“I know. I know I did. And—” He made another frustrated gesture. “I don’t know how to explain it. I’ve never even made sense of it myself. I just… I couldn’t do it anymore.”

  “Do what?”

  “Any of it.” He exhaled. “Being the perfect son, the perfect Mormon, the perfect student, the perfect…the perfect everything. I had to be the best at everything, Chris.” He turned away, rubbing his neck with both tanned, weathered hands. “I couldn’t just graduate, I had to be valedictorian. I couldn’t just be on the football team. I had to be the star quarterback. And whatever career I pursued? I had to be at the top. Always. Always, Chris. It was just too fucking much pressure, and I didn’t know what to do. All I knew was I couldn’t anymore. And when I met some guys in the Legion, it was a chance at a different life where no one cared that I was Joshua Hawthorne.” He faced me again, and when he met my eyes, there were tears in his. “No one even knew that was my name. To them, I was just another soldier.”

  I swallowed hard. “But… God, Joshua, we—”

  “Julien.” His voice wavered slightly, and his eyes narrowed. “My name is Julien.”

  “Okay, okay.” I showed my palms. “Look, I’m still getting used to the idea you’re even alive. You’re going to have to cut me some slack if I’m not used to calling you by a different name.”

  He seemed to deflate a little and leaned back against the front door.

  A hundred emotions simmered beneath the surface, and a mix of grief and anger reached the top first. “Your family had a funeral for you,” I said through clenched teeth.

  Julien grimaced. He looked up at the ceiling, his Adam’s apple jumping as he swallowed.

  I forced my voice to stay even. “They wouldn’t let me go.”

  “What?” He looked at me again, eyebrows up.

  “I was still on my mission, and I couldn’t—” My voice cracked, and I coughed quickly to recover. “They wouldn’t let me go.” I squeezed my eyes shut, remembering how that town in South Korea had suddenly closed in on me, how the homesickness I’d felt for the last few months hadn’t held a candle to my sudden desperate need to get on a plane and—

  The gentle touch of a warm, rough hand on my cheek startled me. I stumbled back, but the wall stopped me.

  Julien was so close now. Close enough to touch me. Even closer than that—a breath away from being against me. Oh God, he was Joshua now. The man who’d been even closer to me than this the night before we’d gone on our respective missions.

  His hand met my cheek again. “I never meant to hurt you, Chris. And you might not believe me, but…that was one of the hardest things for me to cope with. Knowing I’d left you behind while—”

  I kissed him.

  I didn’t know what else to do. Every word he said hurt, and he was…damn it, he was there. And alive. And kissing me back.

  He was startled at first, hesitated, but then relaxed against me. He slid a hand around to the small of my back, the other up into my hair, and holy fuck, he didn’t kiss like a scared Mormon virgin anymore. Oh, how things changed in six years. I couldn’t even pretend we were back where we’d started, two terrified kids who’d finally given in and kissed in the back room during a pre-mission farewell party. We both knew too much now. Julien wasn’t so timid, encouraging my lips apart with his tongue, and I opened willingly for him, without all the nerves I’d had back then.

  I ran a hand down his back and pulled him closer so his cock rubbed against my—

  Oh my God, what are we doing?

  I broke away, pulling back as much as the wall would let me, and our eyes met. His were wide, the same question written across his face—what are we doing? That kiss was nothing like the first one all those years ago, but this moment was pure déjà vu. I couldn’t remember how we’d gotten to this point and had no idea where we went from here. Last time, we’d kissed again, and then we’d fumbled our way through the only sexual encounter that had ever haunted me, that sweet, nervous sex with another virgin, that first and last time with a friend who’d be gone before I could make sense of it.

  This time…

  This time I didn’t know what to do.

  And there were no rules for this—none. It wasn’t friends-with-benefits. I didn’t even know if he still qualified as a friend, or if I cared about the benefits enough to take the risk that he’d reconsider and be gone tomorrow when I woke up. He wasn’t a one-night stand, because I knew him (and yet I didn’t at all), and he sure as hell wasn’t a boyfriend. He fit none of the boxes. Back then, he’d fit all the fucking boxes, apart from being gay, did everything people expected him to do, but none of that applied anymore, and I was completely adrift.

