Page 59 of Frog

“Yeah.” He sighed. “I had a long, shitty day. I lost a patient, really nice lady, mother, grandmother, right before Christmas—fuck.”

“And did you tell your friends that?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“We don’t—that’s not something we do. We don’t sit around and share our feelings. That’s what your boyfriend is for.”

“I see.”

“That’s what you’re for.” He said it, emphasizing the word “boyfriend” in case I missed it.

I was quiet.

“I mean, I told them I had a fucked up day, and they just told me to drink and feel better.”

But that was his fault for not explaining that he didn’t just have a bad day, he had a terrible one.

“You should have just come on home,” I told him.

“I know that!”

“Why are you yellin’?”

“Because I know I should have just come home. I said that already.”

“I would have been here.”

“Jesus, Weber, I know! The only place I want to be right now is with you, but my car will be in some impound yard tomorrow if I leave it at the bar!”

“Okay,” I soothed him. “I’ll be right there. Tell me where the bar is.”

After he explained and gave me the address, I called for a cab and went to change out of the good clothes I was wearing and into a pair of jeans and a T-shirt and a long-sleeved button-down shirt. I grabbed the peacoat I found I liked more and more with each passing day, my denim jacket still hanging in Cy’s closet from the day I had arrived, and my cowboy boots that I had picked up that morning from the shoe repair shop. Why I was antsy I had no idea, but the idea of him being drunk when I wasn’t there to warn other men off annoyed me. My reaction to him was normal; the feeling of possessiveness was not.

If I just hadn’t stopped to see him, if I had simply stayed on the damn bus, I would not have to come face to face with the truth.

Hell.

I found the bar and the lot and drove the sleek car the five blocks to his friend Jeff’s place, easily finding the huge converted warehouse that was now full of renovated, trendy lofts. I took the stairs up to the fourth floor instead of trusting the old metal freight elevator.

I thought I was going to a small get-together, but even before I reached the level, I could hear the voices and the music. It was a party, loud and raucous, and it was surprising for a Tuesday night. But I was used to going to bed at nine and being up at four in the morning. My guess was that none of these people had to be up before dawn.

Pushing between people, making my way through the crowd outside the apartment, I finally made it inside and saw him standing by the kitchen, drink in hand, leaning heavily against the wall. Several men were near him, one with a hand on his shoulder.

As I crossed the floor to him, he looked up and saw me. His eyes lit up as he levered off the wall, putting his drink down before he brushed by the others to reach me. He could have waited, but he didn’t, meeting me halfway instead.

“Holy shit, Web.” He smiled wide, his eyes glittering. “You’re breathtaking.”

“You’re drunk.” I laughed softly, reaching out, my hand moving to the back of his neck, my fingers sliding under the open collar of his dress shirt as I drew him forward. The look on his face, the hooded eyes, made my stomach hurt. He was just beautiful. “Can I kiss you?”

“Really?” He asked because normally public displays were not within my comfort zone.

“No one cares in here, right?”

“Right.”

“Well, then—” I wet my lips. “—may I?”