Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 3

couldn't bear for Wes to look at him like that every time he needed to get laid.
    Later that night, hours after Wes had left, Daren sat in his bay window watching the storm. Sleep eluded him and although he had a lot of work he could have used to assuage his insomnia, he preferred to sit and watch the rain come down. The relentless downpour suited his somewhat melancholy mood. Wes had taken his walking papers with his usual equanimity, and the two of them had parted as platonic friends. But the memory of the pity in his eyes remained with Daren.
    He had a good life, a great job that he worked at from home, good friends, a nice house and car, and a seriously bad case of unrequited love. What more could a reasonably good looking gay man of twenty eight expect from life? A lifelong partner? Someone to mend his broken heart?
    Daren snorted. The idealistic part of him expected that one day he'd meet someone whose presence overwhelmed his monumental crush on Taylor. Crush the crush into dust. He grinned at his fanciful thinking. Maybe it would happen. Maybe it wouldn't. The cynical part of him figured he would always love Taylor, and no matter whom he spent his life with, there would always be a core part of him that yearned for what would never be. Either way, it meant that his life wasn't completely comfortable. He'd have to learn to live with it and stop spending every waking moment wishing for the moon and stars.
    He stared at the sheet of water coming down outside. No moon and stars tonight. Just rain and more rain. Rolling down his windows like melancholy tears of regret.
    Fuck. Now he was becoming maudlin. He rubbed his hands over his arms, realizing that he'd become a little chilled sitting so close to the glass.
    He was about to push off the cushion and head into the kitchen for a cup of hot tea when a movement outside caught his eye. He leaned closer to the glass, wishing he could swipe away some of the water. The movement came again and as he stared, the darkness and water coalesced into the shape of a man, standing on the curb looking up at his house. He squinted, trying to make out more than just the man's shape. Tall, probably an inch or two taller than his own six feet. Arms wrapped around his torso. No jacket or coat. Water dripped from long hair that framed a pale face Daren knew better than his own face.
    "Shit!"
    He bolted from the bay window, his bare feet slapping on the wood floor as he rushed to the front door. He flung it open at the same time that he flipped the light switch. The light spilled in a golden swathe onto the porch and down the walkway toward the man on the curb. The rain soaked figure lifted his head, and Daren could have sworn he saw anguish on that pale, wet face, but, of course, he was too far away to have seen such a thing. The man moved, walking slowly toward the porch, his movements stiff. He took the two steps up onto the porch with a deliberateness that spoke of pain held at bay, and an edge of panic sliced Daren. What the hell was Taylor Sutton doing standing in the rain, staring at his darkened house in the middle of the night?
    Rational thought was out of the question. Faced with a soaked Taylor, his shirt plastered to his hard chest, his long hair dripping, Daren felt his heart develop an uneven kick and his groin tightened. Foolishly, he cursed himself for wearing nothing more concealing than a thin t-shirt and loose cotton pajama bottoms, not that he'd expected to have to shield his physical reaction to Taylor from the man himself.
    He stared at the object of his unrequited love and lust. Not one thought going through his head could be spoken aloud, so he said the only other thing he could.
    "You're wet."
    Taylor's dark brows snapped together. "No shit. It's raining."
    "You're dripping all over my porch."
    Some dark emotion flashed in Taylor's eyes. "Can I come in?"
    Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no! This was a bad idea. Entertaining Taylor at this hour of the night when his defenses were pretty much nil was not just a bad idea, it was an epically bad idea. He was going to fuck up somehow. He just knew it.
    Daren took refuge in snark. "What? And drip all over my hardwood floors?"
    "This is no time to go all Christopher Lowell on me. I need a towel!"
    Taylor's words huffed out on a cloud of condensation and the icy cold of the night air finally penetrated Daren's muddled thoughts. The idiot on his doorstep was risking pneumonia! He stepped back, and Taylor stepped forward. Turning