8
Lucas
Lucas studied his reflection in the bathroom mirror, half his face covered in shaving cream, trying to remember the last time he’d been on a date. He’d known that he didn’t date often, but as he wracked his brain, it hit him like a thunderbolt that he didn’t date at all.
He hadn’t been on a proper get-to-know-you date, one that wasn’t a prelude to banging and getting the hell out, since before prison. Hell, since he was a teenager. He distinctly remembered a few months of fumbled kisses and late night pancakes at the IHOP, so he knew he must have dated somewhere back in the mists of time. After all, it hadn’t always been his intention to fuck around his entire life. Growing up, he’d always been so sure he would settle down quickly and quietly and raise a family, like his dad. Well, he’d hoped to pick a better partner, but otherwise the formula was solid.
That had all changed when he was convicted. Once the verdict was read, he’d known deep down that he’d blown his one shot at a normal life. When he was finally released, he’d pretended he only wanted one-offs because he had no time, money, or energy for anything more complicated. But Arnold’s words about self-sabotage kept nagging at him, and he was beginning to wonder if his propensity for quick fucks had less to do with keeping his nose to the grindstone and more to do with fear.
In the past, whenever prospective partners found out about his history, they gave him two reactions: alarm or scandalized titillation. Sometimes both at the same time. Either way, it killed Lucas’s desire to know anything about them beyond what position they would let him fuck them. It was easier to intentionally pick out a suit with a pretty mouth, drag him down to the slums, and then laugh it off when the man eventually came to his senses.
None of that explained why he was so damn excited about something as basic as a dinner date.
The prospect of seeing Elliot again, of taking him home and fucking him properly in a bed, was enough to jumpstart his pulse in seconds. But that wasn’t what his mind kept zeroing in on when he marveled at the queasiness in the pit of his stomach. It was the dinner itself that did that to him. Sitting across the table from an intelligent, gorgeous man who was interested in him… well, he didn’t think anything like that had ever happened to him.
He hurried through shaving, not bothering to meet his own eyes in the mirror, afraid he would look like a shmuck even to himself.
He didn’t own any pants except jeans, but he at least attempted to care about his appearance by putting a button down under his leather jacket. The jacket, at least, was nice. It was one of the few luxuries he had allowed himself while saving to buy the garage from A.J.
They had agreed to meet at an upscale steakhouse by the river, fancier than Lucas usually went for but still full of guys in jeans and t-shirts. It seemed like a reasonable compromise.
Elliot was waiting for him by the entrance, dressed simply in slacks and a soft looking pullover that made his eyes impossibly warm. Lucas stuffed his hands in his jacket and crossed the parking lot toward him. Based on the way Elliot gave himself a little shake as he approached, he didn’t seem to have any objections to his appearance. It was gratifying, and it took his attention off feeling like a complete asshole thanks to his nerves.
The dining room was classy, with dark wood and glowing hurricane lamps. They were seated at a two-top in a secluded corner, but Lucas hadn’t even begun to relax when he got a look at the prices on the menu. He barely stopped himself from whistling. It wasn’t that he couldn’t cover it. It would just be painful. Elliot was relaxed and smiling as he perused his own menu, looking as if he ate like this all the time.
He wanted a steak, but he chose the chicken and mashed potatoes as an act of contrition to his bank account. At least, he thought that was what he ordered. It was difficult to focus with Elliot sitting so close. A large part of him wanted to just pull Elliot into the men’s room, where he could pin him against the wall and slide home in his hot, willing body. He couldn’t shake the picture.
Thankfully, conversation with Elliot was surprisingly easy, so his mind could entertain his fantasies while still focusing on the topic at hand. They didn’t talk about the weather, thank God. Instead, they discussed Elliot’s car, Lucas’s Yamaha, and, strangely enough, baseball.
“I wouldn’t have guessed,” Lucas declared, reclining with one arm stretched across the back of his chair. His free hand curled loosely around his pint glass.
