“Breakfast is ready in twenty minutes.” Eric barged into the bedroom without knocking. It was the second time he’d done that in twenty minutes. Jack didn’t remember dropping him on his head as an infant, but there’d been more than a few sleep-deprived nights when things had gotten hazy. Clearly, he’d suffered brain damage along the way. He grinned. “Mom dropped off the ingredients before she went to work, and she gave me permission to skip school.”
“Because they don’t have anything left to teach you?”
“Because she took one look at the pair of you and started muttering about hamburger meat. She left me her keys too. I’m your driver for the day.”
“You can drive?” Diesel’s voice was muffled underneath the comforter. “I thought all New Yorkers took the subway.”
“Not everyone.” Eric left the room as quickly as he’d come.
“Think I can still return him for a quieter model?” Jack asked. “Maybe one who knows how to knock?”
Diesel snorted. “You know you love your kid.”
“I guess we can keep him.” That bit of business decided, Jack swung his legs over the side of the bed. If he concentrated on moving forward, he could almost ignore the pain radiating out from his arm. He unbuttoned his shirt and slid it off over his arm, banging his wrist awkwardly against the bedframe at the last instant.
Shit.
Light radiated out in front of his eyes. Okay, maybe that wasn’t the smartest move he could have made, especially not when he still had an undershirt to get off over his head. “Think I can get Eric to bring me some scissors. I’ll cut the damn T-shirt off.”
“I’ve got you.” The comforter slipped to the floor and Diesel pushed himself into a sitting position. He snagged the hem of Jack’s shirt and tugged it up. White cotton covered Jack’s face for a long moment. When it finally disappeared they were less than three inches apart. Diesel had freckles. How had he never noticed that before? There were only two of them, one on the lobe of his ear and the other right underneath his right eye. Like his oversize ears, they served to undercut his symmetrical features, square jaw, and firm looks. In twenty years, when Diesel was Jack’s age, he’d still be boyishly handsome.
He wasn’t smiling.
Jack could fix that. He leaned forward and pressed their lips together just long enough to feel Diesel’s sharp intake of breath.
“Take a shower with me?”
Diesel shook his head. “I really should get going.”
Not a damn chance. “You leave now and ferry security won’t let you through the gate.” They were both very dirty, covered in blood and sweat and smoke. Diesel still smelled like some horrible chemical reaction, and Jack wasn’t about to forget that any time soon. He was filing a report with the fire marshal and code enforcement. “I’ll wash your back.”
Diesel sucked in a fresh burst of air. He flushed just dark enough for the freckle under his eye to disappear completely. Blushing as camouflage. “You need me to wash your back?”
“I wouldn’t say no.” Jack stood up and opened the closet, pulling out two fresh sets of clothes. His pants were going to look like waders on Diesel’s long frame but that couldn’t be helped.
Loud music was playing through the body of the house. Eric was playing internet radio off his laptop in the kitchen. Every few words his voice was audible, singing along with the music.
Jack darted down the hall and into the bathroom. Diesel was only a step behind him. The two of them were a tight squeeze in the single-sink bathroom. When Diesel slammed the door shut, he burst out laughing.
They stripped off their clothes and hopped in the shower. The house might be small and run-down, a post–World War II bungalow paid for in installments on the GI Bill, but one thing Jack had managed to fix since moving in was the hot water heater—no waiting around or shivering while the water gradually changed from cold to hot. As soon as he turned the dial to the left, warm water sprayed across their bodies. A few seconds later and dark liquid pooled at their feet before sluicing down the drain.
“Bar soap or liquid?” Jack asked.
“Bar first?” Diesel suggested. “We can do liquid afterward to clean up.”
It was a solid order of operations.
The soap was a cheap white bar from the grocery store down the street. Jack wet it down and soaped up as well as he could without getting the temporary cast on his arm too wet. It was easier to work on Diesel’s back. It wasn’t the first time he’d run his fingers over all those strong muscles. He’d pulled that small bit of debris from his skin after the car fire, they’d had sex more than once, but somehow showering together felt more intimate.
