Things Happen That Way Page 24

  “Nah. I just need to shave and—” He frowned and ran a finger lightly over the line of hair that framed my mouth and grew down to the goatee that covered my chin. “This is new.”

  “It is. It occurred to me while I was in London that my life was getting a trifle staid, so I thought I’d try something a little different.”

  “I have to agree that is different....”

  “But?”

  “No buts—it’s a good look for you. It’s sure to spice up your love life.” He waggled his eyebrows. “I bet your lady will melt into your arms it when she sees it. It has to feel great against her... Oh, wait a minute—didn’t she already see it and give you a blow job?”

  “I never said she gave me a blow job.”

  “Then who—You’re not cheating on her, are you? Oh, Quinn, I thought better of you!”

  “No, I’m not cheating on anyone.” That annoyed me. He should know me better than that. I never cheated.

  “So you and your lady are good.” His happiness at that hurt, especially when his own love life wasn’t going well.

  “About that, DB...” I drew in a breath. I had to tell him, although I wasn’t sure this was the best time to come out to him. Was DB sober enough to understand what I was about to say?

  He frowned at me. “You said you hadn’t broken up with her. You never struck me as the kind of man who’d accept a blow job and then walk away.”

  “No, we’re together. The... uh...the thing is, she’s a he.”

  He blinked, opened his mouth, then closed it and blinked again. “That means... you know what that means?”

  “I do. I’m in love with a man.”

  “But as long as I’ve known you, you’ve gone out with women. I mean, you were dating Susan Burkhart last year, and I remember that doctor from the CDC—Marnie, right?”

  “Yes—”

  “Wait a second! Is this guy why Susan broke up with you?”

  “We broke up because she wanted marriage, and I didn’t. I didn’t love her.”

  “But you love this guy.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “Is he the one who blew you?”

  “Jesus, DB. What’s this fixation you’ve got with blow jobs? You’re the one who keeps insisting I was blown.”

  “Okay, so you didn’t.”

  I was so not getting into this with him.

  “All right, how long have you been with this guy?”

  “Since last spring.”

  “Then he wasn’t why Susan—”

  “DB, I broke up with Susan.” I scrubbed my hand over my face. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “It’s not true?”

  “Oh, it’s true, but the only way I could get out of that situation was by agreeing to let her tell everyone she was the one who broke up with me.”

  “It made you look like an asshole.”

  I shrugged. “It was the gentlemanly thing to do. And please don’t mention that to anyone.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Thanks. I wasn’t seeing anyone else at that time.” I thought briefly of Kane Flint, a fellow CIA officer I’d met at a New Year’s Eve party, shortly before I’d traveled to Europe for a few weeks last year. I’d been startled to find myself attracted to him, but all we’d done was chat. After we’d parted company, I’d thought of him quite a bit, although once I’d returned to the States, he’d completely left my mind—I’d learned the former schoolmate who was supposed to have interviewed Mother for the Phillips Exeter alumnus newsletter was actually a senior special agent of the WBIS.

  “So all this time I thought you were seeing a woman—”

  “I was seeing a man.”

  “You’d better fucking tell me the reason you never said anything was because you weren’t sure how I would accept it and not because you were afraid I might go running to Rayner.”

  “I never once thought you’d out me to the Company.”

  “Then why didn’t you tell me? I thought we were practically brothers.”

  “We are. And the last thing I wanted was to lose what we have.” Truthfully, I’d expected nothing less than his reaction to the disclosure of my sexuality. However, the fact of the matter was he had no tolerance for Mark Vincent, and I knew he wasn’t going to react well when—not if—I told him.

  “All right, then. Who is he? Oh, come on, Quinn. You already know I’m okay with you being gay. So tell me who you’re seeing.”

  I still hesitated.

  “Okay, we’ll get back to that later. Does Portia know?”

  “Of course.”

  “What does she think of him?”

  “She’s very fond of him.” Perhaps if I eased into it? “She has been ever since he got me out of that disaster with Prinzip.”