Elliot quirked a brow. “What did you think I would like?”
“I don’t know. Tennis? Cricket?”
Elliot chuckled. “I got into tennis when I was hired at my first partnership, but I played shortstop throughout high school. We made All State three years running. Go Bulldogs.”
Lucas grinned at the way his chest puffed up with pride. “Bulldogs, huh? Where are you from?”
“Elizabethtown. Kentucky.”
So he wasn’t a wealthy prep school WASP after all, but a corn-fed All-American boy instead. That fit too, now that he thought of it.
“Got family there?”
Elliot nodded and leaned away from the table as their server set their entrees in front of them. “My parents and brothers. I’m the middle child.”
He said it casually enough, but prison had made Lucas excellent at picking up nonverbal cues, especially the kind that caused a man to tense up the way Elliot just had. There was history there he didn’t want to talk about, and Lucas respected that.
“What about you?” Elliot asked, avoiding looking at him by cutting into his baked potato.
Lucas took a bracing swallow of lager. “My sister, Trish, lives in Sacramento. I haven’t seen her since we were kids, though. She liked baseball too.”
“Did you ever play?”
He shook his head. “Little League. My dad even coached one year. He got all the way to the Minors when he was a kid. We used to practice every evening when he got home from work.”
“Why did you stop playing?”
Lucas remembered his father’s long shadow, throwing easy pitches in the rising gloom of their front yard as the streetlights came on. It took him a minute to answer the question.
“He died when I was in eighth grade. Liver cancer.” If an overdose of pills to escape the pain could be considered dying from the cancer. He remembered his father like that, too, maybe even more vividly than their days of playing catch.
“I’m sorry, Lucas.”
It didn’t sound like a platitude when it came from the man across from him, the man with such soulful eyes. It felt like a balm. Lucas shrugged. “Baseball didn’t matter much after that. My mom was making scraps as a telemarketer, and we had Trish to look after, so I got an after school job instead.”
Elliot was working on his last bite so precisely that Lucas knew he was chewing on more than his food. Sure enough, the question came seconds later, in a gentle voice, as if Elliot were afraid he might startle. “Is that how you ended up boosting cars? Your family needed the money?”
Lucas rolled his eyes. “Everyone who steals think they need the money, Mr. Attorney.”
“I just meant—”
“Sure, I needed money. But that wasn’t why I stole those cars.”
“Why did you?” There was nothing but curiosity in Elliot’s face. He hadn’t shaved since their encounter the day before, and he was sporting a neat bit of salt and pepper scruff that was sexier than it had any right to be. It made him seem more real and less like an idealized boy scout.
“I don’t know why. Isn’t that the kicker? There are tons of guys like that doing time. Half of us weren’t sure how we got there. Usually it comes down to one bad moment of poor impulse control.”
“Or three bad moments, in your case.”
Lucas could feel the sharpness of his smile. “The lawyer in you is showing.”
“Sorry.” Elliot grimaced, but his answering smile was good humored rather than apologetic.
“I guess I was just angry, you know?” Lucas mused. Elliot nodded like
he did know. Maybe he did. Maybe he saw it a lot. “Mom was never going to win any awards, but she went off the rails after my dad died. I think she hated me especially because I looked so much like him. So my home life sucked, and I felt like I’d been screwed over. Trish got knocked up. There was nothing much to come home to anymore. I was working as a dishwasher at this place downtown. The kitchen crew was a real wild bunch, partying nearly every night, and one of the line cooks took me with him one night while he busted car windows in a mall parking lot. I just stood there while he grabbed purses and small change. But it was the most fun I’d had in a long time. I felt better, like those rich fucks deserved a slightly shittier day than me.” He sighed. “I was an asshole.”
“I assume it didn’t take long for you and your buddy to move on to the whole vehicle?”
