by Leah Meers
On the Rocks
A Tale From Revere's Book #3
Leah Meers
www.LeahMeers.com
Copyright 2020 Leah Meers
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage or retrieval systems without permission in writing of the author or publisher. Reviewers may quote small passages no more than two paragraphs for purposes of reviews only.
All characters, places, and situations in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to reality is purely the result of the author's fertile imagination.
www.LeahMeers.com
Attention: In Chapter Eleven, there is a description of an assault that may negatively affect some readers. It is set off from the other text by three asterisks (***) rather than the usual tildes (~~~) to make it easier to skip if necessary.
Chapter One
Gabe
The black button-down and chinos had no power to make me look like I belonged at the Bowline, but Mr. Dumont had hired me to DJ the party, so I had to do my best. Collar tight, sleeves rolled down, all piercings removed for the duration. I couldn't hide all my ink or the holes, but it would have to do. The look he gave me at the one in-face meeting to finalize arrangements clearly showed that if he had time and options, I wouldn't have gotten the gig.
Hiding like this sucked. The idea of fitting in with these country club types went against every fiber of my being. I enjoyed paying for the third-floor efficiency I just rented from a photographer in town, however, and I enjoyed eating and keeping the heat and lights on, too.
I stood behind the provided equipment and queued up the next instrumental pop tune. Thank the universe they didn't expect me to announce anything or entice people onto the dance floor like at some other gigs. Fuck that. I played the music they wanted to hear, and if they didn't want to dance, they could just sit there sipping their mango mojitos and avocado craft beer or whatever.
Half an hour more and I could get out of the Bowline, drive home, and shed this costume. My gaze slipped across the crowd of navy blazers, khaki slacks, and cotton-candy-colored polos. Through a temporary split in the guests, the group of three guys I had been hoping wouldn't notice me came into view. Sure, it had been a lot of years since high school and their campaign to antagonize the queer kid, but nothing in their demeanor made it look like they'd be any different now.
I tugged at the buttoned collar of the shirt and shifted from foot to foot. The plain black lace-ups I kept around for these types of jobs pinched my toes. Twenty minutes. Another song. I kept my head down, kept playing from the set playlist provided by the bar, and waited for the torture to end.
Halfway through the last song of the evening, Mr. Dumont showed up with a plain white envelope and a sloppy smile. Through a haze of liquor breath, he muttered, "Good job," and handed me what I hoped was a fat tip. Doubted it, but maybe he slipped some more cash in there after he got drunk.
"Thank you, sir," I said, the honorarium sticking in my throat. I wasn't made for business, not the type that required kissing butt. I had put in several applications for clubs in the surrounding area and at Revere's, the local gay bar. All the days I spent living with my fingers crossed finally paid off in a job offer there.
The last song faded, and I bent over to flip switches and pull plugs. It didn't take long to shut everything down, and I was out the back door before the crowd even started to shift. Halfway across the parking lot to my car, footsteps scraped against the blacktop behind me.
Just twelve more feet and I'd be free. I closed my eyes and turned around. Maybe Mr. Dumont wanted to say something else about the…
A wall formed by the three guys from high school stood there wearing matching jackets and predatory grins. Other than different haircuts, a bit more bulk and, on Gary, the start of a beer belly to rival his father's, they looked the same as they had all those years ago.
"I heard you were back in town, Gabby." Chaz used the old nickname as if he hadn't grown up one bit in the years since high school. "Never thought you'd show up here, though."
"Dumont hired me. It's not really my scene." My arms hung at my sides, but I slipped my keys between my fingers and tensed. As ready as I was to do what I could to defend myself against three homophobic assholes, a spike of fear had already hammered itself through my head.
Gary laughed. "No kidding. No homos at the Bowline." Chaz joined in with a beer-fueled guffaw and clutched at his stomach as if it were the funniest line he'd ever heard. Bryce just sneered and looked away across the rows of late-model sedans and city-driving SUVs.
I swallowed hard and turned to stride toward my car, praying to whatever gods watched over music-loving queer-boys in parking lots for some protection. I almost had my hand on the door when a meaty fist grabbed hold of my sleeve and spun me around.
My back connected with the side of the car, and my breath whooshed out of me. Flashes of fists, elbows, dirty sneakers, blood, and pain flared through my brain, but none of them materialized in the real world. I fought to keep the fear off my face.
"We weren't done talking to you," Chaz snapped. He yanked at my arm, and the cloth tore apart at the shoulder seam. The move pulled me away from the car for a moment before he released me and let me thump back against the warm metal. "If you think you can just come here around normal people and—"
"Hey, Chaz. Your father's looking for you." The voice that called from the back door of the Bowline carried across the parking lot.
The hand that reached for my arm again fell away as the leader of the little group turned. "What did he want?"
The owner of the voice stepped out from between a BMW and a Lincoln. "No clue. He seemed kinda pissed, though."
Chaz waved a hand at Gary and Bryce, and the three of them staggered back toward the bar.
