The One That Got Away Read Free Page A

the easy camaraderie they shared spilling over into a more intimate relationship. He felt a momentary pang, but dismissed it as side effects from the migraine. His initial flippant retort died on his tongue and he said, “No…. No, I’m not.”
    Glancing sideways at David, Trace helped himself to another cracker. “So. Four hours until you can take another pill. You ought to try to sleep. I’ll wake you up when it’s time,” he suggested, thinking about the progress he could make on his performance arts center impact report in the meantime.
    Setting the mug aside, still more than half-full, David slid down in the bed, the cool sheets soft against his skin. “Yeah. I think I’ll try to do that. Don’t get crumbs in my bed, Jackson.”
    Trace watched him get comfortable, and then went back to his soup without comment. It wasn’t long before David’s breaths evened out, and once Trace set aside his empty mug, he watched the other man for a bit before pulling his laptop within reach and getting back to work.

    A SOFT beeping woke Trace up slowly. First he frowned, trying to figure out what it was, then he tried to figure out why he was so uncomfortable.
    He pried open his eyes. His focus was off because his glasses were skewed half off his face. He straightened them and looked around. 

    “Oh. Yeah,” he murmured. He was at David’s—in David’s bed actually—slumped against the headboard still fully dressed and now totally wrinkled. The lamp on the table next to him threw soft light into the room, and the beeping came from his laptop’s low battery. It was tilted onto its side, having slid off Trace’s legs. Then he looked down.
    David was curled up next to him, and his blond head was pillowed on Trace’s thigh. Trace’s arm was curled behind him, practically holding him in place. Bemused, he drew a breath, trying to wake up, and he yawned largely. A glance at the laptop’s clock showed it was mid-evening. He must have dropped off while working on the report. Slightly annoyed by the beeping, he shut the laptop down and carefully lifted it to set it on the nightstand. Then he looked back down at David.
    He looked more relaxed, some of the warm color back in his face, most of the pained lines relieved. His usually sharp, defined features were softened in sleep, and without thinking about it, Trace slid his fingers into the roughed-up hair, petting gently. The reporter yawned again and thought about going back to sleep.
    David woke into that warm, fuzzy half-asleep place and contemplated letting the meds pull him back down. He remembered waking several hours earlier when the pain returned. Trace had brought him another pill and supported him while he drank enough water to get it down. Thankfully, the second dose had knocked him back out quickly.
    Taking a brief inventory of his body, he discovered that his shoulder hurt more than his head. He’d shifted into a comfortable position to get the pressure off of it and…. Suddenly alert, David rubbed his cheek over. He opened his eyes cautiously. Shit. Trace’s leg. He was trying to figure out how to gracefully extricate himself from his best friend’s lap when he saw Trace staring down at him.
    “Hey,” Trace greeted softly, pulling his hand back from David’s hair. “How are you feeling?” He was somewhat surprised by how David’s  head moving in his lap made his body take interest, but he dismissed it.
    He’d always been a really tactile person, and he carried on an active sex life. It was a great outlet for stress, and he enjoyed it. He’d made peace with his touchy-feely tendencies a long time ago.
    “Ah, hey,” David answered, his voice dry and raspy, one of the side effects of the medicine. “Seems like on top of everything else, I’ve used you as a pillow.” He pushed himself up slowly.
    Trace smiled. “It’s okay,” he said, not moving out of place. “You look like you feel better.”
    “I do. I think I might even be hungry,”