Crash Pad by Whitley Gray Page B

hot he was—or how nice he was—couldn’t have a good outcome. This went beyond the usual host-guest relationship, and Jamie didn’t want to give the impression he’d trade sex for a place to stay. Remy had wanted it too, but not in a take-advantage-of-Jamie kind of way. He couldn’t see Remy acting like that. It had been tender.
    Plus, Remy hadn’t left him shivering in bed and gone to take a shower alone, like Vince would have done. Remy had taken charge but hadn’t been rough, hadn’t inflicted pain to get off. No mounting and shoving inside. A shiver ran through him. No, nothing like Vince.
    Behind him, Remy gave a soft snore, and his arm tightened around Jamie’s waist. Taking a deep centering breath, Jamie focused on relaxing. He’d rest for now. Deal with the fallout later. He closed his eyes and gave in to unconsciousness.
    * * * *
    Nu-nuh nu-nuh nu-nuh nu-nuh, Batman…
    The theme song broke into Jamie’s sleep. He rolled over—the bed behind him was empty and cold. No Remy. Jamie’s phone rang again, and he glanced at the number, hit the button.
    “Hey, Baron.”
    “Hey.” His old boss’s deep voice rumbled through the phone. “How’s it hanging?”
    “Um, good. How’s business?”
    “Brisk. Since you left, we’re swamped. New clients and old clients clamoring for your return.”
    “It’s nice to be missed.” Jamie could picture his former coworkers in the break room, eating healthy snacks between clients, everyone dressed in the loose tops and pants Baron used as uniforms.
    “Actually, that’s why I’m calling.” Pause. “I need you back.”
    Very tempting. Getting his old job back would solve a multitude of problems, including Remy. Jamie sighed. “I can’t come back, Baron. You know why I moved.”
    “What’ll it take? A restraining order? Because you know I’ll help. And if it’s money—”
    “No and no. He hasn’t made contact. At this point, I don’t think he will. And I’m…settling in.” Yeah, breaking my ankle, staying with a gorgeous doctor, and sleeping with him.
    Movement in the doorway caught his attention. Remy stood there holding a tray laden with food. Pale blue boxers hung low on his hips. He mouthed “sorry” and backed up. Jamie motioned him forward.
    “Aw, Jamie, help a guy out,” Baron said.
    “Sorry. If I change my mind, you’ll be the first to know.”
    “Here’s hoping. In the meantime, take care.”
    “You too. Thanks for calling.”
    “You bet. Bye.”
    “Bye.” Jamie flipped the phone shut and smiled at Remy.
    “Everything okay?”
    “Yeah. Just a social call.”
    “Thought you might be hungry.”
    Jamie looked over the contents of the tray. Unbelievable. Grapes, whole wheat crackers, cheese. Hummus. Bottled water and white linen napkins. Vince would have cut off his own hand before he would have waited on Jamie. His heart gave a little squeeze in his chest.
    “I left the wine off because of the pain pills. And I don’t drink during training.” Remy settled the tray between them and crawled up on the middle of the bed.
    “You didn’t have to do this.”
    Warmth shown in Remy’s blue-gray eyes as he smiled. “Ah, but I want to do this.”
    Jamie nodded. Remy wanted to take care of him. But why?

Chapter Seven
    Remy steered toward home at dusk with a load of groceries. The last few days had been some of the best of his life. Jamie had finally relaxed into a routine, and they now shared Remy’s bed. Brett had given up bugging Remy about meeting the blind-date guy and had retreated in a snit. Sometime this week Remy would bribe him with a fancy-schmancy coffee, and they could talk.
    Remy turned onto his road. The sun had dropped behind the mountains, leaving a few salmon-colored streaks in the sky and taking most of the evening warmth with it. Streetlights flickered to life, casting pools of illumination on the sidewalks. The neighborhood kids had retreated inside. A distant roll of thunder warned of a spring shower.
    As he