My eyes locked onto the man who had interrupted them. Same navy blazer, neat button down, and khakis as the rest of them, but I froze as my gaze scanned up to his face. I fought the urge to let my mouth drop open. I forgot about the fear of getting beat up or who knows what outside the marina as memories washed through me. How my fingers rubbed over his short dark hair that prickled my palms. How his thick scruff scraped across my skin. How my eyes locked onto his shifting, changeable ones that looked sometimes blue, sometimes aqua and had a warm hazel starburst near the pupil. I knew them almost better than my own.
At least, I had once upon a time.
"Cody." My voice didn't sound as casual as I wanted it to, and I cleared my throat. "Um, hey." Sheer embarrassment overtook the surprise quickly.
"Hey, Gabe," he said and shoved his hands into the pockets of his slim khakis. "You're back in town, huh?"
He didn't add anything like ‘good to see you again,’ which would have been nice, or ‘I couldn't stop thinking about you since I saw you last,’ which would have probably brought me to my knees right there on the dirty asphalt. At least he said nothing about the fact that I was getting hassled by the same bullies from high school.
"Yeah," I said.
He shrugged and opened his mouth to say something else when a group of people came laughing out of the bar. He turned away with the edge of his thumb caught between his teeth in the same old show of nerves I recognized.
I unlocked my car door and pulled it open. "Well, thanks. It was good to see—"
"Can I follow you home?" He took one step toward me as the group moved away to the far end of the lot.
My eyes flashed wide, but I just nodded and slipped into my car. Possibilities whirled through my mind as the engine rumbled
to life and I pulled away, double-checking that his headlights flicked on and followed me. What did Cody want? Follow me home? For what? Talking seemed the most likely scenario. Catching up. The possibility of a blowjob for old time's sake crossed my mind and settled firmly into my fantasies.
~ ~ ~
The sound of Cody's loafers thumping on the wooden steps followed me up two flights to the tiny apartment. My mind reeled with questions about why he was there, why he asked to follow me home. I pushed the door open, hung my keys on the hook, and kicked off the dress shoes I hated.
Cody watched me straighten up before toeing out of his own shoes.
I waved a hand toward the dark gray couch. "Make yourself at home," I said.
The first time I had seen the place, it had hideous linoleum, yellow appliances, and dirty paint on the walls. Emmitt, the owner, and his boyfriend Max had replaced everything and furnished it before I moved in. Dark wood floors, clean white kitchen space with padded stools at the island, and a built-in bookshelf-slash-entertainment center separating the main part of the room from another space just big enough for the queen-sized bed. It afforded some privacy, not that I needed it. I'd been too busy looking for work to snag a take-home kind of hookup.
"I have to get out of this shit," I said and waved a hand at the button down. As my silent guest sat, I settled on the edge of my bed just out of sight and grabbed black sweats and a faded band t-shirt. Taking off work clothes always felt cathartic in some way, like a butterfly must feel after getting out of the confines of the cocoon.
"You want water or something?" I asked as I emerged into the living space wearing the sweatpants. The stupid t-shirt was inside out, and I shoved my arm through it to yank the fabric the right way. Before it slipped over my head, I felt eyes on me.
Cody sat forward, elbows on knees, and stared at me with an odd expression on his face.
Was he checking me out? Memories of the sophomore year in college flooded into my brain. The school randomly assigned us as roommates, and when I confirmed the high school rumors that I was gay a couple months in, he let his curiosity get the best of him. He moved back here after that year, and I never heard from him again. I went on to get my degree and a job that kept me fed and far away from my hometown for years.
"Thirsty?" I asked, and I swore I was asking about that glass of water.
His gaze shot up to meet mine before he shook his head and looked away. "Um, yeah. I could use some water."
I slung the t-shirt over my shoulder on my way to the kitchen. Something sparked in his eyes I wanted to see more of. Why did he ask to follow me home? I stared at the back of his head while I filled two glasses with cold water, trying to figure things out with no possible way of doing so. Fuck it. I tossed the t-shirt on the counter, grabbed the drinks, and went back to slump on the other end of the couch.
"Here you go," I said and handed the glass over. "Now, would you like to tell me why you followed me home?" More than a few people had accused me of being too blunt. Guilty.
Cody gulped the water as if he were stranded in the desert, set the cup down with undue care on the low table in front of the couch, and sat back. His kaleidoscope eyes flicked toward me again. "You got new ink, and…" His voice trailed off as he lifted his hand to wave toward my chest.
"Oh, these?" I skated my fingers up to the silver barbell piercing my right nipple. The left matched. "Yeah, I've had them for a while now. Couple years." I almost laughed when he grabbed the glass and took another long sip. My mind toyed with the idea of teasing him. He seemed awfully interested in the swirls of color and pattern covering most of my skin and the metal decorating my chest.
I reached up and yanked the elastic holding back my hair and shook the platinum strands over my shoulders. The memory of his strong fingers twining in my hair while he leaned over me on his narrow dorm-room bed made me shift against the couch. The last thing I needed was a stiffy when I still didn't know why Cody was here.
