Rewind Boxed Set

by Rowan Shaw

  "Okay, wait. Let me make sure I'm understanding this right. The guy who took your virginity last night is the therapist you saw today."

  "Yes, and can you please stop calling it my virginity? I lost my virginity with you forever ago, in case you forgot."

  She let out a soft laugh. "Well, no one ever penetrated that hole before, so as far as I'm concerned, that made you an anal virgin."

  I was too exasperated to deal with the jokes. I unlocked my car and sat behind the wheel, not waiting one minute more to turn on the air conditioner.

  I was about to hang up, but Ling stopped laughing. "Okay, so what does it mean for your sessions? Do I need to find someone else for you?"

  "He already gave me the name of another shrink. He doesn't want to have me as a patient."

  "I don't blame him. When are you seeing the other person?"

  "We'll see." When the air coming out of the vent proved more suffocating than the outside, I opened a window and reclined in my seat. The pounding sun finally showed some clemency and hid behind a cloud, providing a few minutes of respite.

  "You'd better contact her."

  "I will," I lied.

  "Okay, good. By the way, Eve and I would like to go out on a date tonight. Would you keep Wei?"

  "Sure, I can... I mean..."

  I'd just have to cancel my plans with Patrick. I wasn't so sure I wanted to see him tonight anyway. He'd been too fast to dismiss me and push me away, and I never declined a chance to see Wei.

  "Do you have other plans?" she asked, picking up on my hesitation.

  "Well, Patrick invited me to his place. But I'll—"

  "Oh, so it really is more than a one-night stand?"

  "It doesn't mean anything. I can cancel."

  "Nope. No way," Ling said. "I'm not interfering with your chance to get laid. It's been way too long for you already."

  "It happened just last night, Ling. It wasn't that long."

  When the sun reappeared in the sky and beat against my windshield, I reversed the vehicle. I had the phone stuck between my cheek and my shoulders, my eyes on the rearview mirror. Thankfully, the lot was empty, allowing me to back up without a problem before putting the car into drive.

  Shooting a quick look at either side of the street, I exited the parking lot and headed through downtown. Traffic wasn't that bad this time of the day, but that didn't prevent me from hitting every light imaginable. I could already feel my headache turning into a migraine fueled by frustration.

  "I don't wanna hear about it. How about tomorrow night? Could you have Wei over then?" Ling asked.

  "Yes, absolutely. But truly, she could come over tonight." It wasn't like Patrick and I were going on a date.

  "Nope."

  I groaned at her stubbornness and caved in. I knew full well that resisting was pointless. "I can't wait to spend time with her."

  Though Ling let me see our daughter all the time, her visits were never enough. Being apart from her was the biggest challenge in my life, a void I felt every day no matter how conciliable my arrangement with Ling was.

  "You'd better get ready. She's been in a mood," my ex-wife warned.

  I gave a low chuckle and turned on the highway. "I'll be fine. What time will you bring her? My last lesson ends at five."

  "How about six-thirty?"

  "Sounds good. Look, I have to go. Message me again to confirm tomorrow."

  "Have fun."

  I could have sworn there was a smirk in her voice, but I chose to ignore the tease and hang up. The phone landed on the passenger seat when I tossed it, trying not to think about tonight. Patrick had said we would only talk, but that was without taking into account the instant arousal I'd felt upon seeing him earlier. How was I supposed to meet him alone and not let myself slip?

  Chapter 9

  BRANDON

  I arrived after nine-thirty at Patrick's place, still so exhausted from the night before, I had to take a coffee break after work to stay awake. To my dismay, when Patrick opened the door to his apartment, he wasn't in his suit anymore. His jet black hair was wet, and a whiff of sandalwood soap permeated the air around him. Dressed in a simple black velvet robe tied at his waist, he stood tall in the entrance, his handsome face cleanly shaven, his fleshy lips pulling into a welcoming grin. I couldn't help but wonder if he was even sporting briefs underneath. I knew right then and there I wouldn't be able to focus if he didn't change before we talked. He was gorgeous enough as it was without wearing something that gave me urges I'd tried hard to repress.

