When Irish Eyes Are Smiling Ch. 07

Gabe rubbed at his bruised abs, one auburn brow up and speculating. If he came at me, it would be over quick and we both knew it, but I held my ground. His lips twitched in amusement, and I thought I saw those peridot eyes reassessing me. Finally, he lifted his hands in mock surrender.

I tried not to show my relief as I unlocked the door, half-furious, half-shaking with nerves.

Shit, piss, fuck!

I scooped up the picture and jacket and went into my place far enough to deposit them on a table. I wanted to change, but it looked like Gabe wasn't going to give me time to do that. He politely waved down the hall, letting me lock up and walk under my own steam to the elevators.

As the doors closed on us, I wondered what I'd say to Joel. Why the fuck were you kissing that old swish!

Besides, I was the one who'd screwed up, I just didn't know precisely how. It might take me months before I saw it, as with Cathy, but I knew it had to be my fault. Because Joel was…Joel was good. And I wasn't. It was simple as that, and even my most selfish wish to pin this all on him couldn't get around that.

I could feel Gabe beside me, tense and brooding. We were almost at Joel's floor when he suddenly hit the neon red "hold" button, stopping the elevator dead. Ah, crap, what now? I wondered, resignedly facing him.

Those green eyes were fastened on me again. "What's Joel told you about me?" he demanded.

I shrugged. "A few stories of all the crazy things you two did as kids. Said you were the greatest brother a guy could ever have."

His gaze shifted away at that. "That's him alright," he sighed, shaking his head ruefully. "What he left out, and would never tell you, is how I reacted when he came out. It was at a family dinner, and I can't begin to imagine the balls it took to tell us all at once like that, but he did. Know what I did? I stormed out. My little brother smiling and telling me he's a fuckin' homo? No fuckin' way, man! I couldn't deal with it, so I just turned my back on him and walked away. He came after me and tried to explain, but I couldn't hear it, couldn't listen to him. I said some things that…" Gabe paused, sucking in a breath, "well, I won't ever forgive myself for saying them. It was rolling right off his back though, and he wouldn't stop talking, explaining, so I blacked his eye to shut him up."

My hands fisted and I bit my tongue. This might have happened years ago, but my temper flared with outrage. Son-of-fucking-bitch!

"Four months, man," he went on, "four mother-fuckin' months went by before I'd talk to him. Four months of me refusing to be there for him when he was trying to come to grips with himself and needed me more than ever. Four months and all I could think about was me. Oh, poor Gabriel's got a fag for a brother! Boo-fuckin'-hoo! I made him feel like shit about it. Mam finally ripped me a new asshole and pulled my head out of it. Joel…forgave me."

He punched the button and the sluggish elevator lurched to life. "He forgives too easily. That's what he does. He always has," he finished off.

I didn't know what to make of that. Why had he confessed all this to me? To give me hope of Joel's forgiveness for my lapse last night? Or to prepare me for Joel's bombshell that he'd forgiven Eric and was going back to him? Maybe Gabe was simply urging me to think of Joel's happiness before my own.

My gut dropped as the elevator doors rang open. God help me, I didn't want to lose Joel. I don't think I'd ever felt this way about anyone, not even Cathy, and I'd almost asked her to marry me. The very idea of losing Joel was driving me crazy and here was Gabe asking me, I assumed, to consider what was best for Joel even if that meant letting him go.

We traveled down the hall to Joel's apartment. The door was unlocked. I gulped and stepped in, Gabe followed. The place was warm and a little stuffy. The maple blinds were shut and the sheer curtains pulled so that only a thin dotted line of sunlight marked the tan carpeting.

The place smelled of Joel, his cologne, his sweat. For a moment, I shut my eyes and just inhaled.

"Gabe?" Joel murmured from the overstuffed sofa. I hadn't expected to see him there and so hadn't noticed him until he stirred. "Where'd you—"

He stilled as he saw me, setting aside a box of cereal and licking at his lips. He looked terrible. Unshaven, hair a mess, eyes bloodshot. He looked—

Like he'd been crying. Ah, fuck. I wanted to sit down beside him and gather him in my arms, run my hands up and down his long back until he relaxed. I wanted to promise to make it right. Kiss his neck and mouth. Most of all, I wanted to beat the shit out of whoever had done this to him. Problem was that "whoever" was likely me.

