. He knew Brandon had a thing for him. Once upon a time it had freaked him out a little, then he"d had the good sense to be flattered and on a few drunk occasions in college he"d almost talked himself into giving it a try. But that had been a long time ago and since then he hadn"t given it much thought. It wasn"t like it impacted their ability to be friends. It was just a little sexual attraction. No biggie, right?
14
Destiny Calls
Shaking his head, he slammed his half empty bottle down on the counter and leaned over to bang his head against the kitchen cabinet door.
Whack.
Why did he have to kiss him?
Whack.
Why couldn"t he have just thrown a punch at the stupid fucker who had been hitting on Brandon and left it at a good bar fight?
Whack.
He and Brandon knew how to handle themselves in a bar fight.
Whack.
What he didn"t know how to handle was Brandon, not ten minutes after Charlie"s band had taken the stage, tossing back the double scotch he"d just ordered and declaring he was going home.
Whack.
What he didn"t know how to handle was the look on Brandon"s face as he"d climbed into his cab, unaware that Patrick had followed him to the door and stood watching from the street.
Whack.
What he did know was that Brandon"s thing for him wasn"t just a simple physical attraction.
Whack.
And he was the lousiest, most goddamn idiotic best friend in the entire fucking world.
Whack!
He was seriously considering putting his head through the cabinet door when a gentle hand brushed the base of his neck, stilling his movements. He sighed, his shoulders slumping, his forehead coming to rest against the wood before he cut his eyes over to look into Destiny"s concerned gaze.
For a moment they stood silent, years of friendship and a bond neither of them could define making words unnecessary.
When she finally spoke, her voice was soft. “Oh, honey. What have you done?” Destiny had been curled up on the couch in the den, almost asleep, when Patrick came slamming in the front door. He"d nearly scared her right out of her skin. She"d come by to let out Patrick"s Old English Sheepdog, Farley, since Patrick had gone straight from work to the gym and then on to the Blue Door to meet Brandon. Once she and Farley had romped around some, they"d cuddled down together on the couch, the muted TV on for Farley"s entertainment while she read the book in her lap. She probably ought to have gone home, but her roommate was driving her up the wall and 15
Samantha Wayland
she needed a couple minutes to relax. Patrick"s house was home for her and Farley was the closest she"d come in months to having someone warm to snuggle.
She was surprised, though, that Patrick was home already. It was still early and
