Ryder's Boys

by Cody Ryder

  The memory circled on in his mind’s eye. He was unable to stop replaying it—no—he didn’t want to stop replaying it.

  His cock throbbed achingly against the tight inside of his boxer briefs, begging for release. If I don’t want to pursue this, he thought, then why do I want to do this so badly…?

  With a trembling, hesitant hand, Bruce reached down and unfastened the button on his pants. He slowly drew down his fly, giving air to his swollen bulge. He bit the inside of his lip and slipped his fingers beneath the waistband of his underwear, and then released a long sigh as he made contact.

  I do want this…

  He used the thumb of his left hand to push down his underwear just enough to free himself. Out and tall, Bruce wrapped his right hand around his thick shaft and began to stroke himself.

  “Oh…”

  He used every ounce of recollection he had to put his memories in overdrive. He closed his eyes, bringing Joe’s musk into focus—that rich, delicious scent forever engrained into Bruce’s memory as him. He brought his lips back to his, and felt their softness, their fullness, the way they drew him in and kept him there wanting more.

  More…

  He felt the stubble of his cheek, imagined his lips exploring down to his neck, then lower, and lower, Bruce’s dark eyes all the while gazing upwards into his.

  Down…

  He imagined his hands—those powerful hands, now no longer striking against him but caressing him, grasping at his body and removing his clothes. They’d go down there first, he imagined. Exploring, probing…and then his lips next. Down…and around…

  “Oh, God…” Bruce murmured, his arm moving faster. He tensed, the seatbelt straining against his chest as the orgasm tore through him. He was so intoxicated with it that he didn’t even care when he felt his finish shoot up again and again against the steering wheel in front of him.

  The haze of climax hung over him, and he sat there for a short while basking in its afterglow.

  “Shit,” he sighed, tossing his head back onto the headrest. He made a quick look around to make sure he hadn’t just exposed himself in front of his neighbors, but it was night time, and he was in his driveway blocked by the large bougainvillea bush that grew along the sides of his property. He was alone; no one would’ve seen him. He carefully unbuckled his seatbelt and then cleaned up using some tissues from the box he kept in his car.

  After a long shower, Bruce went straight to bed, but he found himself wide-awake, his mind still vividly reliving that kiss.

  When he finally slept, he fell into a vivid dream that felt as real as his waking life.

  He was sitting at the dining table in the kitchen of his house, watching his mother working on something at the sink. Her back was to him, and he couldn’t see her face nor could he see what she was doing.

  “I don’t know if I can do this, mom,” he said. He spoke to her with a normality and familiarity as if she had never been taken away in the first place.

  “Do you like him?” she asked. “Do you want to be with him?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Bruce, come on. You do know. You just don’t want to admit it to yourself. What’s holding you back?”

  “I’m…afraid,” he admitted.

  “Since when have you been afraid of anything?”

  “I am now.”

  “Because?”

  He shook his head.

  “Don’t say you don’t know,” she scolded.

  He smiled. “I have so much work to do. So much is at stake…”

  “Such as? What could be more important than your own happiness?”

  “Mom, you know what’s at stake. Our legacy. Your memory. Dad’s memory.”

  She laughed, and he saw a glint of the silver earrings she always wore. He loved those earrings. “Do you remember what I told you?”

  He nodded. A wave of gloom seemed to come over his dream. The golden sunlight that streamed through the kitchen window and basked his mother in a warm glow faded, as if grey clouds had passed overhead.

  “Pick your battles, Bruce. Don’t tie yourself up in the past. Whatever is tied up to that old place, it exists in you. Those memories won’t go away just because the café does. If it can’t be saved, you’ll regret missing out on an opportunity to create new memories. Your memories. Don’t you want to do that?”

  Bruce said nothing, and gazed at his mother’s thick, golden hair that hung down over her neck in a ponytail. He felt a tightness deep in chest begin to loosen—just a little bit.

  Then she turned around. Her face as radiant and beautiful as he remembered it and her smile wrapped him up in a warmth that was as pleasant and safe as her embrace. She held in her hands a bouquet of white roses, delicately arranged in a crystal vase.

  “Still haven’t convinced you yet, have I?” she asked, walking over to the table. She set the bouquet down in front of him. “It’s okay. You’ll get there when you’re ready. You always have. Just don’t forget your own happiness.”

  She leaned over and kissed him on the forehead, and his dream faded into sleep.

  “You look fucked, man,” Marcos said, his arms crossed tightly over his chest.

  “Rough sleep last night,” Bruce said as he made a cappuccino for a customer.

  “Thinking about him?” came Julia’s voice from the kitchen. “You were, weren’t you? Did you see him again last night?”

  “Last night…” Marcos said, processing this information. “Holy shit, is that why you didn’t get any sleep?”

  “No! I mean, yes. But, no. What’s going through that perverted mind of yours? Here.” Bruce put the cappuccino on a tray and gave it to Marcos. “Take this out, will you?”

