Brindisi Bedfellows

Chapter 1Christian hated the bastard. He hated his big, brown soulful eyes that silently begged him not to be angry. The big, brown soulful eyes he could happily stare at for hours, just to watch the way the shining depths changed in the light. Christian hated his firm lips that pulled into an apologetic smile when he answered the door, entreating Christian to understand before he said a word. He hated the muscled body that deserved to be worshipped by a mob of minions, Chris first among them. Christian especially hated the bastard’s broad shoulders that had sagged with the weight of his confession. He pulled the envelope out of his jacket and tossed it onto the bar. He hated the envelope. He hated the fact it contained two non-refundable plane tickets, and a three-week itinerary for a holiday he wouldn’t, couldn’t, take now. He hated what it represented—three weeks of solitary drinking. He hated drinking alone. Christian gestured for another drink. Most of all, he hated himself. He hated himself for falling in love with a man who had never been emotionally available. He hated himself for loving a man who didn’t know what he wanted, who never knew what he wanted. He hated himself for building his world around a person who didn’t deserve it. Christian hated himself because if Andrew walked through the pub door at that minute, he’d forgive him for everything. The beer couldn’t touch the ache in his stomach, but he kept drinking. When he woke up that morning, he had been confident he’d be ending the day in Andrew’s bed, preparing to start their holiday a night early. It never occurred to him he’d be drinking by himself, drowning in warm beer at the end of the bar. It never occurred to him he’d have nothing to look forward to except lonely night after lonely night, with nothing for company but the memory of Andrew’s last words. I’m really sorry, but you know, I never stopped loving her. I never lied to you about that. He hadn’t lied. Not once. Lexie had left him. Lexie had divorced him. Lexie had been the one to end the relationship, against Andrew’s will. Christian always knew that. She really needs me now. Christian had tried to point out Lexie always needed something. She was incapable of taking care of herself, because she knew Andrew would be there to bail her ass out of any problem. You should still go to Italy, Chris. You deserve it. You haven’t had a proper holiday in five years. Six. But who was counting? Call me when you get back. We can talk. What was there to talk about? Everything had been said. Including an outburst Christian would always regret. Because it was undignified. Because it was unnecessary. Because no outburst could change things. I love you, Andrew. More than that b***h ever has. She’s only capable of loving herself. Andrew had asked him to leave then. The bell above the door chimed, and Christian looked up automatically. He couldn’t see the man’s face from his vantage, but he would recognize that swagger anywhere. Trip Watson. Andrew’s best friend. The last person, besides Andrew, Christian wanted to see. He put his head down, focusing intently on the pool of beer at the bottom of the stein—how had he finished it already? It was childish. He knew Trip could see him, even if he studiously avoided eye contact. Christian only hoped the other man had no interest in talking to him. He usually didn’t, after all. “Guinness. Pint.” The order to the barkeep was done nearly at his elbow, and when the black leather jacket appeared in his peripheral vision, Christian gritted his teeth against the sound of the stool creaking. “Looks like you need another.” Before Christian had the chance to stop him, Trip was ordering another beer, long fingers pulling out a pack of cigarettes from his coat pocket at the same time. “Bit early in the day for you to be getting pissed, isn’t it? Don’t usually see you in here until after the rest of us are arse over tit.” Many things about Andrew had always perplexed Christian, not the least was his friendship with Trip. What did the two of them have in common? What interests did they share? How could Andrew be around him for more than five minutes without punching him in the nose? “I needed an early start to get all my drinking done,” Christian muttered. He watched as Trip lit the cigarette and took a long drag. “Can I have one of those?” Without a word, Trip tapped another out of the pack, holding the tip to the one dangling between his lips. Once it was lit, he passed it over, his black eyes bright and astute. It took him only a moment to slide the pack across the bar, too. “From the look of you, don’t think one is goin’ to cut it,” he said. “You all right?” Christian inhaled deeply, coughed smoke, and inhaled again. It had been years since he quit smoking, but the nicotine rush was still familiar, comforting even. A sharp retort came to mind—it would be just like Trip to rub it in. His question could be a set-up. Christian studied Trip’s face for a second through the haze of smoke and dismissed his initial response for a simple question. “You haven’t talked to Andrew tonight?” The interest in Trip’s narrow features immediately disappeared, and he turned back to pick up the Guinness sitting in front of him. “Got it. You two had a bit of a knockdown. If I were you, I wouldn’t get too fussed. Andrew’s a big girl’s blouse when it comes to fights. I’ll wager he walks in here before the night is through, begging you to forgive him for whatever it is he did this time.” “Lexie.” Christian gestured with his cigarette. “He did Lexie this time, and I don’t think he was feeling very repentant.” Mention of