“Nope.” Lucas gazed down at his half eaten chicken. He discovered he wasn’t as hungry as expected. “I did my time. Got my GED. My mom kicked it while I was locked up. I didn’t find out for a while because she wasn’t talking to me. Trish moved away. I guess that made it easy to start a new life when I got released. It’s easier going forward when there isn’t anything to go back to.”
Neither of them were eating any longer.
Elliot sipped his gin and tonic. “What would you have done if you’d made it through high school?”
Lucas chuckled. “Exactly what I’m doing now. I always wanted to be a mechanic just like my old man.”
“Did he teach you that, as well? Like baseball?”
“Yeah. Did yours teach you?”
“No. But that’s what coaches are for.”
“Dad would have liked you.”
“Why?” Elliot looked taken aback.
“He always said the best kind of man was the kind who stands up for the little guy. He always considered himself the little guy.”
“Is that what I do?” Elliot squinted doubtfully. “I was under the impression you didn’t think highly of my career.”
“I did some digging. Looked up that place you work.” He raised a brow. “Payback is a bitch.”
“You had shitty counsel, by the way.”
“I know.”
The server whisked up to their table to clear their plates and check on their drinks. Lucas looked to Elliot, who ordered one more, so Lucas gave a nod for another beer.
When they were alone once more, he leaned forward and clasped his hands together on the table in front of him. “That kid, Julio. You going to get him a better deal?”
“I hope so,” Elliot said humbly. “I can’t discuss details of the case, you understand. But I’m optimistic I can do him some good.”
Lucas smiled crookedly. “You like playing the white knight, don’t you? Your folks must be proud.”
Elliot laughed, but there was no amusement in it that he could hear. “Did you forget I’m from Kentucky?” he asked sarcastically.
“What? They wanted you to be a farmer?”
Elliot shook his head. Lucas wasn’t sure what his expression meant, but it looked like part frustration and part sorrow. “No. They just didn’t want me marrying a farmer.”
“Ah.”
The server dropped off their fresh drinks, and Elliot took a healthy swallow.
“They didn’t kick you out or anything, did they?” Lucas asked sharply.
“Oh, no.” Elliot waved a hand. “That’s why I can’t really complain, you see? They love me. They just don’t… like me very much. So I moved out here, and I stopped going home for visits a long time ago. It’s difficult to be comfortable around people who secretly feel like you’re the downfall of civilization.”
“Sounds worth complaining about to me, but what do I know,” Lucas said heartily. “Is it worth it?”
“What? Being gay?”
He nodded.
Elliot gazed at him levelly. His face was the same honest boy scout face that had caught Lucas’s attention from the start, but his shadowed jaw and the lamplight flickering in his dark gaze made him look anything but reputable. He looked powerfully masculine and sexy as sin.
A shiver crawled down Lucas’s spine when Elliot looked him in the eyes and calmly said, “Absolutely.”
For some reason he didn’t feel like examining, it was impossible to stare into that penetrating gaze for long. He broke eye contact and took a long swallow of beer.
“What about your sister?” Elliot asked. “Or employees? Are you out?”
“I better be considering that episode in the garage last night,” he joked. He got such a kick out of the hint of color that crept up Elliot’s neck. “But, yeah. My family knew and didn’t give a shit. Mom wouldn’t have cared if I was selling my ass on 82nd, so long as she got the check. Dad passed before I had figured it out myself, but it wouldn’t have mattered to a guy like him. I know it.”
Elliot cleared his throat. He began fiddling with the corner of a linen napkin. “I wouldn’t ever ask this under ordinary circumstances, but if we’re going to continue a physical relationship… I mean, last night… if it had gone beyond oral sex…”
“You asking if I fucked men in prison?”
Elliot winced. The server, who had been swinging by with their check, hastily dropped the leather envelope on the table and did an abrupt about-face. Elliot buried his face in his hand, and Lucas snickered.
