Love Most Inconvenient Page 7

  Tony left a half hour later. Paul cleaned up the dishes in the sink. He went to lie down for awhile, still tired from his late night. As he drifted in that suspended place between wakefulness and sleep, the phone rang. It was Phil.

  “So, dinner?” he asked.

  “Okay. Sounds great. What time?”

  “I’ll come there to pick you up at six.”

  “See you.”

  “Bye, sweetie,” he said and hung up.

  At five thirty, Paul emerged from his bedroom in black dress pants and a pale mauve shirt. His hair was still damp from the shower.

  Marco whistled at him from where he lay sprawled on the sofa watching television.

  Paul blushed. “Stop it,” he said.

  Marco sat up. “Where you going all dressed up?”

  “I have a date with Phillip.”

  Marco groaned, lying back down.

  “Come on, be nice. Phil and I are starting to get it together. He told his wife about us and it’s all going to work out.”

  “Paul”—Marco sighed—“isn’t he still living with his wife?”

  “Yes, but…”

  “Then he’s yanking your chain. When are you going to wake up?”

  “I don’t want to have this conversation with you, Marco,” Paul replied angrily.

  “Then don’t.”

  “You don’t understand.” Paul shook his head. “I love Phil and—”

  Marco got up off the sofa. “Why in hell would you love a guy who has lied to you, almost put you in the street, is married, and still lives with his wife? Maybe you think you love Phil; maybe Phil is a good man to love because you know it’s not going to work out.”

  “Are you saying that I have commitment problems?” Paul demanded. “This, coming from you, a guy who changes lovers as often as he changes underwear?”

  Marco smirked. “No, Paul, I definitely change my underwear more often.”

  Paul threw a cushion at him. “Don’t play with me tonight. I’m nervous.”

  “About what?” He threw up his hands.

  “I want this to work, but…” Paul trailed off. Paul and Marco just stood, looking at each other, when the doorbell rang. “Get the door, okay, and be nice,” Paul said softly, disappearing into his room.

  Marco sighed and mumbled that he was always nice as he walked over to open the door.

  Phillip smiled at him. “Hello, Marco.”

  Marco lifted a hand in response. “Hello, Phillip,” he said in reply, leaving the door open for him to come in.

  Phillip pushed some of his blond hair away from his eyes and looked around. “Paul here?”

  “Yeah. He’s coming. Can I get you something?” Marco managed.

  “White wine, if you have it,” Phillip replied.

  “Take a seat. I may only have red. I’m not a white wine kind of guy.”

  “Oh. Well, skip it. Water will do. I only drink white.”

  “Oh, well,” Marco said, heading for the kitchen. “So, Phil”—Marco raised his voice while he poured water into a glass—“how’s the wife?”

  Just then Paul emerged from the bedroom, in a red shirt this time. He gave Marco the dirtiest look.

  Phillip shifted in his seat a little.

  “Whoops.” Marco cleared his throat, bringing Phillip the glass. “Did I speak out of turn?”

  Paul could have kicked him for that one.

  “We are working out a divorce arrangement, actually.” Phillip accepted the glass with a curt “Thanks.”

  “Oh, really?” Marco replied innocently. “You must have a lot of time to work out this divorce arrangement since you’re still living in the house with her, aren’t you? That’s a bit unusual, isn’t it? What do the lawyers think?”

  “Well, we haven’t actually brought the lawyers into it yet,” he said, visibly uncomfortable, then drained his glass. He stood up. “Well, we’ll be going. Don’t wait up,” he said with a laugh, winking at Marco.

  Marco’s eyes widened at the wink. “Oh, don’t worry, Phil, I won’t.”

  Paul issued Marco a look on the way out the door. If looks could kill, Marco would surely be lying there dead. Marco returned the look in a mocking fashion, which made Paul all the angrier. He slammed the door, hard.

  “That Marco, God damn him. I’m sorry, Phil.” Paul stormed about it all the way to the restaurant.

  Phil sighed. “Are we going to talk about Marco all night? Let’s eat and go back to your place. I have the whole night.” He reached over and squeezed Paul’s thigh.

  “But Marco’s there.”

