Starting From Scratch (Starting From Series Book 2)

by Lane Hayes

“Who’s the man of your dreams? Besides me, of course,” he teased.

  “To be determined. Hopefully it won’t take forever to meet him, though. My internal clock is ticking like a time bomb. If I want kids before I’m thirty-five, I need to get on it.”

  “You want kids too?”

  “I want it all. Marriage, kids, dogs, cats…everything. Right now I have a cat. But I’m hopeful,” I said, raising my glass in a mock toast.

  “I like that about you. When life gets tough, you get tougher.” He quirked his lips in a lopsided smile. “I used to think you were a spoiled brat, but you’re not. You’ve worked hard for everything that matters. And you don’t like leaning on anyone else. That’s why I’m not worried about the record label bullshit. You’ll figure it out, Char. We trust you.”

  “Uh…thank you.” I grinned, surprised and pleased by the unexpected compliment.

  “Don’t mention it.” Ky shrugged, then polished off the last of his beer and let out a huge belch.

  “You’re disgusting.”

  “Maybe, but I’m growing on you. Admit it.” He hopped to his feet and held out his hand. “Let’s go inside. You’re cold and I need another beer.”

  “I’m not cold.” Total lie. I was freezing. I blew out the candle and rolled the Cheetos bag shut and followed him inside.

  “Are you done with those?” Ky asked, gesturing to the Cheetos. When I nodded, he stuffed them into the pantry and grabbed another beer. He set it on the counter and peeled his sweatshirt off, exposing a sexy trail leading south from his belly button. I glanced away quickly, hoping to keep my insta-boner at bay. “Hey, you’re shivering. You should have told me you were cold out there sooner.”

  “I’m f-fine.”

  Ky brushed my arms briskly. “Take off your suit coat. I’ll give you my sweatshirt to wear. There’s a blanket on the sofa too.” When I hesitated, he added, “Unless you were gonna go?”

  “Um, no. I can stay.”

  “Good. Do you want more wine?” he asked, peering into my mug before nudging me toward the living area.

  “No, thanks.” I set the mug on the coffee table, then shrugged my suit coat from my shoulders and sat on the far corner of the sofa with my back against the armrest. I slipped the red blanket over my legs and smiled. “So where were we?”

  Ky settled against the cushions with one knee on the sofa and his legs spread wide in an uber relaxed dude pose.

  “Something about cats and kids and a trip we’re taking to Paris someday,” he teased.

  “Ah yes. Things I’ve been dreaming of since before I came out.”

  “How old were you when you came out?” he asked conversationally.

  “Oh honey, I was born out. My dad likes to joke that I had a diaper full of rainbow glitter when he found me on his doorstep,” I chuckled.

  Ky cocked his head and frowned. “Found you?”

  “Mmhmm.” I played with the tasseled fringe on the blanket. “My mother left me on Dad’s doorstep when I was two months old with a note. I think it said something like, ‘He’s yours.’ One paternity test later and my poor twenty-year-old dad had a kid.”

  “Holy fuck. That’s intense. And so biblical.”

  “God certainly has a sense of humor depositing a gay baby on a closeted gay man’s doorstep.”

  “I thought your dad was out.”

  “He is now. But when I was growing up, he kept his sexuality on the DL. The people who were close to us knew Gray was his boyfriend, but his work associates at the studio thought they were just ‘good friends.’” I winked, hooking my fingers in quotation marks. “It had to be so weird to hide who he was while five-year-old me colored my eyebrows with glitter and sang ABBA songs at the top of my lungs. On the other hand, it’s not like my dad wanted to put a Dolly wig on and do karaoke with me. We’re nothing alike.”

  “He seems like a good guy. He stops to talk about Oliver’s skateboarding progress every time he picks him up. He’s intense and kind of intimidating, but I can tell he loves his family. I’ve seen the way he looks at you and Ollie when you’re not paying attention. It’s sappy and sweet. He adores you, you know?”

  “I feel the same way about him. But he’s not very…parental. Some days, I think he’d rather be my friend than my dad. Gray was the strict one when I was growing up.”

  “Gray? He’s so mellow.”

