Page 2 of The Barn: Frost and Q

Two

“ Y ou’re a fucker, and if you tattletale on me one more time, I’m not going to let you play backgammon with me ever again.

I’m going to take your palm print off the door and make you grovel to get in here.

” Quentin couldn’t believe that Boone had ratted him out to Frost again . “What is your fucking problem, man?”

“I have this irrational fear of walking up there one morning to play chess and finding you dead in your wheelchair. Mummified and just sort of sitting there with crows plucking your eyeballs out.” Boone could really mother hen. Even on the phone.

“Okay, well, that was relatively specific…” Cool, sort of, in a sick, sad sort of way, but incredibly specific.

He wheeled over to the window and peered down, disappointed to discover that Frost wasn’t still out there.

The son of a bitch was hotter than a two-dollar pistol when he was chopping wood.

It was unnatural, how studly his husband was.

“I’m not starving to death. I have an entire fridge up here. ”

“Uh-huh. What’s in it? Wait, don’t tell me. I know! It’s got Dr Peppers, a block of cheese, and one tub of weird-assed, probably moldy by now, chocolate pudding.” Quentin could almost see Boone roll his eyes. “And if it’s not moldy by now, it’s only because it’s ninety percent plastic.”

Asshole. “You peeked. I also have Cool Whip.”

“That’s like one molecule away from plastic.”

“Still not starving. I don’t need Frost up here riding my ass.

” Although that was exactly what he needed, in a very practical sort of way.

It was just too fucking bad that Frost wasn’t into him anymore.

He hated to admit it, but when Frost looked at him now, it was with pity and sorrow in his gaze.

There were tears and regret, and it was just… nauseating. Nauseating was what it was.

A man got shot in the head, and all of a sudden, it was like he wasn’t desirable anymore.

“Regardless, don’t worry, I swear I’m not starving. I’ll eat with you tomorrow, okay? When you come up to play. Now do you want to have our meeting?” That was way more useful than bashing their heads against bullshit that wasn’t going to change.

“Sure, Q. I’m ready. Bring it on.”

He rolled back to his bank of computers and screens, settling in at the place that was the closest he had to home.

“Everything is set up for the party, and security-wise, all’s well.

One of the little Doms—one of the new guys, uh—” He shuffled through his notes.

“Nathan. Nathan Barre. He hasn’t come out of his cabin, not once, and no one went in with him, so possibly a welfare check might be the way to go?

You have a food order coming in today, it looks like, so you’ll need to make sure the kitchen’s ready for it.

You’ve got two lights down at the beach that are out.

Oh, and it looks like you’ve got some kind of owl-nesting situation that’s happening on the top of cabin four.

” He had to grin. “I vote that we leave it. However, someone could get attacked coming in or going out, so any guests need to sign a waiver.”

“A…rabid owl waiver?”

Q rolled his eyes. “Something like a wildlife preservation waiver. The Barn is not responsible for acts of bears and birds of prey.” Quentin loved waivers.

“And owls.”

“Owls are birds of prey, dumbass.”

“Owls are cute,” Boone murmured.

“I’ll send you a link. Anyway, everyone who has tickets to the gala has been vetted, background checks are done, everything looks golden. Best of all, everyone’s checks have cashed, and payroll is good to go on the bank end.”

“Cool. I’ll have Carson go check on the Dom. That just seems strange.”

Quentin shrugged. “I don’t know, I personally think staying up in your cabin for weeks on end is a perfectly reasonable thing, but I’m just me.”

“You’re just scared you’re too short to hit the buttons in the elevator.”

Oh, that was a good one. Still, Q had to respond. “Fuck you.”

“You wish. Again, you’re awfully short, and besides that, you’re not my type.” Boone was just laughing his ass off now.

“Hey! I’m hot.” Right?

“Yep. Also you’re little. I like my guys big and beefy.”

“I know. You’re way into topping the stud muffins, huh?” Weirdo.

“Yeah, and you know I adore you, man. I think you’re great, but muscle-bound? No. In fact, I could stick you in a straw and blow you across the room.”

That would be more blow than he’d gotten in a long time.

He sighed. “Anything else?”

