Balancing Act by K. Vale

Author:K. Vale [Vale, K.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Liquid Silver Books
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

KYRIE woke on Thursday to an empty bed. It wasn’t the empty of Greg rising first for work. The right side felt permanently chilly now he hadn’t been in it for four nights. It was rumpled and wrong because Kyrie never made the damn thing, but he missed how Greg always had. Once again, he’d slept in a cold, lumpy kind of hell. They were back to lukewarm friends, and while Kyrie sucked at lying, in his current resentful state he was damn good at treating Greg like nothing more than a roommate. That glimmer of pain in Greg’s eyes was mildly satisfying when it reflected Kyrie’s bleak mood.

Forget about sexual frustration.

They hadn’t fucked in close to a week. Not that Greg’s mom hanging around inspired Kyrie to get it on, but they’d never gone this long without touching each other. Greg had experienced quite the revelation when they’d first moved in together: the average twenty-two-year-old guy was more than happy to get off daily. Apparently, the women Greg had dated were wired differently. Of course, everyone had an off day, but Kyrie’s track record hadn’t altered much over the past year and a half. He hoped the dry spell made Greg just as antsy. Blue balls could be the impetus he needed to kick his mother to the curb.

Kyrie swung his legs over the side of the bed and spent a string of seconds counting to ten and willing himself to be patient. Three more days. Greg would keep his promise. So what Barbara had carved raw chicken on Kyrie’s veggie-only cutting board and answered his dismay with an eye roll and an open palm? Greg had supplied her with money to purchase a replacement, plus “a couple of twenties for basic necessities” upon her insistence.

Kyrie had recognized that tense, chiseled jaw for what it was, even if Barbara considered her son a doting, generous host. Good. Greg had better be unhappy. Miserable would be better.

Kyrie stretched, threw a thigh-length silk robe over his nude body, and made his way to the kitchen. A nineteenth-century floorboard creaked underfoot, and Greg winced in his sleep, twisting his hips to the left, the right, before settling on his back and peering from under a hand draped across his forehead. The shadows under his eyes spoke of a shitty night’s sleep. Again.

Kyrie shook off his pity. If Greg were back in their bed, he could sleep in an hour or so more before rising to get ready for work. But Kyrie had awoken early to open the diner this morning, so tough titties.

Tell your fucking mom and be done with it.

“Coffee, roomy?”

Greg scowled but sat up and nodded, rubbing his hands over his face. Kyrie plugged a pod into the single-serve machine and let Greg have first dibs on the bathroom while the coffeemaker hummed and spurted caffeine into the waiting mug.

He handed Greg the coffee when he dragged his sorry, rumpled ass back into the kitchen. Rumpled or not, the

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