  “Don’t be fooled. Gray can be a real hardass. He’s tough but in a good way, while Dad is just…flighty. There but not there. Nothing’s changed. He’s frustrating as fuck sometimes, but even though he’s not the world’s best dad, he tries.” It might have been the uncharacteristic mellow vibe between us or perhaps I’d hit my personal PC limit. I pulled the hair on his calf and met his scowl with an innocent smile. “What about your dad?”

  “Back to me, eh? You really want to know?”

  “Yes,” I whispered.

  Ky jumped up abruptly and grabbed an acoustic guitar from the wall. He moved his beer and pushed my wine back, then perched in front of me on the coffee table with his legs spread and his head bent over the strings. He paused to tune it before meeting my gaze with an intensity that kinda scared me. I swallowed hard and gave myself a fucking gold star for not flinching. Ky didn’t make it easy. He vibrated with a violent energy that made my heart slam against my chest and my pulse skitter out of control.

  He fixed me with a feral smile as he strummed. “I’ll give you a musical breakdown.”

  Ky made his instrument scream. Not an easy feat on a rhythm guitar. He bent the notes to an Alice in Chains classic before switching to Linkin Park’s “One Step Closer.” He didn’t sing or hum along. He careened back and forth, lost in turbulent thoughts. He looked like a haunted man. Then he stopped suddenly and started over with a slower melody.

  He played the chorus to Harry Chapin’s “Cat’s in the Cradle,” but this time he sang. And wow, Ky had a beautiful voice. Smoky yet clear. He closed his eyes and leaned into the notes, bending them to expose another layer of emotion. This was the magic of music. It made you feel things you’d never experienced firsthand. It made you dig deep into your own story to find the pieces that fit so you could lend emotion and meaning to words you didn’t write and somehow call them your own.

  I watched his fingers trip over the strings as his hair fell into his eyes. I noted the curve of his mouth as he sang about lost time and an inheritance of broken promises. And fuck, it broke my heart. Just like it was supposed to.

  The funny thing was, I sensed that none of these songs told his story. They simply hinted at his emotional state of mind. Angst, sorrow, melancholy…and finality. I picked up the clues he offered and did my best to arrange them into a narrative, but they couldn’t tell me his story. Only he could do that.

  I set my hand over the strings and caught his wrist. “Stop.”

  He did. Well, his fingers stopped, anyway. His body trembled. I sat up taller and scooted to the edge of the sofa so our thighs touched. This time when he looked at me, the intensity nearly brought me to my knees. No joke. I didn’t know what was happening here, but it felt…big. Significant.

  “Did you want to know why I hate him, how much I hate him, or if I’ll ever not hate him?”

  “You’re scaring me,” I admitted like an idiot.

  Ky’s Cheshire cat grin faded fast. He propped the guitar against the coffee table, then flopped beside me. “I don’t want to scare you. I just don’t have anything nice to say.”

  “Did something happen or—”

  “Jesus Char, it’s not one thing that happened, it’s a whole lotta things.” He shook his head and shot to his feet before pacing from the window to the sofa and back again like a caged tiger. “I hate him. I don’t mildly dislike him. I don’t wish he spent more time with me or called more often. The day he left us felt like a lifetime of Christmas mornings wrapped into one. No fuckin’ kidding. I’ll never forget it. I was ten and Karly was twelve. It was November…eighteen years ago exactly. I came home from schoo
l with a stomachache and a cast on my arm. I walked in the door and my mom said, ‘It’s okay now. He’s gone.’ And just to be clear…he broke my arm.”

  I gasped and covered my mouth. “Your father hurt you?”

  “He was an abusive prick, Char. Verbally and physically. He went away, but he didn’t stay away. He’d make an occasional guest appearance every so often to ‘check in’ with the fam. Fucker.”

  “But if he hurt you, couldn’t you make him stay away?”

  “How? With my supernatural mind-melding powers? I was a kid. I had no power.” His nostrils flared as he clenched his fists. “It wasn’t always terrible. I mean, it was better after he moved out. The visits weren’t great, but he wasn’t as angry, so it was usually just an hour of watching a clock and wishing time would move faster. He’d ask about school and what I wanted to be when I grew up…that kind of thing. And every single visit, he’d start out apologizing for the way he ‘used to be’ and then tell me what I shouldn’t be doing. ‘Don’t smoke, don’t drink.’ Parental stuff. He usually added his two cents about my friends, my band, skateboarding too.

