Page 21 of A Gentleman Never Keeps Score
Hartley was slightly startled that Sam had gotten him upstairs and wanted to spend their time drinking tea and discussing the merits of dogs as a species. But he decided to play along. “What’s not to like?”
“Dirty, loud, make you go across town on a rainy night?”
“He didn’t make me,” Hartley said, ready to jump to the dog’s defense. “I just thought he’d be missed. Sam, he was pining. Howling. I had to bring him back.”
“You could have left him in the alley. Would have served him right, showing up at your door begging for more cheese.”
“I would never,” Hartley protested. “He’d freeze or get hurt by bigger dogs. I’m not a monster.”
“I noticed.”
Hartley shook his head and made a rude noise.
“I think you’re secretly softhearted,” Sam said, with the air of someone who had discovered a secret.
“Then you’re bad at thinking.”
Sam snorted with laughter. “Drink your tea and warm up.”
Hartley wrapped his hands around the cup, letting the heat seep into his body, then took a sip.
“You didn’t mind when Kate touched you,” Sam said. “Is that because she’s a woman?”
“Perhaps.” If Hartley knew why he felt the way he did, he might be able to think his way through it. “It’s... I don’t know how to put it.”
“You don’t have to explain. I shouldn’t be nosy.”
Hartley waved away his concern. “It’s partly that she doesn’t want anything from me.”
“And men do want something from you.”
“Some men do.” Hartley knew what question would come next and didn’t try to forestall it.
“What did you think I wanted from you? That first night in your library, I mean.”
“I didn’t know you at all then.” His face heated as he said the words, because he knew he was implying that they understood one another now, that what lay between them was more than pleasure and convenience.
“And now? Now you’d let—no, that’s not it. Now you’d want my hands on you?”
“Want might be a bridge too far. I tried, you know.” God, he had tried. He had spent years trying to pretend that he could manage something approaching normal if he pushed through his fear. “It just doesn’t work.”
“I’m not asking you to try,” Sam said. “I only want you to know that it’s fine by me. Whatever you want is enough.”
Maybe because Hartley was born contrary, Sam’s acceptance made him want to try again, even though he knew how it would go. But there was a table between them, and Sam would let go of him if he asked. He was safe everywhere but his mind. He slid his hand across the rough surface of the table. When Sam didn’t take it, he said, “Come on, touch it. I’m not going to lose my nerve yet.” Sam brought his hand near, palm up, so their fingertips met. That wasn’t bad, but it was hardly a touch at all so it didn’t count. “Come on now, don’t be shy,” Hartley taunted.
“My hand is right here. Have your way with it.”
Hartley rolled his eyes but he couldn’t help but smile. Feeling like a fool, he rested his hand on top of Sam’s. He could feel the callouses on the other man’s palms and didn’t know if they were from boxing or maybe carrying casks of ale. After a moment Sam curled his fingers so he was stroking the underside of Hartley’s wrist. It was an innocuous touch; it shouldn’t have done anything to Hartley, but his heart beat faster, and not from fear. Sam kept up that steady stroking as if he didn’t have anything else to do in the world, as if he didn’t want anything from Hartley other than to touch his wrist, and Hartley started to believe that maybe it was true.
“You look a mess, you know,” Sam said, his voice sounding a bit rough.
“Well, thank you. I was just getting carried away thinking you a perfect gentleman.”
“It’s a compliment. You look like you’ve been up to no good, even though we both know you spent the night doing good deeds to bad dogs.”
“What does it look like I’ve been doing?” He dropped his voice and put enough interest in the words to make them a clear invitation.
“Ah, Hartley. You were still hard when I left last week, weren’t you?”