  “Sure, boss,” Marcos said with a little smirk, and took the tray.

  “So, what happened?” Julia asked.

  Bruce sighed. “I saw him at boxing class again…”

  “And?”

  “And…I went back to his place for a drink afterwards.”

  “And?” She leaned in, her eyes wide.

  Bruce twiddled his thumbs. “We kissed.”

  “Ho-ly shit!” Julia squeaked.

  “What?” Marcos asked, coming back behind the counter. “What did I miss?”

  “They kissed,” Julia said, jerking her thumb at Bruce.

  “Oh, shit, man. I knew it! You guys did a little…” He pumped his waist. “Go Bruce!”

  Bruce ignored him. “I left after that.”

  “Are you going to see him again?” Julia asked. “You are, right?”

  “I…think so. Yeah. I want to, but there’s something holding me back.

  Julia eyed him. Bruce knew right away that she knew—after all, they’d discussed it before.

  “The café,” Julia said.

  “The café?” asked Marcos.

  “The café,” Bruce said.

  Marcos frowned. “Holding you back? What do you mean?”

  Marcos had been around from the beginning and was just as protective of the shop as Bruce was. Bruce knew that Julia eventually could find work elsewhere—she was young, capable and had the attitude, but Marcos was older, stubborn and inflexible. Asides from keeping his parent’s legacy alive, the biggest reason why Bruce was fighting so hard was to protect the jobs of his two closest friends. No, they were more than friends—they were family. He’d already had to let go of so many others who he considered to be close to him, who he’d grown up knowing and working alongside with.

  “You know,” Bruce said, “I don’t know if I’ve ever asked you two this question, but…what are your dreams?”

  “My dreams?” Julia asked.

  “You probably don’t want to work in a place like this forever right? There’s things you want to do eventually?”

  “I’m already forty-six,” Marcos said. “I ain’t got no real family. LeFlorette’s—this place—is my home. I can’t imagine doing anything else.”

  “And I couldn’t either,” Bruce said. “It’s…almost i
mpossible for me to imagine not having this place. But…”

  “But?” Marcos seemed alarmed, and Bruce didn’t blame him. He’d never once heard a “but” come from Bruce when it came to keeping the café running.

  “I’m starting to think about what I’d do if I wanted a family,” Bruce said. “It’s something I never thought about before. Never thought I’d want to think about.”

  “You have a family, and then you have our family,” Marcos said. “What’s so hard to decide about that? You can start a family. Your parents did; they were here with nothing but me and a couple other guys and you in a baby crib in the back.”

  “Things have changed, though,” Bruce said. “We’ve gone over the numbers together before; you know as well as I do that we’re just maintaining right now. And barely.” He stabbed a finger at the air. “With that fucking place as competition, what can we do?”

  “Then we maintain!” Marcos said, his voice tense. “We keep doing what we’re doing.”

  “If Bruce wanted to start a family, he couldn’t maintain raising a child with the income coming from here,” Julia said softly. “Plus with the uncertainty…let’s face it, we’re circling the drain.”

  “Oh, come on, Julia,” said Marcos.

  “It’s true, though. Bruce is right; we have gone over the numbers together. I want to continue to be positive, but the way things are going…we’re completely at the mercy of The Standard right now. And…I’m still young, but I am thinking a lot about my future lately. I might want to start a family too, and, Bruce, when you asked about our dreams. I’ve been dreaming of travelling. I want to see other countries. But I can’t do that…”

  “I can’t believe what I’m hearing,” Marcos said. “Especially coming from you, Bruce. So, what? You’re talking about shutting down?”

  “Shutting down is the last thing I want,” Bruce said.

  “I agree that we should prepare for the worst,” Julia said. “We need to know when to quit.”

  Marcos looked back and forth between them. His mouth opened and closed as if he was trying to say something but couldn’t get the words out. Eventually all he could manage was a strained, “Jesus Christ,” as he pushed past them into the kitchen, and they heard the back door slam.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Julia said. “But Marcos should’ve known this conversation would be coming. It would’ve even if you hadn’t met Joe. It’s not your fault.”

  “I’m going to go talk to him,” Bruce said.

  “Are you sure? I can go.”

  “Of course. I’ll be back.”

  Bruce went through the kitchen and out into the back where the acrid-sweet smell of a cigarette greeted him. Bruce had always hated cigarettes—the smell was overpowering to his overly keen sense of smell and taste—and though he wouldn’t tell Marcos to quit, he was never quiet about giving him a hard time whenever he snuck out for a smoke.

  Marcos was sitting by the back door, his knees up against his chest, a cigarette dangling from his lip. He looked up and saw Bruce, and moved to put it out.

  “No, it’s okay,” Bruce said. “I’ll deal with it.” He sat down next to him.

