A sudden burst of music startled him. It took Harry a moment to realize it was his mobile phone. Harry reached out and grabbed it from the coffee table.
“Hey,” Harry said, beaming into the darkness. He didn’t need to see Caller’s ID; there was only one person it could be.
“Hey, babe,” Adam said. His voice sounded a little strange. “How are you doing?”
“Lots better now that you called,” Harry said.
Adam chuckled softly. “God, you really don’t have a coy bone in your body, do you?”
Harry furrowed his brows. He didn’t understand why his tendency to tell what he thought was so unusual. He believed communication was key in all relationships.
“You keep saying it like it’s a bad thing,” Harry said.
“Not bad at all.” Did Adam sound fond? “You’re a dying breed, Haz.”
His words were a little slurred.
Harry scrunched up his nose. “Are you drunk?”
“Just a little tipsy,” Adam admitted.
“Aren’t you on a date?” Harry said. He was hardly an expert on dating, but even he knew it wasn’t appropriate to get drunk on a date.
“I’m just tipsy,” Adam insisted. Harry wasn’t sure he believed him. Adam’s voice had never sounded like that: slow and ponderous.
“Anyway, he’s boring,” Adam said. “He talks boring. He looks boring. His eyes are boring, too.”
Harry bit his lip to keep himself from laughing. Adam’s slurred, drawling speech was so funny!
“Are you still on a date?”
“Yeah, but I’m in a restroom now,” Adam said. “Wanted to call you, hear your voice. Anyone told you your voice is like a melody?”
Harry smiled. He had known his voice sounded melodic to human ears—Calluvian vocal cords were different. “Yes, but that’s still really sweet of you to say.”
Adam laughed, the sound a little hollow. “Sweet? Not really. You’re the sweet one. So sweet I could eat you.”
Harry’s broke into giggles. “You really are drunk, not tipsy.”
“Nah,” Adam said. “I would say far worse stuff if I were drunk.”
“Don’t you have to return to your date?” Harry said. Not that he wanted Adam to, but after his conversation with Samantha he was determined to be a better friend.
“I guess I should,” Adam said. He didn’t sound all that excited by the prospect.
“Wanna come to my place?” Harry blurted out before he could stop himself. It was official: he was a horrible friend. “We can watch a movie together.” And cuddle.
There was silence on the line.
Then Adam said, “Fuck it. I’ll be there in half an hour.”
Harry grinned.
When the doorbell rang half an hour later, Harry opened the door and hugged Adam tightly. He couldn’t help it. Despite his resolve not to be clingy, he felt…needy. He couldn’t explain or rationalize it.
“How was your date?” he said belatedly. “Was it really that bad?”
Adam sighed, his breath brushing against Harry’s cheek. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he said. His voice was no longer as slurred as it had been on the phone—the fresh air must have helped—but it was obvious he wasn’t entirely sober.
Harry considered arguing before he realized he didn’t really want to talk about Adam’s date, either. “Samantha lent me the original series of Star Trek,” Harry said instead, linking their hands and pulling Adam to the couch. “We should watch it! The special effects are hilarious!”
They did. They fell asleep on the couch during the third episode.
When Harry opened his eyes the next morning, he was greeted by the sight of Adam’s sleeping face. They must have moved in their sleep, because Harry was sprawled on top of Adam now, their faces inches apart.
A sudden desire to do something confused Harry. He didn’t understand what exactly he wanted. He just knew that he liked looking at Adam—and that it wasn’t enough.
Hesitantly, Harry lifted his hand and stroked Adam’s chiseled jaw. The dark stubble scratched his palm. It felt strange. Not bad, though. A sudden image flashed in his mind: Adam’s stubble scratching the sensitive skin of Harry’s belly. Harry’s stomach clenched.
“Haz?”
Harry snapped his eyes upward and smiled faintly when he saw that Adam was watching him with sleepy, heavy-lidded eyes. He was lucky Adam wasn’t a telepath and couldn’t know what a weird thought Harry had just had.
“Get off me, Haz,” Adam said, his voice rough.
Frowning, Harry rolled off him and looked at him with concern. “Are you hungover? Does your head feel like splitting?” That was how a hangover was described in the book Harry had read a few days ago.
“No,” Adam said, closing his eyes. Despite his words, he sounded pained. “Just give me a minute.”
Shaking his head, Harry headed to the bathroom, bewildered.
He’d never understand humans.
CHAPTER 4
“I hate this place,” Adam said two weeks later.
Harry, who was opening the pizza they had ordered, looked up.
Adam licked his lips. He wondered when he would finally stop feeling like kissing every inch of Harry’s porcelain skin whenever Harry looked at him. That day couldn’t come fast enough.