  “So what? Doesn’t he bring his lovers back?”

  “Sometimes, but … well, we’ll talk about it later, after we eat,” Paul said.

  They had a great dinner. Phil was being really charming, insisting they go back to Paul’s apartment. Paul gave in finally. They arrived back at the apartment at around ten. Luckily, Marco was gone. They went into Paul’s room and made love. Despite thinking that he was reconnecting with Phil, Paul didn’t really enjoy it. He felt stressed the entire time, listening for Marco to come in the front door.

  At around six the next morning, Phil announced he was going to shower and go home. Paul realized that they hadn’t really talked about anything. He followed him to the bathroom.

  The shower was running when they got there. Paul stiffened. “Marco’s in there. Let’s wait, okay?” Damn, he was hoping Marco wouldn’t be home.

  “Let’s surprise him,” Phil joked.

  Paul’s eyes widened. “Let’s not. He won’t be happy about that.”

  But Phil just barged into the bathroom and slid the shower door open. Paul tried to stop him, but couldn’t. “Hey, stud,” Phil said.

  Marco glared at him. “What in hell?”

  “Just handing you a towel,” Phil joked, grabbing a towel as Marco turned off the water.

  Paul sighed, rubbing his face, feeling embarrassed as he stood at the threshold. “Come on, Phil,” he pleaded. “Let’s make some coffee.”

  Phil ignored him.

  Marco yanked the towel out of Phil’s hand and wrapped it around his waist. “Get the fuck out of my bathroom!”

  “It’s a joke, Marco. I’m just playing. Surely the high and mighty Marco Delino of WYRT can take a joke,” Phil taunted.

  “You don’t know me well enough to be playing that kind of joke, Carter!” Marco said between clenched teeth as he stepped out of the shower.

  Paul knew Marco was roaring mad. There was a small hurricane brewing in his dark eyes. Paul took Phil’s arm and pulled. “Let’s go.”

  Phil shook off Paul’s hand. “No. Let’s not go.” He deliberately looked Marco up and down for a minute. “I haven’t figured out yet what everyone sees in you, Delino. You think your shit doesn’t stink, don’t you? You’re just too good to have me walk into your bathroom.”

  Marco glared at him. “I have no intention of having this discussion with you.”

  “You’ve made it clear you don’t like me and I think I know why,” Phillip said, pointing at him.

  “Really?” Marco raised an eyebrow. “Why is that?”

  “Because you wouldn’t mind it if it was Paul surprising you in the shower, would you? And you’re jealous, jealous of Paul’s and my relationship.”

  Paul gasped. “Phillip! What in hell are you—”

  Marco calmly took out his razor, preparing to shave. “Well, if I had a choice,” he drawled. “But that’s not the real reason I don’t like you.” He glanced at Phillip in the mirror. “The real reason I don’t like you is because you’re a closet queen who doesn’t have the guts to leave your wife. You want to fuck your wife, and play the straight game, and then fuck Paul whenever you want. You don’t care who you hurt in the process. You’re a liar, a cheat, and a coward.” He paused and smiled at him, “And since you asked, that’s the real reason I don’t like you.”

  Paul sucked in some breath. Holy shit. Marco had said all this to Phillip without blinking an eye. He wa
s cool as a cucumber.

  Phillip, however, was not cool. “Why, you son of a—” he began, raising his fist to throw a punch.

  Marco turned around in a flash, caught Phil’s fist in his hand and, in one twist, had him on his knees. He looked down at him, fixing him with his dark eyes. “Now, I’d like to finish shaving, if you don’t mind. You are welcome to use the bathroom when I’m done. But for now, this little meeting is over.”

  Phillip nodded, wincing in pain. Marco released him. Paul stood aside as Phillip stormed out of the bathroom, then followed on his heels.

  Marco reached over and closed the bathroom door none too gently.

  Phillip was putting on his coat. “Cocky bastard,” he muttered. “One of these days…”

  “You asked for that. Why did you have to do that?”

  “Maybe I’m jealous,” he hissed. “You live here with him. How do I know you’re not fucking him?”

  “Because I’m not fucking him!” Paul told him stiffly.

