Page 30 of Something Unavoidable

Keegan took a calming breath and counted to five before answering. “How so?” He shut the fridge and leaned against it as he sipped the water.

Izzy was less than steady on his feet as he clung to the edge of the counter and glared at Keegan. He’d discarded his coat somewhere, but not his boots. A trail of wet, dirty boot prints trailed across the hardwood floor.

“Take off your boots, Isaac.”

“That,” Izzy spat out. “That’s why.” His long legs folded as he half sat, half fell to the floor and started fighting with his laces. “You’re so fucking sur-superior.” He grunted as he pulled on the boot. “You think you’re better than me, ’cause you’re smart and e-educated, and you aren’t a fuckup. Why’d you have to be hot too?”

Keegan fought not to smile. Was Izzy insulting him or complimenting him? “Sorry,” he offered, moving closer and crouching down to tackle the laces on the other boot. Someone had knotted them and tucked them inside, adding to Izzy’s struggle.

“You should be,” Izzy grumbled back. “You ruined my night. All I wanted was a good dicking. Just a nice fat cock.” He mimed wrapping his hands around said imaginary cock—Keegan was vaguely concerned at the apparent soda-can dimensions—thengroaned in frustration. “But then it snowed! Why do you have to be such an asshole?”

Keegan got the second boot off, then set them under the kitchen table and rested his elbows on his knees as he eyed Izzy. “Are you blaming me for the weather?”

“No,” Izzy said, exasperated. “It snowed and everyone left. How am I supposed to find someone to fuck all these thoughts out of my head?” He grabbed the edge of the table and used it to haul himself back to unsteady feet. Keegan stood with him, hands out, just in case. The last thing this night needed was Izzy cracking his head open and bleeding on Keegan’s kitchen floor.

“So, you came here?” Keegan was starting to get the full picture, and he wasn’t thrilled with being a booty call.

“Yes,” Izzy said. “To tell you that you suck. I can’t find a good cock, and it’s all your fault.”

“Because I made it snow.”

“Because none of them are you,” Izzy snapped. “Fuck.” He turned and stumbled toward the front door again. “I hate you. Why am I even here? Whose dumbass idea was this?”

Keegan caught him before his hand touched the knob. Izzy tried to pull away, but Keegan, with the advantage of both strength and sobriety, wrapped his arms around Izzy and trapped the struggling man against his chest. Keegan held on but didn’t respond to Izzy’s question, mind reeling as he tried to sort through that statement. Izzy was upset because hewantedKeegan?

It shouldn’t be that much of a shock. They clearly had chemistry. Both of their encounters had been off-the-charts hot. But he’d been so sure it didn’t go any deeper. Keegan wasn’t special. Izzy liked sex. Keegan had been convenient. But now, Izzy was saying, what? That he preferred Keegan to his many other available options? That was a mindfuck and a half. He didn’t know how to react.

Well, his dick knew how to react, especially with the way Izzy was squirming to escape and rubbing his sweet ass all up against it. But Izzy was also wasted, and Keegan didn’t fuck guys who were too drunk to consent. The bathroom blow job at the Lookout had skirted the edges of that too closely, and he wasn’t going to take the risk again.

“Fuck, I have the worst taste in men,” Izzy whined, finally giving up his struggle. “If they aren’t lying, deceitful bastards, they’re fucking judgmental kidnappers. Let mego. Kidnapping is illegal.”

Keegan pressed his forehead to Izzy’s shoulder and tried not to laugh. He shouldn’t find this funny. Izzy was drunk and angry and saying shit he was going to regret in the morning. But dammit, drunk Izzy was a trip. “I’m only going to let you go if you promise you’ll stop trying to leave.”

“That’s still kidnapping.” Keegan could hear his pout.

“Baby, it’s snowing, we’re ten miles from the ranch, and you’re not wearing shoes. If you leave, you’ll freeze to death.”

“Baby, it’s cold outside,” Izzy sang, off-key. “I fucking hate that rapey song.”

Keegan shook with restrained laughter. “Me too. But I swear, if you stay, you’ll be safe from me. We aren’t having sex.”

“What? Why not?”

Keegan banged his head on the muscled plane of Izzy’s shoulder. “Because you’re drunk. And because I’m pretty sure you’re going to hate me even more in the morning than you do right now.”

“Sounds fake,” Izzy replied, but when Keegan warily released him, he didn’t go for the door again.

Keegan let out a relieved breath. “The bed in the guest room is comfortable.” He paused, eyeing Izzy, then decided he was probably used to sleeping at an angle or, at the very least, wasdrunk enough that he wouldn’t notice his feet hanging off the end of the standard-length mattress.

With Lucky leading the way, Keegan showed Izzy where the hall bathroom was, then opened up the guest room while Izzy was relieving himself and using the toothbrush Keegan dug out from under the sink—a remnant from when Ryan used to crash at his place back in the day. Toothbrushes didn’t expire, right?

The guest room was a decent size, but Keegan had never put much effort into it. The bed was made and there was a rug on the floor, but compared to the rest of his warmly furnished home, it was borderline sterile.

Lucky, in typical doggy fashion, trotted into the newly accessible space, leaped up on the bed, and flopped down, dropping his chin to his paws and giving Keegan a pathetic look.

“Off,” Keegan said sternly, pointing at the floor.

His normally perfectly behaved, highly intelligent, search-and-rescue-trained German shepherd yawned and flopped onto his side, then heaved a sigh.

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