Trusting Trace: Christmas at the Dungeon Read online

  “No. I have a note for you.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “A letter regarding a Robert has been left here for you.”

  Robert? Robbie. Trace’s heart skipped a beat.

  “Do you want it?”

  Yes. He most definitely wanted it. For days, he had gone back and forth about going to see Robbie, and he still hadn’t reached a conclusion. If the letter was going to offer a solution to his conundrum, he was more than willing to take it.

  “I’ll be there in half an hour. If that’s okay with you.”

  “Sure. The club stays open until midnight. Ask for me at reception and they’ll let me know when you arrive.”

  Trace glanced at the clock, happy to notice that it was past the official end of his working day. His boss wouldn’t be happy he was leaving so early while in the middle of such an important project, but he knew that, if he stayed, he wouldn’t be able to concentrate on anything.

  He grabbed his coat from the back of his chair, gave a little wave to his colleagues, and dashed to the door. He nearly got tangled on the rotative on his way out of the office. Deciding against waiting for the elevator, he took the stairs three at a time, dressing as he went, and burst out into the cold. The chill nipped at his exposed skin, and he made quick work of buttoning his jacket

  Upon reaching his car, he fumbled with his keys, until he finally got the door unlocked. He let out a string of curses when the freezing cold of the seat reached his ass.

  “I so need to get seat warmers.”

  He started the car, and while he waited for the engine to warm up enough for him to drive out, he tried to imagine what could possibly be in the letter. Why would Robbie go to these lengths to reach him when he could simply call? They’d exchanged numbers at the end of the party. But Robbie hadn’t called, and Trace had waited so long to call him, he didn’t know if he should anymore.

  With the car finally ready, he drove out of the parking lot and headed for club. He clutched the wheel tightly, carefully maneuvering into the street, grinding his teeth when the car skidded on a patch of ice. He had winter tires on. This shouldn’t happen, damn it!

  He reduced his speed, ignoring the horns of the cars behind him. He wanted to get there in one piece, and the icy streets were not the place to take chances, especially when you had little-to-no experience driving in the snow.

  Finally, after almost an hour in traffic, he pulled up in front of the club. He turned off the engine, noticing the tingling in his fingers as blood began to pump back through them, and then walked into the reception.

  “Hi. I’m Trace Meyer. I’m here to see Mr. Brentwood?”

  “Sure, he’s expecting you. Right this way, please.”

  He followed the pretty receptionist, who opened a solid-looking door he hadn’t noticed while at the party. The receptionist smiled at him and left, closing the door behind her.

  “Hi. I’m Trace Meyer. I’m here for the letter?”

  “Yes, come on in.” Lucas Brentwood rose from his chair and circled his desk, his hand extended in greeting.

  “I have to say, I wasn’t expecting a letter.”

  “I was a bit surprised myself when Tony approached me.”

  “Tony?” Who’s Tony?

  “Yes. He was here on his friend’s behalf.”

  That explained the letter. Disappointed flooded Trace so suddenly he wished he were sitting down for it. “I see.”

  “He wanted your contact details, saying that you and his friend hooked up.”

  “Yeah, we did.”

  Lucas paused, regarding him carefully. Trace swallowed and forced himself to focus, sensing there was more to the conversation than he’d first thought.

  “We did. We grabbed a drink together and then he invited me over for dinner.”

  “Why didn’t you stay in touch?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  Lucas retrieved a little envelope from his desk and placed it beside him, well out of Trace’s reach. The message was clear. Trace would either give him a reasonable explanation or he wouldn’t see the letter.

  “I’m listening.”

  Gathering his courage, Trace proceeded to relate the events of his second date with Robbie. By the time he was done, he was pacing the office.

  Silently, Lucas pushed over the envelope. Trace took it, noticing vaguely that his hand was shaking, and opened it.

  Christmas Eve. 19 00. Be there. There was an address—one he wasn’t familiar with.

  “Tell me about the guy who brought this.”

  Lucas smiled, amusement warming his face. “It wasn’t him.”

