Unraveling Josh Read online

  I closed my eyes and exhaled slowly. Usually being around lots of people was a mood lifter for me, but tonight every stop on the party circuit had added another fifty pounds to the shit weighing me down.

  Problem was, I didn’t know where the hell else to be or go. Realistically speaking. Because, sure, there were plenty of places to dream about being. The Alps. Tahoe. Berkeley—

  “Hey, maybe an ice bath was the wrong cure for your funk tonight,” my friend Ethan said from beside me.

  “You think?” I laughed. “What we need is some honest-to-God air conditioning, a chill that would actually—”

  “No, man. I’m thinking we need something hot. Smoldering hot.”

  “Time to stop drinking, Eth.”

  “That guy over there? He keeps looking over here. You know him?”

  I opened my eyes and saw Ethan was staring at the cocky kid, no subtlety involved. Eth’s eyes were all wide and bloodshot and the tip of his tongue darted across his lower lip. Thirstily. As if Cocky Kid were the last free drink on offer before the bar became cash-only. Yep, Ethan had succeeded where I’d failed tonight—he’d gotten good and shitfaced.

  “Nah. Don’t think so,” I said.

  “’Course not. Stupid me.” Eth rolled his eyes. “You’d never give his type a second look.”

  “I’ve told you a thousand times, man. I don’t have a type.”

  Ethan exhaled a gust of beer-scented laughter. “I know you well enough to say your type is definitely not sex-on-legs with a side of skank.” He waved his hand toward the other side of the deck.

  I glanced again at the guy in question. He was smiling at the short woman beside him. She looked vaguely familiar—might’ve known her from college, might’ve known her from grad school. Or maybe I’d seen her hoofing it around Cambridge. There was a definite “student” look here, and she had it.

  He didn’t look familiar.

  Ethan was right, I guess. I didn’t usually go for guys like him. Although the dude had a killer smile and I was a sucker for those. The rest of him? Not likely to be my first, second or even twentieth choice. He was medium-height and lean. Not exactly skinny, but definitely not athletic. And, okay, I did have an appreciation—and possibly a preference—for a well-honed body. But that was probably more of a habit or a proximity thing. I’d hung out with jocks my whole life.

  This guy looked like he’d never hit a field or a track or a trail. He looked…artsy. His eyes were all dark and broody. His hair was dark and broody too, if that was a thing. It was longish, hanging to his shoulders, messy in a probably-on-purpose way. Tattoos, of course. Lots of tattoos—some of them showing through the thin white fabric of his tight T-shirt. Ugh, yeah. Too goddamn many tattoos.

  I’d been cursed with a variety of skin allergies, so the idea of ink and needles purposely being injected into my skin by strangers? Damn. Don’t sign me up for that gig.

  My attention had been grabbed, though, and I couldn’t seem to stop staring. He came across as natural, not poseur-ish, and his attitude—the plant of his boots on the decking, the tilt of his jaw, the tiny sneer in his smile—was really fucking confident and hard to ignore. It also made it hard not to wonder how he channeled all that moody charisma. And what he got up to with that mouth and those hands and that ass and—

  I shifted my ass around on the bench again. Guess I could see the appeal of smoldering. “You gonna go for it, Eth?” I asked.

  “I wish.” Ethan grunted. “As usual, the hottest guy at the party only has eyes for you. I’m gonna have to stop hanging out with you, man.”

  I smiled and finished off what I’d told myself would be the last beer of the night. Couldn’t catch a buzz and the calories weren’t worth it. “Considering I’m blowing this town tomorrow, you won’t have a problem with that.”

  “Crap,” he said, wiping his hand over his face. With his other hand, he raised his half-full beer to his mouth. He drained it in about three seconds. On the tail end of a hiccup he said, “I keep forgettin’ you’re leavin’ tomorrow.” When he was drunk, his Carolina accent came on strong. “How am I gonna live without you?”

  I laughed because he sounded like a bad country song. And then I felt bad because he didn’t laugh with me. Dang it. I kept trying to have fun tonight and failing.