  Unaware of my discomfort, he flashed another breathtaking smile and let me into his spacious apartment, its inside nicely arranged with modern furniture and peaceful pastel paintings.

  "Did you eat yet?" he asked without waiting for my reply and took me directly to his kitchen, where he pulled four croque-monsieur from the fridge. "I'm sorry. I didn't have time to cook. I got those from the bakery yesterday. Is that fine?"

  "Yes, of course."

  "Trust me, it's better if I don't try to fix dinner anyway." He shot a grin that illuminated his entire face, igniting my burning arousal.

  I needed him to change into something less intimate, but it wasn't my place to ask and I didn't want him to read into my unease. It wasn't his outfit that bugged me the most; it was the needs it triggered inside me. I knew all too well what hid underneath. I could have traced his lean, chiseled chest blindfolded. I remembered every curve, every muscle flexing under his naturally tanned skin when he'd undressed last night.

  "Do you want one or two?" he asked without looking at me as he turned the oven on.

  "Whatever you're having."

  He sent me a quick glance over his shoulder and placed four croque-monsieur inside, then pressed himself against the counter while the grilled cheese sandwiches cooked. "Take a seat."

  I swept his kitchen with a quick glance, pretending I hadn't been standing there staring at him like a freak. Everything here was a lot more sophisticated than at my place. The kitchen was sparkling clean, as if he'd never used it, and the appliances seemed brand-new.

  I took a seat at the table and Patrick sat across from me, his pea-green gaze so intense, I averted my eyes.

  "You thirsty?"

  I couldn't tell if he meant for a drink or for sex, but I was parched for both.

  "I have some wine if you'd like some with your meal."

  "Water's fine."

  I couldn't quite read his expression when he smiled and stood to grab a bottle of mineral water and two glasses that he placed down before serving me.

  "I think it's clear I'm not used to doing this," he said with a little laugh.

  "Neither am I, actually." I rarely had people over except Wei.

  "You know, I really thought you were going to decline my offer to take you home last night." His gaze darted to me, raking my face.

  "I almost did."

  "What made you say 'yes,' then?" He peeked at me from under his eyelashes, the green of his irises deep and vibrant under his kitchen's bright light.

  The truth was I didn't know why I'd let him bring me here last night. I just knew it was exhilarating, the wildest thing I'd ever done. I never realized I needed sex as badly as when he'd undressed in front of me and dropped to his knees.

  I cleared my throat, my confession nearly sticking in there, refusing to come out. "I hadn't had sex since my divorce."

  It was hard to say the words. Humiliating somehow. Though there was nothing to be ashamed of. The pressure we put on ourselves when it came to sex and performance was ridiculous, but there it was digging into my self-esteem.

  Patrick raised an eyebrow. "How long ago was that?"

  "Seven years."

  His eyes widened just a bit. He was about to add something, but when the oven beeped, he held his finger up and stood to take the food out. He placed two croque-monsieur on each plate and grabbed utensils for us both.

  "Seven years is a long time," he said upon sitting down and handing me my meal. "I doubt
I could survive that long. Mmm, scratch that; I know I couldn't."

  "It was my choice."

  Surprise registered on his face, but he refrained from commenting and changed the subject. "You didn't tell me you were married. I'm surprised you managed to remain closeted."

  I wasn't sure what he meant by that. I didn't feel like talking about coming out tonight. I cut my grilled cheese in four identical squares, plunged my fork in, and took a bite, nearly moaning at the taste, the sauce pooling on my tongue as I chewed on the ham and cheese.

  "Do you regret it?" he asked.

  "No, we're still friends."

  Patrick's eyes lingered on me as he chewed, humming his approval of this last-minute dish.

  "What's that sauce they use inside?" I asked.

  "You're asking the wrong person, mon poussin. I couldn't cook even if my life depended on it."

  That explained his nearly empty fridge. I observed him while awkward silence built up like a wall between us.

