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  The only assumptions Randy could make concerning the absence of life at the O'Connells' place were that a) they had moved, or b) Vaughn was, for whatever reason, so pissed off with Randy over what had happened that he'd put a kibosh on life outside the house.

  So when the knock on Randy's front door came, it didn't even cross his mind that it could be Vaughn. It was late—that last time Randy had peeked at the clock in the kitchen, it had read ten after eight—and he'd read most of the local paper since then. He'd been picking through the want ads, not at all convinced he was going to respond to any of them, but since they'd mostly been retail and fast food positions, he figured he could forgive himself for that. For the time being, his money wasn't running out. He could still afford to be picky.

  He did glance out the front window when he heard the knock. There was no vehicle in his driveway, so he probably should have realized that it had to be someone within walking distance. Blame it on distraction, blame it on the two glasses of wine he'd already consumed, but when he opened the door and saw Vaughn staring there, he actually flinched and a small peep of surprise bubbled out from between his lips.

  Vaughn ignored it. He leveled his gaze on what Randy knew was his own wide-eyed stare, and said, "We should probably have a talk."

  Randy stepped aside, let Vaughn walk past him, and shut the door. "I'm having a glass of wine," Randy said. "Can I get you one?"

  "No."

  "Coffee? Tea? Water?"

  Vaughn shook his head. "No." The sigh Randy heaved was exaggerated, and Vaughn gave him a quick look. "What?"

  "Can't you just be sociable?" Randy leaned against the door and slumped, as if the weight of his body was too much to hold up. And so what? he thought. It was his house. If he wanted to be a drama queen, he could. "I mean, seriously. You come over here at nine o'clock at night—"

  "I waited until the kids were in bed."

  Randy rolled his eyes. "You give me that stupid wolf stare that you do—"

  Vaughn flinched at the word, and once again their gazes met. He narrowed his eyes. "I have no idea what you're talking—"

  "That one." Randy pointed. "That would be the one right there." Vaughn made an obvious effort to lighten his expression and Randy had to swallow the chuckle that tried to come out in response to the attempt. "Whatever you want to chat about, I'm sure the moment will be better served with civility and social graces." He shoved himself upright and walked past Vaughn. "Either way, I will be enjoying a glass of wine in the kitchen, so do what you please."

  Though he didn't hear Vaughn move to follow him, Randy had no intention of standing in the hallway. So Vaughn had a choice—stand there and talk to himself, or come into the kitchen. And just in case Vaughn didn't quite catch the choices he was being offered, Randy turned his head and spoke over his shoulders. "Don't forget to take off your shoes."

  As he topped up his glass and filled another, Randy listened for Vaughn's approach. When he turned to the table, both glasses in hand, and saw Vaughn already standing beside it, he jumped. Wine splashed out of both glasses, and Randy glared. "Jesus, Vaughn!" He set the glasses down and returned to the counter for a dishcloth. "How the hell do you do that?"

  Vaughn didn't answer the question. Instead, he stood in place and lowered his eyes. "I should probably start by apologizing for Lyle's behavior."

  Randy slid a glass of wine across the table with one hand and mopped the table with the other. "It was nothing. We were just fooling around. I didn't mind in the least." He tossed the cloth in the direction of the sink, waved at the chair across from him, and sat himself. "Sit down, Vaughn, for heaven's sake."

  The chair got a distracted look, and after a second of lip pursing and what had to be internal debating, Vaughn finally pulled it out and dropped into it. "Thank you." He reached for the wine, moved it closer, but didn't take a drink. "Listen, Randy..." He drummed his fingers against the stem of the glass as if the movement might help him speak. Apparently, it worked. "This is probably going to sound like I'm directing this at you, so I want to say right off the bat that I think you're a decent guy—" Vaughn lifted his eyes and cast a quick glance at Randy in what Randy took as a check to see how Randy was going to take the disclaimer, but Randy didn't give him the benefit of a reaction. He was a decent guy, damn it. Good for Vaughn to finally admit it. "The little ones really like you and that says a lot for what kind of person you are. It does in my books, anyway."

  Randy gave him a half-nod and took a sip of his wine.

