“I barely know you.” He winced on the inside. Could’ve come up with something more concrete.
Tierney brushed off that defense. “So? I haven’t known any of the guys who’ve sucked my dick as well as I know you.” He leaned forward, his mocking smile getting downright mean. “Besides, you think you know me well enough to tell me what to do.”
“That’s not what I—”
“Is that your game? Are you one of those dudes who’re on a crusade to make everyone come out?”
“No!” How did this happen so fast? Thirty seconds ago Tierney was the emotionally vulnerable one and now he’d turned the tables. The difference was that Dalton hadn’t been trying to twist the knife in the other man’s wounds. He took a calming breath. “I shouldn’t have said any of that earlier. It really is none of my business. I wanted to . . .” He couldn’t fight his nervous energy anymore, so he picked up his empty cup and held it between his palms, curling fingers around like it gave him warmth. “I thought I could help.”
“Oh, so that’s your angle, huh?” Tierney sneered. “You get off on giving ‘help.’ Is it a power thing, or are you a guy who needs to feel superior?”
Tierney’s words made sense, but Dalton still couldn’t quite grasp them, because the attack was so off base. “Is it really so hard for you to believe someone would be sympathetic to your situation and simply want to give you support?”
“Uh, yeah,” Tierney scoffed. “In my world? People don’t do anybody any favors unless they’re getting something out of it.”
“So, in your world, I’m getting an emotional payoff from exploiting your pain?”
One corner of Tierney’s contemptuous smile crumbled, like his defenses weren’t holding up, but he recovered, smirking. “Exactly.”
“I’m so sorry you think this way. Live this way.” Dalton leaned forward as he pulled his coat off the back of the chair, touching Tierney’s arm one last time. “I understand that you think no one is capable of being kind to you, but I’m not sitting here talking to you because I’m getting anything out of it.” He squeezed Tierney’s arm so hard he could feel the bone through the man’s suit jacket, then he let go and stood. “I just saw another human being in pain, and tried to make things better. I won’t make the mistake of thinking you want to escape your miserable existence again.”
As he walked away, he thought he heard Tierney mutter, “Better not, dude.” At the door, when Dalton checked the man’s reflection in the glass, he could make out Tierney’s sulking, slouching self, arms crossed over his chest. All alone in his personal emotional stew, which was apparently how he intended to stay.
Dalton had to tell the ache under his ribs to give it up numerous times as he drove home, but it didn’t listen.
Heh. Blotto. Such a good word. Perfectly described the way alcohol could blur out the rough edges of life. Tierney didn’t care that Ian would never be his, or that he’d never get to be gay, or that he’d totally acted like a four-year-old with Dalton right after spilling his guts to the dude—none of it mattered if he was drunk enough. Plus it brought other things into focus: like how sexy Dalton was. Anytime he closed his eyes, he saw the guy across the table from him in the coffee shop, with that hair and the way his face was so symmetrically perfect or whatever it was that made him so hard to look away from.
He’d like a little dose of that scenery right about now. Since he’d finished the bottle of bourbon he’d cracked open as soon as he walked into his condo this evening, he’d take a break, check out the view in his head again, then find more booze.
He came to at 3:33, still wearing his suit, wristwatch glowing in front of his face, head pillowed on a couch cushion, and disconcertingly wide-awake with dread jumping up and down on his ribs. A sure sign that he’d had way too much to drink. This particular event only happened after he’d really tied one on.
Self-recrimination hour.
Tierney groaned, and it echoed in his ears. Ouch. Carefully, he rolled off the couch onto the floor and started crawling across his condo to the bedroom. Trying not to think. But it was impossible. Like a psychotic, disjointed movie, flashes of the night before—only a few hours ago—played through his head.
Fight with Ian.
Dalton knew.
Dalton was stunning, and Tierney’d done everything possible to disgust the dude. Talked a bunch of shit he didn’t mean and totally shamed himself. Exposed all his weaknesses.
And—oh God—he’d drunk-dialed Ian and left a message. “You’re right, y’know, I haven’t earned your trus’ and ’m a lousy friend. Didn’t mean to be a dick ’bout your boyfriend. He’s a good guy, Sam is. Deserves you . . .” He couldn’t remember the rest, but he knew there was more. Fuck, what if he’d confessed—
Lurching to his feet, Tierney barely made it to the bathroom before he puked. Totally at the mercy of his body and his emotions. He was pretty sure the tears streaming down his face weren’t from retching.
When he was finally done, he flopped onto the bathroom floor, shuddering and gulping air.
He couldn’t vomit out this kind of illness. And he’d done it to himself. Waited too long to talk to the guy he wanted, then gone rogue and let some other guy see the mess inside him.
Loser.
Later that morning he tried to call in sick, but his assistant, Gina, made him go to work. “You have a meeting with your father and brother that you cannot miss.” Her voice was so strident he had to hold the phone away from his ear.
“I can talk to them anytime,” Tierney whined.
“Yes, you can, but apparently you don’t, like, ever. That’s why they scheduled this meeting.”
He rubbed his eyes, considering sitting up in bed. Probably shouldn’t risk it. “Why do I have to be there?”
“Your brother offered me a raise if I get you here.”
“I’m your boss; I’m supposed to give you raises, not Chase.”
She huffed. “Your meeting is at nine thirty. Be here by nine fifteen and I’ll brief you.”
“Okay, suppose I show up for this thing—”
“Tierney . . .”
“What are you going to do for me?”
“What did I tell you the last time you made an inappropriate request?”
“I had all the inappropriate I could handle last night,” he muttered.