Page 67 of The Quarterback
Nick nodded. “I’m going to go, um…” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I’ll be waiting for you at home.”
Colton checked the time. Just after three p.m. Two hours, if he managed to stay at the office until five. “Okay. Should I—”
Nick put his hand on Colton’s chest, stilling him. Colton froze. They didn’t touch at the office. At least, not outside Nick’s office. “Give me one hour. There’s some things I want to do. For you.”
He nodded. He couldn’t say a word.
Nick’s fingers curled into his shirt, clutching his polo like he was going to pull Colton out of the chair. He dragged in a ragged breath, then leaned down and dropped a kiss to the top of Colton’s head, lightning fast. If someone were walking by Colton’s cube, their secret would be out, but they were alone. Lizbeth’s keyboard clattered across the bullpen, and Jim had left after lunch, wishing them both a good weekend.
He wrapped his hands around Nick’s thighs and turned his face up. Nick’s lips met his and froze.
They could have stood like that for a second or an hour, still life captured in a single press of lips on lips. Colton wanted to deepen the kiss but clawed himself back.No, not yet. You can’t be open about this. Not yet. Not yet.
One day.
Nick tore away from him, striding out of Colton’s cube and hurrying across the office to the elevator. He left Colton clinging to empty air that used to hold his lover. He could still smell Nick, his Irish Spring and his dry cleaning and his summer skin, tan from their days in the park throwing the football. Nick’s scent, as familiar to him now as his own. As comfortable as the smell of a football and fresh-cut grass.
He pitched forward and buried his face in his hands.Fifty-nine, fifty-eight, fifty-seven…He started counting seconds, would count down the minutes, sixty times sixty, until he could follow Nick home.
And then—
Fifty-six. Fifty-five. Fifty-four.
* * *
One hourand the seven-minute run from the office later, Colton slid his key into the front door and turned the lock. He shoved it open, barreled into the condo—
Darkness enveloped him. Nick had drawn the curtains over the floor-to-ceiling windows along the back wall. Colton hadn’t even realized there were curtains, but apparently there were, and they enclosed the condo in a thick stillness. Soft music—instrumental blues, Nick’s second favorite—poured out of his wireless speakers.
Every surface was covered in clusters of candles. Tea lights, the kind that fit six in Colton’s palm. He counted a dozen each on the end tables and bunched on the concrete floor, another two dozen or so spread the kitchen counters. More on the island, flickering wildly from the breeze of the front door opening.
Nick was waiting for him in the kitchen. He’d changed, trading his khakis and polo for a pair of old jeans—his tightest, the ones Colton liked best—and an undershirt. His hair was damp. He’d showered. Shaved.
He slid a glass of red wine across the island to Colton. “Welcome home.”
“Is this all—”
“For you? Yes.” Nick’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He bit his lip, rolled the flesh between his teeth. His pupils caught the dancing flames as his eyes traveled down Colton’s body.
Colton’s fingers shook as he lifted the wineglass to his lips.
Summer red. His favorite from their winery. He took a gulp—too much. The wine, the candlelight, Nick, everything went right to his head. He blinked, and the world seemed to soften. Shift slightly, like he was stepping on a carousel starting to spin.
“Do you want to take a shower?” Nick asked.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll…”
Nick followed him into the bedroom, then into the bathroom. He leaned against the counter and held Colton’s wineglass as Colton stripped. Colton didn’t think it was possible, but the fire in Nick’s eyes grew hotter. Darker. Like a star collapsing inward.
He left Colton in the shower and disappeared to the bedroom.
Colton tried to be both thorough and quick and ended up fumbling the soap like a freshman receiver on the practice squad. His hands were shaking and his vision was blurring, and all he could think about was Nick. Nick coming home and lighting a hundred candles for him. Nick planning this, imagining this, preparing this for the two of them. Nick thinking about this. Nick wanting this—him—too.
He dried off and raced into the bedroom, naked. His cock was already hard, achingly so, weeping precome that smeared on his belly.
His wine was on the nightstand, next to Nick’s half-full glass, but Nick was—
“You’re beautiful, Colton. Sometimes I can’t breathe when I look at you.”
