In His Arms

by Caraway Carter

  At the bottom of my heart, I wouldn’t have minded spending the rest of my life in Wolff’s arms, but I know what it’s like to be a bartender. It’s miserable. Multiple jobs, odd hours—you can never have a life.

  I mean, I’ve run into him at three places in two days. I wonder where else he works?

  C&C never showed up. After a few hours of waiting, I said to Lyle, “Guess they were working on getting that baby in the oven.”

  He looked at me and snorted. “Toby Lee, you crack me up.”

  We went through several rounds, but I never bought another. Every time I offered, Jake or Wayne would jump up and be halfway to the bar before I got more than ten words out. I’m not stupid. Jake and I were going to have words later.

  When we headed out, I looked for Wolff, never catching his eye. Wayne was already plastered and Lyle had that same rabbit- in-the-headlights look that he’d had the night before, so I didn’t get the chance to leave my number with the bar-back. After pouring all three of them into their bungalows (again), I walked back to the patio of mine.

  After staring at the ocean for half an hour or more, I lay down on the chaise on my patio and finally fell asleep. I dreamed of Wolff as the leather-bound cop rescuing me, or handcuffing me to the bed, or pushing me down on the sand, making love to me. All through the night, the ocean’s waves were a constant backbeat, creating music as we said our vows to never leave each other.

  §§ §

  * * *

  I woke the next morning, still on that chaise, hung over from my delicious dreams and too much vodka. After a shower, which didn’t help much, I made my way to C&C’s place. The dishes from the breakfast I’d made were sitting in the sink, so I cleaned up a little and made another breakfast of bacon and eggs. I mixed a couple of Bloody Marys and placed everything on the dining room table.

  I knocked on their door. “Guys, you up?”

  Clay said, “Come on in. We are always up for you, buddy.” As I opened the door they were smiling, lying in bed in each other’s arms.

  “You guys look great. I’ve made breakfast for you. Eggs, bacon, liquid breakfast, too, if you need it more. The gang is set to leave at two, but I wasn’t sure if you wanted to send them off with hugs and kisses or not. I was thinking of making a lunch for them before they headed out.”

  Colin patted the bed between them. “Crawl up here, kiddo. We’ve missed you. Why didn’t you stop by at all this weekend?”’

  I stepped over Clay’s legs to sit cross-legged between them, kissing each on the cheek in turn. “I wanted to let you guys have some newlywed time, without the boy. Besides, I’ve been pining over a bartender.” My face reddened at the admission.

  “Reminiscing about your days behind the bar?” Colin patted my thigh.

  “No, I don’t know. He created a great drink, and I’ve been... he’s just... I don’t know. I think I want what you guys have. I mean, without the boy. I want to be made an honest man, not just a kept one.” I looked at my knuckles, and then cracked them, just for something to do. And then I shrugged, wondering why I thought Wolff would be the one to make me an honest man.

  Clay sat up, his grey eyebrows rising, then drawing together in concern. “Where did you meet him?”

  I looked away, then back at him. “Where didn’t I meet him? At your wedding, at a bar, at another bar... It seems like he’s everywhere I am on this island, until I really want him there, and then he’s not.” I frowned. “And Jake isn’t helping matters.

  Whenever I really want this guy to be there, Jake’s in the way.”

  I told them about the maybe-a-moment at the wedding bar, and how Jake had fucked that up. Jake had been in the way at the end of the wedding night, too, and at Orchids, and at the gay bar. By the time I was done telling them, finishing with Jake’s snide comment about “better than a bartender destiny,” both of their brows had drawn down in concern.

  Colin took my hand in his. “Jake’s always been a jackass, ever since Prescott took up with him. But because he’s a Southern jackass, he and Prescott fit together too well.” Then he smiled and patted my hand. “I think you can ignore anything Jake says. It’s your life, not his. To hell with his Southern pretensions.”

  Clay leaned in. “Do you know his name?”

  “His name tag said Jerome, but he calls himself Wolff.”

  “Who can blame him?” Clay snorted.

  Colin shushed his husband with a quick handwave, “Toby, do you know more than his name?”

  I leaned forward into my hands. “He works at least three jobs, he’s got the hottest body I’ve ever seen—since you guys, I mean—and he mixes a fine vodka and 7-Up.” I felt my lips twist in a wry smile. “He could make me an honest man, but the way he looks, he’d probably just make me naughtier.”

  “From what we know about you, Toby honey,” Clay guffawed “that might not be too difficult.”

  Colin smacked Clay on the back of the head. “Excuse me! This is Toby you’re talking to, remember?”

  Clay rubbed the back of his head with a mock glare. “Exactly my point, dear.”

  I hated to break up their couple moment, but it had to be said. “Guys, there’s another thing, too. What happens now? When we get home, I mean. After the wedding, I realized we never talked about it.”

  There was a silence as both of them considered my question. They looked at each other, doing that weird couple thing that doesn’t require words. Then they turned back to me.

  Colin took in a deep breath and let it out through pursed lips, almost sighing. “Well, honey, that’s really up to you. You’re our boy, but that’s always been by your choice. If you’ve found someone, Clay and I have no claim on you.” He looked at Clay and both of us caught the nod. “But if it doesn’t work out, you still have a key. You’ll always be welcome in our home.”

  “Yeah, your bedroom’s still across the hall from ours,” Clay smirked, ducking Colin’s hand this time. Colin glared, but then turned back to me, his face going serious again.

  “Toby, darlin’, are you asking for our permission, or our blessing?”

