Crash Pad

Crash Pad Read Free Page B

Book: Crash Pad Read Free
Author: Whitley Gray
Tags: LGBT Contemporary
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gave Jamie a wry grin. “Interesting neighbor. Have you known him long?”
    “No. But he seemed so…ordinary before today.” Jamie closed his eyes. “So back to the hospital?”
    “Nope. I’m taking you to a private medical facility.”
    No way could he afford some hoity-toity recovery facility. Place. Nursing home. Whatever it was. “Not in the cards. I’ll figure something out.”
    Maybe he could take a bus to his sister’s. Sixty miles—a ticket wouldn’t be that expensive. He could share a room with his nephews. As long as they didn’t put their pet snake in Jamie’s bed, he’d be golden.
    Remy shook his head. “Naw. I got it.”
    “So where are we going?”
    “My place.”
    * * * *
    “Don’t say it.” Brett’s voice poured through the phone and jarred Remy’s ear. In the background, the notes of a piano mixed with the low hum of conversation and flatware clinking on china.
    Remy could almost smell the grilled steaks and seafood, and his stomach rumbled. “It’s not like I planned this.”
    “I don’t want to hear any more excuses.” Ice clinked against glass. “How can you take in a perfect stranger?”
    “He’s not a perfect stranger.” Remy stopped by the refrigerator and glanced out the doorway to the living room. Eyes closed, Jamie slumped on the couch, splint-encased foot propped up on the ottoman and draped with an ice pack. The guy looked exhausted. Despite the trials of the afternoon, Jamie still appealed to him.
    “What do you know about him, other than he rollerblades? And not very well.”
    “More than you’d guess.” After today, Remy had a pretty good idea of who he was dealing with. New to town, new job, no insurance, no local support system. Crazy, intoxicated neighbor. And unless his gaydar had gone on the fritz, Jamie played for Remy’s team.
    Those gorgeous eyes.
    “Look, Brett. It’s my fault he’s in this predicament.”
    “Why is it your fault?”
    “I smacked into him , not the other way around.” He ran a hand over his hair. Dried sweat had left it unkempt. After the events of the afternoon, a shower sounded good. “His sister will be here on Wednesday to help him.”
    “That’s four days from now. Are you going to sacrifice your vacation for him?”
    “I’m not sacrificing—for God’s sake, Brett. The guy needs a safe place to stay for a few days. And it’s not like he’s any threat.”
    “Is he hot?”
    “What?”
    “You heard me. He must be, for you to blow off dinner. Because we both know you haven’t gotten laid in ages.”
    Heat suffused Remy’s face. “I need to go. Say hello to George, and give my regrets to the date.”
    “His name is David.” The snippy attitude came through loud and clear.
    “Whatever. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
    * * * *
    Someone had parked a car on his foot. And it hurt.
    Jamie awoke, drifting on the remnants of a dream as he surfaced from a deep sleep. Unfamiliar environment; a place with an übercomfortable couch and the fragrance of something spicy cooking. He rubbed his eyes. Not the motel, not Vince’s place. Not a car on his foot—a splint. He’d gone off-roading on rollerblades at the park. Blown his ankle and met a doctor named Remy.
    This was Remy’s house.
    He yawned and ran through a checklist of the damage. Sore neck. A low-grade headache. Dry mouth with a metallic taste, like medication. Stiff knee. A dull throb combined with numbness in his left ankle. He stared at his foot. Pale toes stuck out beyond the black Velcro at the end of the splint. His toes.
    Through the living room window, the fading pinks and grays of a summer sunset outlined the irregular borders of the trees. Lights shone in windows across the street. A neighborhood.
    “Hey.”
    Jamie jumped. Remy stood in what looked like the doorway to the kitchen, wearing jeans and a dark T-shirt.
    “Hey.” Jamie pushed up on the couch. “What time is it?”
    “Close to eight. I was about to wake you. Need to do your concussion check.

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