Diesel’s body rippled under his fingers, but it wasn’t pain this time. It was anticipation. He felt it too.
Good. Jack bent to kiss Diesel on the base of his neck. Then he handed over the soap and turned around. Diesel soaped his own chest and legs then something soft and slippery stroked across Jack’s back. Long fingers traced patterns in his skin. It wasn’t the water getting him all hot now. Blood rushed downward to fill Jack’s cock. His breath was coming faster.
It would have been faster if they’d taken turns showering on their own, but it would have been a hell of a lot less fun.
Diesel had to reach past Jack to put the soap down on the shower ledge. The move pressed their bodies together. They were so damn close he could feel Diesel’s heartbeat. It would have been impossible to miss the long erection digging into his back.
Oh, God. He moaned and turned around. Maybe sex wasn’t completely off the table after all. As long as he didn’t jostle his arm and Diesel didn’t put any pressure on his back or his side, what could go wrong? “Don’t even think about it,” Diesel murmured. His teeth caught the bottom of Jack’s earlobe giving it a gentle tug that had Jack’s erection bobbing excitedly.
He sucked in a breath. “Tease.”
“You’re the one who wanted to shower together.” Diesel patted him on the ass. “Hand me the liquid soap?”
“Bossy,” Jack huffed.
“Do you mind?”
“Nope.”
“And if I wanted to do it the other way sometime? With you giving the orders?”
“You don’t get enough of that at work?”
“I dreamed about you, right?” Emotion made his voice fray. “Your voice all gravelly and rough like you get sometimes at the scene, barking out orders, only in my dreams you weren’t telling me where to point my hose.”
Un-freaking-believable. Jack reached down and wrapped his hand around the base of his erection, squeezing tight in order to keep from coming at the image Diesel’s words was creating. He was so busy trying to stop himself from coming, he almost didn’t catch the last part of what he was saying. “Don’t worry, I’ve got some good ideas about what to do with your hose.”
The liquid soap wasn’t his normal choice. He kept it stocked for Eric, and it smelled like the kind of aftershave that teen boys tended to gravitate toward no matter what. Pine needles and musk. He splashed some into his good hand and turned, but this time he wasn’t reaching for Diesel’s back.
Blue eyes met his gaze. Electricity crackled between them. “We’re going to do that sometime.” His fingers slip-slid down Diesel’s chest to tangle in his pubic hair before wrapping around his cock. He started a sharp rhythm, his fingers catching on velvety skin. He hadn’t spent much time concentrating on Diesel’s cock before. Mistake. It deserved to be worshipped. If Jack got the chance, he’d make it his life’s ambition.
“I’m going to spread you out on my bed and watch while I tell you exactly what to do. Maybe I’ll tell you to masturbate. Maybe I’ll have you use a toy. Either way, you’re not going to come until I’m buried inside you.”
A strangled yelp escaped Diesel’s lips.
“No,” Jack ordered. “No noise, remember?” And then he silenced him with a kiss.
It was awkward working with one hand, but angling just right meant he could capture both of their cocks at the same time. Using shower gel as lube meant they were both groaning in a matter of moments.
It wasn’t enough.
It couldn’t be enough, not with one of his hands hanging limply at his side.
“You like orders?” he asked. “Get us off.”
Diesel freaking whimpered. His hands fumbled fast and furious to replace Jack’s and then it was all sensation in sharp waves that had Jack panting in desperation.
Oh, God. Heat rolled through him in waves. It was just so damn much.
Jack kissed Diesel again, but this time it wasn’t someone else he was trying to silence. He wanted to groan. He needed to scream. Instead, he licked his way deep into Diesel’s mouth, tasting every single inch of him.
