Legal Bindings

19. Nick

Nick had kissed Evan.He had kissed Evan. He had kissed Evan.

No matter how Nick parsed it, the fact remained that he had kissed Evan, and he had liked it. Now he had to deal with that fact, including the reasons why.

The simplest explanation was that he’d wanted to stop the fight—wanted to shut himself up and stop saying stupid things—because he was jealous and frustrated and out to prove something.

It was easier to believe that than the truth, which was that Nick had kissed Evan because he wanted to. Full stop. Nick wasn’t going to entertain that thought, though, as he sat in the sleek, modern conference room, waiting for his panel of interviewers while his stomach cramped and gurgled. Something hadn’t been sitting right for an hour or so, and he had a sneaking suspicion it was the peppers that had been on the pizza the night before. He’d never had much capacity for spicy food, and with that on top of the interview nerves, his intestines had decided to rebel.

“Here’s your coffee,” said the receptionist who’d greeted him—Becca, maybe?—placing a paper cup on the table.

“Thank you.” His stomach gave another lurching grumble. Coffee was the last thing he needed, but the caffeine might help with his other problem, which was the fact that he hadn’t gotten any sleep the night before. Thanks to Evan and the sex and the spanking, which Nick couldn’t stop thinking about.

Does he always dom? Is he good at it? Wouldn’t I look ridiculous submitting to him? I’m gigantic, and he’s tiny.

“Can I get you anything else?”

He looked up, startled, and shook his head. “No, thank you, ah… Becca.”

“Sure. They’ll be right in.”

Nick sat for another minute, stewing in his own juices—literally and figuratively—before Larry entered, trailed by another severe-looking associate in a pantsuit. Standing, Nick extended a hand to Larry and his colleague as a bead of sweat trickled down his temple and his stomach turned another trick.

“Nick, good to see you again. This is Olivia Moore, the senior associate who’ll be supervising the position.”

“Nice to meet you,” he said, trying to keep his handshake firm despite his clammy palms.

They sat, and it became clear that while Olivia was the hiring manager, Larry was leading the interview, asking Nick about his background, his credentials, and his previous experience. Nick handled the inquiries as best he could, though his dyspeptic intestines split his focus. It didn’t help that Larry was long-winded, drawing out his questions and doubling back on points, which was probably why he was such a damned good trial attorney. Nick tried to keep his answers concise as fifteen minutes turned into half an hour then forty-five minutes, and sweating, he grew desperate to escape to the nearest drugstore for some Pepto.

After a question about Nick’s time with McNeeley and Lowe, Larry pressed the issue of his termination. “It’s well-known that they cut their underperformers—we do too—but their metrics of success are different. Can you elaborate on your dismissal?”

Nick nodded, wishing he’d asked Becca for water because his mouth was drying out, every available bit of moisture in his body relocating to his bowels. “If I’m being honest, it wasn’t a good culture fit.”

Olivia, who hadn’t said much, snorted. “You’re not kidding—I did time there myself.”

“You wouldn’t be the first McNeeley castaway we pulled onto our ship,” Larry said. “People who did poorly there tend to do very well with us because we’re not in the business of team building or being touchy-feely. Billable hours matter around here. That’s it. Don’t get me wrong—I thought what you did for that girl was admirable, and what you do on your own time is your business, but we typically don’t ask our associates to take on work the firm’s not getting paid for. And if we do, it’s because there’s good press in it.”

“Great.” Nick’s stomach gave another lurch, and he swallowed, his thoughts briefly turning to Sydney. But plenty of people had kids and jobs, and the no-bullshit corporate culture appealed to him. On the off chance he was approved as a foster parent, they’d figure out a schedule, and it would be fine. She was sixteen, not six.

“Your trial record is abysmal,” Olivia said, bringing him back to reality. “But you have a knack for negotiations, and that’s something my team needs right now.”

“Right, yes.” Another bead of sweat slid between Nick’s shoulder blades, and he could only hope the perspiration hadn’t soaked through his jacket. “As far as I’m concerned, there’s no problem that can’t be solved with a settlement.”

Larry’s phone buzzed on the table, and he turned it over then sighed. “That’s an hour, and I’ve got another meeting.” He stood, as did Olivia and Nick, who had to clench every muscle in his torso to stay upright. “Nick, it was great to talk to you. I’m sure Olivia will be in touch.”

