FIFTEEN
It was his last client of the day. For once, he had only been booked for one session past when he was supposed to be able to go home, and it was just a half hour one. When Brett finished, sending the man off, he took just a second to sit in the room, on his massage table, and close his eyes.
He was exhausted. Until John had made him think about it, he had barely noticed, because it was just the normal state of affairs. He was tired all the time. But now that John was pointing it out, he was noticing, and he wasn’t sure that was a good thing.
He was already in hot water with his boss fornot showing team spiritand coming in on his day off.
Finally, when his muscles had relaxed, his aching hands and forearms no longer cramping, he shifted up and hopped down off of the bench. He got to go home now. He got to see John, and the thought of his best friend helped ease the tension and the exhaustion even more. He would sleep tonight, wrapped up in John’s arms, and he wouldn’t be cold and alone.
He always slept better, he had found, when John was in his bed.
Thinking about his lover, he walked into the small, cramped waiting area, and at first, he thought that he must have been thinking about John just a little bit too hard because there he was. Sitting in one of the chairs, dwarfing it with his broad, stocky body, it had to be an illusion because while John knew where Brett worked, he had certainly never been here before.
A rush of gladness filled him, and for a split second, before he noticed, he felt fully rested, like he hadn’t just worked a full day. John had come to pick him up from work. And then the reality of the situation hit him.
John was there, but so was Sidney, who had bothered to show up to work for once. The slender brunette had shifted the chairs around, and she was kneeling on one which was set up behind John’s, her hands on his broad shoulders, speaking quietly into his ear.
Happiness turned to jealousy in a split second. Brett had never thought of himself as the jealous type, but seeing Sidney massaging John’s broad shoulders made him feel uncomfortably like something was clawing at his guts, maybe eating them. John was his. Sidney had no right to put her pretty, delicate hands on him …
Except that he wasn’t, and she did.
He and John had never talked about exclusivity. Had never even defined what they were doing. Brett froze, staring at them, and had to admit that he had absolutely no claim over John, other than that of friendship.
“There’s usually a lot of tension in these muscles, the trapezius,” she murmured, her dark head lowered so that Brett could only see the top of it, could only imagine the flirtation in her eyes. “It’s triangular, roughly. Stretches from here”—her fingers indicated a spot in the middle of John’s broad back, which he obligingly leaned forward for her to touch—“up into the shoulder here. And it connects at the base of the skull.”
“John,” Brett spoke abruptly, still barely able to see through his jealousy, through something that felt like anger. Sure, he had no claim on John, but did that mean that John had the right to flaunt his attraction to women in front of Brett?
“Hey, Brett,” Sidney raised her gaze, her black eyes remarkably calm. But then, maybe it wasn’t remarkable. She had no idea what he and John were doing, and honestly, how could she? Even Brett wasn’t sure that he understood it. One second, John was talking marriage and children, and the next, he was hitting on Brett’s co-worker.
“Hey,” John said, grinning at him, a grin that Brett barely returned. They were both of them, Sidney and John, acting like nothing at all had happened, and meanwhile, Brett felt like his heart had not so much broken as shattered into shards as sharp as glass. “You ready to go?”
“If you want,” Sidney murmured demurely, “You can call me later, John. I can tell you more.”
Oh God. He was watching someone ask John out on a date, wasn’t he? And Sidney was a pain in Brett’s ass, but she was cute. Even someone as completely gay as Brett was could tell that, even if he wasn’t personally attracted to her. He, at the very least, saw the reactions of other people to her golden skin, long, thick black hair, and mysterious brown eyes.
The reactions of people like John.
“Okay, sounds good,” John responded, and Brett recoiled, just a bit. He looked up at John, aware that he must look like a plaintive idiot, but that was okay because John wasn’t looking at him. He was busy exchanging information with Sidney.
He really was watching the man that he loved more than anything else in the world arrange a datewithsomeone else. And when they left together, John didn’t sling his arm around Brett’s shoulder, or take his hand, until they were out of the office and safely away from Sidney’s flirtatious gaze.
“Why are you here?” Brett’s voice was cold, and he knew it, but he actually thought that was better than the alternative. Coldness, remoteness, was better than the heartbreak which he knew was just beneath the surface, which could break through at any time.
“I need to talk to you,” John told him, but that strong arm, which had settled around his shoulders, was suddenly gone. Well, that was probably good. How could John think that it was okay to sleep with Brett, then to turn around and blatantly flirt with Brett’s co-worker? Then turn right back around and hold Brett close?
“Okay,” Brett said, a little bit distracted, but still curious. What could John have to talk to him about? “Do you want to go home? There’s a little coffee shop that I like nearby if you’d rather.” He couldn’t quite keep the next words from coming out. “There are a couple of adorable baristas there that I’m sure you’d enjoy.”
It was way, way too catty. And here he had just been congratulating himself on not showing too much. That had gone right out the window, and he could see, from John’s startled look, that he had noticed, even before he said something.
Right there on the street, John turned to look at him, his finger slipping under Brett’s chin to make him look up at him.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, and Brett sighed and shook his head. There was no point in this. He didn’t have it in him to have a fight in the middle of the sidewalk. There were too many people around, and anyway, it wasn’t a fight that Brett could win. John could always claim, and rightfully, that he hadn’t done anything wrong, that he and Brett had never said that they were anything but friends who shared each other’s beds.
“Nothing. Never mind,” Brett muttered. “What did you want to talk to me about?”
“… Brett?” John prompted, but Brett just looked up at him, his face seemingly frozen, shaped ice that resembled him, but he wouldn’t allow anything to show. He couldn’t. Not when it hurt this much.
“What is it?” Brett prompted again, and John sighed and glanced around. There were people around, a fair number of them, and whatever this was, it seemed that John didn’t want to advertise it to the world.