  “I just don’t get it, Bruce. You meet this guy and all of a sudden you want to give up on your parent’s shop? On our shop? You’re not thinking straight. What would Callie…what would your mom think?”

  Bruce said nothing. Marcos stood up and brushed his pants off. “This ain’t the Bruce I know. This ain’t my LeFlorette’s anymore.”

  He turned and started to walk away. Bruce stood up. “Hey, Marcos, wait…”

  “No, Bruce,” he shouted over his shoulder. “I’m going home. I need to make sense of all this shit.”

  “Marcos…She would’ve supported this,” Bruce said. “Believe me when I say that.”

  Before he turned the corner and disappeared, Marcos threw his cigarette at the wall where it released a plume of sparks into the air. It landed onto the ground, a trail of smoke still wafting from its tip.

  Ten

  Joe sat with Lyle in his office, which had been fully set up over the past week. Outside the door, the San Diego team worked away at a small open desk plan that sat in the middle of the office’s roomy floor space, and the whole place bustled with productive life.

  “These numbers look fine to me,” Lyle said. “If you want this company to source our foods, then I think it’s a fine idea.”

  “It’s Paul’s advisement,” Joe said, his voice marked with unenthusiasm. He drummed his fingers on the desk. “What do you think?”

  “I told you I think it’s fine.”

  “No, no. What do you think about his idea? About the food.”

  Lyle sat back in his chair, lacing his fingers cross his stomach. “I think that you know what’s best for this company. And that as the CEO, you should do what’s best—while remembering the spirit of this company.”

  Joe thought about this, and then nodded. “There’s something I’ve been thinking about,” he said. “An idea I had.”

  Lyle shifted in his chair, leaning forward slightly. He waited for Joe to continue.

  “LeFlorette’s. The café I’ve been bringing lunch back from.”

  “Hella great sandwiches,” Lyle said. “What about them?”

  “What if…we acquired them.”

  “Acquire them? Buy their space, you mean?”

  “No,” Joe said. “They’re a family owned business. Their recipes are family recipes. Completely unique.”

  Lyle crossed his arms over his chest and nodded. “I see what you’re getting at. Well, it’s an interesting thought. Sure as hell vibes with us more than outsourcing some random company to mass produce us food. But it’d never fly with Paul. Too much of a risk.”

  “Yeah. Well, it’s just a thought. I’ve never even met the owner of the place.” He looked at his watch. It was time to go home, and he’d spent nearly the entire day trying to keep his mind focused and not on the events of the night before. He’d repeatedly checked his cell phone in the hope that maybe, somehow, when he wasn’t paying attention he’d missed a message from Bruce, but of course there was nothing. He’d told himself that he would put off contacting him as long as possible—but he just couldn’t keep himself patient. He needed to talk to him. He needed to know what he felt about what had happened between them.

  An entirely unfamiliar voice of doubt nagged at the back of his mind, telling him that Bruce would’ve contacted him by now if he felt the same way, that the silence only meant he regretted what they’d done, that he’d never hear from him again…

  “Thanks for your thoughts,” he told Lyle, getting up from his chair. Lyle followed his lead, and the two of them walked out into the main office where the staff was tidying up and heading out for the day.

  “Have a good evening, everyone,” Joe said, waving. “I’m out for the day.”

  Lyle stayed behind to manage the café, and Joe walked to his car parked out in the front. Once inside, he pulled out his cell phone, opened up the address book, and then Bruce’s contact. His finger hung over the call button, his heart racing hard. Finally, he pressed call.

  “Hello?” answered Bruce. Joe smiled at the sound of his voice.

  “Hey,” he said. “It’s Joe.”

  “Hey.”

  “Are you busy? Can you talk?”

  “Yeah, I can talk. Where are you? Can you meet me?”

  Joe wasn’t expecting to hear that question. “Yeah. Yeah, I can meet you. I just got finished with work, actually. I can come pick you up. We can go somewhere.”

  “I’m at home right now,” he said. “I’ll text you my address.”

  Just a few minutes later, he was out in front of Bruce’s house, standing by the side of his car while he waited for him to come outside. He admired the property—it was a quaint one story house surrounded by tall bushes of a shocking purple color, with a white gated fence in front that was crawling with ivy and vines. It looked like a cottage he’d expect to fin
d out in the countryside somewhere, like it’d been plucked from some painting.

  He straightened up when he heard the front door shut, and quickly ran a hand through his hair, even though he’d already checked it a dozen times and knew it looked fine. Bruce appeared at the front gate, fumbling with the latch to get it open. Joe couldn’t help but smile.

  They hugged, and both Bruce and Joe felt an exhilarating rush of desire so overwhelming it nearly made their heads spin. Bruce, who had still been on the edge of doubt about how he felt about Joe, now could no longer deny that being with him was what he wanted. How could he ignore this? He met Joe’s eyes, and wondered for a moment if they might kiss again—but Joe released him and walked around to the driver’s side of the car.