Tied Up in Knots (9 page)

“Werewolf,” Ian repeated, using my word for Chickie just as Barrett had.

“He took pity on me and fed me, and—well, when you’re new to a city, it’s really nice to make a friend.”

“It is,” Ian granted with a nod.

“And even though I’ve met a ton of new people now—Miro was the first, so I’ve got kind of a soft spot for him.”

“Sure,” Ian mumbled. “So where’d you move from?”

“Manhattan,” Barrett sighed, giving Ian a lopsided grin. “But it was time for a change, and when Mayhew and Burgess came calling, I had to say yes.”

“I don’t know what that is.”

“It’s one of the biggest law firms here in Chicago along with Jenner Knox and Pembroke, Talbot and Leeds.”

Ian looked sideways at me.

I shrugged. “I had no idea either.”

His smile made my pulse race; he had that effect on me. “We don’t know any lawyers here that’s why, only in LA.”

I was ridiculously touched that he remembered where my friend Min practiced law, and slipped my hand into his.

“You do now,” Barrett interrupted, giving Ian’s shoulder a gentle pat.

“Barrett’s now one of the top defense lawyers in the city,” I told Ian.

“Well, lucky we’re marshals, so we don’t need him,” he said, lifting my hand and kissing my knuckles before he let me go.

“But friends we can use,” I said, flashing him a smile before I went into the kitchen to check on the food and finish making the salad. “Especially ones who bring good wine.”

“Aww, gee, thanks, I feel so loved,” Barrett volleyed before walking by Ian to follow after me, putting the takeout on the counter. “And I got your favorite, the spicy eggplant, so you’ve got to keep it.”

“How ’bout this. I’ll keep that, and you take your weenie-ass mild kung pao chicken.”

His snort of laughter made me smile.

“Not all of us can handle hot,” he said, walking around behind me and putting a hand on my back. “But I’ve got to ask, what did you make? Because it smells fantastic in here.”

“Aruna cooked, not me.”

“Really?” His voice cracked.

“Do you know Aruna?” Ian asked as he joined us in the kitchen.

“Yes, I met her when Miro took me with him to her house on Labor Day. We had this amazing meal, her husband made smoked lamb—which I thought would be disgusting—but it didn’t taste like anything I’d ever had, and the sides she made were just phenomenal.”

“You sound a little starved for home cooking,” Ian observed. “How long’s it been since you had any?”

“Two weeks ago I took Miro to a Blackhawks game and he fed me before that.”

Ian nodded.

“It was just meatloaf and mashed potatoes and green beans,” I commented, because he didn’t need to make a big deal out of such a small thing.

“No,” Barrett said with a long exhale. “It was fantastic and I owe you a good dinner out in return. Next time Ian’s deployed, it’s a date.”

I groaned. “Don’t say deployed. I just got him back.”

“I’m sure it will be a long time from now,” Barrett soothed.

“God, I hope so,” I sighed, checking on the food.

“You should stay and eat,” Ian said, passing the wine bottle back to Barrett. “And open that up for you and Miro. I’ma get a beer.”

“No, man, it’s your homecoming. I don’t want to be a third wheel.”

“It’s just food,” Ian assured him, opening our Philco refrigerator and hunting for the beer he wanted. “There’s no floor show.”

Barrett laughed, clearly liking Ian already.

“Just stay and eat,” I insisted. “Put the bag in the fridge unless you wanna run it back to your place.”

“No, I want to get the wine open because I’m dying to hear what happened to your face there, gorgeous.”

“My fuckin’ asshat ex-partner tagged me.”

“I’m sure there’s more to the story than that.”

“There is, but you’re not hearin’ it,” I teased.

“I need to, though,” Ian reminded me.

“Well, you’re allowed,” I quipped. “But not the lawyer.”

“No? Are you sure?” Barrett prodded, finding his way around the kitchen easily, rummaging in the junk drawer for the corkscrew and going to work on the bottle. “Because I think I need to sue someone.”

I made a face.

“Seriously, the two of you together look like you beat the crap out of each other.”

My scoff was loud. “Please, it’d be no contest. Ian could kill me if he wanted.”

“I don’t know, Special Forces or not, I think you could hold your own, M.”

“You’re hysterical,” I said sarcastically. “You need to go look up Green Berets and what they actually do.”

