Perfect Mate (BoyxBoy)

Chapter 4

     “Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

     Where the hell are my goddamn clothes! Corey’s mind screamed as he went through the clothes in his closet, on his closet floor, then in his clothes hamper. Finally, he ran to the room just off the kitchen of his apartment where he found his clothes…

     …Still wet and in the washing machine where he’d left them a few days ago.

     Corey, as a personal rule, didn’t swear. He slipped up on occasion, but on the times he did he felt ashamed of himself for it. It was crass and just downright annoying, but he let off with every curse word he knew in every language he knew with abandon as he skidded, slipping and almost falling, back into his room.

      He had overslept. Actually, he wasn’t supposed to have fallen asleep in the first place. Now he was late meeting Dresden for the accounts perusal.

     Like he needed more reason to look like a bug in the guy’s eye.

     Corey was desperate as he dug all the way into the back of his closet and pulled out the last, pristine suit he had. It was also the suit he’d worn to his grandma’ s funeral and vowed to never wear it again…but he didn’t have anything else clean.

     He grimaced, sure he could feel his skin itching as he pulled on the shirt, a blue so dark it was almost black, just like his eyes, then the midnight black slacks and suit jacket. Finally, he put on the black silk tie, tying it thrice before he could manage a passable knot. He had to fore-go socks, and it felt weird putting on shoes without any.

     Not for the first time, he wished he was OCD. It would make his life so much easier, because his cleaning bill alone was probably enough to send him into bankruptcy. All because he’d had the stupid idea that, if he didn’t wash that often, he could still buy more clothes so it wouldn’t be a problem. In reality, it just resulted in bigger piles of dirty clothes.

     He did the silver cufflinks as he headed for his home office, grimacing at the scattered files on his desk. He cursed again as he found the papers he’d been working on, then slept on, with large spots of what was probably drool.

     Could this day get any worse, he lamented as he shoved them along with his laptop into his backpack, his jet black hair still in disarray on his head.

     Because karma hated him, yes, yes it could get worse, he realised as he opened his door to find Dresden, looking like some CEO in black Armani with a silk dove grey shirt and baby blue silk tie with light and dark grey stripes, his hand poised to knock. It caused a tightening in his chest when Dresden barely spared him a glance, arching one eyebrow, before he looked behind him into the house.

     “Who else lives here?”

     Corey gave him a slow blink. “What?”

     Those deep blue eyes turned back to him, and they were hard as sapphires. “Who do you live with?”

      “Um,” he stalled. “No one?”

     That eyebrow went up again, and Corey followed it with his eyes, then shook his head to focus his mind. “There’s no one,” he murmured uncomfortably, shifting the strap on his shoulder and squirming where he stood. “Just an ex but he already left.”

     The bastard hadn’t even wasted time. The day after that disastrous meeting, he’d gone home to find the house cleared of anything he hadn’t bought himself. Not that he even cared much for Sean anymore; he hardly thought about him until someone brought the subject up.