Page 34 of The One Decent Thing

Xanax. The bottle was in my nightstand, and I could get one in thirty seconds. I still had a few, even though I’d had to swallow one after I woke up from my post-coital nap the other day. By the time it kicked in, I’d been able to casually stroll out of my room and pretend like nothing had happened and I was the chillest hookup Aidan had ever had.

But no, no Xanax, not this time. I dug my fingers into my palms, hard enough to hurt, and concentrated on the pain. No. I was not going to lose it. Like, hadn’t I had enough of this crap? I’d had enough, I really had.

There was a nearly-empty bottle of Bushmill’s in the kitchen cabinet, left over from one time a few months before when Lucas’s girlfriend broke up with him and Chris dragged him over to my place to get wasted and yell a lot. Their apartment had too many neighbors; Lucas was usually quiet, but when he got going, he was loud enough to get the cops called on them.

Lucas had left an inch or so in the bottom of the bottle. I got it out, pulled down a glass, and poured a couple of fingers of it. Ugh. It smelled like paint thinner. Knocking it back took an effort of will, and a coughing fit, but then the burn of it settled into my stomach and worked its way up into my chest, rotgut liquid courage at its finest.

The Brita filter was right there on the counter, so I refilled the glass with water and sipped it slowly, waiting for the sounds of Aidan leaving the bathroom and going into his room. By the time I’d finished the glass, I’d heard his bedroom door shut.

Maybe he didn’t want me at all. Maybe, most likely, he’d gone for my desperate offer and let me get him off because he’d been deprived of sexual contact for years and years, and he was even more desperate than I was.

Maybe he’d been getting blow jobs from cute club girls every night on his fifteen-minute breaks. That thought made my lungs seize up — but no, he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t risk his job for that. Aidan might be a horny young guy surrounded by attractive women in little dresses, but he was also serious, and focused, and dedicated.

I just wanted that focus on me.

And I was going to get it, or I was going to go down in flames, because I was so, so tired of sitting and waiting for what I wanted and never, ever going after it for myself.

Chapter Seventeen

Aidan

Sleep wasn’t going to come quickly, I was sure. First the club was packed, the line at the door stretching halfway down the block. And then my coworker, who knew the regulars and the owners’ friends and could tell me who to let jump the line, had to go on his dinner break. The adrenaline from that situation, with club patrons frowning at me and acting like dicks, and me not knowing which ones to humor, was enough on its own to give me insomnia.

Then there was Sebastian. God, he could be such a little prick. I knew he was stressed out — not only tonight in particular, but in general. And mostly, I could let it go. Four years inside had made me impervious to most verbal attacks, so I’d have been able to brush it off even if I hadn’t been sympathetic to Sebastian’s state of mind.

Still. After a busy night, I wanted a fucking sandwich and a few minutes of quiet, not to get my head bitten off for giving a shit that he was cold. And the mom reference, when I knew his mom was the world’s biggest bitch? Dude. That was low.

Despite everything, exhaustion started to pull me under a lot faster than I expected, and I rolled over onto my stomach and shoved one pillow into exactly the right position against my chest, with another tucked at the perfect angle under my head to keep me from smothering myself in my sleep. Fuck, that was good. My mood mellowed as I drifted off. Sebastian could get away with a lot for giving me this amazing mattress and these fucking awesome pillows.

My bedroom door opened with a faint creak and the click of the doorknob, and I was wide fucking awake, my face probably looking like one of those cartoons with the giant glowing yellow eyes in the dark. Prison had taught me to be alert and ready to kill someone if I had to as soon as I woke up, and it took a second to remember there was only one person it could be, and he wasn’t going to shank me.

“Sebastian?” I rolled over onto my back and squinted at his faint silhouette, black against the almost-black of the hallway. He must have turned out the lights before he came in. “What’s up?”

I caught a faint whiff of liquor as he stepped into the room, leaving the door open behind him. For a quick exit, maybe? As he drew closer, I realized the smell was coming from him, and not from my work clothes tossed in a pile in the corner of the room.

“Dude, what the fuck? You don’t even drink the hard stuff. Where’d it even come from, and why are you —” I cut off with a not-very-manly squeak of surprise as he tugged the blankets back and slid into bed beside me. “Sebastian?” He was wearing his t-shirt still, and his underwear, but his legs were bare as they brushed up against mine. I swallowed hard and clenched my fists to keep my hands from doing something stupid. “Seriously, what the fuck?”

“I’m sorry,” Sebastian whispered.

My brain stopped working. “What?”

He shifted a little closer, close enough that his head was almost resting on my shoulder and I could feel his breath, hot and potent, against my neck and chest. I was wearing boxers, thank God, but I never wore a shirt to bed anymore, not now that I didn’t feel like I needed to.

“I’m sorry.” He leaned closer, and now his lips were just barely brushing my collarbone, his hair tickling my jaw. “I’m really,reallysorry.”

No way. He couldn’t possibly be — no. “What are you sorry for?”

He kissed my neck, gently but unmistakably. “Does it matter?” he asked, his tone a weird mix of terror and bravado and desperation.

Oh, Jesus fucking Christ. Hewas. The little bastard was apologizingon purpose.

It was too much. It was too. Fucking. Much. My right arm wrapped around his back of its own accord, and I flipped us, halfway pinning Sebastian to the mattress and leaning over him with our faces an inch apart. He froze, every muscle gone rigid, and his eyes glittered like diamonds in the faint light from the hallway. My cock pressed into his thigh, already swelling, and I forced myself not to grind against him like a horny teenager.

“Sebastian,” I breathed. He pulled his lower lip between his teeth and nodded. Like I’d asked him a question, like he didn’t care what that question was, like the answer would always be yes.

Still, I lowered my head slowly enough for him to change his mind, even though every cell in my body was screamingnow, now, now.

The first touch of his mouth against mine sent an electric shock down my spine. I tasted whiskey, and warmth, and the unbelievable softness of his lips. They were trembling slightly. My tongue darted out and flicked over his lips — and then one of us moaned, or both of us, and Sebastian’s hands were grappling at my shoulders, and I was kissing him like my life depended on it. Deeper and harder, almost too rough, my body straining to get closer, and his molding to mine from chest to knees.

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