Diesel’s grip tightened. His hands moved just right and their erections slid solidly against each other. Jack’s cock jerked as he spilled into his lover’s hands. He wasn’t alone.
“Fuck.” Diesel panted desperately for air as they finally broke apart. “That’s something worth sticking around for.”
It took a moment for Jack to decipher the words. His hands clenched tight. Nails dug into the palms of his hands. “You were thinking of leaving?”
“It’ll be better for you.”
“Pretty sure that’s my decision, not yours.” Jack didn’t wait for a response. He turned off the water and got out of the shower. “Come on. I’ll find you something to wear.”
* * *
His borrowed athletic pants hit Diesel only a few inches south of his knees, even when he wore them low on his hips. Wearing his own pants would be easier, but they were stiff from sweat and smoke. “You got a washing machine?” he asked.
“If you’re that worried about things fitting, you can ask Eric to borrow a pair of pants.” For a man who’d just gotten off, Jack wasn’t exactly swimming in afterglow. “He’s taller than you. He just doesn’t stand up straight. Plus, Mona’s a big proponent of buying stuff he can grow into.”
Loud music was playing in the kitchen, bouncy and energetic. Diesel didn’t recognize the singer, but that didn’t stop him from grinning like an idiot when he saw Eric dancing along to the tunes.
“Bacon’s in the microwave keeping warm.” Eric turned and swiveled his hips. “Eggs will be ready in a minute. You drink coffee?”
“Black,” Diesel said.
“Like the old man.” The kid pulled a face. “The two of you deserve each other.”
It took everything Diesel had not to look at Jack. Shit. He never should have told him he was thinking about calling things quits. After the night they’d spent together—and the morning shower—there was nowhere else he’d rather be, and now things were awkward. Neither of them said a word while Eric got down two oversize mugs from the closest cabinet. Both mugs were put on the counter. He poured the coffee and pushed one over to Diesel. “How old are you anyway?”
“Old enough.”
“He’s twenty-six,” Jack said.
“Hell.” Eric’s eyes crinkled. For a kid who was supposed to be a genius, it was taking him a while to do the math. “Are you—” He cleared his throat. “I mean, what are you doing with my dad? He’s old, and you’re cool.”
“He’s cool too,” Diesel said.
Eric snorted. “Seriously?”
“I’ve dated cool people before,” Jack objected. “Your mom’s cool.”
Diesel shifted uncomfortably. He really didn’t want to talk about his relationship with Jack’s kid, not when he wasn’t sure if they even had a relationship. He took his coffee over and sat down, tracing invisible patterns with his index finger. The house wasn’t large enough to have a separate dining room, but it had a built-in breakfast nook with a pair of vinyl-covered benches and the kind of table that had been in his grandparents’ kitchen. Only, the table his grandmother had used for Thanksgiving turkey had an aluminum band around the outside and a stark white linoleum top. Jack’s had a bronze trim and a mottled teal top. It was funky as all get-out.
A minute later Jack joined him. “Thanks for telling my kid I’m cool.”
“I meant it.”
The kitchen counters were linoleum too, the same blue-green as the table but in a slightly lighter shade or maybe just sun-bleached from the sunny window over the sink. The cabinets were straight-faced pine. The handle on the drawer next to the sink was hanging awkwardly, but other than that it was in a good shape. Although the refrigerator was new, the stove was so old it had come around the other side, all the way from funky to vintage.
“Your oven work?” Diesel asked.
“Probably,” Jack said. “It did the last time we used it.”
“We were setting the clay for my model volcano,” Eric explained with a laugh. “He really doesn’t cook. Without takeout, I’d starve.”
Jack waggled his eyebrows. “There’s plenty of food.”
“And I’m a growing boy.”
Diesel listened to their easygoing patter while he sipped his coffee. Jack might not be a cook, but he didn’t skimp when it came to his French Roast. It was freaking delicious.
“You should make cookies,” Diesel said. “You’ve got a great kitchen for making cookies.”