He didn't say my name, didn't say a thing. He just gazed at me, his eyes wary. Those wonderful eyes weren't admiring or desiring me anymore. They were looking at me as if I was going to hurt him, badly.

"It was just a dance." That was the first thing that spilled out of my mouth, the first sin that came to mind. "It was stupid and thoughtless and it was two fucking minutes of nothing. I swear to you, it meant nothing."

"It did mean something," he said quietly. His calmness unnerved me more than if he'd started yelling at me. He sounded so—distant. Once again, I wondered if I'd failed some secret test.

"It meant you were hurting," he went on, "from what you saw at the coffeehouse: Eric, kissing me."

Hell. His knowing I'd caught them kissing hadn't been part of the equation. My mind scrambled to fit this into my theories of what had gone wrong.

"I saw you run off," he sighed, "I think…if I'd seen the same, I might've ended up in a bar dancing with a stranger. What I need you to understand is that I didn't expect to run into Eric. It was a complete surprise—"

"Oh, shit."

He stopped, frowning, and Gabe shifted. My expression must have been telling as the brothers exchanged looks.

"What?" Joel demanded.

"It was a surprise because I erased your messages," I confessed, and heard Gabe gasp. "The ones Eric sent you arranging the meeting."

"You…erased…my messages?" Joel rose to his feet. Had he always been that tall?

"Two of them," I admitted. Shit, shit, oh shit! What had I done?

Joel's face went white with rage and his pupils dilated. Ah, hell. So here was the real difference between a relationship with a guy as compared to a girl. When I'd fucked up with lady-like females, they'd screamed at me or walked out. I'd gotten kicked in the shin, and on one memorable occasion, kneed in the balls. I was pretty sure, however, that Joel was about to punch me in the face. Gabe, of all people, looked ready to jump in and protect me.

"I can't believe you did that!"

"It was wrong," I wanted to back away; I forced myself to stay put. "It was wrong in…a lot of ways. But before you beat the shit out of me for it, I just want to tell you—I just want you to know…I'm flexible."

"What? What the fuck does that mean?"

"It means that you don't have to choose between your ex and me. It means our relationship was never set in stone; we can change the rules to however you like. You can go back to Eric and still see me on the side. I don't need anything exclusive."

It made sense; at least it did as I was blurting it out. This way, I wouldn't lose him altogether. He could have the vintage auto, but give the sports car a second chance to prove itself.

I looked at him expectantly, hoping that he'd be pleased or at least thoughtful. He looked—aghast—sick to his stomach.

Ah, hell. Wrong again.

*Joel*

I heard the knob turn. "Gabe? Where'd you—" I began, looking up and froze.

Devlin stood in the doorway. Gabriel was at his back as if he thought he might need to block an escape attempt. Which of us he thought more likely to bolt, I didn't know, and he probably didn't either, but his expression made it clear that he intended to see this situation resolved one way or another.

I was so taken by surprise that I drew a blank. I couldn't think of a single thing to say. I hadn't had time to come up with anything, or rehearse my arguments for why it was me he should be with and not anyone else.

He broke the silence by trying to assure me that the bimbo hadn't meant anything to him, but I'd already figured that out. I told him so, and started explaining what he'd seen at the coffee shop, that it had been an ambush rather than a tryst.

"Oh, shit," he cursed and started trying to avoid eye contact, looking at my shoulder instead of my face.

Gabe gave me a look that said, "This ought to be good," and I said, "What?"

"It was a surprise because I erased your messages," he nearly mumbled and Gabe sucked air in through his teeth. "The ones Eric sent you arranging the meeting."

It felt like everything in my head dropped right into my gut. I wanted to grab him and shake him until his head snapped back and forth like a bobble-head doll and scream at him, "Why the fuck did you do something so fucking stupid? If I'd've known Eric was planning to meet me there, I'd've never gone. I'd've gone to your apartment and made some coffee there or, fuck…broken into Mrs. Busybody's place across the way…anything but gone there!" but I couldn't because there it was—the expression that Deb warned me about. The look a puppy gives you when it knows it's in trouble for piddling on the carpet. I couldn't bring myself to give him the verbal thrashing he deserved while his Caribbean blue eyes were pleading with me to understand and forgive him. I was still trying to contain my anger when he dropped a second bomb on me.

"It was wrong. It was wrong in…a lot of ways," he said quickly, "but before you beat the shit out of me for it, I just want to tell you—I just want you to know…I'm flexible."