  “I don’t know what you mean, but let’s assume that I do, and tell me about him anyway.”

  “I didn’t remember him at first, but after he left, I finally placed him. And your…friend.” Trace noticed the hesitation in Brentwood’s voice, but didn’t correct him. Not that he knew how to anyway.

  “I do remember your date though.”

  Trace narrowed his eyes at Lucas. The words didn’t sit well with him, though there hadn’t be anything offensive in them. As if reading his mind, Lucas quirked an eyebrow.

  “He seemed sweet.”

  “He is.”

  Trace folded the paper and placed it carefully in his inner coat pocket. He rose, took a step away, then hesitated. Giving his pocket a slight tap, he looked back at Lucas and offered a little, awkward smile. “Thanks for this.”

  Without waiting for a response, he turned to leave, but before he reached the door, Lucas called out to him.

  “Hey.”

  There was some rustling, and then Lucas approached.

  “Why don’t you bring him here, at Christmas.”

  He handed Trace a fancy-looking envelope. Trace turned it over in his hands, before opening it.

  “You’re throwing another party?”

  “It’s not a party exactly. A small gathering. Mostly the regulars, a few outsiders.”

  “And you’re inviting me? Why?”

  “I like you. I have a hunch you’ll fit right in.”

  “Thank you.”

  ***

  Robbie balanced the bags in one hand as he struggled to lock the car.

  “Fuck.” The first button he pressed had the alarm go off. “Come on.” He pushed the second, and the alarm stopped with an engaging snap. “That’s it.”

  He gave the handle a little tug, just to make sure the car was, indeed, locked, before heading inside.

  He tailgated an older man going into the building, happy he wouldn’t have to deal with calling the apartment and trying to open the very heavy entrance door while juggling about half a ton of perishables.

  The elevator was on the ground floor—Thank God for small miracles—and a minute later he was strolling down the fifth-floor hallway that led to Tony’s apartment. Slapping on a happy face, he used his foot to knock.

  “Hey, you’re here!”

  “I said I was coming, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, but you’ve been in a mood for days, so I wasn’t sure if you’d come or not.”

  Robbie jiggled one of the bags. “I was supposed to bring the turkey. Of course I was coming.”

  “Good thinking, because I didn’t really have a backup plan.”

  Robbie rolled his eyes, and passed by Tony to dump the bags on the kitchen table. “No, don’t worry. I don’t need help. I can do it by myself.”

  “Oh, sorry. Here, let me help you.”

  They each grabbed a bag and started to unpack.

  “What did you do? Buy the whole supermarket? How many people do you think we’re cooking for?” Tony held up two pies. “Apple and pecan pies? Do you think we have enough? I’m sure we can scrounge up the ingredients to make more.”

  “Yeah, I know, I got carried away. But everything looked so good, I couldn’t help myself.” Robbie lifted the turkey from the bag and dropped it on the counter.

  “Holy hell. What the fuck is that? An ostrich?”

  “It
was the only one left.”

  Tony circled the table to get a better look at the bird. “Do we have a pan big enough to cook it in? Will it even fit in the oven?”

  Robbie paused, frowning, holding up a bag of potatoes. “I didn’t think of that.”

  They left the groceries and moved to the stove. Tony popped the door open and stared inside.

  “I don’t think it will fit.”

  They glanced from the oven to the counter and back. When that wasn’t enough to satisfy their curiosity, Robbie went over and collected the bird. They struggled to shove it through the opening. When it wouldn’t go, they turned it, and tried again from a different angle.

  “Fuck. Push.”

  “I am pushing. It’s not going to fit.”

  “And let’s not forget we still need room for the tray too. With all the trimmings, remember?”

  “Damn it.” Robbie stopped, shoulders hunching.“Damn it, damn it, damn it.”

  Tony lifted the turkey from Robbie’s hands and set it back on the counter. Placing his hand on Robbie’s shoulder, he gave a little caress.

  “Hey. Care to tell me what’s going on?”

  Robbie shrugged. “Nothing.”

