A Fine Romance by T. Neilson

Author:T. Neilson [Neilson, T.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: gay romance
ISBN: 978-1-62380-899-0
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Published: 2015-11-25T00:00:00+00:00

THE PLACE felt particularly dark and cold and empty, and the hangover that was threatening seemed to settle in behind Ben’s eyes and make them throb. He dropped into one of the chairs that faced the fireplace and rubbed his forehead. His chest ached, but it wasn’t the scars, not this time. He didn’t even have to touch the skin to know there’d be no soothing it. Oh no, he thought. Nate was right.

Six

JAMIE LET himself into the bungalow and leaned against the door as if he was bracing it closed against an onslaught. The tension in his throat seemed like it was trying to throttle him. Ben’s words and his eyes, so soft and earnest, scraped at him like sandpaper.

His work lay spread out on the kitchen table, partially assembled, and he went to it, fingers already anticipating the connections and the placements, mind desperate for distraction.

Kind of cute. The thought came up out of nowhere, bobbing like a buoy. He wanted to feel good about it. He wanted to hold the thought and agree with it. But it was so much better not to.

He considered the layout of the circuit board and frowned at it. More efficient to thread the connections under that part rather than over. He pulled his tablet over and opened his CAD program.

You are bad with people….

No kidding. So bad with people his uncle was trying to take over the company so Jamie wouldn’t run it into the ground. So bad with people no one could stand to be around him. So bad with people his dad had killed himself.

He shook his head but couldn’t stop the memory of the wind and cold fog and the pergola with its twisting, winter-stripped vine sheltering a body lying where it fell. He’d called for an ambulance. An ambulance. As if his dad hadn’t been lying there cold.

Jamie pushed himself to his feet and went over to the counter to retrieve the half-empty bottle of whiskey and poured himself a little. Good stuff, top shelf, a gift from Fin the last time they saw each other in LA. The stuff his mom used to sip and savor back when they were living in a little rancher in Orange County, in the early days of the technology boom. “Can’t be a drunk if it’s the good stuff, right?” he asked no one, knowing the answer was Yeah you can, buddy, but even if there had been anybody around they wouldn’t have told him the truth. Not that anybody ever did.

Except Ben.

He took the whiskey back to the table, sat down again, and frowned at the tablet, trying to remember what he’d opened it for. But all he could think of was Ben.

He sighed and rubbed his sandy eyes.

The thing was, it had been a long time since anybody was honest with him. The trouble with being the son of a pair of pop stars was that people told you what they thought you wanted to hear, right up

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