The One That Got Away by Madeleine Urban, Rhianne Aile Page A

kitchen, he walked to the front door to retrieve the three papers he had delivered every morning. He’d always teased Trace that he wouldn’t be caught dead reading the Sun-Herald , but having Trace move in with him had shattered that myth. Besides, he liked Trace’s entertainment column.
    He had no need to have his own paper delivered. He got that at work.
    But he was addicted to reading The New York Times , the Wall Street Journal, and Trace’s paper, over his morning coffee. He used to have six delivered, but he could read the others online these days. He just hadn’t been able to completely forgo the feel of newsprint between his fingers.
    Shaking off the rest of his sleepiness, Trace told himself to just cool it. There was nothing wrong with loving his best friend. That didn’t mean he wanted wild and crazy man sex. He rolled his eyes at himself and sighed. “Jerk,” he muttered. But those kisses had been awfully nice. He wouldn’t mind a few of those occasionally. Laughing softly at himself, he wondered what David thought about those kisses. “Probably normal for him,” Trace murmured as he walked back out to the bedroom, stretching.
    Feeling much more stable, he joined David in the kitchen. 

    “Cofffffffeeeeee,” he moaned, holding his arms out and walking stiffly like a zombie.
    “Fucker.” David swatted at Trace playfully as he passed. “You already abused my scotch. You better savor my coffee or I’ll be sending you out to McDonald’s.” He’d already separated the paper so that Trace’s favorite sections were folded next to his plate. He’d toasted two bagels and the cream cheese was on the table waiting for Trace to spread on both bagels. Spreading cream cheese was one of the things he’d discovered was almost impossible to do one-handed.
    Trace shuffled along, shifting his hips in an unsuccessful effort to miss David’s swipe. “Well, McDonald’s coffee isn’t quite so bad since they went to the new stuff. But if you want really, really good coffee? You go to Waffle House.” He mmmm mmmmm’ed to reinforce his point as he pried open the small tub of cream cheese and started spreading it. A lot on his bagel, a little on David’s.
    “Heathen!” David accused. “How dare you compare my fresh-ground French roast to Waffle House slop?” Taking a bite of his bagel, he disappeared back behind his paper, shifting down in his chair and propping his feet on the seat of Trace’s, his bare toes burrowing under the brunet’s thigh for warmth.
    Good-naturedly shifting to allow for David’s toes, Trace took a bite and shrugged. “Who’s the food critic, hmmm? I’ve had coffee all over this city. I should know,” he said, thumping the newspaper next to his plate with a knuckle. Then he looked down at it. “Clemens is a Yankee?” he asked, aghast.
    David chuckled. He wasn’t getting pulled into that one for any amount of money.
    Almost two hours flew as the two men made their way through a twelve-cup pot of coffee and all three newspapers, passing sections back  and forth in silence other than the occasional exclamation. Folding the last section and pulling his laptop forward, David sighed. “I guess I should get a little writing done before the guys show up. Are you gonna stick around for poker tonight?”
    “Ooh, is that an official invitation?” Trace asked with a grin. “I’m still no good at poker, but I’ll hang around awhile…if only for another chance at that scotch,” he said, waggling his eyebrows. Then he smiled warmly. “I’d also like to meet your friends.”
    David glowered back. “I don’t know. If Matt sees you guzzling his four-hundred-dollar-a-bottle Thordanrach, he’s liable to shoot you. At the very least, he won’t help you escape Katherine’s clutches at this year’s bachelor auction. But yes, if you think you can behave, I’d like to have you come.”
    Trace affected a chastened look. “I’ll be good, I promise!” he said earnestly, eyes