  “Come on. Look around you. Two different types of pie, a half-ton of bird, a million potatoes, and I don’t even want to guess what else is in those bags.”

  “Ice cream.”

  “What?”

  “You forgot the ice cream.”

  “Besides the pies? Great. You want to put us both into a sugar coma. Something is clearly going on.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “I’m your best friend. Talk to me.”

  Robbie shoved the oven door closed, and marched over to the table. “I screwed up, okay?”

  “Still hung up on that?”

  Robbie turned to glare at him. “Trace was a great guy, and I messed up any chance I had to get something real with him.”

  “Have you tried calling him?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I couldn’t do it, and now it’s too late.”

  “How do you figure that?”

  “I just know it.”

  “Oh, so we’re going with assuming. Got it.”

  “You don’t understand.”

  Robbie could see his friend wanted to add something, but then Tony’s lips thinned.. “What do we do about the turkey?” he asked instead.

  Grateful for the change in topic, Robbie jumped on it. “I guess we could try cutting it in half?”

  “We could give it a shot. It’s not like we can cook it as it is.”

  “Yeah. And we’ll freeze the rest.”

  They set to work in silence, putting the groceries away and checking the recipes for everything they wanted to cook, the only sounds in the room being the clattering of utensils and the low-playing Christmas carols on the radio.

  At one point, Tony started humming in time with the radio, and before he knew it, Robbie joined him. A few songs later, he felt much lighter, his mood more in line with Christmas. Once the turkey was cooking, they set about decorating the tree and the house.

  “I love Christmas.”

  Tony gave a heartfelt laugh. “I know you do. And look, it’s snowing.”

  “Hey, I didn’t even notice! This makes it almost perfect.”

  “It will be perfect, just wait and see. Soon the dinner will be done, and our friends should be here shortly. We’ll listen to carols, and watch Christmas movies, and overindulge on eggnog.”

  “That does sounds nice. Let’s finish this.”

  ***

  By six o’clock that evening, the light flurries had turned heavier, and the layer of snow on the street was almost a foot high, making driving nearly impossible. Or at least it seemed that way to Trace. Deciding against taking his car, he checked the GPS on his phone, to familiarize himself with the route, and grabbed the bag holding the wine he’d bought for Robbie’s friend. He had debated bringing a dessert, but wine was a sure win.

  After wrapping himself in layers and layers of clothing, and shoving his hands into the thickest pair of gloves he could find, he felt ready to brave the weather. As soon as he stepped outside, though, the wind hit hard, cutting through all the garments he wore. He cursed in his mind, as he was too afraid he’d freeze to death if he opened his mouth. His foot slid on a hidden patch of ice, and he nearly took a tumble.

  What the hell was I thinking? I can’t live here. This place is a nightmare.

  Then he remembered why he was out in this blizzard, and it suddenly made everything easier. He trenched through a foot of snow, clutching the wine bag. An hour later—though it seemed a lot longer—he was wiping his feet against the metal grate at the top of the stairs leading to an older-looking apartment building. Checking his watch, he decided he was reasonably on time, and pressed the intercom.

  A voice he didn’t recognize answered, instructing him to come in. He frowned, unhappy about the way the door simply disengaged, without him being asked any questions, but he pulled it open nonetheless.

  His stomach tightened as he waited for the elevator, and he brushed the snow off his coat and hat. It didn’t help much, but at least it gave him something to do as he waited.

  ***

  “Nate called.” Tony put down the cell.

  “That makes three. No one is coming.”

  “Well, Troy didn’t call yet. Maybe he and his girlfriend will—”

  Tony’s phone rang again. He checked it, groaned, and turned it over so Robbie could see the name flashing on the screen.

  “That makes it four.”

  Tony picked up, listened to whatever their friend was saying, then hung up. “You were right. He’s not coming either.”

  “The snow again? It’s not that bad.”

  They both went to the window to stare outside. The snow was coming down heavy, the street barely visible beneath the sea of white that covered it. Here and there, a pedestrian braved the weather to scurry off somewhere. But there were no cars on the road, and those parked by the curb were already partially submerged.