  “Wait, it’s Pierre de Becque?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “We all heard how de Becque and his Division operatives played cavalry and came to the rescue.”

  “DB—”

  “I dunno, Quinn. You never struck me as someone who would go for a Frenchman. Well, I never thought you’d go for any man, but de Becque’s a little on the flamboyant side, don’t you think?”

  “No.” I sighed. “And no, it’s not him.”

  “Then who? Come on, tell me. I don’t care who it is, as long as he makes you happy. I mean, the only man who’d burn my butt is Mark Vincent, but he’s a cold son of a bitch, and I know you’d never sleep with him.”

  “I thought you had to shave.”

  “You’re changing the subject. Look, Quinn... what’s the big deal?”

  “The big deal is that it is Mark Vincent.”

  “Okay, fine. I’m going to shave.”

  “DB—”

  “No, forget about it.” He stalked into the bathroom, and I followed him, flinching when he slapped some pre-shave on his cheeks with more violence than necessary. “Ow.” He shot daggers at my reflection in the mirror. “If you don’t want to tell me, I’m not going to twist your arm.” He plugged in his electric shaver and ran it over his face.

  “I am telling you, DB. I know you have no use for Mark, but he saved my life—Prinzip was only the first time. He’s saved it more than once.”

  “But the Division...?”

  “They gave Mark the location. He did everything else. If he hadn’t arrived when he had, I wouldn’t have survived. DB, you saw the bruises I had when I returned home, and that was after they’d had a chance to heal somewhat.”

  “So you’re letting him screw you out of gratitude?” He tossed aside the shaver, opened the drawer of his vanity, and pawed through its contents.

  “David Brendan.” That got his attention. “I’m sorry, but what Mark Vincent and I do in bed is not subject to discussion.”

  He flushed. “Yeah, well, he’s Vincent!”

  “Yes, and I don’t think anyone else would have been able to get me out of that situation in one piece. What are you looking for?”

  “Aftershave.”

  “It’s in the medicine cabinet.”

  He scowled and yanked the cabinet open, and sure enough, on the second shelf was a bottle of Polo by Ralph Lauren. “How is it you know this? Is it a... a gay thing?”

  “Jesus, DB, where are your brains this evening?”

  “I thought it was a perfectly logical question.”

  “Well, it’s not. This is new,” I observed as he took the bottle down, opened it, and poured some into his palm. Usually he preferred Aramis.

  “My ladies gave it to me for Christmas.” He rubbed his palms together, then patted the aftershave on his face.

  “Ah.”

  “Look, Quinn. You can be as gay as you want, but I will not picture you with that... that bastard.”

  “Well, that’s a relief. It would be rather awkward otherwise.”

  “Not amusing, Mann.”

  “I wasn’t attempting to be amusing, DB. As a matter of fact, I’ve never been more serious.”

  “You know what? I don’t want to talk about this. I don’t ev
en want to think about it. You’re giving me a fucking headache!”

  “Are you sure it isn’t from the alcohol you’ve been drinking?”

  “I can handle my liquor.” He gave me an insulted look. “Go wait in the living room while I get changed. I have it on excellent authority that I—” His voice hitched and his eyes became overbright. He cleared his throat and flashed me a brilliant, albeit false, smile. “I have a very fine ass, and the last thing I need to do is flash it and tempt you.”

  “You’re too kind.” I paused in the doorway. “David... Are we okay?”

  “Don’t be an ass, Quinn. You’re my best friend, even if you have lousy taste in boyfriends.”

  “Significant others,” I corrected.

  “It’s gone that far?” He groaned.

  “Farther, actually. I’d marry him, if I could. Were you hoping I’d come to my senses and walk away from him?”

  “Um...yes?”

  “Not going to happen, DB.”

  “Jesus.” He groaned again. “Get out of here!”