  "And I don't mind giving you a hand when you need it, or you coming over to the garage, or whatever. You know what I mean?"

  Randy didn't. Not really. But he nodded, and even managed not to correct Vaughn's usage of the word 'garage' for 'barn'.

  "Thanks again for those cookies, by the way."

  "You're welcome." Randy offered him a smile. "I'll be sure to send some of the Valentine ones your way when we get to them."

  Vaughn lifted a hand, palm out, as if to stop the conversation there. "But..."

  Randy closed his eyes to hide another eye roll. Of course. There was always a but.

  "I think it would be best if you kept some distance for a while. For Lyle's sake."

  "For Lyle's sake," Randy repeated around a slow nod. "Because?"

  Vaughn cleared his throat and it sounded surprisingly awkward. "Lyle's just going through some things right now."

  "Welcome to the magical world of being eighteen," Randy deadpanned.

  "It's not just that," Vaughn said. He reached around his neck and dug at the muscle. "I can't really explain it, but trust me when I say it's difficult for all of us—"

  "Oh, boo-hoo."

  When Vaughn shot him a look of surprise, Randy gave him a steady, unimpressed glare right back. "Wah, wah, my son might be gay. How will you ever get through it?"

  Vaughn leaned forward, creased his forehead into a frown and shook his head. "What in the Sam Hell are you talking about?"

  "That's what this is all about, right?" Randy leaned back, keeping his voice calm and his eyes level. "This little chat of ours? Obviously I must be influencing the boy, be it intentionally or through mere proximity. So if I back up, stay out of the way, then you can do your thing and make sure Lyle turns out all nice and hetero."

  Vaughn tried for words, made several fish lips in the attempt, and finally blurted out, "That's ridiculous! Do you always jump to conclusions like this or—"

  "Oh, I know it's ridiculous." Randy laughed drily. "I also know that a little experimentation does not a gay man make."

  "I never said it did—"

  "I also know that if Lyle is actually gay, nothing you say or do is going to change that."

  "I never said it would—"

  "And I've made it very clear that there will never, ever be anything between the two of us."

  "But—"

  "Furthermore, being gay isn't fucking contagious, Vaughn. You can't pick it up just because someone you know has already caught it." Randy could feel heat creeping up his neck, and this time it had nothing to do with embarrassment.

  "Stop cutting me off! That's not—"

  "Not only that, but the bigger deal you make out of this, the harder everything is going to get between you two. Is that what you want, Vaughn? Your firstborn son to cut you out of his life because you had to make an issue out of the fact that he might be gay?"

  "God damn it, Randy, I could care fuck if my son is gay!" Vaughn stood, shoved the chair away from him and walked around the table. "This has to do with Lyle and me."

  "Oh, of course," Randy drawled. Vaughn was way too close for sarcasm, but Randy couldn't help himself. "Your son's potential gayness has to do with the fact that he's trying to make your life miserable. It's about you! Not him! How could I be so blind?"

  "That's right!" Vaughn was losing his patience. His voice trembled through the kitchen and there were spots of color in both cheeks.

  "Sure," Randy nodded with completely feigned understanding. "How can
I make my father hate me the most? Oh, I know! I'll pretend I'm interested in a man—"

  "Argh!" Vaughn all but leapt forward. He grabbed Randy's chair with both hands, leaning so close that Randy could feel the heat of Vaughn's breath. His eyes were blazing and his lips drawn over his teeth, and suddenly words began to pour out of Vaughn's mouth. They came seemingly without breath, almost without pause, as if something in Vaughn's head had snapped. "He's trying to challenge me, you damn mouthpiece! Me! This has nothing to do with men or women or sex or love. This has to do with a kid who's got shit running around in his body that he doesn't know how to deal with and he's going to do everything in his power in the next little while to try and prove he's bigger and better and faster and stronger. That's the way it works. That's what they do. He'll want the biggest piece of everything, the very best of anything that I have, and every move he makes is going to be an attempt to outshine me. I know this, and I hate it, and there's not a goddamn thing I can do about it. I don't want to have to deal with this crap any more than you do. I don't want to have to do any of it. I don't want to be here in your kitchen having to say this shit, or have to look at his face after he's done something stupid and he's sitting there thinking about it and his head is telling him he can't even say he's sorry. I don't want to compete with my own son, Randy. I don't. I fucking don't. Anyone else, but..." Vaughn's voice trailed off. He looked around the room like he'd forgotten where he was, and then stared down at Randy. He slowly released his grip on Randy's chair, shaking his head the entire time it took him to move back. "Not my son."

