“My passenger’s a cop and swears I won’t.”

  Laughing, the guy took Colin’s order. Colin’s back was to the windows, so if Nevin did have to fight anyone off, he missed it. When he hurried back outside carrying a paper bag, the car was still there. Nevin grinned at him from the passenger seat.

  “Where are we going?” he asked after Colin was back in the car and had placed the deli bag on Nevin’s lap.

  “Picnic.”

  “It’s fucking fifty degrees outside, Collie. And it’s going to rain.”

  “Car picnic,” Colin replied cheerfully.

  He could have taken a more direct route, but instead he drove up Vista and then wound through Washington Park, eventually circling back and pulling in to a lot atop the hill. Nevin didn’t comment until the engine was off. “Rose gardens?”

  “Yep.”

  “No flowers this time of year, and the view sucks.”

  He was right. The rosebushes looked forlorn, and there was nothing much to see other than clouds, but Colin didn’t care. Heck, he preferred it. On a nice spring or summer day, the gardens would be packed, but now they had the place to themselves. Not that he wanted to mention that intimate fact to Nevin. He pointed at the bag. “One of the sandwiches is roast beef and the other is turkey. Take your pick.”

  Nevin dug around for a moment before handing a paper-wrapped parcel to Colin and taking one for himself. There were chips in the bag too, and pickle spears, plus two bottles of iced tea.

  “There’s enough meat on this thing to choke a bear,” he said as he eyed his lunch.

  “Yeah, they pile it on. They bake their own bread too.”

  Colin had ended up with the turkey, which was fine with him. But Nevin, after taking a few bites of his own, swapped half of his sandwich for half of Colin’s.

  “You don’t like it?” Colin asked.

  “No, it’s great,” Nevin answered with his mouth full. “Just wanted to try yours too.” He stared out the window. “Wonder if Germy will come lumbering along.”

  “Huh?”

  “Friend. He’s chief park ranger. Tends to strut around places like this like a fucking action hero, the big jackass.” He said it fondly. It was the first time he’d mentioned a friend—mentioned anyone he was close to except his brother.

  “Park ranger sounds like an interesting job.”

  Nevin snorted. “Hugging trees, dancing around with butterflies, shooting the shit with winos. Jeremy thinks he can stomp all over in his size thirteens—you could house a family of four in the man’s goddamn boots—and rescue the whole fucking world. Moron.”

  “Right. ’Cause you’re not at all interested in saving people.”

  Nevin shot him a quick glare.

  After a few minutes of chewing and swallowing, Colin asked, “Is Jeremy a close friend?”

  “I’m not fucking him.”

  “I wasn’t fishing for your sexual history. I just wondered if he was a good friend.”

  “Yeah. Guess so. We work out together, go running. Catch a ball game now and then. Drink coffee. He’s a good guy—the real deal, you know? You’d like him.” Nevin barked a laugh. “I thought about setting you up with him.”

  Colin twisted in his seat to goggle at him. “Seriously? Why?”

  Nevin didn’t meet his eyes. “Told you. He’s a good guy. Fuck, you’d drool just to look at him. Blond hair, square chin. He’s got muscles on his muscles. Looks like Paul fucking Bunyan.”

  “He doesn’t sound like my type.”

  “Oh, he’s got a fancy private college degree too. And he’s the settling-down kind. Your type.”

  Colin wadded up the empty sandwich paper and reached over to put it in the bag near Nevin’s feet—which put him conveniently close to Nevin. “I think I prefer my men smaller,” Colin purred. “And… thornier.” And he was telling the truth, because Nevin’s studly park-ranger friend didn’t interest him at all. Nevin, though… Nevin interested him a lot.

  He shifted back into his seat and watched as Nevin neatly folded his wrapper. Rectangle, square, rectangle, square, triangle. Then Nevin tucked the paper into the bag and brushed a few stray crumbs off his dark suit. When he turned to face Colin, Nevin’s expression was opaque. “How many men have you fucked?”

  “Uh… what?”

  “In your life. How many men have you fucked or let fuck you? Let’s be expansive in our definition, shall we? Include blowjobs. Hell, include hand jobs too. Include anyone who touched your junk or vice versa.”