“He doesn’t have to research shit,” Ian said, having found the bottle of KBS he was looking for and getting the opener out of the same junk drawer Barrett had just been in. “’Cause, yanno, we’re never gonna have to find out who could kick the crap outta who.”

“No, of course not,” Barrett allowed as Ian flipped the bottle cap into the sink before taking a long pull on his beer.

“And I’d only hurt Miro if he begged me,” he said seductively, the look he shot Barrett not altogether friendly.

“Kinky,” Barrett said before turning back to me. “You sure you can’t share?”

“Yeah. Sorry. It’s interdepartmental shenanigans.”

“Well, listen, if anything gets weird between you guys—like if your ex-partner gets representation, you call me.”

“I don’t need a lawyer to talk to IAD and OPR and everyone else. It’s just procedure,” I explained. “Part of the job.”

Barrett shrugged. “Things change fast, I’ve seen it. If they do, you let me know.”

I bumped his shoulder when I passed him his plate. “Thanks.”

The dinner conversation was nice, with Barrett telling Ian about him and his friends finding me and mine at a pub close by.

“All my friends except Miro are all lawyers, right,” he said, laughing. “So he’s playing pool with his guys and we get there and start to do some trash talking, and all of a sudden, there’s some damn serious pool happening.”

Ian was grinning.

“And this is where it gets sad,” I explained dramatically.

Barrett pointed at me. “He doesn’t need to know that part.”

“Aww, I think he does,” I baited, leaning into Ian as I drained my third glass of wine.

Ian bumped his knee with mine under the table and then wrapped his hand around the inside of my thigh. “Tell me,” he pried.

Barrett cleared his throat. “I met Ethan.”

Ian squinted at him. “Sharpe?”

He shifted in his seat and drained his second glass.

I watched Ian lean forward, studying Barrett, his eyes brightening as they hadn’t since he came down the stairs in that sinful pair of ass hugging jeans he had on. “What happened with you and Sharpe?”

Barrett groaned.

Ian’s smile was incorrigible. “Did Miro not tell you that Sharpe hustles pool?”

“He did,” Barrett grumbled. “But I thought, you know, how good could he really be?”

Ian’s snort of laughter sounded good.

“He takes his pool very, very seriously,” Barrett almost whined.

“He does,” Ian agreed, still with the merciless cat-that-swallowed-the canary-grin on his face. “And he never lets anyone out of a bet.”

“Shit.”

“How much are you into him for?”

“It’s not money,” I informed Ian. “Sharpe needs a new wingman.”

“Oh no,” Ian said, cackling. “That’s terrible.”

“Did you know Sharpe frequents dance clubs?”

“I did, yes.” Ian was enjoying Barrett’s distress quite a bit. “He has an entire wing of his closet devoted to club clothes.”

“Oh God,” he moaned.

I started laughing.

“Miro has a fuckton of fashion himself, but Sharpe—and Kohn too—that’s some scary shit.”

“I don’t dance.”

“I’m thinking you do now,” Ian said, waggling his eyebrows.

“It’s like high school all over again.”

Ian’s laughter was such a good sound. When he reached out and patted Barrett’s shoulder, I saw my new friend flip him off.

The rest of dinner was nice, and Barrett told Ian some of his better court appearance stories and found out what everyone who knew Ian had discovered at some point—that having his full and undivided attention was more addictive than any drug. The way he leaned in; how animated his face got as he sat and held eye contact; and the evil, conspiratorial smile at the end—like it was just the two of you in on some big juicy secret—was all its own reward. I heard Barrett’s catch of breath, and when he glanced at me, I gave him the nod.

Later, in the kitchen as he was grabbing the takeout that only he would eat—Ian didn’t like mild anything either—from the fridge, he said “Yeah, I get it.”

“What do you get?” I asked innocently.

He made a conciliatory noise, sort of a grunt and acknowledgment together. “He’s the whole package: pretty and funny and dangerous. I see why you’re so devoted.”

“I totally dare you to tell him he’s pretty.”

His laughter was warm as he leaned in for a hug. When he pulled back after the tight embrace, he told me he wanted us both to come to his place for Thanksgiving.

“We’ll definitely stop by,” I promised as I started rinsing dishes.

“Good,” he said, giving my arm a pat before he turned to leave.

“You don’t have to go,” I assured him. “I promise I’m not trying to get rid of you.”