  Vaughn stepped back until he bumped against the island and the kitchen fell into silence.

  There were a hundred questions swirling through Randy's head—important ones. Like, have you considered family therapy, and what the hell are you even talking about? So why he kept coming back to one simple question, Randy couldn't say. He once again chose to blame the wine. "Why would Lyle coming on to me have anything to do with him competing with you?"

  The angst disappeared from Vaughn's expression. In its place, a flush began to rise. He shrugged and cleared his throat. "I don't know. I guess, maybe, because..." He shook his head and looked at Randy with a hostile glare that Randy could only assume meant 'Why the fuck are you making me tell you this?' "I guess because I think you're kind of interesting."

  Randy lifted an eyebrow and set his wine down harder than he should have. The glass clinked its disapproval over the fact but decided not to snap. "Interesting?"

  Vaughn lifted one hand and let it drop. "So?"

  "What do you mean by interesting?" Randy stood. He stared. Dawning began to glimmer in his mind. "Oh, my God."

  "What?" Vaughn asked. His voice was all offense, but his body language was one-hundred percent defensive. As Randy stepped forward, Vaughn shrank back against the counter. His arms crossed and tightened over his chest. His frown deepened.

  "You like me," Randy said. He didn't mean to make the statement sound so accusatory, and for a second the image of him cross-examining Vaughn in front of a courtroom of rapt spectators played through Randy's head. So he lightened his voice and added a chuckle to it. "You like me!"

  Vaughn parted his lips as though to argue back, and then seemed to reconsider. He paused, opening his mouth and then closing it again. He shook his head and dropped his arms to his side. "I don't know why that would surprise you, Randy. You're a good-looking guy. Funny, too. Every once in a while you even make yourself sound kind of smart."

  Randy's grin grew. "Oh, by all means, don't stop there. Carry on."

  An eyebrow drifted up Vaughn's forehead. "Nah, that's about all I got."

  Whether it was giddiness over the idea that Vaughn—Vaughn O'Connell, of the boulder-like shoulders and the python biceps and the golden skin and the eat-your-heart-out eyes—could actually like him, tension at the sudden thought that it had to be some kind of a joke, or actual true-to-God amusement over Vaughn trying to pull off sarcasm, Randy barked a quick laugh. And once that one was out, he couldn't stop the follow-up chuckles from breaking free as well. They just kept bubbling out through his lips even when he tried to cork the sound up.

  "Okay, then." Vaughn grasped Randy by both shoulders and nudged him toward the chair. "Back," Vaughn said, pulling the chair forward with one foot while Randy backed into it. "And down," he finished, not letting go until Randy was seated. He squatted in front of Randy and pulled Randy's wine glass over with two fingers. "Drink."

  It took two sips of the rich burgundy liquid to settle Randy's nerves. It took him two more to find them again when his head started to whisper that he ought to make sure he understood what Vaughn was saying. He set the glass down, took a breath, and looked directly in Vaughn's eyes. "So, you mean the kind of 'like' that friends have for each other, right? You're not gay, obviously. You've got three kids. You had a wife..."

  "I'm not really sure what having a wife or kids has to do with any of that." Vaughn reached up and touched Randy's cheek while barely touching him at all. "And I mean the kind of 'like' where I ask you, 'How you would feel if I kissed you right now?'"

  Randy's breath froze in his throat. That was a good kind of like, indeed. When he replied, it was hard to make the words sound right. "I think I'd feel like I owed something out there a very big favor for making you think like that."