"What? What the fuck does that mean?"

"It means that you don't have to choose between your ex and me. It means our relationship was never set in stone; we can change the rules to however you like. You can go back to Eric and still see me on the side. I don't need anything exclusive."

The blood drained from my head again, but for a different reason. My stomach, which had settled thanks to the cereal, began roiling again. I felt like I was going to pass out, or puke, or maybe both at the same time. Steadying myself on the couch, I eased myself down onto the over-stuffed arm so my traitorous legs wouldn't betray me. I hunched over, clutching my middle and breathing deeply in hopes of calming my stomach. I took a minute, massaging my temples with my other hand, trying to ease the pounding headache that had appeared with his words, while I gathered my thoughts.

"You don't need it, or don't want it?" I asked, my hand still covering my eyes, terrified I'd get the answer I least wanted to hear. "Is this your way of telling me that you want to see other people?" I looked up and he was still giving me that guilty puppy look. "By, what, magnanimously allowing me to take back up with someone I don't want anything to do with, while keeping you on the side for afternoon trysts and weekend get-a-ways?" I demanded hotly, my body language hitting heights heretofore unseen from me. I pushed up and began pacing, warming to the building tirade.

"That isn't what I said—"

"Well, news flash, Dev! I told you right from the beginning that I'm not a fuck-buddy. I stopped dating altogether in college because that's all anybody was looking for. It wasn't enough for me then, and it sure as hell isn't enough now!"

Stopping suddenly in front of him, I grabbed the front of his shirt and finally did what I'd longed to do. I shook the shit out him. The shock on his face made me feel better, so I shook him some more while I continued my rant, "Are you wanting to see other people? Because if you are then go…enjoy!" I made a sweeping gesture at the door, "Just don't expect me to answer the phone when you make a booty-call. Is that what you want? You come clean with me right here and right now, Devlin!"

He grabbed my wrists, startling me into silence. His eyes had gone cold and angry. "Like you came clean with me?"

*Devlin*

The man was strong and he was shaking me fit to break my neck, shouting at me. I tried to explain, but he wouldn't listen. Finally, I cracked. I grabbed his wrists and snapped at him.

"Like you came clean with me?"

I won't say I didn't mean it, but I regretted the words the instant they passed my lips. I'd gotten his attention, all right. He went still and a stricken look replaced the fire in his eyes. His hands, sweaty and knotted in my shirt, slackened and released me.

I learned something in that moment: I preferred having him angry with me. Christ, he could have hit me and I'd have preferred it to the way he seemed to vanish into himself. I felt the pulse in his wrists, its racing beat slowing under my fingers, and let go.

"I d-didn't—" I began. I shouldn't have laid hands on him like that. How could I have done that? He had every right to shake the crap out of me. "Joel, listen, please, you've got it backwards. I know you won't be my fuck-buddy and I don't want that. I wanted it when we met, I was honest about that, but I know you now. I'd never ask that of you. Never. But that doesn't mean—"

I fumbled. Continuing that way was a dead end; I switched directions. "I knew about the phone calls, and I didn't ask. I was the one who dropped off the coffees on Wednesday. Your secretary told me you'd left for some secret meeting. I didn't ask. I saw you kissing Eric, and I—I wouldn't have asked. If you hadn't seen me running away, if we'd met that night, like all the other nights…I wouldn't have asked. I won't ever ask and you don't ever need to tell me. That's what I meant."

I could hear his breathing and I could feel Gabe, still there, watching us from the corner. I wondered what he was making of all this drama. I wished to God that I could make sense of it. It was funny. Uncertainty in the real estate market excited me; uncertainty in who would win in a wrestling match challenged me. Uncertainty as to whether I'd end up fucking the sexy guy or girl got me hot.

Uncertainty in a relationship, however, terrified me, and not knowing how to please someone I deeply cared about—that was Hell.

Joel seemed distant again, his face expressionless. I didn't know what else to say or do. Sinking down into an overstuffed chair, I stared down at my shoes.

"Please, don't yell at me anymore," I asked, "I hate this. I can't figure out what you want from me and all I want from you is to know that we can still be together. I don't care how. Honestly, Joel, I don't. I know I've put up this front about not being able to change, but it's all bullshit. Tell me how you need me to be to make you happy and I'll do my best. Or tell me to fuck off and I'll do that." I took in a shaky breath, "Just…I know you're hurting and it's my fault and I can't stand it. Tell me how to put it right."