  "Did you ever date anyone?" I asked.

  He seemed like the kind of man who cruised the bars for sex often but never settled down. Either that or I was just being a judgmental prick.

  He let out a sigh after taking a long sip of water. "I did. For three years. A guy back in high school."

  "And no one since?"

  "No one since. I mean, I could if I wanted to. I just haven't had the time or patience for it."

  I paused and placed my fork down. "Dating shouldn't require patience. It should come naturally and make you feel good."

  "Thank you!" he exclaimed, beaming at me. "I've been trying to explain that to everyone since forever. They all insist I should make the effort. Yes, relationships require work, but it shouldn't be so damn hard. I've watched some of my best friends date the worst douchebags you could possibly imagine and agonize over them for months. Dating someone shouldn't be like that."

  "How was it with the guy you dated?"

  "It was wonderful at first."

  "What went wrong?"

  He licked his lower lip but didn't reply right away. He got some more water instead and took his time to drink it down. "He met a girl behind my back and decided he wanted to act straight, stay in the closet, and settle down with her, have a family—the whole heteronormative nine yards."

  "He wasn't gay?" I asked.

  "He was bi."

  His words hit me deeper than I was willing to let on. "I am so sorry."

  "It wasn't your fault, mon lapin." His eyes met mine before dropping to my lips that he couldn't seem to stop staring at.

  "May I ask where this is all going—this whatever it is between us? Why did you invite me here tonight?" I asked. "We both know it wasn't to talk, but I don't want to be another lay on your achievement board that you'll forget just as quickly."

  Something flicked through Patrick's eyes, gone just as fast. "Is that what you think this is?"

  "Well, isn't it?"

  An unreadable shadow veiled his face, making me feel bad for asking at all. "I don't know what this is, Brandon."

  Well, that was reassuring.

  "All I know is I could smell you around me all day, and I couldn't focus at work. All I could think about was the look on your face each time I made you come. But then, you showed up at my office, and that complicated things tremendously."

  "I don't get it."

  His eyes narrowed slightly. "I can't fuck a client."

  "It doesn't have to be that complicated."

  "It already is," he replied, his forehead digging into wrinkles of discontent as he dropped his fork in his empty plate. "You need to understand: I usually just fuck for one night, and then I'm done."

  His honesty knocked the air right out of my lungs. I was right about him, then.

  He gave another pause, staring at me the entire time. "One night with you wasn't enough for me, and I don't know what to do about that. I'm supposed to tell you that you can't come back to my place, not after you became my client. But I can't."

  "Why not?"

  "Because from the moment you left my office, all I could think about was burying myself hilt-deep inside you. That was all I could focus on all afternoon."

  I swallowed on a gulp and cleared my throat, wriggling in my seat when I felt myself harden. It wasn't just his words that turned me on, it was the burning heat in his eyes setting my blood on fire.

  As if sensing my unease, he gave a cryptic lopsided grin. "You're going to tell me you haven't been thinking about me lodged inside you all day?"

  I had.

  I had, and I couldn't stop. I still had cramps in my thighs from last night. I could still feel him. I couldn't remember ever reaching such pleasure in my life. Just thinking about it drove me bonkers.

  Patrick stood and propped himself up with his hands flat over the table, leaning forward, his face inches from mine. "Lie to me. Tell me you're not craving me inside you right now."

  I couldn't move. I couldn't be honest with myself and deny his words. When I didn't react, he closed the distance between us, whispering against my lips, "Tell me to stop right now."

  I couldn't.

  His mouth was so close to mine, I could feel his smile spreading before he kissed me, his tongue twirling inside, its strokes turning me on so quickly, I could no longer hide my bulge. When he pulled away, another grin quirked up on one side of his lips. "I want to fuck you right here, right now."

  His words shot right down below, making me painfully hard as his eyes crinkled wickedly. He grabbed the collar of my shirt and pulled me so I had to walk around the table to meet him on the other side. In one swift movement, Patrick pushed the dishes away in a swing that sent one plate flying to the ground, where it shattered on impact. When I bent toward it, ready to clean up the mess, he grabbed my chin and raised my head toward his.