  “Why?” Colin thought that Nevin’s brain was a very twisty-turny place, full of secret passageways and hidden alleys.

  “Humor me.”

  While he thought, Colin stared through the windshield at dark green foliage and gray flannel sky. In the summertime, everybody in town came here for wedding photos, but nobody wanted that today. He wondered where people went if they wanted outdoor wedding photos in the fall. And then he considered Nevin’s question. “Does it count if we jacked off in front of each other but didn’t touch?”

  Nevin clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Fine.”

  “Okay. Then… ten.”

  “Ten.”

  “I think so. A couple guys in high school, a few in college, and a few before I met Trent.” Did that sound pathetic? He wasn’t a virgin by a long shot—he’d just never much wanted to play the field. “Then you,” he added, smiling.

  “That douche bag dumped you over three months ago. You haven’t fucked anyone but me since him?”

  “Nope.”

  Nevin shook his head. “Right, then. Ten. In like, what? Fifteen years? Colin, I usually fuck ten different people in a month.”

  Colin wasn’t surprised by that declaration. He had friends who were that sexually active, and Colin didn’t judge any of them as long as they were safe in their behavior and honest with their partners. But still, Nevin’s words made his chest ache. “So I’m not experienced enough for you?” Colin spat.

  Nevin surprised him by caressing Colin’s thigh. “You know that’s not my point. Besides, we were fucking amazing together.”

  “What is your point, then? I’m lost.”

  “My point is, I’m not your type.”

  Oh. “Are you breaking up with me? I don’t think you can do that since we were never really a thing to begin with.”

  “No.” Nevin squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again. “I like you. Dunno why—haven’t even had a real chance to play with that monster cock of yours, so it’s not that. You know what? I haven’t had sex with anyone since you.”

  That statement also made Colin’s chest ache, but in a totally different way. “Why not?”

  “No idea. But here’s the thing. I’m never going to be what you want. What you deserve. So we can fool around a little, but—”

  “What about what you want and deserve?”

  Nevin gave his head a quick shake.

  While they were talking, raindrops began to patter on the windshield and roof, and the insides of the windows were starting to steam up. Suddenly Colin wanted to be somewhere else. He turned the ignition and waited for the defogger to work.

  “You can drop me off at my office,” Nevin said wearily.

  “No. Not yet.”

  He took a more direct route out of the park, ending up on Burnside heading toward downtown. But when he continued over the bridge and cut south, Nevin apparently couldn’t stand the suspense any longer. “Where?” he demanded.

  “Want to show you something.”

  As they neared the Clinton Street Theater, Nevin made one of his noises. “Rocky Horror’s not playing on a Monday afternoon.”

  “Not where we’re going.” Colin continued down the street for a few blocks and was happy to discover a vacant spot in front of a pale blue house with a peaked roof.

  “What’s this?”

  “We just bought it. Well, actually we’re still in escrow, but it’s vacant and I know the code to get inside. Come see.”

  Although Nevin looked doubtful, he followed Colin up the sidewalk through the badly overgrown yard and onto a broad front porch. The splintery boards creaked ominously under their feet, but nothing gave way before they managed to get inside. Colin had already toured the place before his father made an offer. Now he stood in the front room, where layers of wallpaper hung in strips and everything reeked of cat pee. “Look around.”

  Nevin raised his eyebrows. Then he shrugged and started to wander. Colin stayed put, tracking Nevin’s progress by the footsteps and occasional swearing. He knew what Nevin was seeing—some structural damage, outdated wiring and plumbing, a kitchen last updated in the sixties, bathrooms older than that. Water-damaged floors and ceilings. Cracked windows. Dust and grime and mouse turds….

  After exploring the upstairs and then loudly announcing his refusal to go into the basement, Nevin eventually returned to Colin in the front room. “I’ve seen murder scenes in better condition. In fact, I’m not sure there aren’t bodies in the basement. Or in that cabinet near the top of the stairs.”

  “Yeah,” Colin agreed sadly. “It’s a mess. Needs a new roof too, and a new furnace. And lead paint removal.”

  “If you’re trying to sell me the place, you’re doing a piss-poor job.”