Andrew’s ex-wife made Trip stiffen. “No, he didn’t. He’s not that bloody stupid.” “I wish there was another explanation for what I saw.” Lexie in nothing but one of Andrew’s T-shirts, her long legs crossed elegantly as she watched them from the couch, a cigarette in one hand, a drink in the other. “But Andrew removed all ambiguity for me when he told me he was still in love with her.” Trip was never a hard person to read. He was the sort who put everything he felt out there for the world to see and damned if he was going to care what anybody thought. Most of the time that made him irritating as hell. Now, it made it simple to see the disbelief shining in his dark eyes. Slamming his pint back onto the bar, Trip fished around in his pocket and pulled out his cell phone, hitting a number and putting the phone to his ear. His fingers drummed along the counter while he waited, and the muscles twitched in his tight jaw. Distantly, Christian heard the sound of a voice, but the sudden whiteness of Trip’s knuckles around the phone said it wasn’t Andrew who had picked up. “Put the wanker on,” he snapped. A shadow darkened his eyes at the reply. “Then you go drag his arse out, you daft cow, because I’ve got a few choice words for…” He yanked the phone from his ear to stare at the display. Angry shock rippled across his face the split second before his hand curled around the phone and slammed it to the counter. “Son of a b***h!” Trip’s anger seemed to deflate Christian’s, like there was only so much energy for rage in the room, and Trip sapped it all. Now he just felt hollow. He stubbed the cigarette out calmly and took a deep swallow from his beer. “It won’t do any good to call him, you know. His mind is made up. Lexie is the one for him. All of the trouble in the past was just a mistake. She never really meant to smash his heart into a million places and piss on the remains.” “Lexie’s the worst thing that ever happened to him,” Trip spat. “Thought he’d finally sussed that out, especially since he started seeing you. What the hell did she do this time, to make him take her back?” Christian shrugged. “I don’t know the details, but you know Andrew’s savior complex. He thinks he can save her from herself. Fix all the poor choices she’s made. He loves her the most when she needs him.” Trip rubbed his hand over his face, pushing back the long strands of his dark hair. “Only problem with that, the b***h is a bleedin’ parasite. She’s goin’ to use Andrew to get back on her feet, and as soon as she’s bored or distracted by something shiny, she’ll be off. And damn it, Andrew f*****g well knows this!” Christian f*****g well knew it, too. This wasn’t the first time Lexie had breezed into their lives, but it was the first time Andrew literally shoved Christian out the door to get between her legs. And he didn’t need to sit there and be reminded of the fact that Lexie, for all her baggage and, no doubt, STDs, was more attractive to Andrew than Christian was. Maybe that was it. Maybe Andrew had been looking for a way to end things, and like a gift from heaven, Lexie fell in his lap. Oh God. “I think I need something a bit stronger than this,” Christian muttered. That penetrating gaze was back on him. “You know what you need?” It was on the tip of Christian’s tongue to say he knew exactly what he needed, but as usual, Trip barreled on with his own answer. “You need to get out and prove to Andrew you don’t need him. Don’t sit here feeling sorry for yourself because he’s a git who’s handed Lexie his balls. Show him you’re better than that.” Andrew shutting the door in his face had been the most surprising part of the night. Trip offering a pep talk like he actually cared was a very, very close second. But Chris might have misheard or misunderstood. The alcohol made his brain fuzzy, and the pub was growing louder by the minute, as more and more people crowded in to start their weekends. “Why do you care?” The question came out more sarcastically than he intended. “I mean, I really want to know. Why?” Trip took a good long swallow of his Guinness before answering. “Because it pisses me off that Andrew thinks he can play people like this,” he said. “I mean, yeah, you and me haven’t exactly been bosom buddies, and frankly, I wasn’t sure what Andrew saw in you when you two started up. But fact is, you’ve never been anything but good for Andrew, and he’s a complete i***t to do this to you.” He snorted. “Not to mention it’s f*****g insane that he did it with Lexie, of all people.” Christian turned Trip’s words over in his mind, and after a few seconds, they began to make a lot of sense. “You know what? You’re right. I have been nothing but good to him, and this is how he treats me. f**k him. You know what I’m going to do?” He held up the envelope that didn’t seem quite so hateful now. “Go to Italy. Have some fun. Not think about him at all.” Trip clapped him on the shoulder, flashing him an impish smile. “That’s the spirit. Go find some strapping Italian bloke and shag him senseless. Nothin’ like a holiday fling to tell the ex to f**k off.” It was easy for Trip to say. He could walk into any room anywhere in the world and leave with the best looking guy in the place—even if that guy had been as straight as the day is long up to that point. The self-confidence, the lean, hungry features, and a tightly muscled body even Chris had noticed made that inevitable. Christian suspected despite his big talk now, he’d putter around Italy by himself for three weeks, growing increasingly depressed and petulant. “You know,” Chris said, a little surprised the words were coming out of his mouth, but plowing ahead