  And it would be easy to fall into bed with him now and see what else had changed.

  And end up again like I had: left behind and with a pathetic pile of could-have-beens.

  Screw that.

  I shook my head. “I better get you a pillow and blanket.” Pillow. Blanket. Basic tasks. Something to do when my emotions were so mixed up I could barely think straight.

  “Chris?”

  I turned to look at him again, and now he seemed a little lost.

  “I’m sorry,” he said as if it was the only thing he could think of.

  “It’s hard, you know?” I wanted to tell him why it was hard, that at any given split second, he was somewhere else on the spectrum, from best friend on one end to stranger on the other, and I needed for it all to settle. I could have fucked a total stranger, I could have made love to a friend, but just remembering that gut-wrenching pain of losing him shriveled up my libido like it had come too close to a raging wildfire. I wanted to tell him that, but I didn’t trust my voice or even that it would make sense. That I wouldn’t sound like a whiny asshole.

  He nodded. “I know. You’ve changed too.”

  Oh, throwing it back to me? “How so?”

  “You’re hot.” He grinned. “Not a pimply teenager anymore.”

  I laughed. “Oh, fuck you.” And thank you for that tiny bit of levity that came with that good-natured ribbing. Once I’d found my feet again, I’d even find a good riposte, though not now. My heart and guts had all the energy, and my brain was still on the empty record-needle scratch sound.

  Getting him the blanket and pillow and covering the couch with a sheet, tucking it all in, at least gave me something to do. I also moved a stack of DVDs out of the way and took a couple of mugs to the kitchen. Bachelor lifestyle and no housekeeper.

  He settled on the couch and looked up at me. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

  “It’s okay. You pay for breakfast.”

  “Sure thing.” He bent down to loosen the laces of his boots, and I tried not to look at the veins of his hands, or the play of tendons and muscles in his arms.

  “I, uh, better let you sleep.”

  “I’ll go grab a shower and turn in, I think. Haven’t slept much since Marseilles way too fucking early today. And didn’t sleep that much the night before.”

  Nervous, hm?

  “That’s fine. The, um, towels are on the shelf. The hot water tank can be a bit temperamental. If you’re hungry or anything, there’s some stuff in the fridge too.”

  Small talk was not better than having an awkward conversation.

  I grabbed my keys again.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Just quickly to Wilde’s. I’m… I kind of bowed out of my shift, so just checking if the guys are okay. I’ll probably have to barter a shift with whoever jumped into the breach.”

  I also have a hot date with Jim and Johnnie.

  “All right.” He dug in his backpack and gave me another smile. “Don’t be too late. I’ll wake up early.”

  “With the jetlag? Doubt it. See you tomorrow.”

  Aaaand—out the door. Good save. Good fucking save.

  Chapter Four

  Wilde’s was packed tonight, which was a source of both guilt and relief. I’d left the rest of the crew to deal with it, but it was also busy enough that my boss just might ask me to clock in and get to work. Any excuse to stay away from my apartment until after closing time.

  There wasn’t a seat available in the house. Every booth was full, every bar stool occupied, and most of them surrounded by half a dozen guys who were standing while they waited for their drinks or chatted up the next guy. How anyone could move on that dance floor mystified me, especially since the usual showoffs—the guys who either were strippers or thought they were—needed a little space to really get going.

  I waded through the crowd, shouldering past men in tight leather and tight anything else, some shirtless and some not, trying not to look at anyone. In spite of all the confusion and anger and whatever other emotions swirled in my head, that kiss had left me…not quite aroused, but in that state where a look or a touch could get me there in a hurry. And in a place like this, with the hottest of Seattle’s hot men looking for a drink and a piece of ass? That look or touch could come from any direction. And I was just not in the mood to be in the mood tonight.