Eric turned his music down. “You make cookies? Like real cookies? From scratch?”
“It’s not like I’ve got some secret family formula. I just use the recipe on the back of the bag. Sometimes I add nuts or, like, dried cranberries.”
Now they were both staring at him with wide eyes. Eric had Mona’s coloring, fair hair and brighter eyes, but he had his father’s cheekbones and full lips. At the moment his mouth was hanging open in disbelief.
“Mom doesn’t make cookies either. Neither does Phil.” Eric plated up three servings of breakfast and brought them over to the table. “This one,” he told his father. “I like this one. You should keep him.”
Jack’s lips puckered, but he didn’t smile. “I’m working on it.”
Four little words, but they kicked Diesel’s heartrate up a notch. He slipped a little farther down in his seat. The breakfast was warm and filling, but he didn’t taste it. He should have left after the shower. Hell, he never should have come back to Staten Island in the first place. None of that stopped him from repeating their words silently to himself until they were burned into his brain and it would take dynamite to get them out. He wasn’t just some pretty decoration to be tucked away for special occasions. Jack wanted him to be part of the family. It was exciting and terrifying at the same time.
When breakfast was over, Jack rinsed down the dirty dishes one handed while Diesel changed into a pair of Eric’s gym pants. They fit, even if they did have the name of his high school plastered down the leg. “You should keep them,” Eric said when he got back to the living room. “I always have to turn up the cuff. Mom bought me another pair that fit better.” Then he went to get the car keys.
It really was a miracle the kid could drive. From everything Diesel’d heard over the years, New Yorkers were supposed to be horrible with cars.
All vehicles really.
Synapses fired and pulsed as his brain made the connections. Most of the things the asshole fucking with the fire company’s gear had done could be described as pranks. Shitty pranks, but no one had gotten seriously hurt until the truck had broken down. The fire truck was a type of car. Sort of. New Yorkers were bad with cars.
“I think I’ve got a way to narrow down who’s been messing with the gear,” Diesel called out over his own sharp intake of breath. In the kitchen, the water turned off and dishes clanked. Jack appeared in the doorway. “Excuse me?”
“I don’t think he meant to break the truck like he did,” Diesel explained. “It’s like I said in the beginning, he’s just fucking with us. Nothing else he did caused permanent damage. He wasn’t trying to hurt anyone—”
“Switching out the batteries in our radios wasn’t trying to hurt us?”
“Not really. You’re the captain. You don’t normally go into buildings. You’re supposed to be at the truck.” Diesel continued to put the pieces together. “Seriously, if you’d been at the truck and your radio had gone dead, what would have happened?”
“I’d replace the batteries,” Jack said. “Or borrow one from somebody else.”
“Right, and if mine gave out while I was partnered with someone else it’d be a pain but we’d still be in contact. None of that was intended to hurt anyone.”
“So what went wrong with the truck?”
“Maybe he just didn’t know that much about engines. Internal combustion’s a tricky thing. If he hasn’t tinkered with a car before or if he’s not a regular driver—”
“Like if he’s from the city,” Jack completed the thought for him. “A bunch of guys live in Manhattan, but most of them are transplants like Barnes.” He started counting off on his fingers. “Parsons’s from Long Island, he drives a piece of shit his dad owns. Pretty sure he maintains it too. Not that either of them could be the bad guy.”
“Tito’s from Atlantic City.”
“Ronnie Arturo’s from the Dominican Republic, but I’m pretty sure he went to high school in Yonkers.” Jack’s eyes gleamed. “We need to go look at the files in the station house.” He took an excited step forward and his wrist banged into the side of the door. The plastic cast kept his arm locked in position, but it didn’t do anything to protect him. His face paled. His entire body shuddered and buckled.
“Hospital first?” Diesel asked.
“Uh-huh. Troy and Reese can pull the necessary records and meet us at the station when we’re done.”