Love Is Always Write Volume 4

laughed. "Sure. By the way, Charles apologized for the gun thing. It was just an air pistol. He's such a noob."
    Bob caught sight of the bank and breathed a sigh of relief. Nearly there. Hopefully this whole thing would be over once the precious code was locked away behind several inches of concrete, steel, and bulletproof glass.
    The light turned red, and Jory spun around to walk backward for a few steps. "I sort of like it when it rains like this," he said and lifted his arms. He tipped his head back, and Bob smiled when droplets of water hit Jory's face and trickled down his neck.
    "You're crazy," Bob said in amusement.
    "I've been told," Jory said as he faced frontward again and started across the street.
    "Jory!" Bob shouted and reacted without thinking. He bounded forward and snatched at Jory's coat, hauling him back with all his strength just as a blue sports car raced by in a blur with a screeching of brakes and a blast from its horn.
    The force of Bob's action sent them both slamming against the hood of a parked car. Jory landed atop Bob and their legs entangled. Bob winced, hoping they hadn't dented the hood of the vehicle.
    "Thanks," Jory breathed. His face was near-buried in Bob's throat, and his breath was warm on Bob's chilled skin. His body draped over him like a heavy blanket of heat.
    "Jesus, you could have been killed!" Bob said. His heart was racing with adrenalin, but he could not seem to move.
    "I didn't think anyone would care if I got killed," Jory said quietly. "Other than, you know, the guys."
    Bob's arms tightened; it wasn't until then that he noticed they were wrapped around Jory. "I'd care," he said sternly.
    Jory's lips pressed against Bob's throat, tentatively, as if uncertain what Bob's reaction would be. Beyond an intake of breath, Bob made no outward movement. Internally, however, the danger-sparked energy coursing through his body found a new meeting place—his groin.
    Jory's mouth opened, and he sucked lightly on Bob's pulse point, earning a sound that was half-whimper and half-moan. Bob's senses seemed ridiculously heightened. The rain pounding on the hood of the car sounded like thunder and everything smelled wet. He could see nothing because his eyes were closed, but his nerve-endings were supercharged. His fingers clenched in the wet coat Jory wore; the warmth of his hips and thighs seemed to burn through Bob's jeans.
    Bob wanted to…. He wanted….
    "Get a room!" someone said loudly and Bob heard a laugh and footsteps crunching on the wet sidewalk. His eyes snapped open.
    Jory chuckled. "Come on, Bobbin, let's get out of this wet." The delicious weight of his body left Bob feeling bereft, and then two hands gripped the front of his coat and hauled him away from the car.
    " Bobbin ?" Bob asked incredulously, remembering Jory had used it once before. "Oh no, you will not be calling me that!"
    "Yes, I will. It's cute." Jory curled a hand around his wrist and pulled him back to the sidewalk.
    "It's not—no. I hate my name enough as it is, thank you very much." His words felt stilted and somewhat unreal. The blood still pounded through his veins, and he wanted nothing more than to wrap himself around Jory and kiss him until he was convinced that Jory actually wanted to kiss him. Already the interlude felt like something he'd imagined.
    "The name Bob is a bit, well, boring," Jory said. The light was red again, but he actually waited this time, hopefully aware of Bob's stern expression.
    "Tell me about it. I've spent half my life trying to get people to call me Rob, or even Robert, but for some irritating reason they always default to Bob. Or even worse, Bobby ." He shuddered.
    "What about your last name?"
    "Davis? Try turning that into a nickname." Bob shook his head. "My name is as boring as toast, so Bob it is."
    "Anyone ever call you Bobbin?" Jory's grin was infectious.
    "No." Bob tried for a threatening tone, but he feared he failed miserably in the face of Jory's dancing eyes. "No, they have not."
    "Good." Jory's grin grew even wider, and Bob tried to glare at him and instead burst into laughter.
    "You are impossible!"
    The light turned green, and they crossed the street, safely this time, but they had just reached the opposite curb when a car pulled up as if planning to turn. The doors flung open, and three men emerged with a rush.
    "Oh, shit." Jory grabbed Bob's wrist and pulled, turning to run.
    Bob made it six steps and then slipped on a wet metal grate set into the