  “What do you mean?” I asked him. “You’ll be totally fine without me. It’s your last year here. You have tons of friends. A great program for next year—”

  “I mean that I’ll miss you. You’re an awesome guy, Josh. The best one I’ve ever known, maybe. Smart, nice, gorgeous…” He blinked at me. Slowly. Ethan had nice green eyes. He had lots of nice qualities, but I didn’t want to be anything other than his friend. Most of the time he was good with my keep-it-friends rule. Other times…

  I leaned forward on the bench and gave his knee a brief squeeze. “You’re gonna be okay, Eth.”

  “I don’t know,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s the last official weekend of summer. One of us needs to get lucky, right? Or hopefully both?”

  I held back a sigh, regretting I hadn’t called it a night an hour ago. The guys we’d come to the party with had bailed after our dip in the tub. I’d been down with leaving too, but Ethan was in a must-get-laid mood and didn’t want to give up the fight, despite the el-sucko prospects.

  We’d all been at loose ends this weekend, waiting for jobs to end and classes to start, waiting to move in to a new place or move out of an old one, all of us trying to live up to the promise of summer’s last gasp.

  So far the promise had been heavier on the sighs than the gasps.

  “Sometimes you gotta know when to call it a night, you know?” I cast a hopeful glance at the door leading downstairs.

  No response from Eth except for another hangdog look.

  When he put his hand on my thigh, I gently pried off his fingers and swallowed a groan. I did not want to spend my last night in Boston fighting off Ethan Singer.

  I’d go home, but I’d spent the day loading my shit into a U-Haul so I could get an early start in the morning. I’d made arrangements to sleep on the couch at Ethan’s place, but what had seemed like a good solution during the light of day, seemed stupid as hell at one in the morning.

  I exhaled slowly, picturing how the scenario would go. Ethan sweet but handsy. Me gently fighting him off. Ethan not-so-sweet and very handsy. Me telling him off firmly. Ethan angry…

  God. It sounded exhausting. I’d rather sleep in the U-Haul.

  The muscles at the back of my neck crunched with tension and I rubbed at my chest, feeling the summer-long ache jolt me with a few new pinches.

  I looked down at my feet. The urge to tie on some running shoes and flee was so powerful it made me want to cry. No joke. My eyes were beginning to water.

  A long time ago I’d learned I could change my mood—quickly, completely—by moving my body. Cross country running and soccer had been my drugs in high school, but freshman year in college I’d found a sport I truly excelled at—Nordic skiing. There’d been times in the last several years when I’d happily trained eight to ten hours a day.

  For the last four months, though, I’d been battling a raggedy-ass Achilles tendon. My inability to train was messing with my body and my head. I was wound so tight I felt like my whole body had been stuffed into a too-small ski boot and then strangled with too-tight buckles.

  More than a few friends had told me I needed to get laid. Easy thing to laugh about and agree to, but, honestly, I’d probably have more fun skiing a couple of marathons, fucked-up foot or not.

  Eth continued to stare at me with hungry, blinking eyes.

  “Could you do me a favor, bro, and check to see if there’s any water over there?” I tipped my head toward the bank of coolers on the other side of the deck. I needed to buy some time while I figured out how to ditch him in an un-asshole-ish way.

  “Okay.” He stumbled off.

  I picked up my phone. There was a good chance my friend Kirby was awake
and kicking. I could use a dose of his balls-out advice and quirky ’tude.

  He was in Berkeley where he’d recently moved with my ex. And, yeah, the fact that the two friends who probably knew and understood me best had recently moved across the country to live in almost-wedded bliss was likely another reason I was feeling…depressed. Maybe it was time to admit it.

  I typed quickly. I need ideas for bailing on a party. And Ethan.

  A minute or so later I got a message back: Find a stud to go home with. Someone fantabulous. A jawdropper. Ethan will be awed. And will totes forgive you.

  I huffed out a laugh. Kirb was one of my pro-getting-laid friends—he kept telling me I was stuck in a “sex rut” and needed to try something different. He was right—although the more accurate term for what I was stuck in would be “sex drought”.

  I typed: All the studs I know moved to CA.

  Look harder, he replied. See with your heart dick and not your eyes.

  That earned a snort. Damn horndog hippie.

  Do it! he sent back. And don’t bug me again tonight. I’m about to get fucked by my fiancé (heh—love saying that).

  I smiled. I’ll bet. Give him a kiss from me.