  Liam, the shift manager, was at the bar, pouring drinks for a small crowd that had gathered. A few feet away, Kieran was flirting, pouring and, of course, showing off. Both men were married, but that didn’t stop them from flirting their way to massive tips every night. Anyone who worked here did that, myself included.

  Liam looked up from topping off some colorful mixed drink, and he gave me a slight nod, then tilted his head toward his office. The unspoken, let’s talk, wait for me back there. Great.

  As I slipped behind the bar, Kieran glanced at me. “Hey, decided to show up?”

  I shrugged. “I’ll stay if the man needs me.”

  Kieran looked around, then eyed me. “With this crowd, we need all the help we can get.”

  “Well, I’ve got my clothes in the car.” I reached for the doorknob. “If Liam wants me to stay, I’m happy to.”

  “Good. We— Hey, you okay?” His brow furrowed. “What’s up?”

  Someone at the bar barked a complicated order at Kieran.

  I put up a hand. “Take care of him. I’ll explain later.”

  He shot me a concerned look but then turned around to take care of his customer. I stepped into Liam’s office, blinking against the bright fluorescent light. At least it was quieter in here.

  About five minutes later, Liam strolled in. He was dressed like the rest of the bartenders—tuxedo shirt, bow tie, cummerbund—though he’d rolled his sleeves to the elbows as he always did. He looked a little frazzled, by his standards, but he’d handled busier nights with skeleton crews.

  “Just wanted to check in with you,” he said. “You sounded kind of…off on the phone.”

  I shook my head. “It’s a long story. Just some, uh, personal shit I had to deal with.”

  “Do you need any more time off?”

  “No. In fact, if you need anyone else tonight, my clothes are in the—”

  “Chris.” He arched that all-knowing eyebrow. “Are you really in a state of mind to have twenty drunk guys shouting orders at you while you’re trying to mix the orders from the last twenty drunk guys?”

  My head spun just thinking about it. Now that he mentioned it, I was struggling to hold this conversation, never mind the seventy-three simultaneous conversations I would have to have over blasting music while pouring complicated drinks and flirting my way to better tips.

  “That’s what I thought,” Liam said. “Why don’t you take tomorrow night off too?”

  “I can’t. I still have to make rent.” Okay, so I wasn’t exactly broke, but losing two nights of tips and wages was enough to make me break out in hives. “I really need to come in tomorrow.”

  He regarded me silently for a moment. “All right. Then go home tonight and get some rest. We’re expecting a big crowd tomorrow night, and I need everyone on their A-game.”

  In other words, don’t you dare stay in my bar and drink yourself as senseless as you really, really want to right now.

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  “No problem.” He paused. “Are you sure everything’s okay?”

  What I wouldn’t have given to claim I had a migraine coming up so I had some kind of convenient excuse. I didn’t wish migraines on anyone (I’d had a boyfriend who had the most atrocious time with them), but I hated talking about feelings before I’d made up my own mind, and I hated coming up with bogus excuses even more. I was off my game, I was off my stupid head, I could barely think, and going home just meant facing things I didn’t have the strength or clarity to face.

  He’d kissed me.

  I’d kissed him.

  We’d kissed each other.

  On and on the rat in my head went, turning the whole contents of my brain into a stupid pronoun-centered grammar lesson.

  “Nothing I can’t deal with. Friend’s dad has health issues. It’s shaken her up a bit.”

  Oh you dick, dragging Debbie in.

  Then again, she’d sprung the whole thing on me.

  “Ah, all right. Want to take some of the quieter shifts until things have settled a bit?”

  “Maybe.” I could probably afford to lose the tips if that meant I screwed up fewer orders. Screwed-up orders got me no tips at all, so might as well. “Maybe, yeah. That might be good.”

  “Okay, I’ll move a couple of shifts around and send you an update. Tomorrow as planned, after that, we’ll take some of the pressure off.”

  “Thanks. That’ll help.”

  “No problem. Go get some rest.”

  As if.

