Page 83 of The Play

What was supposed to happen was they would get out of bed with Deacon’s alarm.

That was not what happened.

As they’d fallen asleep, Deacon had made noise about needing to go home, grab a shower and a change of clothes before he headed into the Condors facility for a day of meetings and practice.

They did make it out of the bed, on time. Even though they’d only gotten a few hours of sleep, Grant still followed Deacon out of the warm, rumpled covers.

Grant didn’t have to get up for another hour, but he did anyway. Was it because he felt especially rested? Or because he didn’t want to lose sight of Deacon, after the most magical night of his life?

“How’re you doing?” Deacon asked after they’d brushed their teeth and headed into the kitchen. It was way too fucking early. Grant needed coffee. You couldn’t survive on sex alone. Even really, really great sex.

Deacon leaned against the counter as Grant worked the coffee machine.

He hadn’t even bothered to throw any clothes on, and in the morning light, he was every statue Grant had looked at in museums in Florence and Rome.

“I’m good, just about ten quarts low on caffeine.”

“No adverse effects?” Deacon leaned down and Grant sank into the warmth of Deacon’s body behind him. He regretted even putting on his boxer briefs. He wanted to feel every inch of Deacon’s skin against his own.

“None whatsoever, except a very fervent need to do it as soon as possible again,” Grant joked lightly.

But then Deacon’s mouth was on the curve of his neck, kissing and then nibbling down it. Suddenly, it seemed like as soon as possible might be right now.

He’d just turned around in Deacon’s arms, reaching up to kiss him again, when a noise behind him made him pause.

“Oh my God. I’d say get a room but you do have a room.” Darcy’s voice echoed through the cavernous kitchen, and Grant felt Deacon freeze.

“I’m turning around,” Darcy continued, sounding very amused, “and going back to the foyer. When I come back in five minutes, will everyone be clothed?”

“Yes,” Grant said in a strangled voice.

He heard her footsteps clicking on the floor as she left the kitchen.

“Does she always just . . .let herself in?” Deacon asked under his breath as they hightailed it back to the bedroom. Grant found a pair of sweatpants in a drawer, glancing up as Deacon buttoned his shirt and pulled up his jeans.

“Uh yeah, I guess? It’s . . .” Grant cleared his throat, suddenly embarrassed that for so long, until last night, there hadn’t been any reason for Darcy to warn him. “It’s been awhile since I had anyone over.”

Deacon put a hand on his shoulder and to Grant’s relief, he was smiling. “It’s alright. I’m not particularly modest. I don’t mind that she saw . . .uh . . .”

“Us nearly repeating last night?”

Deacon nodded. “Just disappointed that it didn’t actually happen, again.”

“It will. I have a crazy busy lineup of meetings today, but tomorrow night? I think I can clear my schedule after you’re done with practice. We could uh . . .grab a late dinner.”

“And then come back here?” Deacon’s smile widened. “It’s a date.”

“Ah, yes, okay.” Grant knew he should stop smiling back. Should get back out there and explain to Darcy that yes, in the future, knocking was going to be required.

Felt a happy little zing shoot up his spine at the thought.

“But you are going to talk to her . . .right?” Deacon asked.

“Oh, yes. Yes. Definitely.”

Deacon’s eyes dropped to his mouth. Grant knew he wanted to kiss him again, and he certainly wasn’t alone. There was nothing Grant would’ve liked better than to tug Deacon back towards the bed, still warm from their bodies, and mess up the sheets even further.

Last night might’ve been started as a temporary insanity—a departure from the pressures and realities of their lives—but now they were continuing it into the harsh light of day.

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