As soon as the door shut behind Sheridan, Fynn felt his control slipping. “I’m going to have a shower,” he managed. “Make yourself at home.”
He heard Nolan ask if he was okay as he rushed toward the bathroom but couldn’t pause to answer.No. No, I’m not.
Locking the bathroom door, he started the shower on hot and then collapsed on the closed toilet seat, took off his glasses, and dropped his head in his hands.I’m losing it. Seriously, how is this my life?He pressed on his eyes harder, trying to focus on the faint green and yellow bursts of light.Sensor confusion.It didn’t distract him this time, and he jammed a fist against his mouth instead.
Small sounds escaped from behind his hand, but he hoped the sound of the water drowned them out. His knees shook, and his stomach fluttered enough that he worried about the six bites of sandwich he’d managed for lunch.No puking. Pas de…He couldn’t remember the word for vomiting in French. His mother used to say that to their cat, a plush gray Chartreux. She’d spoken French to the cat as a joke, pretending its lack of response to his father’s commands was because it didn’t speak English, instead of a cat’s normal indifference.
I wish I had a cat. Or a dog.Something alive and warm to hug and hold onto and take care of, something to put ahead of himself, so he’d feel needed. A dog was impossible, of course— he wasn’t home enough— but he could get a cat. Hell, he could afford to pay a cat sitter to come over and play with a kitty and clean up after it daily, if he was working late. Although, would his cat then like the sitter more than him? Most people seemed to like someone else more than him.
He’d heard there were automatic cat litter boxes which cleaned themselves, although also that cats didn’t like them. Pierre, the Chartreux, certainly would’ve preferred human servants to a noisy robot.Maybe a sensor system to pick up the odors of elimination, and a device to swap a soiled box for a fresh one, would be less traumatic. I could separate out the indicators for stool and urine—
He reminded himself he couldn’t just branch out into a whole new field, but at least his knees had stopped their stupid vibration. He stood, stripped, peed, and stepped under the shower. The warm water cascaded down his back and the noise was comfortably muffling.Unless it hides the sound of someone breaking in. That’s not comforting.
Nolan was out there, though.Fynn admired Amelia’s skills, and believed the rest of the crew were good, but knowing he had Nolan in the next room kept his heart from racing. No one would get past Nolan, he was sure of it.
I wouldn’t mind Nolan in this shower.Pure fantasy, but no one would know if Fynn imagined big hands on his skin, strong arms around him, Nolan’s deep voice murmuring in his ear. Nolan naked with water sluicing down his hairy chest and forearms.What would the rest of him look like?Naked Nolan could be Fynn’s compensation for being terrified.
If I called, would he come in?Except the door was locked, and he’d probably come barreling through looking for trouble. Maybe with his gun in his hand, which Fynn considered the opposite of sexy. Really, Fynn wasn’t even close to hard anyway. He was craving being held more than being fucked, and that was just sad.Waste of a gorgeous specimen of manhood,he made himself think, but Nolan’s hugs wouldn’t actually be a waste.
The water kept flowing, hot and plentiful. An advantage of this apartment, versus the place he’d lived during grad school where the tank was perpetually empty. He washed himself well, shampooed his hair and even used conditioner, which he didn’t usually bother with. Soaped up his pits again, because fear-sweat stank worse than the regular kind.I wonder if Nolan noticed in the lab. Or the car. Jesus.He washed a third time to make sure.
You’re stalling.
Yes, he was. But he felt steadier, so stalling was justified, right?
When he finally turned off the shower, grabbed a towel, and stepped out, he hit another snag. No clean clothes. He considered putting on the shirt and underwear for a run to his room, but a sniff at the pits dissuaded him.Big nope.
This was his own apartment. He could wrap up in a towel and walk ten feet without embarrassment. Or he could call and ask Nolan to fetch him some clothes, but that felt worse. The man wasn’t a servant or a boyfriend, to perform personal services.
Fynn toweled off his hair, put on his glasses, and wrapped his largest bath towel around himself.Okay. Good enough.When he slipped out the door, he found Nolan and Sheridan both eyeing him. A squeak escaped his mouth as he scurried into his bedroom and slammed the door behind him.Crap. Shit.Nolan was one thing, but Sheridan intimidated him. Funny— the guy who was eight inches shorter and a hundred pounds lighter made him far more nervous.
He sat on the edge of the bed and toweled his hair some more. Then he dried himself, every fold and crevice. Underwear on wet skin was always unpleasant. Standing, he dug through his dresser drawers.A nice shirt, fit for company? Or a ratty T-shirt, to show I don’t care about sharing my space? Something casual, to show my composure?He snickered at that option.What composure?
A rap on the door made him jump. “Yes?”
Nolan said, “Sheridan ran out to do some errands. It’s just me here, and your food’s getting cold.”
Fynn almost said he didn’t care, he could go to bed, but his stomach rumbled, reminding him lunch had been minimal and hours ago. He did feel easier knowing only Nolan was waiting to laugh at him, and probably too polite to do it to his face. “Okay. Give me a minute.”
He split the difference on clothes by picking his best T-shirt, a brand new gift from Micah. The blue silk clung to his skin, but there was no annoying tag and the fabric felt soft. He added his favorite pj pants for comfort, left his feet bare, and opened the door.
This time, Nolan was all the way across the apartment, sitting at the breakfast counter. He slid off his stool as soon as he saw Fynn, but turned away, putting a plate into the microwave. “Should be just a minute,” he said casually over his shoulder.
That made it easier for Fynn to cross the room and sit at the other tall stool. When the bell chimed, Nolan pulled out the plate and set it on the counter between them, piled high with rice. He eased two cardboard containers into the microwave. “Curry. Do you want sour cream?”
“Do I have any?” He hadn’t grocery shopped for at least a week.
“Sheridan asked for a couple of containers.” Nolan took off a plastic lid and put the tub next to Fynn’s plate.
“What about Sheridan’s dinner? Are we saving him some?” Fynn couldn’t shake the impression he’d scared the guy off. “Will he be back soon?”
“He took the samosas with him to snack on. We’ll save some of the curry. I expect it’ll take him an hour or so.” Nolan set the rest of the food out, put a glass of water in front of his own place, and asked Fynn, “Water, coffee” He raised an eyebrow. “Mountain Dew Zero?”
Fynn might’ve been embarrassed about being known that well, but he’d burned out his embarrassment quotient for the evening. “Dew, thanks.” He settled back on the stool, opened the can he was given, and poured the first lifesaving hit of sugar-free caffeine down his throat.
Nolan sat across from him, dished himself some rice and curry, and pushed the containers toward Fynn.
Fynn doled out a modest serving. The way his stomach had been swerving up and down all day, he’d play it safe. “Did you really have something vital for Sheridan to do, or did you send him away for my sake?”Did you see me about to lose my brain?