  My grin faded along with my phone’s screen. Suppressing another sigh, I glanced around, searching for Ethan. He was talking to some dude by the sound system who was besting him on the I’m-so-wasted look. They were making vague gestures with half-full bottles of water.

  I looked down at my phone again and considered Kirby’s suggestion. My gaze traveled to the far corner of the deck. Cocky Kid was still standing there, smiling at his short friend. It was a helluva smile—it kind of reminded me of Kirby’s smile, actually—and disarming because it didn’t seem to match the rest of him.

  I tipped my head, considering his lean, decidedly un-jock-like form. He’d definitely qualify for Kirby’s criteria as the opposite of what I’d usually choose. As I gave him a second second look, he put his arm around the woman and guided her toward the door to the stairs. My lungs cinched and I took a shallow breath that tasted surreally of disappointment.

  Jesus. I was in worse shape than I thought. Apparently I’d misread the guy’s interest, but so what? Not like I was gonna do something crazy and uncharacteristic and hook up with him.

  I leaned against the bench’s sloping back and closed my eyes.

  When I opened them again Ethan was nudging my foot. I straightened too quickly, bashing the base of my spine against the rough wood. I winced. “What’s up, man?”

  “You still have a key to my place, right?”

  “Yeah.” It was in my bag. Which was locked up in the U-Haul. Which was parked somewhere between here and Eth’s—

  “I’ll meet you there later. I’m leaving for a while.” Ethan’s smile was sheepish. “With, um…” He tipped his head toward the coolers. The guy he’d been talking with earlier was standing there wearing a similar smile. As I watched him, he swayed and almost planted his ass in one of the open coolers.

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really. What? You think you’re the only guy who’s got game tonight?”

  I snorted. “No. Jesus, Ethan. I’m just a little surprised. Usually you don’t go for guys like—”

  “You expect me to hold out for someone like you? Not gonna happen and you know it.” He frowned at me. A lopsided, drunken frown. “Just because you’re some kind of perfect, untouchable…nun-eunuch creature, doesn’t mean I have to be one too.”

  “Nun-eunuch creature?” I knew he was drunk, but what the fuck?

  “You know what I mean. Nobody is good enough to touch the shrine that is Joshua Pahlke’s amazing body.”

  “For real? That’s how you see me, Eth?” I knew he was speaking out of frustration, but still, the dig hit a target. All the discomfort I’d been feeling cinched into a hard, burning knot in my chest. “You think because I want to be just friends with you—and just friends with a bunch of our other friends—it’s because I don’t think you’re good enough to fuck?”

  He bit down on his lip. His cheeks were red. Great. Now he was feeling all guilty. He shrugged and said, “Um, kind of…”

  Okay. So he wasn’t feeling guilty. Maybe he was flushed with pride for finally telling me the truth about how he felt about me. I shook my head. I was so fucking done with this night.

  “Hey! You down?” The guy by the water coolers was waving at Ethan.

  “Go on,” I told Ethan. “Have a good time. But you will text me in the morning to let me know you’re okay. I refuse to leave Boston worrying about you.”

  “Okay.” He turned and began walking to the guy who was waiting for him. A few steps away he looked back at me. “Josh… I’m sorry, man. You know I love you, right?”

  I nodded. I knew he wanted me to smile and joke and make things better like I always did. But I wasn’t in the mood.

  He headed toward the door with his new friend. The guy’s body language struck good notes in my gut. He seemed friendly and not predatory. I needed to relax. Ethan was a big boy. I needed to stop worrying about him and worry about where the hell I was going to spend the next few hours. I didn’t feel like limping over to Ethan’s place and dealing with his roommates. Would be better to bail—get in the damn U-Haul and hit the road a few hours early. Too bad I’d had five beers in the last two hours.

  I looked around, realizing the party had dwindled down to less than a dozen people. It occurred to me that I didn’t know who lived here—didn’t know what connection anyone in this building had to me or any of my friends.

  And when had the playlist switched from EDM to Bob Marley? Odd that I hadn’t noticed. "Waiting in Vain" seemed so damn appropriate.