“Yes. For the love of God, eat something. But I will leave you to it.”

“That was a great meeting.” He waggled his fingers as if Boone could see him.. “See you tomorrow.”

“Yep.” Boone made kissy sounds at him over the line. “Love you, awesome nerd.”

“You too.” And he did. He loved all the guys here at the Barn. Boone, Tug, Carson…they were great friends.

And well, Frost was the fucking love of his life, and every day, he wondered why the man didn’t just sign the divorce papers. They’d been just hanging in the air between them, metaphorically, for weeks.

Of course, he hadn’t signed them either. Or served them.

They were just sitting in a desk drawer.

Boone hung up, and the silence rang in his rooms, so he reached for the key to turn on his music again. Which was when the door buzzed, damn near giving him a heart attack.

He keyed the intercom on his phone. There was a receiver on the door panel. “Yeah?”

“Let me in, Q. My hands are full.”

Shit. Frost. Food. Okay. He took a deep breath, then wheeled over to open the door.

“Thanks.” Frost pushed inside, a big tray in his hands. Whatever was under those stainless-steel cloches smelled good enough to make his mouth water. Okay, maybe it had been a while since he’d eaten something that resembled a meal. Protein shakes were fine and all…

“What are you doing?” Q asked, wheeling back to make room for Frost’s big damn body. Which smelled even better than the food. Soap and musk and that all-over body spray scented with bergamot.

“Bringing you food. Chef made cinnamon roll pancakes and bacon. There’s also blueberry muffins from this morning, that green tea with orange that you like, and scones.

He kinda went all out.” Frost strode across the room to put the tray on his little dining nook table, using the corner of the tray to shove aside a stack of magazines and mail.

“Careful,” he snapped. That was his personally curated pile of nothing he needed.

“Oh, like you even look at this shit. You do it all online. Come eat.”

Quentin fought not to roll his eyes. But he did move over to slide in by the table while Frost uncovered plates.

It all looked amazing, but the fluffy pancakes with the cinnamon roll swirl and lines of icing made him sweat a little. “You didn’t need to?—”

“Yes, I did.” Frost sat, those golden hazel eyes flashing with a little temper. “You need to eat.”

“Yeah?” He raised an eyebrow, because he wasn’t the only one who wasn’t treating himself well. “Let me see your hands.”

“Huh?” Frost curled his fingers up, hiding the insides of his hands altogether. “Why?”

“Did you at least wash them?” he asked, poking the bear. The born-in-Alaska bear, no less.

“I took a shower. Of course I did.”

“Let me. See your. Hands.” He drew it out, making it offensive.

“Dammit, Q. Can we eat first? I’m starving, and it’s still nice and hot right now.”

“Yeah. Yeah, sure.” It really did smell good, and Frost had gone to a lot of trouble to do this for him.

Damn Boone and his wagging tongue anyway. Telling tales on him.

“You’re scowling,” Frost told him.

“Yeah. I’m pissed at Boone. I don’t need his mothering.”

“He’s a good friend.” Frost grinned a little, those stunning eye lines crinkling up. “Well, to you. Me, he just asks for money.”

“Well, if the foo shits.”

The smile faded, and Frost sighed, his gaze dropping to his plate. “You want me to take mine and go?”

No. I want you to tell me what you want instead of hating me for still being here.

He didn’t say it, though. He just shrugged. “I’m not in the best mood, Frost.”

“Yeah, I got that part. I wanted to sit and eat with you. If I didn’t, I would have had something sent up for you.” Frost was just tracing a pattern around the edge of the table, those beat-up hands raw.

“I know.” He understood. Through it all, Frost still loved him. That wasn’t in question. There was just all this rage (his), and guilt (Frost’s), and fear of what might happen in the future (both of them). And they hadn’t been able to get past it.

At all.

Frost’s lips firmed and he looked up. “Eat your pancakes, baby boy.”

A chill raised bumps on his arms, and his nipples went hard. That was just like old times, that tone of command, the pet name. So Q picked up his fork automatically and cut a bite, raising it to his lips. He met that bright green-gold gaze, saying, “Yes, Sir,” before he took a bite.

And damned if Frost wasn’t smiling when he popped the bite into his mouth.