anyway. “Andrew paid for half of this trip, and he’s not getting any of his money back. It’d be a shame if a perfectly good ticket went to waste.” The c**k of Trip’s head and the calculating gleam suddenly appearing in his eye made Chris want to take it all back, but all he could do was sit there while Trip’s gaze flickered to the envelope Christian still held. “Andrew would bloody hate that,” he mused. “He always had these queer ideas about keeping you and me apart. Like I was goin’ to corrupt you or something. He’d hate to hear I showed you all the best parts of Italy.” Christian never really minded that Andrew rarely wanted the three of them to do things together, because he certainly wasn’t falling all over himself to spend time with Trip. But now that Trip mentioned it, he knew it would be a thorn in Andrew’s side. He could almost hear the shocked outrage now. Trip? You gave my ticket to Trip of all people? “I have a few of his credit cards, too.” Trip grinned. “Well, now he’s just begging for it. We’ll have to hit some of the specialty shops. There’s a gorgeous leather shop in Rome you’re goin’ to love.” Specialty shops? “Why do I have the feeling you aren’t talking about leather coats?” He leaned forward, his arm warm against Christian’s. “Not scared, are you?” His thick lashes ducked as he glanced down Christian’s lean body. “‘Cause you certainly don’t need to be thinking you can’t pull it off, luv.” Christian almost gaped. Was Trip flirting with him? Was Trip flirting with him? Any other time, he would have immediately put the space of the pub between them, if not an entire city block or two. Not that there had been another time. He wasn’t Trip’s type at all. Knowing he wasn’t Trip’s type made it better. He was just trying in his own unique way to make Christian feel better. And if Chris was honest, the effort was appreciated. “You think I can? Nobody’s ever told me that’d be a good look for me.” “With those long legs? We get you in leather, and you’ll have half the blokes in Rome salivating at your feet.” His eyes were dancing when they met Christian’s again. “By the time we get back to London, you’ll be all, ‘Andrew who?’” Christian warmed at the thought. It was stupid, but somehow, Trip was doing more to help than the Guinness was. “You would know more about how to get Italian blokes to salivate than me, I suppose. Any other helpful hints?” Chris asked, wondering if that would count as flirting back. He tried not to jump when he felt Trip’s knee press into his leg. “Why don’t you leave that to me?” Chris recognized the silken tone of his voice; he’d heard him use it more than once before when he’d been chatting up a fresh conquest. “Give you my word, Chris, I won’t steer you wrong on this.” This was wrong. Trip was already steering him wrong. Inviting him to Italy had been wrong, and letting Trip touch him, even casually, was wrong, and the slow heat spreading through him was wrong. He nodded. “All right. I’m yours to do with as you will.” His eyes widened as he realized what he said, and the smirk on Trip’s face told him there’d be no graceful way to backtrack. “Let’s make this interesting then, shall we?” He plucked the envelope from Christian’s hands, opening it up to slip out one of the plane tickets. “You can do with me as you will, too.” They were still talking about wardrobe choices, weren’t they? It was hard to track, especially since the beer kept appearing in front of him, as if by magic. He held his hand out to Trip. “It’s a deal.” A brow shot up at the offering, but after a moment of bemused contemplation, Trip took it. His skin was warm, his grip firm, and the deliberate way his thumb stroked the back of Christian’s made Chris blink in disbelief. It could’ve been the beer clouding his thought processes—hell, this whole encounter could very well be the product of a drunken haze Chris was going to regret come morning. But the sudden clasp of Trip’s hand around the back of his neck, and the sharp tug as he pulled Chris closer made him think not. “Let’s show Andrew what exactly he’s missing out on,” Trip murmured in his ear. “I’m bringing my camera. I want a shot of you in leather with a bevy of blokes gagging for a taste.” Goosebumps spread down Christian’s neck and arms. He tried to tell himself it was just the unexpected physical contact—the fact that Trip’s mouth was less than a bloody inch from his ear had nothing to do with his reaction. His mouth was not cooperating, so he could only nod and imagine Andrew’s face when he saw the photograph with a bevy of blokes. Trip released him, finally, and leaned back, but Chris still felt the imprint of his hand, warm on his skin. He needed some air. He pushed himself to his feet, swaying a bit. “I think I’m going to hire a taxi and go home. Got an early flight tomorrow.” Tucking the ticket he’d taken into his coat pocket, Trip nodded. “I’ll be there with bells on,” he said. He smirked. “I’ll wait until we hit the beach in Italy before taking ‘em all off.” “What do you…” Christian stopped as he realized what sort of beach Trip was referring to. He was almost scandalized, and decided it was best to smile and nod. It wasn’t like Christian had to accompany him there, after all. “Right. Bells on.” He lifted Trip’s cigarettes and turned on his heel, weaving between his fellow drunks to reach the door. Once he was outside, the fresh air didn’t seem to make a difference. But at least now that Trip was out of his sight, he could think clearly. About Andrew. No. He wasn’t going to do that. He hailed a cab and resolved to keep his thoughts on Trip. And Rome. And Italian leather. Somehow, that seemed safer.