  Nevin had a smudge of dirt on one cheekbone. Colin smiled and rubbed it away with his thumb. “Not trying to sell it. But what do you think of it?”

  “You said yourself. A fucking mess. Location’s good, but you’d have to pour in a fuck-ton of money just to make it habitable.”

  Colin slumped slightly. “Yeah. You’re totally right.”

  But then Nevin grinned. “But shit, did you see that fireplace?” He pointed toward the adjoining room. “Fucking gorgeous, once the tile’s cleaned and the mantel’s repaired. And the upstairs windows all have leaded glass, plus the claw-foot up there is big enough even Germy could fit in. Or you and me,” he added with a leer.

  “It’s a great tub.”

  “Good-sized front porch, as long as nobody falls through it. Could invite the whole fucking neighborhood for a party on that porch. And the… the fancy wooden shit around the doors and windows. They don’t do that anymore. It’s pretty.” He turned around slowly, his head tilted to the side. “Yeah, it’s a money pit, but it’s got character. It’d be nice all fixed up.”

  Delighted, Colin threw his arms around Nevin, who was so startled he squawked. But Colin only hugged him tighter, moving them both until Nevin was sandwiched between him and the front door.

  “Wha—” Nevin began.

  Colin silenced him with a kiss.

  However surprised Nevin might have been, he got with the program right away, pushing his hands under Colin’s coat to grab handfuls of his ass. Nevin was a good kisser. No—a great kisser. Trent hadn’t really enjoyed making out; he was a quick-peck-on-the-lips type. But Nevin put all his energy into it, as if kissing was as important as sex, as if Colin were the most delicious meal he’d ever tasted.

  Then Nevin nibbled on Colin’s earlobe—almost hard enough to hurt—and Colin groaned so loudly it echoed in the empty room.

  “What was this all about?” asked Nevin, his breathing ragged.

  “You saw.”

  “Saw what?”

  “The value in this house. The real value, I mean.” Colin let himself slump against Nevin. “Dad wants to tear down this place and the one next door—it’s in bad shape too—and put up townhomes. They’ll be nice townhomes. He doesn’t do cheapy stuff. But they won’t be… this.”

  “So tell him to stuff it. It’s your business too, right?”

  “Sort of.” His father was sole owner and president of the company, but Colin was vice president. Which sounded more impressive than it was. And although Harold had increasingly been handing over the day-to-day operations, he still liked to make the big decisions, such as what property to buy and what to do with it.

  “He’s not going to disown you for arguing with him, Collie. If it’s important to you—I was going to tell you to grow a pair, but hell, I’ve seen what you’ve grown. Use ’em. Tell Daddy to take a hike.”

  It wasn’t that easy, but Colin wasn’t in the mood to argue about it. He clutched Nevin instead. “I’m glad you see what I do in this house. It’s not all about money.”

  “Money’s not important when you have plenty of it,” Nevin replied. But he sounded tired, not angry, and Colin remembered how lost he’d looked in Colin’s office, gazing out bleakly at the gray city.

  “You know that conversation we were having at the rose gardens?” Colin asked. “Well, screw it. Forget all that stuff about how many people we’ve slept with and whether anyone’s the right type. Forget tomorrow. I could drop—” He’d almost said the wrong thing. “I could walk out of here and get splatted by a renegade TriMet driver. You’re the cop—I don’t have to tell you how random death can be.”

  “So?”

  “So let’s just worry about right now, right here.”

  With this kiss, Nevin’s head thunked back against the wall, knocking loose a little shower of wallpaper and dust. He didn’t seem to notice, though, and soon Colin was focused on nothing but the way Nevin filled all his senses. Touch of course—small hard body against his, strong hands on his ass, soft lips and tongue. And taste, which was a bit oniony from lunch but no less wonderful because of it. The scent of Nevin’s soap—nothing fancy or expensive; probably Ivory or something similar, purchased from the grocery store. And the sound of Nevin making sexy little whimpers and sexier full-throated moans. Colin’s body vibrated like a tuning fork in response. He even opened his eyes to see what he could focus on at such close range—velvety skin and thick sable hair, both sprinkled with tiny pieces of falling-down house.