  “He’d tell me who I shouldn’t hang out with and what I shouldn’t be doing. Like I gave a fuck. After a while I got smart and started doing every stupid thing he told me not to, hoping he’d stay away for good. I got a nice long reprieve when I told him I was bi. He absolutely lost his shit. He walked out and didn’t come back until Mom died. And that was a whole other scene.” Ky released a long breath of air, then fell beside me on the sofa.

  I reached for his hand unthinking and swiped at my eyes. “I’m sorry, Ky. I shouldn’t have pushed or—”

  “Hey.” Ky held my chin and rubbed his thumb along my jaw. “Don’t do that. I’ve done my time in therapy too, you know. I’m okay. I’m not gonna let the ghosts win.”

  “Good. I’m…thank you for telling me.”

  “Well, you kinda didn’t give me a choice,” he said, tousling my hair good-naturedly.

  “I’m the worst,” I admitted. “But tonight makes sense now. He sounds…troubled.”

  “Maybe. Maybe he’s had an epiphany. I don’t know. And I don’t have the words to say how much I dislike him. I got nothing. Hate is too strong. I wish I felt nothing for him at all, but I’m obviously not there yet because there’s something in me that wishes he’d change back into the guy I thought he was when I was Ollie’s age. That guy was my hero. That guy gave a shit. At least I thought he did,” he huffed. “There’s nothing sadder than a fallen hero, Char. God, I don’t want to be him.”

  “You’re not him,” I said vehemently.

  “No. I’m not.”

  I waited a beat then nodded. “I get why you didn’t leave me at the bar now. I’d want a buffer too. Even me.”

  Ky narrowed his gaze. “What do you mean, ‘even you’? You’re the only one I would have wanted there.”

  I cocked my head. “Why?”

  “I trust you.” He squinted, then let out an awkward laugh. “The real truth is…I’m kinda crazy about you. I think about you way too much. I want to say it’s ’cause I’m curious about this physical thing between us, but it’s more than that. I like you. You’re passionate, funny, a little insane, but you’re still, um…reliable.”

  “Reliable? That’s the worst compliment ever.”

  I huffed, hiking my foot under me to give myself some leverage before I let him have it.

  “I’m kidding. Hey, your foot’s on the sofa.” He tapped my shoe and gave me a mock scolding look that should have put us firmly back into our usual “coworkers who bicker” zone. I rolled my eyes as I toed off my left shoe.

  “Better?” I waited for his nod before putting my socked foot in his face.

  Ky caught my ankle, peeled my sock off, and tickled my foot before I could protest. I fell against the sofa and tried to kick him away, but he held on. He gave me a slight break when he grabbed my other foot and chucked off my shoe. Then he crawled between my open legs and started a new round of tickle torture. When I almost kicked him in the nuts, he climbed over me and captured my wrists, pulling them above my head.

  “Truce,” he growled, bringing his face a little closer to mine.

  I licked my lips, noting the way his gaze followed my tongue. He looked mesmerized and damn, I felt the same way. My breath hitched. I swallowed hard and willed myself not to wrap my legs around his waist and hump him. Bad idea. Don’t do it, don’t do it. But then he lowered himself over me, tilting his hips suggestively to grind his cock against mine. That was all the encouragement I needed. I opened my legs, tugged my hands free, and pulled him against me before fusing my lips to his.

  We made out in a passionate collision that was equal parts give and take and flat-out ravenous hunger. Ky didn’t miss a beat. He drove his tongue inside my mouth, humming into the connection as he molded himself to me. I hiked my legs higher and lifted my hips as he wedged his hand under me, clutching my ass as he tongue-fucked me and gyrated against me rhythmically. When our tempo faltered, we concentrated on finding skin.

  Ky bit my bottom lip and dragged his teeth over my jaw as he worked on the buttons of my oxford shirt. He yanked the hem from my khakis and reached for my belt buckle just as I untied the drawstring on his board shorts and slid my fingers under the fabric. I grabbed his ass cheeks and groaned at the feel of bare skin and delicious friction. His earlier boast about having a huge dick was certainly true. If I could just wiggle my hand between us to touch him…I sucked his tongue as I made my move, grazing my thumb over the head of his cock.

  He sat up suddenly, panting for air as he pushed his hair behind his ear. “Fuck, I want you bad.”

  “Why? Because I’m reliable?”