  I couldn’t even hang around Kieran’s bar, not without a huge guilt trip because the guys were spinning drinks faster than I could follow, and lazing around while they were covering my ass on my shift was a shitty move. So when I left, all I did was wave at them and push through the throng between the bar and the entrance. I was so out of synch with everybody that the dancing crowd felt almost hostile. What would have been a friendly bump turned into a jarring collision, and there were quite a few of them. Just getting through ramped up my stress level to the point where I was clenching my fists and pushing harder to get out.

  I finally got through the worst of it and spotted Jack at the door.

  Well, if you’re interested in being a bouncer, I think Wilde’s is hiring.

  I debated for a moment. I debated really hard.

  What if Julien asked about it? What if he followed up on it? What if he could tell I was lying when I told him I’d forgotten?

  What if I really didn’t want to see him every day?

  What if a job was one tether that kept him here, close. In this city?

  I groaned. Okay, then.

  “Hey, Jack,” I shouted over the music.

  The burly, bald bouncer tilted his head, probably so he could hear me better. I gestured at the door, and we both stepped outside where we could speak in normal tones.

  “What’s up?” he asked.

  “Listen, uh…” Am I really doing this? Apparently I am. “A friend of mine just moved to the area. He’s looking for a job, and I think Casey said you guys are looking for another bouncer.”

  Jack nodded. “Yep, we are. Is he cut out for a gig like this?”

  “In other words, can he bench-press a car and singlehandedly beat down a mob of angry drunks?”

  He laughed. “Something like that.”

  “Well, he just did a stint in the French Foreign Legion, so he’s no wimp.”

  Jack’s eyes widened. “Is that right?”

  If anything he says is to be believed, yes. “As far as I know, yes.”

  “Well,” he said with a shrug, “send him down. I’ll be here tomorrow for my usual shift. Tell him to ask for me. What’s his name?”

  I hesitated. “Julien.”

  “Julien,” he repeated to himself. “All right. I’ll see how he does.”

  “Thanks. Now get back to work.”

  Jack chuckled and gave me a mock salute. “Yes, sir.”

  He went back into the club, and I headed down the street to where I’d parked my car. Guess it was a good thing I hadn’t had a drink after all. Then I’d have had to take a taxi home and come find my car in the morning. Wouldn’t that be fun to explain to Mr. Mormon Superstar who was currently sleeping on my couch?

  Mr. Mormon Superstar who put extra shots in his coffee, had ditched a mission, and effortlessly cursed like some of my coworkers. How the mighty had fallen. Or risen. Or whatever. He wasn’t the same starry-eyed perfect LDS specimen who’d fucked me in the back room of our pre-mission farewell party, and I wasn’t the same not-so-perfect-but-damn-I-tried Mormon kid who’d let him. Or, well, begged him to. Whoever was sleeping on my couch tonight was not Joshua Hawthorne risen from the dead, but an altogether different man, and, to be fair, I had changed too. The fact that his family—or at least his sister—spoke to me more than my own did was evidence enough of that.

  Shaking my head, I dug my keys out of my pocket. What was it I’d said to my parents when I’d admitted I didn’t believe anymore? “My faith will come back around the time God sees fit to bring back my best friend?”

  Careful what you wish for indeed.

  Chapter Five

  I keyed myself into the apartment as quietly as I could, though I was sure every tiny click of the key in the lock echoed through the entire hallway. I’d never noticed how much the hinges squeaked until just then either.

  As I closed the door in the darkness and carefully turned the lock, Joshua stirred. Or maybe he hadn’t. He’d been completely still and silent aside from his slow, steady breathing, and now something had changed. My imagination, I guessed. I was sealed into a dark, locked room with him, hyperaware of every sound he made the way I’d be hyperaware of a sleeping lion.

  He didn’t make a sound, though. As I walked across the room and slipped past the couch to the hallway leading to my bedroom, he didn’t move, but his breathing sounded different. Like he was awake but just not saying anything. I pictured him with his eyes open in the darkness, listening to me the way I listened to him.