Hide Out by Katie Allen

Trevor said, shooting him an annoyed look. “I had to fend off asshole Greg on my way out. He tried to corner me in the kitchen so he could hump my leg. Where are you going?”
    Pete hadn’t even realized he’d gotten to his feet. The bottom of his stomach was cold. “Where is he?”
    “Sit down, dumbass,” Trevor hissed at him. “It was no big deal. Don’t start a fucking fight at our first neighborhood barbeque.”
    Pete laughed at that. He couldn’t help it. “Our first neighborhood barbeque is a special time,” he mocked, sitting back down. The lingering echo of anger still burned his gut but he knew Trevor had a point.
    Reaching over, Trevor slapped Pete’s knee lightly. “You know what I meant,” he protested. “You’re the one who keeps going on and on about blending and all that shit.”
    Pete caught his hand before Trevor could pull it back and held it against his leg.
    “You two are so sweet with each other,” Michelle cooed as she pulled a chair closer to theirs and plopped down. “I can tell you’re still in that honeymoon period. I remember when Greg and I were like that. We couldn’t keep our hands off each other.”
    “Hmm,” Pete told his almost-empty bottle. Seriously. Not enough beer in the world. Trevor was silent.
    “How did you two meet?” she asked, not seeming to notice the lack of reaction. “I love hearing about how people get together.”
    “Um…” Pete’s mind blanked. He’d thought of the cover story basics but not this detail. Of course he should’ve thought of this—it was what everyone wanted to know. Nobody cared about Cleveland.
    55
    Katie Allen
    “At a coffee shop,” Trevor said easily and Pete relaxed, squeezing his hand in thanks for the save. “He was walking in, talking on his cell phone and acting like an ass.” This time, Pete squeezed his hand a little harder. Trevor ignored him and continued. “I was leaving with my coffee—the super-sized one, of course—and he plows right into me.”
    “Oh no!” Michelle gasped. Pete had to stop himself from asking what happened next.
    “So I’m wearing a scalding-hot coffee suit, hyperventilating because it hurts like fu—ah, hell, and here’s the cute guy who caused all of this without a drop on him. So I’m pissed and he’s asking if I’m all right—still with some guy on his cell—and I storm out of there after telling him what he can do to himself.”
    “You were pretty rude,” Pete said primly. It was Trevor’s turn to squeeze his hand in warning.
    “What happened then?” Michelle breathed, leaning forward.
    “I was really pissed. I didn’t even go in for coffee all week,” he complained, shooting an aggrieved look at Pete.
    “Sorry,” Pete apologized before catching himself. Why was he feeling guilty? This was a made-up story!
    “I finally break down and go in,” Trevor continued. “The place was only a halfblock from my apartment and I make really shitty coffee.”
    “He does,” Pete chipped in.
    “Don’t push me,” Trevor warned, giving him a sideways glare. “Just telling this makes me annoyed with you.”
    Lifting their linked hands, Pete pressed a kiss to the back of Trevor’s wrist. “Want me to make it up to you again tonight?” he murmured, holding back a laugh at the flush that climbed the back of Trevor’s neck.
    “Anyway…” Trevor stretched out the word with exaggerated patience. “I finally go in again early on a Sunday morning. The place is empty except for the barista and the asshole who tried to scald me to death the last time I was in. So he sees me and gets up.”
    “He was just glaring at me like he wanted to rip my face off,” Pete added, getting into the spirit of things.
    “I did want to rip your face off,” Trevor told him, “and then feed it to the sharks. That hurt .”
    Okay, now he’s getting a little carried away. Restraining an eye roll, Pete just put on his most sympathetic face. “Poor baby.”
    “Exactly,” Trevor said,