  A softened snort of amusement was breathed into the air between them, and Vaughn leaned into it. It wasn't until their lips met that Randy actually believed Vaughn was going to kiss him, though. Randy closed his eyes and let himself go. He wrapped both arms around Vaughn's neck, threaded his fingers through Vaughn's hair, and parted his lips when Vaughn's tongue wandered against them. The moment was surreal; familiar sounds told him it was just another night in his quiet kitchen, with the clock tick-ticking in the background and the wind whistling against the window; the lingering taste of wine on his tongue was the same flavor he'd been drinking for years. But nothing was really the same. Now the sounds were heightened by the click of their lips meeting and parting. The wine was drowned out by a newer, sweeter taste—a taste Randy was sure was doing far more to make him lose his senses than alcohol ever could.

  It only took a second or two for Vaughn to stretch his arms around Randy's waist, but Randy felt like he had waited a lifetime for it. The heat coming off Vaughn's body was incredible, and whether it was that thought or instinct that made Randy drop his hands and unzip Vaughn's jacket, Randy didn't care to try and figure out. He was too lost—lost in the hot space between coat and shirt, lost in the feel of Vaughn's muscles and form underneath his fingertips.

  A low murmur that might have been a word but was probably just air rolled out of Vaughn's mouth at Randy's touch. Vaughn pulled back, somewhat dazed and entirely too attractive for his own good, and shook his head.

  "No." Randy slid forward in the chair and hooked his legs around Vaughn's body. "Don't you dare. Don't you even think about pulling away."

  With a grunt, Vaughn fell out of his squat and on to his knees. He pulled Randy so close that every nerve in Randy's body roared in approval.

  "We shouldn't do this," Vaughn argued.

  Randy stroked Vaughn's chest, his sides, as much of his back as Randy could reach with Vaughn's coat in the way. Vaughn's body was gorgeous; it felt gorgeous, at least. Everything was hard, wide, thick, or long. With Vaughn's lips out of reach, Randy kissed his jaw, his chin, and his neck, savoring the taste of it: soap, salt, maybe even cologne. He smelled like autumn forests and green grass. Physically, he was everything Randy had never known he wanted in another man—no expensive scent, no perfectly sculpted slimness. He was the difference between a prized show horse and one of the stallions that came down from the mountains. He was built by labor and hardened by weather. He was wild.

  "We shouldn't do anything but this," Randy argued back. "Ever."

  Vaughn traced his fingers down Randy's spine and Randy shivered from the sensation. Whatever that tremor did to cause Vaughn to bury his face in Ran
dy's neck and groan, Randy was damned pleased it had.

  "It's been a long time," Vaughn whispered.

  "Too long," Randy agreed.

  One of the hands on Randy's back slipped to Randy's ass and squeezed. Vaughn's voice caught when he spoke. "My God..."

  Randy smiled. He pushed out of the chair, moving to the floor and directing Vaughn downward at the same time. "God doesn't care what we're doing here," Randy said. "But I do. If you want to use a name, feel free to make it mine instead."

  He straddled Vaughn's lap, had a momentary pause followed by a blissful rush at the growing hardness he felt there, and then lowered his chest over Vaughn's. "Wow." Randy waited for Vaughn to open his eyes before continuing the comment. When Randy did speak, he moved his hips—back and forth, back and forth, teasing both their cocks with friction. "And here I thought your arms were the hardest part of you."

  "Oh..." The vowel came out long and soft. Vaughn slapped both hands on Randy's ass and tried to pull their bodies impossibly closer.

  "You can do better than 'oh', can't you?" Randy teased. He wiggled a few inches of space between their chests and then yanked at Vaughn's shirt. The snap buttons gave way easily. He pulled the fabric to the side, and with his mouth already watering, he lowered his teeth to Vaughn's nipple.

  "Ah, no! Don't!" Vaughn gasped, but instead of pushing him away, Vaughn put one hand on the back of Randy's head and held him closer. So Randy bit, neither hard nor soft, just enough that he could feel his teeth sink into muscle. Vaughn growled a low, deep sound, so Randy did it again and again, because the feeling of Vaughn squirming underneath him was something that was going down in his own personal history book as one of the best physical sensations of his life.

  Vaughn's nipples were hard as diamonds when Vaughn finally pushed him away, and Randy took the opportunity to not only bite but pull the one he had in his mouth with him for several seconds as he rose.

  "Jesus," Vaughn whispered. "Sweet fucking Christ."