Lover Mine (Black Dagger Brotherhood #8)(32)

88

J. R.Ward

"He in there?"

At the sound of Qhuinn's voice, he stiffened and had to stop himself

from turning around. No reason to. He knew that the guy would be wearing some kind of Sid Vicious or Nine Inch Nails or Slipknot T-shirt tucked into black leathers. And that his hard face would be cleanly shaven and very smooth. And that his spiky black hair would be slightly wet from the shower.

Blay walked into John's space and headed for the bathroom, figuring

his actions would answer the question well enough. "J? Where are you, J?"

When he pushed his way into all that marble, the air was thick with

humidity and smelled like Ivory soap, which was what John used. Wet towel was on the counter.

As he turned around to go, he slammed right into Qhuinn's chest.

The impact was like getting hit with a car and his best friend reached out to steady him.

Oh, no. No touching.

Blay stepped back quickly and stared out into the bedroom. "Sorry."

There was an odd pause. "He's not here."

Duh.

Qhuinn leaned to the side and put his face, that beautiful face, in the line of Blay's vision. When the guy straightened, Blay's eyes followed because they had to.

"You don't look at me anymore."

No, he didn't. "Yes, I do."

Desperate to get away from that blue-and-green stare, he cut himself

some slack and went over to the towel. Wadding it up, he shoved the thing down the laundry chute, and damn if the cramming didn't help a little.

Especially as he imagined it was his own head he was forcing into the hole.

Blay was calmer when he turned around. Even met those eyes. "I'm going down to dinner."

He was feeling quite proud of himself as he walked by--

Qhuinn's hand snapped out and latched onto his forearm, stopping him

dead. "We have a problem. You and me."

"Do we." Not a question. Because this was one convo he had no interest in encouraging.

"What the hell is the matter with you?"

Blay blinked. What was wrong with him? He wasn't the one f*cking anything with a hole.

No, he was the pathetic fidiot who pined for his best friend. Which put 89

J. R.Ward

him into wee-wee-wee-all-the-way-home territory. Any closer to chicking out and he'd have to carry Kleenex tucked into his sleeve to catch his tears.

Unfortunately, the flash of anger deflated fast and left him hollow.

"Nothing. There's nothing wrong."

"Bullshit."

Right. Okay. This was unfair. They'd already been over this territory and Qhuinn might be a slut, but the guy's memory was perfectly functional.

"Qhuinn . . ." Blay shoved a hand into his hair.

On cue, that f*cking Bonnie Raitt song shot into his brain, her rich

voice singing . . . I can't make you love me if you don't. . . . You can't make your heart feel something it won't. . . .

Blay had to laugh.

"What's so funny?"

"Is it possible to be castrated without being aware of it?"

Now Qhuinn was doing the blink. "Not unless you're really f*cking drunk."

"Well, I'm sober. Dead sober. As usual." And on that note, maybe he needed to take a page from John's book and start liquoring it up. "I think I might have to change that, however. Excuse me--"

"Blay--"

"No. You do not get to 'Blay' me like that." He stuck his finger in his best friend's face. "You just do your thing. It's what you're best at. Leave me alone."

He walked out, his head tangled but his feet mercifully on the ball.

Taking the hall of statues down to the grand staircase, he passed by

the Greco-Roman masterpieces, and ran his eyes over those male bodies.

Naturally, he Photoshop'd Qhuinn's head on top of each one--

"You don't have to change anything." Qhuinn was right on his tail, the words low.

Blay got to the head of the stairs and looked down. The yawning,

resplendent foyer before him was like a gift you opened with your body as you entered it, each step forward bringing you into a visual embrace of color and gold.

Perfect place for a mating ceremony, he thought for no particular

reason.

"Blay. Come on. Nothing has changed."

He glanced over his shoulder. Qhuinn's pierced brows were tight, his

eyes fierce. But as much as it was clear the guy wanted to keep talking, Blay was so done.

He started down the steps, moving fast.

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J. R.Ward

And was not at all surprised when Qhuinn stuck with him--and the

conversation. "What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

Oh, right, like they needed to do this in front of the people in the

dining room. Qhuinn was fine with audiences for all sorts of things, but Blay did not find peanut galleries helpful in the slightest.

He marched back up two steps, until they were face-to-face. "What was her name?"

Qhuinn recoiled. "Excuse me?"

"The receptionist's name."

"What receptionist?"

"From last night. At the tat shop."

Qhuinn rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on--"