The way he said it made it sound as though Olivia didn’t have much choice in the matter, and the expression on her face confirmed Nick’s suspicions. They shook hands once more, and Nick made his escape.

Desperate as the situation was, he wasn’t about to use the same bathroom as his future colleagues. That meant he had to shiver his way through an elevator ride and dart across the street to a coffee shop, where—mercifully—there was a single-stall men’s room. The result wasn’t pretty, but he left things sanitary for whatever unfortunate employee was next on the cleaning roster. He had worked enough low-wage jobs in college to understand the shit they had to deal with, and he wasn’t about to make that shit literal.

After splashing water on his face, he took a moment to study his wan reflection in the dirty mirror. All he wanted was to go back to bed, but his bed was in the house, and he shared the house with Evan, who was expecting them to have a conversation. Nick couldn’t handle that in his current state, so—after purchasing a bottle of water and stopping at a drugstore for medication—he went to the parking garage he’d used for the interview and crawled into the back seat of his Volvo. There was a hoodie of dubious cleanliness on the floor, and he balled it up beneath his head to act as a makeshift pillow before shivering his way to sleep.

* * *

When Nick woke, his back was sore and his neck stiff, but his stomach no longer hurt. Groaning, he dug in his pocket for his phone to find it was pushing two o’clock. He’d been out cold for hours.

He sat up with a spine-popping grimace, relieved that no one had borne witness to his pathetic state. Or maybe someone had passed by but was so used to seeing sad, corporate types curled up in their cars on a lunch break that they hadn’t bothered checking to see if Nick was all right.

Leaving the hoodie where it was, Nick went around to the front seat and headed home, tension returning to his stomach at the thought of seeing Evan. After turning into his driveway, he took another swig of pink goo from the Pepto Bismol bottle to fortify his constitution before going inside.

Evan was in the living room, perched on a couch with his legs pulled close to his chest and a sketchbook balanced on his knees. He looked up when Nick came through the doorway. Flipping the book shut, he offered a smile. “Hey.”

“Hi.”

“Are you okay?” Evan sat up straighter. “You look a little peaky.”

“I’m fine.” His words came out a bark, and Evan winced. “Sorry. I, uh, just need to grab a shower. Then we’ll talk. I promise.”

Nick fled to the bathroom, where he showered then brushed his teeth and returned to the living room. He felt more like himself, at least, as he sank onto the opposite end of the couch and smiled at Evan, who smiled back. A promising start.

“Hey there.”

“Hey yourself,” Evan said.

“So, all right. If we’re having a conversation about… things, I should probably tell you that I was just at an interview.”

“Ah.” Shifting his weight a bit and setting his sketchbook on the coffee table, Evan nodded. “I was wondering about that whole situation. Sydney said you were between gigs…”

“Yeah. There’s a reason I needed a roommate. I just didn’t want to… I was embarrassed, I guess. About being so unstable.”

“Right. Gotcha. Understandable, though I promise, I wouldn’t have cared. How’d the interview go?”

“Fine.” Nick let his head flop against the back of the couch. “I probably got it.”

“That’s good, right?”

“Sure.” He closed his eyes, swallowing hard around the lump in his throat. “I’m sorry about earlier.”

Evan was silent for a moment. “Do you mean fighting with me or kissing me?”

“Both.” Cracking one eye, he turned his head to find Evan looking back with a placid expression. “Mostly the fighting.”

“I’m sorry we were loud last night.” Evan paused, one hand moving to the back of the couch, where his index finger and thumb rubbed against the velvety material. “But I’m not sorry you kissed me.”

Nick lifted his head and raised an eyebrow. “You’re not?”

“No. I just didn’t know you wanted to.”

“I didn’t,” he said, his defenses rising to meet a perceived threat. Only Evan wasn’t threatening. He was just trying to understand. “I mean. I didn’t think I did. But now I’m not sure.”

“I’m not sure how I feel about you either.” Evan tucked his legs behind himself, his eyes fixed on the wall to the left of Nick’s shoulder. “I’ve spent more time than I care to admit in the company of so-called straight men who wanted to fuck me or have me fuck them. So I guess I have an unfair prejudice against guys who try to fit some straight-acting definition of acceptability.”