He settled down onto the arm of the couch, quiet now. He was near enough for me to see a hint of chest hair peeking over the open buttons of his shirt, for me to smell his musk. My gaze went down over him, down to the zipper of his jeans and damned if I didn't start having fantasy flashes of ripping open his fly and sucking him until he gave me his cream, of letting him fuck me until I turned to jelly.

Gabe would have been scandalized, I'm sure.

I didn't express any of this, much as I wanted to. I sat and waited. Finally, very quietly and calmly, he said exactly what I'd expected he'd say.

*Joel*

"You can't put it right," I said, taking in a deep breath, while scrubbing my face with my palms. Releasing the air in a slow hiss, I combed my hair off my forehead with my fingers and stood.

He'd bared himself more completely for me than anyone before. I wouldn't have credited it, but in a matter of seconds, he managed to make me love him even more. The least he deserved from me was everything that was within my power to give him. Devlin was thinking the worst again; I could see it in his posture. He looked like he was melting into the armchair. It almost unmanned me to see the devastation in his eyes.

Stepping over to him, I settled on the arm of his chair and pulled his head against my side saying, "You can't put right what isn't wrong. I mean, the only problem here is that we're both a couple of fucktards."

He wrapped his arms around my lower back, pressing his face into my stomach. He held me so tight it verged on painful and I could feel him shaking. The sensation of moisture sticking my shirt to my belly made my breathing hitch alarmingly. I tried valiantly not to morph back into the weeping puss-baby I'd become last night.

"If either of us had just said something, none of this would have happened," I added. Gabe caught my eye, indicating that he was going to leave. I nodded and motioned for him to lock the door. "You should've asked about those calls, but even more, I should have told you. Also, I'd like the record to reflect the fact that what you saw at the coffee shop was Eric kissing me. I did not kiss him, and if I'd known he'd grab me the way he did, I wouldn't have allowed it. His assumption that all he had to do was show up and I'd be his for the taking disgusted me."

I heard the door shut behind Gabe and I slid into Devlin's lap. He clung to me, but I pushed him back into the cushions so I could see his face. Tears made his darkly golden lashes spiky and he gnawed at his full lower lip. He dropped his eyes, refusing to look at me and swallowed hard several times.

"We need to be open and above board with one another," I told him, cupping his face in both my palms and using the pads of my thumbs to dry the damp circles under his eyes. "That's how friends and lovers should be."

"That's what Deb said," he laughed weakly.

Leaning in, I kissed the salty wetness from his left eye. A puff of his breath whooshed across my cheek as I breathed, "A stór." Repeating the gesture on the right eye I exhaled, "A ghrá." I was ashamed of how irresistible I was finding his vulnerability.

My cock, wide-awake now, insisted I ravish him immediately, while he was defenseless and susceptible to my wiles. Firmly telling Junior that no one had given him permission to do the thinking right now, I did my best to ignore the dogged pounding behind my zipper. It was pointless to resist though. I knew I'd already lost the battle when the peck on the lips I'd intended turned into a minute long, achingly slow waltz of tongues.

"You might be perfectly fine with sharing me," I said, sliding to my knees on the floor, "but I'm not." I opened his suit pants, "I'm even less OK with sharing you," I pulled them down, "and I won't do it, Devlin." Looking up at him while I yanked off his shoes, socks and trousers, I repeated myself firmly, "I won't."

Discarding my shirt as I stood, I pulled him to his feet for another searing kiss. I walked him backward while his fingers ran through my hair, sending shivers down my spine. Hooking my foot behind his ankle, I pulled while shoving his shoulders. He fell, landing on the end of the brick-red chaise with a surprised grunt and a little bounce. Half a step and a leaning reach allowed me to snag the KY off the sandstone coffee table. I hoped the little left in it would be enough as I gave a flick and a jerk to the fly of my jeans.

*Devlin*

Jesus Christ. The man had no mercy. He came at me when all my defenses were down and I was lost in his smell and heat, hormones raging. His kiss, the rasp of his unshaven jaw, had sent blood right to my cock, making it weep pre-cum as our tongues met and tangled. He informed me he was not okay with sharing me, emphasized it with the removal of shoes and pants, and with such lust in his eyes that there was no doubting him. My heart was pounding loudly in my ears as he stripped off his shirt and drew me to my feet.