The One That Got Away Read Free Page B

David admitted with a smile.
    “I’m sure as hell sick of being in this bed. If I can make it to the kitchen table, think you could heat up some more soup?”
    “Sure,” Trace agreed good-naturedly. He needed to plug his laptop in anyway. He could duck out to the car and get the power cord. “Any other requests, your majesty?” he poked as he slid off the bed to stand, reaching above his head to stretch.
    David turned with a cocky retort that evaporated as he watched Trace. The tall brunet’s lanky frame seemed to go on forever extended like that, wide shoulders tapering down to narrow hips. His shirt had come untucked, the bottom two buttons pulled loose, revealing a triangle of tan skin bisected by a strip of dark hair. David swallowed, his mouth all of a sudden dry for a completely different reason.
    Trace yawned as he stretched and tilted his head side to side, groaning when his neck popped. He dropped his arms and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. “Sleeping sitting up sucks,” he muttered before stepping on a sock’s toe with one foot to pull his foot free, then working off the other sock before padding out of the bedroom barefoot.
    Mute, David watched him leave. He needed to get Trace out of here.
    He couldn’t imagine getting through the past eight hours without him, but the closeness was obviously messing with his head. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he let his legs stabilize before donning a pair of boxers and following Trace to the kitchen.
    Trace washed out the pot first and set it back on the stove before stooping over and spinning the lazy Susan, looking for another can of soup or two. More chicken noodle. Tomato. Cheddar broccoli. Chunky vegetable beef. Yum. He pulled out the can and leaned over a little more to see the selection on the bottom shelf.
    David stepped into the kitchen, feeling accomplished that he’d made it that far. “Trace.” His words stuttered to a halt. Trace had an absolutely amazing ass. Bent over, one foot slightly raised for balance, his shirt sliding up the broad, muscular back—David would have to be a heterosexual saint to resist that image, and he was neither. His groin tightened, and he felt his cock twitch and swell. Fuck!
    “Hmmm?” Trace answered before standing back up with another can of soup, reaching to tuck his hair behind one ear. “You want vegetable beef or golden mushroom?” he asked, spinning the lazy Susan closed.
    Sliding into a chair, David let the table hide everything from his chest down. “Eww…. Yuck. I don’t do mushrooms. That can has been in there since my mother came to visit three years ago. She uses it to make gravy. Vegetable beef, please.” Trace’s hand drew David’s attention to the long dark hair that he enjoyed ribbing his friend about. For the first time, he wondered how it would feel. Was it soft or coarse? Apparently there were things he didn’t know about the man he thought he knew quite well.
    “What do you like on your pizza?” he blurted.
    “Not too fond of pizza, actually. Unless I can get something without tomato sauce. Angelo’s does a spinach alfredo pizza and a barbecue  chicken pizza,” Trace said as he opened the can and poured it into the pot, not at all thrown by the non sequitur.
    “Really? I don’t like tomato sauce either—on pizza at least. There is a little Italian place up the north coast road that does a seafood pizza with a Parmesan cream sauce that is awesome. I don’t like barbecue. Too sweet.” David couldn’t believe with all the ballgames they’d watched that they’d never discussed pizza. Beer, yes. Hot dogs and toppings, yes.
    Popcorn versus cotton candy, even. What else didn’t he know?
    “So. What happened with Annemarie a couple weekends ago. Is she still around?” he asked.
    Trace turned to look at David. “It wasn’t serious,” he said. “She didn’t… I mean, I didn’t stick around. I don’t do sticky.”
    David chuckled. “A different girl