  Ky chuckled as he yanked his T-shirt over his head. He tossed the cushions off the sofa and wedged himself beside me, rolling onto his side with his head propped on his hand. “Probably ’cause you talk so much while I’m trying to make a move on you.”

  “So I should keep quiet?”

  “I would never ask the impossible. But I’ll tell you the truth if you need to hear it. This has been going on for a while. Every time I’m with you, I want you more. At first I just needed to hear your voice and be near you, but now”—his nostrils flared as he caressed my cheek—“I want to feel you. I want to be inside you.”

  “Me too. Yes.” I nodded vigorously, splaying my hands over his lower back as he settled between my legs.

  Ky twisted one of my curls around his finger and smiled before bending to press his lips to mine. The tender kiss quickly escalated. Our tongues dueled feverishly and our hands were everywhere. There were still too many layers between us. I unbuckled, unbuttoned, and unzipped, haphazardly shoving my khakis off as Ky licked a trail down my neck and pushed my shirt over my shoulders.

  He sat back to help me when the fabric got stuck around my calves, then stood and held out his hand. “Come with me.”

  I hesitated for a second, though I couldn’t say why. The tent in my very form-fitted power-red boxer briefs left nothing to the imagination. I was more turned-on than I’d ever been. I’d secretly lusted after Ky for months. Months. But when his exceptionally hot body wasn’t grinding against mine, I had just enough space to think. Don’t get me wrong…I had no intention of walking away, but as I followed him into his bedroom, my wonky filter burst.

  “Have you ever done this before?” I asked, giving the small space a passing once-over. White walls, a couple of framed skateboard and rock and roll posters, the gray sheets and navy comforter on his unmade queen-sized bed. I was tempted to ask about the stack of books piled high on his nightstand, but my brain stopped functioning when he lowered his board shorts over his hips.

  Holy fuck.

  “I’ve done some things.” Ky kicked his shorts aside and crooked his finger to beckon me closer.

  “Yeah, I know. You’ve done them to me.” I gulped, then licked my lips as I feasted my eyes on Ky in his incredible naked glory. “You’re so…beautiful.”
r />   He smiled softly. “So are you. C’mere.”

  I stared at his cock as I moved closer. He was big…long and thick, and his slit was slick with precum. My mouth watered. I didn’t know which part of him I wanted to touch or lick first. His inked chest, toned abs, or his gorgeous cock. Definitely his cock, I mused before gripping him at his base. He hissed at the sudden contact and let out a raspy sigh.

  “Too much? I’ll try to be gentler,” I said, sliding my hand over the smooth skin before dipping lower to fondle his balls.

  Ky pushed my briefs over my ass. “No need. I like it rough.”

  “Fuck, so do I,” I moaned, biting his shoulder when he released my cock. I pulled back slightly to gauge his expression. “You didn’t answer my question. Have you done this before?”

  “Let’s just say I’m a fast learner. How does that feel?” He rested his forehead on mine, then wrapped his fingers around my dick and stroked me while I did the same to him.

  The languid slide of his fist was sheer perfection. I actually whimpered when he twisted his wrist as he lengthened his motion. Ky sealed his lips over mine, setting his hand on my hip for a moment before trailing his finger along my crack and pulling my cheeks apart. I broke the kiss to meet his gaze when he let go of my cock and put both of his hands on my ass, rocking his hips as he rubbed a finger over my entrance.

  “That feels good,” I purred. “More.”

  Ky kissed me hard, slapped my ass, and pointed to his bed. “Lie on your back.”

  I shook my head and dropped to my knees instead. I had to taste him first. I fisted his girth, glancing up to make sure he was watching when I licked up one side of his length and down the other. Then I set my tongue over his slit before circling the wide mushroom head. I lifted his balls, sucking them one at a time. Ky threaded his fingers in my hair and rolled his hips forward in what I assumed was a wordless request to get on with the action. I licked him like a lollipop again before pulling back to look at him.

  The sex-hazed, hungry eyes, proud stance, long hair, and tattoos gave Ky the look of a battle-thirsty warrior or a rock god ready to make a host of bad decisions. He might have been standing still, but he emanated a powerful energy. I probably should have been wary that I’d taken on more than I could handle, but I was exactly where I wanted to be. On my knees, at Ky’s feet, worshiping his cock.