Page 15 of Takeover
Michael picked up the pace of his walk, passed under the Fort Duquesne Bridge, and then headed up the stairs to the walking bridge over the Allegheny.
The worst part was that MichaellikedSam. The more time he spent with Sam, the more he wanted to spend with him, and not just in a state of undress. Sam liked Marvel flicks, shot pool, enjoyed fishing, and even ate his catch. He’d mentioned wanting to rent a kayak from the place under the Roberto Clemente Bridge and paddle up the Allegheny to see the shore from the water. Sam had even suggested a company-sponsored night at PNC Park in the summer for one of the Pirates’ fireworks nights.
Those were all things Michael wanted to do. Heck, they’d even talked about their mutual desire to bike down to DC along the Great Allegheny Passage.
Unfortunately, Michael’s lust was also still present and as potent as ever. Certainly they had sexual chemistry, but what that hell did he do with a budding friendship on top of all that? He couldn’tdatehis own damn CEO any more than he could bend Sam over a chair and whack his ass in the middle of the office.
He didn’t even know whether Sam was openly gay. There was nothing—nothing—that Sam did or said that pointed to being out. But there wasn’t much that pointed to him being in the closet, either. They didn’t discuss family or relationships, which was probably just as well, since Michael had a piss-poor history with other men, anyway. They either wanted Michael to control every aspect of their lives, or they were like Rasheed—deathly afraid of being gay.
Sam was a little too domineering to want the former. The latter—he could see Sam in the closet, easily. After all, the man had flown to Curaçao to be fucked when there were plenty of gay bars in Miami.
Michael crested the short set of stairs to the walking bridge and pushed his pace faster, climbing the slight bow toward the center of the bridge. He wanted to run, stretch his body to the limit to burn off some of his energy, but the brace on his knee reminded him just how foolish that would be.
Even as a friend, he couldn’t go out to dinner with Sam. Too much had passed between them that night in the tropics. Michael looked out at the confluence of the Allegheny and Monongahela Rivers and at the huge plume of water from the fountain at the Point. Too much water under a bridge.
The water under this bridge was blue-green, reflecting the clear sky. Cars and trucks whooshed past nearby, separated from the footbridge by a strong wire fence and the coils of yellow-painted steel cable that ran from the deck to the arch above. Bikers, runners, and fellow walkers passed in the other direction, but the noise of the traffic on the main bridge blotted out most of the quieter sounds. Like the footfalls of a runner coming from behind and stopping right next to him.
One moment he was alone; the next, Sam walked beside him, breathing hard through a smile that was as cheerful as the weather. “Great day, huh?”
Michael skittered to the right slightly and glanced over. Then took a second look. God.
Sam wore running shorts and a loose tank that let Michael see far too much of his body. Wet with sweat, Sam’s skin glistened in the sunlight. Heat ran down Michael’s spine and the pounding of his heart had nothing to do with the quick pace of his walk. Sam looked like a freaking cover model. “Yeah. Unusual for this time of year.”
That grin didn’t disappear. “Did I startle you?”
“A bit.”
“Sorry.” The amusement in Sam’s voice said the opposite.
Michael couldn’t help chuckling.
They walked in silence the rest of the way across the bridge. Once away from the sound of traffic, Michael stole another look at Sam’s long body, his powerful legs, and tight ass.
Jesus. Get a grip. Stop checking out your boss.
“Did you injure you knee?” Sam gestured at the brace on Michael’s left leg.
“Back in college. Tore it up real bad playing soccer. Surgery and everything.” That had been a painful nine months of his life.
“You need it for walking? I don’t remember it from… before.”
He ignored the second sentence. “Only wear it for strenuous exercise. Walking fast, tennis, biking. Helps keep the knee happy.” Michael watched Sam, but with Sam’s eyes behind mirrored sunglasses, Michael couldn’t tell where he was looking. “I can’t run anymore.”
Sam frowned. “Well, that sucks. Do you miss it?”
“God, yes. Walking’s good. But it doesn’t clear the mind quite like a run.” Well, there was one other thing that did. But he wasnotgoing to think about sex while walking next to Sam.
“Now that’s the truth,” Sam said. “There are very few things that relax me as well as running.”
“Is that why you’re out here?” Michael said. “To de-stress?” He’d seen William—fresh in from the West Coast and grumpy as all hell—stalking into Sam’s office this morning. That man was poison.
Sam’s frown deepened. “Please tell me my stress level is not that obvious.”
“I don’t think so. Not to others.”
This time Michael knew Sam regarded him from behind the sunglasses. A warmth that had nothing to do with exercise or the weather settled deep in Michael’s core. They walked down the path from the bridge to the river trail in silence.
It was Sam who spoke first, his voice much softer than before. “But it’s obvious to you.”
