Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 7

to hold a conversation and hardly ever asked Shane how his life…hell, how his day had gone. His conversation was peppered with "Jim said this" and "Jim did that". "Jim was so funny tonight" or "Jim told me I'll make an amazing manager one day". While all that could be tolerated, what had happened just a few weeks before had set Shane's stomach churning and his paranoia into overdrive.
    The two of them had been lying in bed, kissing and loving on one another. It had been quite a few weeks since they had made love and Shane was on cloud nine that Jaime seemed to finally be in the mood for more than a quick kiss and sleep. Things were progressing nicely, hands moving over hot, needy flesh, kisses becoming bruising and hard. Then, as if someone had turned off a light, Jaime pulled back and put up a hand to stop Shane. He mumbled something about needing to rest and began to physically withdraw, moving away to his side of the bed. When Shane pushed him to say more, his response stopped Shane cold.
    "Babe, what's wrong? Did I do something you didn't like?"
    "No, I'm just tired Shane. I'm sorry I shouldn't have led you on like that. I'm just not up for sex tonight."
    "Oh, well, that's okay. C'mon back over here and just lay with me then. Let me hold you a bit."
    "Not right now okay? Besides, I get enough of that at work with Jim hanging all over me. I swear that guy has more arms than an octopus sometimes."
    Shane felt as though someone had just gripped his windpipe and was cutting off all the oxygen to his brain. Over the roaring noise of alarm bells going off in his head, he managed to gasp out the question:
    "He hangs all over you? You mean he touches you without asking you?"
    Jaime's sleepy voice gave the answer that confirmed all of the wrong suspicions that were creeping into Shane's head.
    "Yeah, I don't mind, though. The backrubs are kind of nice. I told him no more touching me on the ass though. He listens most of the time."
    The roaring in Shane's ears was deafening. His heart was pounding like he had just sprinted ten miles. Some man was touching his lover. Some fucking man was touching what was his. And, oh Jesus Christ, his lover was allowing it…was okay with it. Shane felt a shot of white-hot anger tear through his body. He turned toward his partner ready to rip into him and tell him in no uncertain terms that Jim was to keep his fucking hands off Jaime from now on. Just as he was about to roll over and spew his diatribe all over Jaime, he heard a soft snore and realized that Jaime had fallen asleep. Shane laid there the rest of the night, tossing and turning, trying to figure out how to tell Jaime that he wanted him to quit his job, the job that he loved.
    Since that night and the subsequent morning after when the two men had argued over Jim, the job, and what Jaime referred to as Shane's "unreasonable jealousy" life had been strained more than ever between the two of them. Then came this phone call about working late…again…and now, the chance to hopefully have time together just for them. He only hoped that it was not too little too late.
    Shane held onto the hope that Jaime's desire to be with him, to be intimate with him would help them recapture what they once had…a love so full that neither had to look anywhere else. Yes, tonight was surely going to be a new beginning. That thought alone should have brought Shane some hope, some peace.
    So why did he feel so lost and afraid?
    ****
    The car rolled to a stop in front of the now dark restaurant. Luckily Shane had his own key, given to him by none other than Jim himself. Since Jaime often closed the place on weeknights, Shane had insisted that someone other than Jim have a key in case Jaime ever needed emergency help. Surprisingly Jim had acquiesced quite readily. So Shane was able to let himself in through the front door, and, after checking that he had disarmed the alarm, make his way to the kitchen at the back of the main dining room. He noticed that only a faint light shone under the swinging door leading into the prep kitchen, which meant that Jaime had finished the cleanup and that Jim was undoubtedly already gone for the night.
    He pushed his way in and heard a soft giggle, followed by a moan. As he turned his head toward the noise, he noticed that a pair of shoes, looking remarkably like Jaime's Doc Martens, were lying on the floor right inside the door. As his gaze moved along the pathway leading to Jaime's office he saw a pair of khaki