“I’m not trying to be straight—I just want to be normal.” Nick knew it was the wrong choice of word when Evan scowled. “Sorry, that came out badly. I don’t mean that straight is normal and we’re not. It’s just… look, I had a weird childhood. And because I felt different, I started looking for ways to fit in. I guess that stuck.” The psychology of it wasn’t revelatory. He’d had a couple of sessions with a therapist and knew where his damage lay, and he wasn’t about to lay out his whole sad story for Evan.

Evan surprised him, though. Instead of arguing, he just nodded. “That’s fair. I think we each have our own way of dealing with the shit the world puts on us for our sexuality. And we’ve both been pretty fucking judgy with one another.”

“Mmm.” Nick sighed. “So, where do we go from here?”

“Truce?” Evan held out a hand. “Friends again?”

“Friends again.” Nick shook, though he didn’t immediately release Evan’s fingers. “I did kiss you, though. We can’t… I mean, we could pretend it didn’t happen, but…”

Evan laughed then used their still-twined hands to tug Nick closer. “Haven’t you ever heard of friends with benefits?”

Heat crept into Nick’s cheeks, and he couldn’t help smiling. “I mean. Yes.”

“Though I’ve been curious, friend—I noticed that you only went for what you wanted and kissed me once you learned I was the spanker rather than the spankee last night.”

Nick’s gentle blush turned into a brush fire, and he tried to tug his hand back. “That’s. Uh…”

“It’s all right. I actually kind of already knew you might be into that.”

That didn’t make any sense. The few toys Nick had were kept in a box in his bedroom, and he hadn’t taken them out in months. “I’m sorry?”

“Yeah, so you know how you were honest with me about not having a job?” Evan licked his lips then moved a bit closer, narrowing the gap between them to mere inches. “I need to be honest with you about something too. I, ah… I know your ex-husband.”

Nick’s head swam, and the tension that had abated in his stomach twisted his insides anew. “Wait, what?”

“His partner, Max, is a friend of mine. And he saw your ad on Facebook, and… anyway, I didn’t think it mattered. Everyone knows each other in the scene, right?”

Nick didn’t trust himself to speak. He wanted to be defensive—he could feel the bitter spike of suspicion kindling in his belly—and under other circumstances, he might have been. But he’d been sick, and he was tired, and the tiny rational voice in the far recesses of his mind whispered, Why would he volunteer the information if he was here to hurt you?

“You… you should have told me,” he said when he found his voice, unable to keep from expressing his worst fear. “If they sent you here—”

“They didn’t, I swear. It was a coincidence, and I already liked the ad for the house before Max told me he knew you. I wasn’t going to say anything, but if we’re… well, if we’re going to be beneficial friends, I think it’s only fair that you know.”

“Why don’t you hate me, then?” Nick blurted before he could think better of it. He watched as Evan’s expression wavered between confusion and pity.

“Because from what little I understand of the situation, you and Ben were bad for each other, and the marriage ended because of that. So yeah, Ben and Max have their prejudices against you, but I like to think I have a more nuanced take on things.” Leaning forward, Evan cupped a hand against Nick’s cheek then leaned up to kiss his forehead. “The thing is, you drive me crazy, but I also kind of… like you. And I don’t think you’re a bad person. You’re just, you know. Human. But look, you apologized for the fight then had a conversation with me. Which just proves you’re capable of nuance and consideration and all sorts of other things that don’t make you hateable.”

“Then…”

“I’m not your boyfriend, and I’m not your ex,” Evan said as he rested their foreheads together. “I’m your friend, right?”

Nick swallowed. “Right.”

“So let’s be friends.” Evan smiled, though his face was so close that Nick could only tell by the creasing corners of his eyes. “With benefits. Don’t worry about what I knew—just worry about what I know, which is that it’s probably been far too long since anybody properly took care of you.”

Nick exhaled, Evan’s sensible words splintering something rigid within him. “Too long,” he admitted.

“Do you want me to help you?”

For a moment, Nick said nothing. He was a body at war with itself, wanting to submit, wanting to object, wanting the release, wanting to run. “Can you—can you make it difficult for me?” he asked, hating the way his voice shook.

“I’ll make you work for it.” Evan’s hand cradled his skull, fingers tightening in his hair and giving a tug. “You wanna work for it, Nicky?”

Fuck. Nick whimpered, though he felt detached from the sound, as if he was a puppet and someone else was holding the strings. “Y-Yes, please.” He licked his lips. “Please. I want it.”

Evan’s grip tightened, and he leaned close. “Go to your room. Strip and kneel. I’ll be right behind you.”