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    When Was the Last Time
    When Was the Last Time
    When Was the Last Time
    Ebook62 pages43 minutes

    When Was the Last Time

    By Kelly Jensen

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    About this ebook

    Paul Summerfield is stunned by the gentle reminder it has been over a year since he and his partner, Evan Akkerman, have made love. He vows to take Evan out for Valentine's Day. Dinner and sex. Lots of sex. There's only one catch—he's supposed to be in San Francisco that week cataloging the art collection of an important new client. No problem, he'll just change his schedule and cut his trip short by a day.

    ​

    In San Francisco, Paul struggles with regrets and the fear his love is slipping away from him. Every call to Evan seems only to prove the distance between them is increasing. All this, and a key piece of his client's catalog is caught up in customs. To keep their Valentine's date, Paul will have to choose between the career he's built over fifteen years and the man he's loved for just as long.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherKelly Jensen
    Release dateJul 13, 2020
    ISBN9781393090106
    When Was the Last Time
    Author

    Kelly Jensen

    Born in Australia and raised everywhere else, Kelly Jensen now lives in Pennsylvania with her husband, daughter and herd of four cats. After disproving the theory that water only spins counter-clockwise around drains north of the equator, she turned her attention to more productive pursuits such as reading, writing about reading and writing stories of her own.

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      Book preview

      When Was the Last Time - Kelly Jensen

      Chapter One

      Did you know it’s been a year since we last made love?

      Paul watched his forkful of egg take a dive toward the plate before looking up. What about the shower last week?

      First of all, bumping into each other in the bathroom isn’t sex. Second, that was a month ago.

      You came!

      Well, yeah, I’m so deprived I practically come every time I pull my shorts up.

      Paul fought the tug at the corner of his mouth, but when Evan gave in to the same urge, full lips quirking into a quick smile, Paul let go and smiled back. That would make for a lot more laundry than we’ve been doing.

      Paul, a quick hand job in the shower isn’t making love. It’s not romantic.

      I love touching you. That’s romantic, isn’t it?

      Evan’s expression suggested it wasn’t.

      Pushing the fallen clump of egg around his breakfast plate, Paul considered his next move carefully. Evan was the most easygoing guy he knew. He didn’t make a fuss about clogged drains or fritzing satellite signals. He never yelled at the six o’clock news. He wore pastel shirts year-round because he liked soft colors, and he rarely complained about anything—until now.

      Pointing out they hadn’t actually done more than sleep in their bed for… a while… was a complaint. He hadn’t whined or wheedled—not that he ever would. That was Paul’s department. Evan had simply presented a situation that needed addressing.

      Has it really been that long?

      Evan reached for the hand Paul had resting on the table. Tracking the movement, Paul saw hesitancy in the gesture. Sadness welled up from his gut to wrap around his heart. When had Evan become afraid to touch him? No, that wasn’t the right question. When had they stopped backing each other into walls, through doors, and onto beds, taking what they wanted? Romance be damned, when had they stopped fucking?

      Evan closed warm fingers over his. New Year’s, not this last one, the one before, and you didn’t come.

      Paul was forty-three. A few too many cocktails on top of too little sleep sometimes meant…. He narrowed his eyes. Do you keep a climax diary or something?

      I don’t want to fight with you. That’s not what this is about. Sighing, Evan leaned back in his chair, right into the sunlight slanting through the windows of the breakfast nook. The light flattered him, bathing his pale skin in a healthy glow. The brown of his eyes seemed warmer and his hair more gold than blond.

      Paul thought back to the last time he’d seen those eyes blown wide with desire and that hair dampened with sweat, curled in postcoital disarray. Something other than sadness twisted through his middle as he found his recall clouded by distance. He really couldn’t remember the last time they’d had sex. Proper sex, with kissing and teasing, spit and lube. Both of them climaxing at least once. Maybe twice.

      He loved this man! Adored every last inch of him. Even his weird crescent-shaped feet and bulbous toes. They were best friends and lovers and had been for nearly fifteen years.

      Tonight…. Paul shook his head, cutting himself off. No. Evan deserved more than a hastily planned evening. Paul picked up his phone and accessed the calendar. February. Not the most romantic month, except for that one day, next Thursday. Valentine’s Day. He looked up. You, me, a romantic dinner, a walk somewhere if it isn’t zero kelvin or the middle of a blizzard, and sex. I want to suck you until you scream for mercy. I want you inside me. We’ll be monkeys, or just horny guys. Lots of sex.

      Evan’s answering smile had a weirdly funereal quality. You’ll be in San Francisco next week. The Barrington appraisal, remember?

      Dammit.

      The fact Evan knew his schedule better than he did rankled, but only until Paul acknowledged the fact it was Evan who kept them on track—remembering appointments, anniversaries, and when they’d last

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