his lips, he complained softly, “I don’t understand you. If we’re going to fight, at least give me a chance to know what you’re calling me. I know you’re pissed off—”
“Fucking Cole,” Ichiro spat, hot bullets of sound meant to wound but not kill. “Jae called me while I was in the bathroom—”
“You talk to people while you’re in the bathroom?” Bobby made a face. “That’s disgusting.”
“Jesus, my brother and you deserve each other.”
“Hey, Cole’s not that bad—”
“I was talking about Mike. He never shuts up and lets me finish either.” Ichi turned the stove off. “Fuck it, we can order pizza. If I cook this, it’ll end up burned. So, you going to let me talk?”
“Talk away,” Bobby groused, folding his arms over his chest and leaning against the counter. “What were you and Jae talking about while you were holding your dick and pissing? Then can we talk about you being pissed at me?”
Ichiro rolled his eyes. Then his expression softened slightly until it resembled something Bobby would have called mulish. “Jae told me about Sheila. So yeah, fuck—you had to answer that.”
“And you’re still pissed off?”
“More at myself. Because, fuck, Cole needs you. He’s your friend, and I—hell, yeah, while I’m his brother, I’m not—you.” Ichi sighed. “So, shit, I’m pissed off because I got angry for doing what I’d want you to do. I was thinking with my dick—”
“Well, your dick would have seen some action, but it was your ass I was going to be aiming at.” Trying for levity, Bobby sidestepped the swirling emotions coming up from his belly. Things had gone to hell in a handbasket before he’d blinked, and now he was facing the truth of what he’d almost done—fucking Cole’s brother after his friend specifically warned him off. “Look, if you want to bail—”
“No, I’m going to make sure you’ve got some dinner or something in you and maybe tell you to take another shower. You’ve still got some sidewalk grit in your hair.” Ichi held his hand up and made a show of dusting off his palm. “Either that or you’ve got the ballsiest dandruff.”
“That’s how we’re going to end this? On a joke? Or are we going to just ignore what happened back there on the couch?”
The hardest thing he’d ever done was walking into a hospital room where another man lay amid the remains of his shattered life—a man he didn’t know but knew of—and introducing himself as a gay man. Standing in front of that man’s brother, Bobby realized he’d yet to learn the depths of his fears.
Men were disposable. Faceless after a time. Separated only by hair color and maybe mannerisms, but for the most part, he kept his dick happy with the equivalent of living dolls, falling in like maybe a few times but nothing more. Ichiro was going to be different. He was going to hurt, hurt someplace deep down inside of Bobby’s core, and there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it but walk away now.
If only he could.
“Answer me something first. Why did you pick up the phone?” Ichiro skewed the conversation. “You knew it was Cole. Hell, I knew it was Cole because of that damned Queen song. It’s an earworm. It’s stuck in my head right now. And don’t give me that shit about him maybe needing something. He was at home. Hell, you guys were just bailed out of jail. Why did you pick it up?”
“Because Cole’s my first—” Bobby struggled to find the words for his relationship with the quixotic, death-defying younger man. Taking in a sharp breath, he stared Ichiro down and calmly replied, “Because Cole is my first honest friend. He didn’t know me from jack shit before I came into his hospital room. I’d just retired from the force a few days before, and I was pretty fucking close to eating my own gun. Then someone—I don’t remember who—called me to tell me what was going down in West Hollywood, and shit… changed.”
“If you didn’t
“Fucking Cole,” Ichiro spat, hot bullets of sound meant to wound but not kill. “Jae called me while I was in the bathroom—”
“You talk to people while you’re in the bathroom?” Bobby made a face. “That’s disgusting.”
“Jesus, my brother and you deserve each other.”
“Hey, Cole’s not that bad—”
“I was talking about Mike. He never shuts up and lets me finish either.” Ichi turned the stove off. “Fuck it, we can order pizza. If I cook this, it’ll end up burned. So, you going to let me talk?”
“Talk away,” Bobby groused, folding his arms over his chest and leaning against the counter. “What were you and Jae talking about while you were holding your dick and pissing? Then can we talk about you being pissed at me?”
Ichiro rolled his eyes. Then his expression softened slightly until it resembled something Bobby would have called mulish. “Jae told me about Sheila. So yeah, fuck—you had to answer that.”
“And you’re still pissed off?”
“More at myself. Because, fuck, Cole needs you. He’s your friend, and I—hell, yeah, while I’m his brother, I’m not—you.” Ichi sighed. “So, shit, I’m pissed off because I got angry for doing what I’d want you to do. I was thinking with my dick—”
“Well, your dick would have seen some action, but it was your ass I was going to be aiming at.” Trying for levity, Bobby sidestepped the swirling emotions coming up from his belly. Things had gone to hell in a handbasket before he’d blinked, and now he was facing the truth of what he’d almost done—fucking Cole’s brother after his friend specifically warned him off. “Look, if you want to bail—”
“No, I’m going to make sure you’ve got some dinner or something in you and maybe tell you to take another shower. You’ve still got some sidewalk grit in your hair.” Ichi held his hand up and made a show of dusting off his palm. “Either that or you’ve got the ballsiest dandruff.”
“That’s how we’re going to end this? On a joke? Or are we going to just ignore what happened back there on the couch?”
The hardest thing he’d ever done was walking into a hospital room where another man lay amid the remains of his shattered life—a man he didn’t know but knew of—and introducing himself as a gay man. Standing in front of that man’s brother, Bobby realized he’d yet to learn the depths of his fears.
Men were disposable. Faceless after a time. Separated only by hair color and maybe mannerisms, but for the most part, he kept his dick happy with the equivalent of living dolls, falling in like maybe a few times but nothing more. Ichiro was going to be different. He was going to hurt, hurt someplace deep down inside of Bobby’s core, and there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it but walk away now.
If only he could.
“Answer me something first. Why did you pick up the phone?” Ichiro skewed the conversation. “You knew it was Cole. Hell, I knew it was Cole because of that damned Queen song. It’s an earworm. It’s stuck in my head right now. And don’t give me that shit about him maybe needing something. He was at home. Hell, you guys were just bailed out of jail. Why did you pick it up?”
“Because Cole’s my first—” Bobby struggled to find the words for his relationship with the quixotic, death-defying younger man. Taking in a sharp breath, he stared Ichiro down and calmly replied, “Because Cole is my first honest friend. He didn’t know me from jack shit before I came into his hospital room. I’d just retired from the force a few days before, and I was pretty fucking close to eating my own gun. Then someone—I don’t remember who—called me to tell me what was going down in West Hollywood, and shit… changed.”
“If you didn’t
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