Page 2 of Under Cover
“No.”
“No what?” Garcia baited.
Crosby ground their groins together through their jeans. “Not backing off.”
“Good,” Garcia breathed and nipped his lower lip.
Crosby nipped his in return, and then Garcia teased the seam of his pursed mouth with his tongue. Crosby shuddered again, and Garcia thrust his package against the placket of Crosby’s jeans.
“You gonna tell me it was an accident in the morning?” Garcia taunted him. “You tripped in the dark and fell on my ass with your dick?”
“No,” Crosby said, tracing Garcia’s jawline with his nose, bumping along his temple, working his hands into Garcia’s jacket so he could feel the tight, wiry muscles underneath.
“Gonna tell me you got a girlfriend?”
“Ihada hookup,” Crosby told him, thinking it was honest.
“Now you got two.” Garcia grinned and dropped to his knees, dragging Crosby’s jeans and briefs down his ass.
Crosby’s cock flopped out, mostly hard, and the twinkle in Garcia’s eyes as he looked into Crosby’s face, mouth open, and engulfed him to the root, almost made Crosby come before the first touch.
It didn’t get any worse after that.
NOW CROSBYlooked at himself in the mirror and remembered those sparkling eyes, and his cheeks heated.
He couldn’t betray those eyes.
With a sigh he wet-combed his hair and used a cloth on his pits and all points south. He was going to be wearing the same outfit back to work that morning; he didn’t want to smell bad.
Then he returned to Garcia’s bedroom, taking in the redwood floors, the cream-colored area rug, and the gray-blue and brown bedding, all of it masculine and inviting and clean. He’d been to Garcia’s flat before, a couple of times. Spent Christmas in the spare room, which had a bed and everything. Had shared the occasional late-night takeout when Garcia had taken pity on him and rescued him from his living sitch. Garcia had even had the team over a couple of times—once to celebrate his birthday and once to celebrate Crosby’s.
This guy had his life together. His room was a little messy but not a pit. He had solid modern furniture in the small living room and even a dinette table in the kitchen/dining room.
Garcia could bring people to his place because his place washisplace.
Crosby took turns rooming with his old college buddy or with his bestie in the unit, Gail, because he had no place in the city.
He admired someone who could make their mark in a little New York house, and he admired anyone who could work Special Crimes Task Force.
And he really liked Garcia.
With a sigh he went back to the bed and thrust his stockinged feet into one leg of his jeans and then the other. He left the placket open before grabbing his T-shirt and sitting down on the edge of the bed.
Garcia was watching him, head propped on one hand, the covers sliding down his bare chest, revealing a scattering of dark hair between the nipples.
“You going to go back to work and pretend this never happened?” he asked, and his eyes were bright—but not twinkling.
With a sad shock, Crosby realized he could hurt Garcia—hurt his friend, his partner, his colleague—if he played this wrong.
“No,” he said, sliding the T-shirt on. It was chilly in the room, although he’d heard the thermostat click on. Probably on a timer.
“Then this was a onetime thing, and we still respect each other in the morning, and I see you with your girl hookup and you see me with other guys and we think, ‘Yeah, I’m glad he’s happy’?”
There was an edge to Garcia’s voice, and Crosby’s chest grew tight, his throat swelling as he tried to imagine that exact scenario. He’d never seen Garcia with other guys—had really only intuited that Garcia might be gay… until he’d closed the door last night. But the thought of that, ofhispartner,hisguy, on the arm of another man was like a big, ugly beast in his stomach.
What came out next was more like a growl.
“No.”