Casual conversation might work. "So, what've you been up to?" I tucked my feet under me and leaned sideways against the back of the couch with my head propped on one hand.
He sucked in a deep breath and seemed to relax a tiny bit. "Transferred to the state school on scholarship. Dad probably pulled some strings. You know how he is." He shrugged. "Signed to minor leagues out of New York, was moving up the ranks pretty steady, and then…" His voice trailed off, and he leaned forward to pick up the glass of water again but didn't drink.
"Damn, Cody. That sounds amazing. It's what you wanted, right?" Even back when I knew him, he had lived for baseball. The music nerd and the jock were as unlikely a friendship as anything – not that we were anything even close to friends before random chance put us in the same dorm room in college. "But wait," I added, sitting up straighter, "and then what? What happened?"
"Torn rotator cuff. Put me out of half my third season. Doc said I probably tried to go back too soon and re-injured it, but…" His jaw clenched as he turned to look toward the dark TV. "Now it's just wait and see. Maybe surgery. Dad thought it better if I come home to recuperate."
"Damn," I said softer this time. "I'm really sorry that happened to you, Cody. Will you be able—"
"What about you?" he asked, cutting off the question I realized he probably heard and worried about far too much.
I hadn't seen Cody in several years, but if he was anything like he had been back then, getting shut out of playing baseball because of an injury like that could ruin him. And his Dad… Mr. Meyers had always been very particular about the path he expected his son to take.
"DJing here and there. I've been back in town about a month now. I landed a full-time gig at Revere's, so tonight was my last party like this, thank the universe."
Cody cracked a smile for the first time, and my belly flopped over. "Yeah, didn't really seem like your scene." He shot a pointed glance up and down my body before meeting my eyes. Those gorgeous eyes with their shifting colors. How many times had I stared into them while he came down my throat or into my hand or all over my body?
I grabbed my water and took a gulp, hoping the growing bulge in my sweatpants wasn't noticeable. We chatted a bit, carefully avoiding serious subjects: places we've been, classes we took, about how the town had changed since high school like we were old farts instead of twenty-somethings. It didn't take long to run out of things to say.
He stood up, headed for the door, and turned around to give me another look that included a quick glance down at my bare chest. "I'll see you around, Gabe."
"Yeah, I hope so." The words came out softer than I planned them to, and I stepped away to hold the door open so I wouldn't have to look at his eyes anymore. I forced myself to close the door and lock it rather than watch him jog down the steps and back to his car. Cody fucking Meyers, back from the past and still driving me crazy after all those years.
Chapter Two
Cody
Coffee, my usual protein shake, and maybe a run down to the lake. Without training or even the distraction of the team to provide meaning to my days, a vague restlessness took over. Something distracted me, but it wasn't baseball. I woke up hard as a rock from a dream of Gabe dancing shirtless in the shifting light of a club as music with heavy bass matched my pounding heart.
My shower was a practice in restraint. It didn’t mean anything, the throbbing in my cock that seemed to get stronger every time I let my mind drift back to how he had looked lounging on his couch. By the time I finished and my shoulder twinged from reaching up to wash my hair, things had calmed down enough to get on with my day.
I hitched my gym shorts higher on my hips and padded into the kitchen. My dad sat at the table with his phone plastered to the side of his face.
"Sure, he'll be ready by the spring semester, no problem." He tipped his chin up at me in greeting and leaned back in his usual chair at the head of the table. The polo with his store's logo on the pocket skimmed over muscles starting to go soft, and gray streaked his dark brown hair. On
e look at my dad showed me what I'd look like in thirty years. "Doc says he's coming along great, but well… It makes sense to explore some other options due to his age."
I poured a mug of coffee and added one spoon of sugar. My indulgence for the day. Dad would scowl if he saw me stirring it in, but his back was to me and his mind wrapped up in planning my future like always.
"Well, Bill, he is twenty-eight…" His voice trailed off again.
I was actually twenty-seven, not that the details mattered to my dad. All he knew is that I was already past the sweet spot for a chance at the major leagues. Not that the teams didn't have plenty of players older than that, but not rookies and not ones who still had an open-ended recovery period to go through.
I took my coffee to the sliding glass door and stared out at the backyard. For as long as I could remember, my dad would take me out there evenings and weekends to play catch, hit a ball around, practice pitching. On rainy days, we watched pro highlights, and he regaled me with stories about the college games he played, the trophies he won. I had no clue who he was talking to, and no clue what he meant about being ready for the spring semester. I gulped down some of the sweet brew and waited.
My mind wouldn't stay on the low rumble of his voice from the next room, however. I heard the name Bill again, some talk about a university degree, the usual complaints about how sports doctors know nothing. It faded away into an annoying hum while the image of Gabe floated into the forefront of my mind.
Gabe, my old college roommate. He didn't look much different from the slender blond scurrying around campus back then, although he wore his hair longer and the almost full-coverage ink was new. The piercings were new, too, but I couldn't let my mind focus on them for long. My dick remembered how he made me feel, and those added a whole new something.
