Caught off-guard, still half-asleep, Jason felt like he was seeing Sam almost as a stranger would. He saw that Sam was tired, that the lines around his eyes and nose were more pronounced, that there were shadows beneath his glittery eyes. He looked thinner too. Sharper. All cutting edges and lethal points. He looked hard and cold and dangerous.
Then Sam looked across the room and saw him, and something changed in his face. It wasn’t so much that his expression softened, more that it warmed. Like a light came on behind his eyes.
He said, “Hey, you didn’t have to wait up.”
It was the note of surprised pleasure that got to Jason. Undermined him. The idea that Sam was surprised he wanted to stay up to see him… People said he was arrogant and overbearing, but there was this side of Sam too.
Jason rose and went to him, and Sam dropped his carryall, hooked an arm around Jason’s waist, and drew him in for a long, deep kiss. Jason wrapped his arms around Sam’s neck, kissing him back hard. He thought, If this is that last night, let it be a good one.
“Christ, I missed you,” Sam muttered when their lips parted enough for words, for breath.
“Same,” Jason said. “Always.”
Probably a strategic mistake, but the simple truth. He did miss Sam all the time they weren’t together. Something to keep in mind before lines were drawn in the sand.
Sam scanned his face as though looking for signs of wear and tear. “You okay?”
“Yes. How was your trip?”
“Unnecessary,” Sam said wearily. “The flight was a bitch. I think we bounced the whole way from Colorado Springs to Cheyenne.”
“Are you hungry? Thirsty?”
“I could use a drink.”
“I’ll fix it for you.”
Jason thought Sam might head for the bathroom to wash up, but he followed Jason into the kitchen and leaned against the counter as Jason prepared his drink. Jason squeezed lemon juice into the ice and whisky mixture, and nearly jumped as Sam reached out and gently traced one of the healing cuts near the corner of his eye. Sam smiled ruefully at Jason’s flinch, but it was such an uncharacteristic gesture from Sam. He was tender in the bedroom, but he was not one for intimate gestures where the rest of the floorplan was concerned.
“You look a lot better. You’re not limping as much.”
“I told you I’m a fast healer.”
“You did, yeah.” He took the glass Jason handed him. “You’re not drinking?”
“I’ll have a drink.” Jason hastily slopped together his own drink.
“Cheers.” Sam touched his glass against Jason’s.
Jason knocked his drink back in two gulps. Sam made a sound of amusement. “Feeling a little stressed?”
“It’s been a long two days.”
“It has that.”
They drifted back to the fireplace and sat down on the sofa. Sam stretched his arm along the back, and Jason moved closer. More than anything, he’d have liked to rest his head on Sam’s shoulder, close his eyes, and put off until tomorrow any conversation that was liable to ruin the quiet contentment of the moment.
But if he put it off tonight, it would be harder, maybe impossible, to challenge Sam tomorrow. He would keep putting it off, keep stalling, until it all blew up again.
Sam’s fingertips lightly tickled the back of his neck. Jason shivered. Sam made a soft, knowing sound. Indulgent, intimate. Jason’s heart ached. He did not want to lose this. Couldn’t bear to lose this.
He tried for a neutral approach. “Were you able to interview Bamburg again?”
Sam’s fingers stilled. He sighed. “Yes.”
“How did it go?”
Sam moved his head in negation. Which meant?