  “A guy who looks like that … with that body and you’re telling me … damn, did you see the size of his cock?”

  “Never mind that. He’s my friend. He gave me a place to live when you pulled your little surprise, remember? We’re not sleeping together.”

  Phillip nodded, taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry.” He leaned over and kissed him quickly on the cheek. “Paul, forgive me. I lost my head. I just love you so much. I’ll work things out. Look, I’ll call you Saturday night. We’ll go out, okay?”

  Paul nodded miserably, and watched him leave. He sat at the kitchen table, drinking a glass of juice, trying to figure out what exactly he was going to say to Marco.

  Marco emerged in shorts and a T-shirt, his hair loose and shiny. He said nothing and Paul didn’t know if he should say anything either. After a few minutes, he decided that he needed to apologize for Phil. “I want to apologize for Phil.”

  “Why should you?”

  “He’s sorry for doing that. He didn’t mean it. He just loves me so much. He’s jealous, that’s all.”

  Marco turned around and met his gaze. “Jealous of what? There’s nothing to be jealous of. He knows exactly how to play you, just like a violin. Is that how you think men are supposed to prove they’re in love with you, by trying to slug someone? Is that what impresses you?”

  “No. He just lost his temper. He thinks we’re lovers.”

  Marco laughed out loud.

  “Is that so hard to imagine, that we could be lovers?” Paul blinked.

  “No. In fact, it’s too damn easy to imagine,” Marco replied, and left the kitchen.

  That comment left him speechless.

  Chapter Four

  Summer turned into winter. Christmas was fast approaching again. Phillip was still trying to work things out, and Paul was holding on, although sometimes he found himself wondering why. Marco had been casually dating some guy called Matt who was a drummer in an up-and-coming rock group. Paul got to meet him quite unexpectedly one night when he came home and surprised the two of them together.

  He’d been deep in thought when he came in, wondering if he’d get to spend any time with Phil at Christmas. The lights were dim and it was quiet. When he turned the corner to enter the hallway, he stopped dead in his tracks. On the right side of the hall was Marco, stark naked, his hands extended over his head. There was another equally naked guy on his knees in front of him, literally getting his face fucked with Marco’s cock. Paul couldn’t move. He could barely breathe. Marco’s body was at an angle, his broad shoulders leaning against the wall while his hips slowly and sensuously moved in and out of the guy’s mouth. The guy knelt on the floor, his jaw stretched to capacity as he accepted the thick, erect cock sliding in and out of it. Brown taut nipples which looked as if they had only recently had a good laving and the round, delightful swell of Marco’s ass held him spellbound. The guy on his knees was moaning, but Paul wouldn’t have even been able to name the color of his hair. His gaze was filled with the sight of Marco’s gorgeous hard body as he performed that sensuous dance. Marco’s hands slowly lowered to hold the guy’s head steady so that he could move faster and harder and thrust deeper into his ready mouth.

  Paul licked his lips. He felt his balls tighten, his cock twitch. He reached out a hand for support, stifling a moan.

  Marco slammed up against the wall suddenly, his eyes closing, as he uttered a deep groan of satisfaction. His hips jerked back and forth a few times. The guy on the floor wrapped his hand around the base of Marco’s cock, swallowing and then pulling back for a moment before pressing his lips against Marco’s groin. “You’re so beautiful,” he mumbled against Marco’s cock. “Fuck me.”

  Paul snapped back to reality. He propelled himself back around the corner, then opened and closed the door again. He made sure he made a lot of noise.

  He heard some scrambling, then Marco appeared with an old tattered robe haphazardly wrapped around him. “Paul,” he said, tying the sash, “I didn’t expect you back.” He pushed back some of his dark hair.

  “No, I guess not.” Paul cleared his throat, trying not to stare at him. He heard the anger in his own voice. It was sudden and totally unexpected.

  Marco gave him a curious look. “You seem upset about something.”

  “Not at all.” Paul waved that away.