  If they kissed long enough, Colin might finally understand this fierce, complicated man.

  But he gradually became aware that he was pressing his groin rhythmically against Nevin’s, Nevin was thrusting right back, and they were both in danger of coming in their pants. Which was a shame when they could have more skin-to-skin contact.

  Colin moved his mouth to suck on the tight cord of Nevin’s neck, leaving Nevin free to utter breathy pleas. It was funny. Ordinarily Nevin swore more than a Martin Scorsese film. But when he and Colin were having sex, the f-bombs disappeared, replaced by needy gasps. Those noises made Colin feel powerful.

  Spurred by hormones and wickedness, Colin took a step back, shrugged out of his coat, and spread it on the floor. He turned back to Nevin. “Strip.”

  Nevin’s eyes went wide. He glanced at the windows, which were covered by thin, ratty curtains. Not the best privacy, he was likely concluding, but at least the house was set back from the street. And the front room was only dimly lit by faint light from the next room.

  “We’ll ruin your coat,” Nevin said, but he was already taking off his own.

  “I’ll buy another. This one is so last year anyway.” Colin winked.

  It took time for Nevin to peel off his layers of clothing, in part because his hands shook a bit. Eventually he was bare, his cock standing erect and his chest visibly heaving. He was a work of art.

  Colin gestured at the coat. “Lie down.”

  Nevin positioned himself on his back with his legs spread invitingly and his elbows propping his upper body.

  “Jesus,” Colin breathed. When the realization of his situation hit him, he had to steady himself against a wall. It was early afternoon, and he was in a decrepit house he didn’t quite own, ogling a naked police detective.

  Nevin grinned up at him. “Yeah. I get that a lot.”

  Laughter broke enough of the tension for Colin to steady himself. He stripped quickly, throwing his clothing aside and not caring how dirty it got. But when he kicked off one of his shoes, it went flying like a missile and collided with a spindly little table abandoned at the edge of the room. The table fell over with a crash, mostly disintegrating on impact, and Colin started to giggle. He was still chuckling after he’d removed the other shoe—more carefully—and his socks, and then laid himself full-length atop Nevin.

  “What’s so funny?” Nevin asked as he trailed slender fingers down the crease of Colin’s ass.

  Colin blew into Nevin’s ear before answering. “Buffy.”

  “What?”

  “The first time she and Spike had sex was in an abandoned house, and the sex was so… violently passionate that they destroyed the place.”

  Nevin was squinting at him. “What are you talking about?”

  “Buffy the Vampire Slayer. You know, the TV series. You never watched it?”

  “No.”

  Colin made a mental note to introduce Nevin to the singalong episode. Then he forgot all about Buffy, Spike, and anything non-Nevin-related as Nevin kissed him again.

  They didn’t have rubbers or lube. No problem, because Colin mostly wanted to run his tongue over every inch of Nevin’s body. And that’s what he did, paying special attention to the hard little nipples and the creases where legs met torso. He sucked on all ten of Nevin’s fingers, licked his collarbones, and bent his legs so he could get at the backs of his knees. The results were amazing. Nevin squirmed and begged and grabbed at whatever parts of Colin he could reach. Then Colin scraped his teeth ever so lightly against Nevin’s balls and lapped gently at the delicate skin behind them. But when he poked—just a bit—at the puckered opening and began to fist Nevin’s hot, hard cock, Nevin howled. Seconds later his spend splattered Colin’s hand.

  Colin’s cock was heavy between his legs, untouched and neglected, yet his triumph in making Nevin fall apart was almost as good as an orgasm. Almost. Colin didn’t protest when Nevin tugged at him, urging him to scoot up Nevin’s body. Using Nevin’s come to ease the slide, Colin rocked his hips into the crook of Nevin’s hip. There wasn’t a lot of friction, but Nevin was playing with his ass again, plus Colin felt Nevin’s sticky, softening cock against his hip. Those things, added to Nevin’s whispered encouragements—“That’s right, baby. Just like that. Feels good.”—were enough to tighten Colin’s body and send him spinning over the edge.

  A few moments later, Colin lay beside him, partly on the coat but mostly on the hard floor. His heated body had begun to cool in the chilly room. He started to laugh again.