  The door to the stairway opened and Cocky Kid stepped onto the deck. His gaze snared mine immediately. He walked toward me, smiling, popping those ultra-appealing creases on his cheeks, his boots keeping time to the swinging, addictive beat of the tune.

  He’d come back. For me.

  I knew it as sure as I was sitting there.

  The lanterns overhead crackled and swayed, as floaty and flickery as my thoughts. I’d been dropped into some kind of weird déjà vu headspace. Or something even weirder. My mind churned as it tried to dredge up a memory…or maybe a dream. I knew this guy from somewhere, right?

  He shoved a hand in his back pocket, stretching the worn fabric of his jeans tight across his crotch. Holy fuck. He was sporting a semi. And he was hung.

  It was as blatant as nonverbal invitations got.

  My gaze traveled up to his face. Sharp chin, dark eyes, sly smile. Smoldering times ten. When he came closer I saw he was younger than I’d first guessed. Probably not young enough to be in high school, thank God, but likely an undergrad at one of the colleges.

  And, no, I didn’t know him. I wouldn’t have forgotten someone so—

  Damn.

  Cocky stuck his other hand in his other back pocket, stretching his jeans tighter. His pecs rippled beneath his tight tee and I noticed his left nipple was pierced. I took a deep breath, curling my toes against the decking. I didn’t know where to settle my eyes. Every part of him made me want to squirm and I wasn’t sure it was a good kind of squirmy or a bad kind.

  His slim frame made his package even more impressive—a fact he was obviously playing up. He licked his lips, working it like a pro. His gaze traveled over me slowly and then stopped when it hit my eyes.

  “Hey,” he said. “How’s it going tonight?” His voice was husky. Like a whisper but a bit louder—rustle-y and soft as fancy sheets on a big bed.

  I smiled. Cocky Dude was cocky. And ballsy as hell. But his eyes were warm and his charming-as-fuck smile was dry around the edges—just enough to show he was self-aware, smart.

  “I’ve had better nights, but I can’t really complain. How are you doing?”

  He shrugged. “I’ve had better nights too. But I have a feeling things are about to change.” His smile went wide.

  I’d want to kill whoever or wha
tever made him unhappy. Because he should wear that smile all the time. For the good of humanity.

  He took a step forward, slid his right hand from his pocket and held it out to me. “Come with me?” he asked, his smile going crooked. His expression was knowing, and, yeah, so cocky. As if I had “sure thing” stamped on my chest.

  I wasn’t annoyed. I was relieved. He’d played these games before. He wasn’t shy or awestruck. He wouldn’t expect me to take the reins. He just wanted to get off.

  I could do this. God. I wanted to do this.

  It was my last night in Boston. I’d never see this kid again. I needed a distraction in the worst goddamn way. And, okay, maybe I wanted to prove to myself I could do something like this—that my body wasn’t, in fact, some fucking holy, untouchable shrine.

  I licked my lips, a deep breath escaping my lungs. “You have a place?”

  “I do.”

  Standing, I put on my T-shirt, shoved my phone into the damp pocket of my shorts and stepped into my flip-flops. Then I took his hand. It was warm and dry, his skin slightly rough. I was a few inches taller, but the way he held himself—the squared-off line of his slim shoulders, the jut of his sharp chin—made him seem just as big. Or bigger.

  “You need to say goodbye to any of your friends?” he asked.

  “What friends?”

  He laughed. I did too. Because if my friends were still here, I totally would’ve blown them off. In five or six hours I’d hit the road for Vermont. And goddamn it, I wanted to spend those hours feeling good. Or at least twenty minutes of those hours feeling pretty dang okay. If some hot kid wanted to suck my dick in a cramped campus apartment I was gonna go with it.

  Cocky firmed his grip on my hand and tugged me toward the door. I followed him down the narrow stairway. The building was a four-story walkup and after five flights of stairs looking at the guy’s tight ass, I was feeling uncomfortably hot. Not a new feeling for me this week, but the reason was different.

  We walked a few steps, getting clear of the building’s stoop. There were a few people hanging out, but the earlier party-till-we-die atmosphere had morphed into something a lot more peaceful. The streetlights provided plenty of illumination but I still couldn’t make out the exact color of his eyes. Something dark. Brown probably. I licked my lips, feeling that weird déjà vu dizziness again.