Play It Again, Charlie by R. Cooper Page A

could still be lying by drawing attention to the prescription bottle, except that that would have been quite the double bluff and made Will into some sort of criminal mastermind, and even if he had wanted to, Charlie couldn't manage to be that paranoid.
    He did give Will another careful look, but Will had his intelligence tucked away again, was wringing his hands like a damsel in distress. “What you must think of me.” He lowered his voice and let it tremble, momentarily helpless.
    He knew he was staring, but his mind was spinning with a hundred questions, wondering if Will was like this with everyone and why, wondering if Will meant for him to be this curious and what it meant that he was.
    That last thought was what made him keep himself still, close to biting his tongue to keep from asking the biggest and most obvious question, not sure he wasn't imagining it all anyway. But the kitchen was warm with Will at the edge of his vision, somehow filling it.
    “What are you doing here?” He jerked his gaze down to the cans, turning to open his cabinets. He just heard the whisper of motion over the sound of his own nervous breathing and looked to see that Will had entered his living room. If he'd answered, Charlie hadn't heard it.
    He froze again, watching Will take in the other room. Charlie's apartment was only a single bedroom, and the living room was meant to serve as a central space. He used it as an office, mostly, so while there was an entertainment center against one wall, there was a desk against the short wall with the kitchen on the opposite side.
    He supposed his desk might be the only personal touch in the room, if he didn't count his books or the pillows on the overstuffed couch. Not that those had been his choice, though they at least matched the upholstery.
    Will took few steps, picked up one of the pillows Ann had made, and stared at the needlepoint cat on the front of it. It matched the rest of the pillows spread out on the couch and on the floor next to it. They were kitschy and tacky and, more than that, itchy.
    “Into cats, huh?” Will said finally, placing the pillow back where he'd found it, and Charlie flinched; the bland tone said a lot when Will was normally so exuberant. He shut his mouth before he could ask if Will really thought he seemed like that much of a loser.
    It wasn't like he could tell Ann they were ugly. She'd cry, and Charlie did not make his sisters cry.
    “No.” He left it at that and stacked a few more cans without taking his eyes off his uninvited visitor. Will glanced back at him.
    “Gift from an admirer?” His question was soft, but before Charlie could think of what to say to that, Will moved on, stopping at the first of the shelves that lined most of the available space on the wall. He ran his hand along the spines and then angled his head up without turning around.
    “Have you read all these books?” The disbelief in his tone was surprising, and then irritating. Will might know people who kept books for show, but Charlie wasn't one of them. Not that it was any of his business what Will was like with others.
    “Yes.” Charlie stopped fussing with the cans and turned the rest of the way around so that when Will let out a short, surprised laugh, he could see how the motion traveled down his back. Will's jeans weren't skin tight, but they were tight enough. Charlie caught himself staring at his ass, but not quick enough, and looked up to see Will's gaze on him.
    “And big on conversation too,” he remarked after a moment, lifting an eyebrow in a way that was more playful than sarcastic, though it was that too. “I knew it. Something about the way you threw me against the wall screamed intellectual .”
    The second the words left Will's mouth, Charlie was remembering it, how Will's mouth had been just under his, their bodies pressed close against the wall, sharing heat and air. He swallowed, though his throat was tight.
    “I didn't— ” The rasp of his voice made him