Page 18 of Regret Me Not

For a moment it felt like a dare. “If you want to, why not?”

Hal’s usually expressive face closed down, like he was playing poker and Pierce had just made an unexpected bet.

“Won’t you be afraid someone will think the worst?”

Pierce blinked. “What’s the worst?” he asked stupidly.

Hal’s jaw dropped. “That we’re, uh….”

Oh.Heat—sticky, sweaty heat that had become closer and closer to Pierce’s skin in the past week—suddenly washed his face, his neck, his back.

“Why—” he squeaked and then cleared his throat. “It doesn’t matter to me,” he said, wishing he could move from the hallway, grab a soda from the fridge, a glass of water, anything. His throat felt like baby powder, the old-fashioned talcum kind with extra grit. “You’re a friend. Lots of people stay in a beach house with friends.”

Hal’s expression opened, and what Pierce saw didn’t reassure him in the least. He looked… sly and vaguely predatory. He raised his hand and feathered his fingertips across Pierce’s scarred cheekbone. “Sure, Pierce. You and me, we’re friends.”

Pierce closed his eyes and wished….

For what?

A palm on his cheek? Hal’s breath against his face?

A simple kiss?

When Pierce opened his eyes, Hal had stepped back, smiling cockily. “I’ll go get the next load of laundry,” he said, practically whistling. “We can go for a walk after we shove this one in the dryer.”

“Wait—didn’t I just work out?” Pierce demanded, although, in fact, he felt better, looser, and more mobile than he had a week and a half earlier. He had to admit, the rubber mats were a simple solution to walking on the tile, and the office chair helped him not wreck his back when he communicated with what appeared to be an office behind an exciting and lucrative job offer.

Hal paused and turned his head, winking. “Just ten minutes, my man. It won’t kill you, and geez—aren’t you a little interested in seeing the ocean?”

His words hit Pierce in the guilt center. “I love the ocean,” he said wistfully. The ocean was one of those places in Sacramento people claimed they loved but never went to visit. Here he’d been staying, the ocean just out his back window, and he hadn’t so much as opened up the sliding glass door.

“Yeah, well, we better go take it in now, you know, because the next two days we’re supposed to have rain.”

Pierce frowned. “I thought hurricane season was over?” Because people from Sacramento also were afraid of pretty much every type of weather—rain, snow, drought—it was all frightening.

“Well, yeah—this is just a storm. You know, raindrops? It’ll be fine. Besides—why do you think the window is built with those serious blinds?” He winked. “What’s the matter—think we’ll be locked in here while the world ends and I’ll be the only person you’ll have to fuck?”

Pierce rolled his eyes and prayed the sudden zoom of his heart rate didn’t show. “You’re all talk,” he said, trying hard to be casual. “If you need to get laid before the apocalypse, I’m pretty sure all you have to do is open your door and you’ll have a line down the staircase and wrapping around the condo.”

Hal’s sudden sucking-a-lemon expression told him the conversation didn’t take quite the turn he’d expected. “If I wanted to fuck those losers, I wouldn’t be moving my toothbrush down here. Now please tell me you have tennis shoes and not flip-flops, ’cause those things are good to get out to the pool but they’re crap in the sand if you’re injured.”

Pierce nodded, trying hard not to think of the implications of things like loads of laundry and toothbrushes. “I can do that.”

Hal nodded like it was a done deal, but as soon as he’d left the condo and shut the door behind him, Pierce limped back to his suitcase, pulled his long-neglected tennis shoes out as well as his socks, and positioned himself on the bed to try to put them both on.

The socks were… difficult. He had to hold a sock in one hand so he could balance himself against the bed, then slip a toe in before grabbing the elastic with the other hand and pulling it on. By the time he’d done that twice, he was sweating a little and feeling sore and stupid.

How—oh how—could he have fooled himself into thinking that his body was 100 percent? When he’d gotten there, he’d been at 40 percent at the most—that sort of pain, stiffness, and muscle loss didn’t reappear in a day!

Or a week.

By the time Hal got back with the laundry, Pierce was sitting on the bed and staring at his feet. Yes, he’d slipped the tennis shoes on—but tying them was going to be a challenge.

“Oh, there you are,” Hal said, poking his head in. “I set the basket on top of the washer so we don’t forget to keep the parade moving. How are you—oh!” And God, he sounded so natural. “Would you like some help?”

“Augh!” Pierce voiced, because the frustration had been breaking him into a sweat for the last ten minutes. “How do you stand me? I’m worthless! I can’t even put on my shoes!”

Hal paused on his way into the room. “There’s got to be a Shakespeare quote in there,” he said, like he was thinking about it hard. “About how a man’s worth is more than his ability to lace his boots. Now you sound like you’re in asshole mood—you’re not going to kick me in the face if I squat down to tie those, are you?”