  He kissed me hard, shoving me against the table, taking my breath away. He didn't loosen his grip even when I let myself be consumed by him. He pulled at his belt, and his robe dropped to the ground. My mind turned to mush as I ran my fingertips over his beautiful chest, slipping my fingers through the hair scattered along his torso. His hands went straight to my zipper, sending all my senses into a spiral, out of control with unstoppable lust.

  Chapter 10

  PATRICK

  I was in a wonderful mood when I met my best friend for lunch at the terrace of a brasserie on Stanislas Square the next day—the best mood I'd been in for a while, actually. I'd woken up with Brandon wrapped all around me, then fucked his brains out before sending him home and hopping in the shower. Sadly, the giddiness triggered by all the endorphins didn't last when I sensed the dark cloud obscuring Enzo's otherwise pleasant temper. He'd been moping since we arrived, his gloomy mood slowly taking me down.

  The pedestrian square was busy with tourists taking pictures, the statue of Stanislas erected in the middle remaining the main attraction in town along with the Pépinière park and its tiny zoo.

  "Are you still sulking?" I asked, sending him a quick glance.

  He shook his head, but if there was one thing I excelled at, it was identifying Enzo's sadness before it turned into despair.

  "You're coming out tonight?" I signed.

  He shook his head again, his brown hair falling over his forehead. The scar on his left cheek dug into his white skin as he made a face. All my suspicions were confirmed when the waiter came and Enzo ordered a whiskey for his apéritif. Right then and there, I knew I had to do something about the situation. And soon.

  Enzo never drank alcohol. He never ate meat. And he didn't do hookups. He was a saint among all saints. That he'd ordered a glass of something other than apricot juice said it all.

  I squinted my eyes at him. "Are you drinking alcohol?"

  "It's just one drink."

  "Right." I was going to fucking kill Florian.

  I'd seen Enzo inebriated only once before, and that was enough to never let him get sloshed again. He'd spent the night puking in my bathroom, leaving me the
pleasure of cleaning up his mess after finally taking him to the couch at the crack of dawn where he fell right asleep.

  Unlike him, who was on a summer break from teaching at a middle school for deaf kids, I had to go back to work after lunch today. I couldn't babysit him if he got shit-faced drunk. I sighed and shook my head as I watched the people pass by, then scrunched my nose when I realized the guy at the table right next to ours was smoking, the breeze blowing the foul smell all the way to us.

  Enzo let out a long groan calling for my attention. "My processor just died."

  "You didn't bring a recharge?" I signed.

  He shook his head through a wince as his dark brown eyes pooled with grief. Thankfully, in spite of him wearing a cochlear implant, his family had insisted he learn French Sign Language, which came in handy more than once.

  He was an absolute mess today. I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen him wear those ugly ass jeans and that damn mustard t-shirt. It even looked stained with some tomato sauce or some shit. I wasn't sure if Enzo had even bothered washing his hair. He looked like a bum, which was so unlike him.

  "So are you coming out tonight?" I signed again.

  "No, I'll just stay home. They have a bunch of comedians on tonight. And apparently, they actually have subtitles too for once."

  "Awesome. Nothing like homophobic humor to cheer you up." I rolled my eyes.

  "They're not all homophobic," he gestured fast.

  "Maybe not, but most of them won't refrain from making those stupid gay jokes either. As if gay-bashing ever made a man look more secure and masculine."

  Enzo shrugged. "I don't feel like going out."

  "Really, mon poussin? You should, though."

  When he shook his head, my anger spiked. I grabbed my menu and looked through it, quickly choosing a plate of smoked ham for my appetizer and some codfish with vegetables for my main dish. Enzo only ordered a salad with roasted almonds, and as soon as the waiter came back with our drinks, he downed half his whiskey, then coughed on the liquid burning his throat.

  He was even worse off than I'd thought. I needed to find Florian A.S.A.P. and smack some sense into the jackass's head.