  “I don’t know. It looks pretty bad out there.”

  “When did that happen?”

  “I guess in the last three hours?”

  The intercom ringing had them both jumping.

  “Who could that be?”

  Tony glanced at the clock on the wall, and avoided looking at Robbie. “I guess I’d better see who it is.”

  Robbie stared after his friend, certain he was missing something. “Tony? Did you invited someone else?”

  Tony passed by him and went to the door. Curiosity pushed Robbie to follow, and he caught up just as the doorbell rang. Tony threw Robbie a glance, before throwing open the door.

  As the man stepped in, Robbie gaped, unable to believe his eyes.

  “Hello.”

  Robbie melted at the sound of Trace’s voice. His breath hitched as he took in Trace’s look. “What are you doing here?”

  “Your friend invited me.”

  Trace handed a bag to Tony, his eyes still trained on Robbie’s.

  “How? Why?” Robbie turned an accusatory stare on his friend.

  Tony held up his hands in the official gesture of surrender. “I thought you should talk.”

  “No.”

  “May I come in?”

  Tony gave Robbie a pointed look. Its meaning was clear: it was up to Robbie.

  Taking a deep breath, Robbie stepped back and nodded. “Yeah. Sure.”

  “I’ll go check on the turkey.”

  Before Robbie could stop him, Tony walked away, leaving Robbie alone with Trace.

  “I’m glad to see you. You look good.”

  As Trace stepped in, Robbie closed the door behind him. The muffled thud it made seemed ominous in the silence that stretched between them. They both looked their fill at each other, momentarily unsure what to say.

  “I’ve missed you,” Trace said at last.

  A weight Ro
bbie hadn’t been aware of lifted off his shoulders. He looked Trace in the eyes, searching for the truth in them. Trace met him head on, gaze opened and direct, and that gave Robbie the courage to reciprocate.

  “I missed you too.”

  Trace raised his hand and brushed his thumb over Robbie’s cheek, eliciting a deep shiver in him. Trace’s eyes darkened when he noticed Robbie’s reaction, lust and hunger shining clearly through. Robbie’s own blood simmered in equal manner.

  “How have you been?”

  Robbie felt a little guilty about leaving Trace to hold the entire conversation by himself, but he couldn’t say anything. He was too busy being overwhelmed by Trace’s presence to think of anything smart to say. So he just shrugged and kept staring.

  “Do you want me to go?”

  The question awoke a fear he hadn’t expect. “No!”

  Trace broke into a relieved smile. “Good, I didn’t want to leave.”

  Tentatively, Trace took a step forward, placing himself in Robbie’s personal space. Robbie shivered, and matched his step. Their breaths mixed, filling Robbie’s nostrils with Trace’s familiar scent.

  Carefully watching Robbie’s face, Trace cupped his cheek. When Robbie didn’t protest, he stepped in even closer. He moved slowly, giving Robbie enough time to say no, if he so wished. Robbie wetted his lips, his eyes fixed on Trace’s mouth.

  Those gorgeous lips cracked open, just a little bit. Trace leaned in, just as slowly. And Robbie rose on his toes, closing the remaining distance between them.

  Their mouths touched, ever so slightly. Robbie’s hand circled Trace’s shoulders, coming closer. Trace kept his position, allowing Robbie all the control he wanted. Robbie opened up to him, maintaining the same slow rhythm. He leaned in, sneaking his tongue past Trace’s lips. He explored, tasted, and took his time.

  Trace let out a little moan. His fingers twitched against Robbie’s cheek, but without really moving. When his lungs were close to exploding, Robbie pulled back, breaking the kiss.

  “I’m glad you came.”

  Trace kissed him again instead of an answer—a quick, searing connection of mouths.

  “Will you join us for dinner?”

  “I’d like nothing more.”

  The table was already set for three. Robbie looked toward the kitchen, to find his friend standing in the doorway, looking smug as he regarded them.