  I tossed him a salute and strolled into the living room, where I picked up the used glass, brought it to the kitchen, and left it soaking in the sink. That had gone much better than I’d expected. I just hoped DB’s acceptance had nothing to do with the amount of alcohol he’d imbibed.

  I returned to the living room and made myself comfortable on the couch where his ladies had first knocked his socks off by making out together. While I waited for him to get dressed, I call the Rib Shack and told them we’d be there within the hour.

  It was after eight when we finally entered the restaurant and approached the host. “Good evening. I called earlier,” I told him. “The name is Mann.”

  “Good evening, sir.” The host’s gaze flicked from me to DB. “Welcome to the Rib Shack.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Would you prefer a booth or a table?”

  “A booth if you have one available. And we’d like April, if she’s working tonight.”

  “She is, and I’m sure I can find a booth in her section.” He pasted a professional smile on his face and picked up a couple of menus. “If you and your... friend will come this way?”

  As we followed him, DB whispered from the corner of his mouth, “What’s up with him?”

  “He thinks we’re a couple.”

  “A couple of what?”

  I stopped. “Seriously?”

  His eyes widened, his jaw dropped, and I realized he had been serious. “Is this how you’re treated when you go out with... you-know-who?” A scowl darkened his expression.

  “Well, no.” Aside from the fact that Mark and I usually dined at Raphael’s, no one would dare demonstrate homophobic tendencies in his presence, not if they expected to walk away whole. “As a matter of fact, this is the first time this has happened.”

  I could hear him grind his teeth but he didn’t say anything else, and we continued to our booth. The host stood to the side, and DB slid into the seat and shrugged out of his jacket.

  “You sit there, okay, sweetie?” he said, pointing to the seat across from him.

  Sweetie? I mouthed, but he just grinned. I hadn’t thought to pick up a jacket at my town house, so I wore the overcoat I’d brought to London. I shook my arms free, folded it, and placed it on the seat, then sat down.

  “I want to gaze at your handsome face. You know how it stimulates my... appetite.” He turned his attention to the host. “I’m so glad April is on tonight. She always treats us so well.” DB batted his lashes at him, and I kicked him under the table. “Not now, sweetie. We’ll play footsies when we get home.”

  The host placed the menus in front of us, his smile becoming more strained. “I’ll let April know you’re here.”

  DB made his voice breathless. “Thank you. So kind!”

  “Yes. Er... yes.” He spun on his heel and hurried off.

  “Okay, would you mind explaining what that was all about?”

  “Solidarity, Quinn. We can’t let the fuckers get away with that kind of bullshit.”

  I reached across the table and gripped his arm. “You’re a good friend.”

  “You bet your ass I am!”

  “Mr. Mann! Mr. Cooper!” April arrived at our table. “How nice to see you again!” This was one of the reasons we came back to the Rib Shack, and why, when we did, we asked for her. She remembered our names and never addressed us as “guys”.

  “Thank you, April. It’s good to see you again too.”

  “Would you like a pitcher of beer?” She placed frosted glasses of water in front of each of us.

  “I’d like a green apple jolly rancher,” DB said.

  I became a little concerned when April’s eyebrows rose, but she turned to me and asked, “Do you want the same, Mr. Mann?”

  “No. I’ll have a Michelob. And bring us buffalo wings with extra bleu cheese, please?” During one of our many visits to the Rib Shack, we’d discovered their chef made the most amazing bleu cheese dressing, and we’d switched to that.

  “Okie doke. I’ll give you a few minutes to peruse the menu while I go take care of that and get your drinks and cornbread.” She grinned and sauntered to the bar, and I stared at my friend.

  “Green apple jolly rancher?” I toyed with the coaster April had placed in front of me. “What’s in that?”

  “Green apple jolly ranchers.”

  “And?”

  He cleared his throat. “Everclear, vodka, and cherry moonshine. A friend recommended it.”

  “I’d like to have a talk with this friend.” I’d heard of Everclear. It was a grain alcohol, 151-proof. A couple of those, and I’d have to pour him into bed when I got him home.