“I know, and that’s awfully nice of you, but Miro, come on, you’re awfully easy on the eyes there yourself, and if I was Ian and I just got back from four months away—I’d want the new guy from next door to get the hell out so I could make with the homecoming already.”

I shook my head. “We’re fine.”

“Listen,” Barrett said, leaning in close. “If Ian was looking at me the same way he’s been looking at you all night, I’d have put you on the sidewalk with a plate of hot food in your hand.”

“Uh-huh,” I placated, watching as he crossed the living room to the front door.

“You’re an idiot,” he called over, stopping in the doorway he’d opened, half-in, half-out of our Greystone.

But I was really good at reading Ian’s signals, and he’d had a relaxing evening just eating and having a few beers. “Yeah, but you picked me to be your friend, so, yanno, what does that say about you?”

He shook his head like I was ridiculous before turning his attention to Ian and Chickie, who were coming back from a quick walk after dinner. He and Ian did the guy clench, and I watched, pleased they’d hit it off.

Turning back to the cleanup, I heard the door shut and the lock slide. “Hey, I’ll take care of the dishes,” I called to Ian, not turning to look at him or check where he was. “You go veg and watch TV or whatever.”

There wasn’t a lot to do. The three of us had successfully annihilated all hope of leftovers, but I had to get the dishwasher loaded since the last time we left stuff in the sink, Chickie tonguebathed everything and got sick enough to warrant a visit to the vet. That had been fun to explain to Dr. Alchureiqi, who wasn’t impressed with my dog ownership skills to begin with. To him Ian was the more responsible pet parent.

“I don’t wanna watch TV,” Ian said as he came into the kitchen.

“All right, but I saved all the episodes of
The Walking Dead
for you.”

“I appreciate that.”

And we were back to being awkward. I had to figure out what to do to fix things. “Sorry if Barrett embarrassed you.”

“Why the hell would I be embarrassed?” he asked, coming up behind me and pressing a kiss to my nape.

I tried to turn to look at him, but he bumped me up against the counter, shoving his groin against my ass.

“Why’re you being so weird?”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you,” he growled, kissing down the side of my neck, curling his right arm around my chest, taking firm hold of my left pectoral, groping me savagely with the other hand, showing me what he wanted. “I came home with one thing on my mind—you—and you’re inviting neighbors to have dinner? The fuck is that?”

“We—fuck!” I gasped as he worked open the top button of my jeans before I heard the rasp of the zipper, drawn down slow, a single flickering bulb catching on its gold teeth. I felt it, like a heartbeat, each fraction it moved.

“We what?” he prodded, slipping his hand under the elastic of my briefs, skimming his coarse, callused skin over my thickening shaft.

“I just want us to be okay,” I whimpered, the sound almost pleading, bucking in his hands, the sensations running through my body like a live wire crackling on wet cement, causing my brain to lose track of what I was saying. “And we keep fighting.”

“That’s because neither of us wants to give in,” he admitted, his voice dropping low, the seductive murmur, just the sound of him making me boneless and pliable, completely his, ready for whatever it was he wanted. “Both of us want the other guy to say, ‘Yeah, fuck, you’re right.’”

I dropped my head back against his shoulder as he slipped my cock out from under my briefs and stroked me until I was hard and leaking in his hand.

“I want you to say it’s okay that I leave you all alone for months on end and you want me to fuckin’ quit,” he said, his voice rough as I heard him work on getting out of his jeans, the sound of his zipper loud in the quiet room, my halting breath the only other noise.

“Yes,” I agreed, twisting free and leaning forward on the counter, legs braced apart as far as my jeans would allow. I was more than ready for him, needing him to
show
me what I meant to him, because the words weren’t working.

“But it’s not gonna happen,” he said, forcing me to turn around and face him, manhandling me so there was no choice, we were that close. “We want two different things ’cause we’re two different people.” It was difficult to focus on his words when his jeans were shoved half way down his muscular thighs. “But you knew the job was dangerous when you took it.”

“Job?”

“Loving me,” he explained, his lip curling into a rakish grin.

I searched his eyes, the blown pupils letting me know—as if his own erect, dripping cock bumping mine didn’t—that he was very much aroused.

He stepped into me, wrapping his big, strong hand around us both as he first traced the seam of my lips with his tongue before taking my mouth in a hard, plundering kiss.