“As I said…”
“Relax. I’m not mad about it. The answer is no. There’s actually less of that going on than you might expect, at least where I was. When it happened, it was usually with these super feminine guys offering to be ‘the woman’ for a bigger guy. I’m not attracted to women. Clearly.” He winked.
“Thank you for your candor,” Elliot said as he tucked his credit card into the envelope and set it at the edge of the table. Lucas quickly added his own.
“You’re welcome. I’ve even got my clear test results from my last physical. But since you don’t know how many guys I’ve fucked since then, and I don’t know how many you’ve been with—” The server was back, looking fascinated. “—we’ll be wrapping it up for any ass play. Right?”
Elliot shook his head. “Nice, Lucas.”
“You’ve got to pay the toll to ride this roller coaster, man.” He turned the full wattage of his best smile on their transfixed server and said politely, “Thank you, miss. It was excellent.”
Elliot raised his brows as she walked away. “I assume those antics were for my benefit, not hers?”
Lucas shrugged. “I’m not your Sunday tennis buddy, Elliot. Not even close. I learned all my manners before I was twelve and nothing good after. I just want to make sure you don’t have any big expectations out of this.”
Elliot sighed. “Do I seem like the type who requires a fainting couch?”
No. No, he didn’t seem even the least bit fragile, not with his direct manner of speaking and the assertive way he’d gone after what he wanted, despite Lucas brushing him off. But he was high class. His past lovers had undoubtedly all been respectable. Lucas needed to make sure his expectations were in check.
He had no idea why it was so important to him, since he usually reveled in shocking his fucks and sending them running back to their country clubs. But with Elliot, it did matter. He wanted this man to think well of him.
“No,” he answered honestly. “You seem like the type who can handle almost anything.”
Elliot rewarded him with a slow smile that curled his toes and hardened his dick.
“So,” Elliot said casually, as the server dropped off their receipts to sign, “your place or mine?”
9
Elliot
The rain was a fine mist that clung to Elliot’s hair and eyelashes as he stood in his driveway, watching Lucas pull his motorcycle in behind his Prius. The headlight caught and illuminated each falling drop, and he squinted and held up a hand against the glare.
Lucas swung a heavy thigh over the seat and yanked off his helmet. He approached Elliot much like he had the day they’d met, slowly and pu
rposefully, and Elliot felt the same sense of anticipation he’d felt then.
Elliot’s nose and cheeks were cold, but Lucas’s hands were warm as he stepped close and cradled his face. The white puffs of their breath mingled with the autumn mist. Slowly, gently, his mouth set Elliot aflame. He didn’t know how long they stood there in the rain, just kissing. Every kiss by every man before this moment now seemed clinical and perfunctory, a means to an end. This kiss was an exploration and a promise.
Eventually, Lucas broke their lip lock and released his grip on Elliot’s collar, smoothing the lapels down for him. The porch light gleamed off the shine of his damp lips. “I’ve been wanting to do that since I saw you waiting for me in front of the restaurant.”
“No complaints here,” Elliot said. “Though I have no idea why you waited, considering your eagerness to shock our server.”
“I wasn’t trying to shock her. I was more interested in shocking you.”
Elliot rolled his eyes. “That’s not going to happen. Come inside.”
He took Lucas by the hand and pulled him through the front door.
Once they had divested themselves of their wet coats and shoes, and Lucas had set his helmet on the entry table, Elliot found himself leading the way toward the kitchen, for some ungodly reason. It had been so long since he’d invited a man home with him, he couldn’t quite remember the protocol.
“Do you want a drink?” he fumbled.
“Just water.”
While Elliot ran the tap, Lucas poked curiously around the kitchen, then wandered into the living room. “Are you sure you live here?” he called. “Or are you just squatting?”
Elliot carried the water glass into his sparsely furnished living room. Lucas gestured expressively at the bare walls, making a what-the-fuck face.
“I keep meaning to fix the place up,” he explained, fighting the embarrassed flush in his cheeks. “But I do most of my living at the office.”
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