  In a few minutes, April returned with our drinks and a basket of warm cornbread and the Rib Shack’s renowned honey butter.

  “Would you like to order?”

  “Yes.” I hadn’t needed to look at the menu; I knew what I wanted. “I’d like the rack and a half of baby back ribs, the house salad with vinaigrette, fries, and slaw.”

  “That sounds great. I think I’ll have the same,” DB said. “Only instead of a rack and a half, I’d like the full rack of ribs and the half of a barbecued chicken, the house salad with Ranch, baked potato loaded, and tomato slices.”

  “Of course.” She giggled and didn’t bother to jot down our order on her pad. “Your usual.”

  “Yep. And keep these coming, okay?” DB waggled his glass and took a healthy—although it was more like unhealthy—swallow of his drink. He gasped and choked, and I could have sworn steam was about to shoot out of his ears. I took the glass from him, sipped, and started to choke myself.

  “That’s what you get for pilfering my drink,” he said loftily as he retrieved his glass.

  April muffled a giggle, which I appreciated. “I’ll put in your order and see how those wings are coming along.” She hurried off.

  I glanced across at DB and sighed, then selected a slice of cornbread and slathered it with butter. “So. Do you want to tell me what’s happened between the time I talked to you earlier and now?”

  “No.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.” In spite of saying that, he did talk. “We did things—I let them do things—I’ve never done with anyone else. I’m thirty-seven, Quinn, but they made me feel like a randy teen. L-one of them liked to wear a strap on and she used it....” He turned bright red. “Uh... on me.”

  This time I nearly choked on my beer. Could that be why he was so accepting of my sexuality?

  “Now...”

  “Now?”

  “Now I feel like I’m their dirty little secret.” He raised his glass to his lips and drained at least half its contents. I was tempted to take his drink away from him, but he was an adult. “I sent them an e-mail,” he said. “Before I left Langley for the day. To L- to their home computer.”

  “Was that a good idea?”

  “I don’t know. I just couldn’t stand the
atmosphere between us anymore. I told them if they never wanted to meet my family, if they didn’t want to get married or have kids, I’d go along with that.”

  “And you’d really be okay with that?”

  “Yes. No.” He knocked back the remainder of his drink. “I love them, Quinn. If what I’m going through now is any indication, I’d feel even worse if they shut me out completely. I’ll do whatever I have to in order to keep them.”

  “Can you live with it? After a time, won’t you begin to resent giving up having a family, of being compartmentalized in their lives?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Did they respond?”

  “No. Not yet.”

  “All right. Just know I’m here for you.”

  “I know, Quinn. Thank you.”

  “Just...”

  “Yeah?”

  “Take it easy on the hooch.”

  A sweet chime sounded, apparently from beneath the table, and his face brightened. “Hold on. That’s them!” He took out his phone and touched a button. His gaze skimmed the screen, and then his face fell. “Where’s April?” He half rose from his seat and looked around. “She’s falling down on the job. I told her to keep ’em coming.”

  I took his phone and scanned the message. If you don’t stop trying to contact us, David, we’ll be forced to ask to be reassigned.

  I hit Reply. You’re breaking the heart of a good man, and I’m ashamed to know you both. Mann

  April came to the table with the platter holding the chicken wings, celery sticks, and bleu cheese dressing. She glanced at DB’s glass. “I hope you won’t be driving.”

  “I’m driving, April,” I told her. “Get him that refill, please.”

  Chapter 19

  “I think it’s time to go, DB,” I said a couple of hours later. This dinner was done; he hadn’t made any inroads into his food, toying with the ribs and chicken the entire time.

  “Can I have one last drink before we go?”

  “No.” After his third green apple jolly rancher, I’d told April not to bring him another one.

  “Fine.” He thrust out his lower lip. “See if I help you out when the son of a bitch breaks your heart.”

  “Mark won’t do that, but of course you’d console me. You’re my friend.”