  The other man appeared now, looking equally unkempt. Everyone had told him that Marco’s new squeeze was so cute. Hell, he wasn’t that cute. “This must be Matt,” Paul said, about to add, “He looks happier than a pig in shit, and I know why,” but he managed to hold his tongue. He took some satisfaction in knowing he had interrupted them and that Matt wasn’t going to get what he really wanted, at least not right now.

  The rock musician pumped his hand. “Paul, right?”

  “Yeah,” Paul said with a nod. He walked over to get something to drink from the fridge. “Hope I wasn’t interrupting anything.”

  “It’s okay,” Marco said.

  “Phillip and I are going to spend the entire Thanksgiving weekend together,” Paul announced, looking at Marco as he went to sit on the sofa. Matt had retreated into the other room, mumbling something about using the bathroom.

  “Good for you. He can come here if you like. I’m taking off for the holiday. So, what’s he going to do with his wife, stuff her in his trunk?”

  “You know,” Paul snapped, “you should be less fucking judgmental. He’s trying. It’s not easy for him.”

  Marco stared at him. “What’s with you anyway? You seemed pissed the moment you walked in here tonight.”

  “Nothing. Nothing at all. It’s just that you never let up. Why don’t you give Phil a break?”

  “Why should I?” Marco demanded, standing up. “I call ’em as I see ’em. You’re just too blind to realize it. You can’t see what’s right in front of your face.”

  “If I get burned, what’s it to you?”

  “Well, I thought we were friends. Friends are supposed to care about each other, right?”

  “We are friends.”

  “So I shouldn’t be concerned when I see you with a jerk like Phil?”

  “No, I can handle it.” He stopped talking when Matt came out of the bathroom.

  “I got to go, Marco,” Matt said.

  Marco walked him to the door. They stood talking quietly for a few minutes, then Matt left.

  “So, how long is this one going to last?” Paul threw at him when he closed the door.

  Marco glanced at him. “I like Matt.”

  “Oh, it’s serious then?”

  “Maybe.” He paused for a moment, then came over and stood in front of him. Paul felt his pulse race. His eyes moved down the smooth column of Marco’s throat to where the robe lay open on his chest, then looked away. “Listen, I’m sorry about nagging you about Phil. I just don’t want to see you hurt. I know you don’t see it, but Phil is bad for you. He’s not going to leave his wife.”

  “There you go again, assuming that…” Pau
l shook his head. He started to walk away, but Marco caught his arm. He pulled him up against his chest for a moment. “Wait,” he said, looking into his eyes. Paul felt like a deer caught in the headlights. He didn’t know which one of them moved closer first, but suddenly their lips met, hard, crushing, mouths opening, tongues colliding.

  Paul wanted to rip open that robe, run his hands over Marco’s chest, taste his skin, take his cock into his mouth. Instead, he clenched his fists at his side.

  Marco wasn’t dissuaded. His mouth moved from Paul’s mouth to his throat. “Paul,” he moaned, “make love to me.”

  Paul closed his eyes. He was in a dream, being held so close in Marco’s arms with his hands moving down to his back and gently squeezing his ass cheeks. He let his head go back, allowing Marco’s lips to trail across his chest for a few minutes. He swallowed as an image pushed into his mind. He saw that young guy crying, saw Matt swallowing Marco’s cock, envisaged himself desperately in love and alone, and somehow, he found the strength to wrench himself away from those strong arms. He was breathless, his chest heaving with suppressed desire. He couldn’t leave himself open for this. He was only asking for heartbreak.

  Marco stood there in front of him, his expression unreadable. He shook his head. “Why?”

  “Why?” Paul echoed. “Because nothing any man could ever do could hurt me as much as you could,” he whispered, feeling the tears threatening. He blinked them away.

  Marco’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

  Paul put some distance between them. “Never mind. You don’t need to. I’m sorry. Forget I said that. I don’t know what I’m saying anymore. I’m tired. I’m going to bed now.” He headed for his bedroom, stunned as the tears spilled out of his eyes. He barricaded himself behind his bedroom door, locked it, leaned on it, and listened for any sound. The taste of Marco’s kiss still lay on his bruised mouth. He waited, holding his breath. Marco didn’t come after him. He sank down on the side of the bed with a sigh, a mixture of relief and disappointment.