  “I guess a little of both. I mean, the three of us have been pretty serious for going on five years. And I don’t know if Wolff will pan out into anything, but I’d like a chance to find out. If not him, then someone else—it’s been five years. I don’t remember how to play the field.”

  Clay smacked me gently on the head. “Then why are you still here? Go on and find out.”

  I kissed both of them on the cheek, got off the bed and stopped at the door.

  “Look, I’ve got to call Jake and make sure everyone is packed and ready to go, then I’ll arrange with Wayne and Lyle to get the tables together and start making lunch.” And I was out the door, running to my own cottage.

  §§ §

  I stripped off my wrinkled clothes and hopped in the shower, with the water just warm enough to make me feel clean. As I soaped up, washing a day’s worth of sweat off me, I slipped into happy daydreams of Wolff’s hands on my chest, my ass, my cock. With the soap dripping white ropes of suds down my body, I added a few more tendrils as I came hard, gasping his name. Weak-kneed, I slumped against the tiled wall, reveling in the exhilaration until the water chilled and I rinsed off hurriedly.

  Even with the cold shower it took a few minutes to recover. I lay on the bed in a towel, thinking about his mustached lips gliding over my body. Finally the afterglow faded, and I dragged myself to my feet, dried off and pulled on a pair of Hawaiian shorts. Heavy white cotton with little green vines, blue and orange flowers blossoming everywhere, they had called to me the week before while we were in the last stages of shopping and packing. I decided against a shirt. I wanted to get all the sun I could.

  A few phone calls later, lunch arrangements were made. I called Jake and the guys to tell them when and where, then took a short run over to the hotel kitchen to have some fresh food delivered to my room so I could prepare the feast myself. I walked back, lost in thought about the lunch to e
nd all lunches, so that I could send everyone off to New Orleans in true French Quarter style.

  I had just pushed open my bungalow door, my head full of mint juleps, gumbo, and beignets, when a man’s deep voice rumbled from the palm stand to my right. “Excuse me, sir. You’re in violation of the law. I’m going to have to take you in.”

  The voice was familiar, but it didn’t make sense. “Violation of the law? What are you talking about?” I turned just as a hand closed around my wrist, pulling my arm behind me. “What the fuck?”

  “Sir, you are already breaking one law. Do you want to add profanity against a police officer?” Then I was turned around to face Wolff. Startled, I took in the nametag, the police uniform, the familiar bulge in the pants, and last of all, the look on Wolff’s face. He looked stern, but his twinkling eyes gave him away.

  “You’re not serious, are you?” I said, shaking my head and laughing. “This is a singing telegram or... or something, right?” Stripper, my mind whispered and I shoved the thought away as fast as I could. Now was not the time.

  Wolff puffed himself up for a moment, looking very official, and then deflated just as rapidly. “Yeah, I’m mostly joking.” He let go of my arm and rubbed at his beard to hide the rising blush in his cheeks. “I just couldn’t think of any other way to get you away from that... guy. He’s not your boyfriend, is he?” As he said it, he craned his neck to look over my shoulder into the bungalow. “He’s not here, is he?”

  I was so confused for a moment that I struggled to figure out who he was talking about. Then the light dawned like a Hawaiian sunrise. “You don’t mean Jake, do you?”

  “If he’s the guy who’s taken you away from me every time we’ve met, then yeah. I mean him.” Wolff scowled and kept craning his neck.

  “Oh, no,” I said, grimacing at the thought. “Jake’s just a friend—and kind of a bitchy one.”

  Relief flooded his face. “Good, then can I come in?”

  “I don’t know,” I teased. “Do you have a warrant?”

  “If you invite me in, I don’t need one,” he pointed out.

  “Are you actually going to arrest me?” I said, already knowing the answer.

  That blush came up his cheeks again. “No, I promise I won’t.”

  I stepped aside to let him go into the living room, and then closed the door behind me. Now that I could look at him, I saw that this wasn’t the costume he’d worn at the Hula Bar. This was the real thing, right down to a Sam Browne belt, pistol, and a shining set of handcuffs.

  “You’re a cop too?” I said, sitting down across from him. “Anything else I should know about? Superhero, maybe? Organic farmer? Vampire? I did have to invite you in, after all.”

  He grinned. “No, just a cop and a bartender. I told you it’s expensive to live on the island. This is my day job. I just got off shift.”

  “So, what law did I break, anyway? Did I really break one?”

  “Yeah, technically. It’s illegal to appear in public wearing only swimming trunks.”

  I protested, “But these are shorts, not swimming trunks. I can prove it.”

  The corner of his mouth quirked in a half-grin. “Oh?”

  I stood up, pulled off my shorts, and stood there in my tight, white briefs while my own cock thickened. I held the shorts out to him. “See? No webbing in the crotch. They’re shorts, not trunks.”

  He stood up and took them from me, inspecting them in detail. Finally he handed them back, pasting a mock-sad expression on his face. “My apologies. I stand corrected.” Then the expression dissolved to a grin, but his eyes roamed my body in open lust. “And here I thought I’d finally caught somebody under that law.” He sat down again, adjusting the belt as he did.

  “It’s a real law?” I couldn’t quite believe that. This was Hawaii, after all.

  “Well, it’s on every Internet list of ‘50 Weird Laws You Didn’t Know About’ that I’ve ever seen,” he said. I sat down again, draping the shorts over my lap, as he continued, “Now that I think about it, I don’t know if it’s in the Penal Code or not. Huh.”

  We sat in silence for a moment. I was more and more aware of the bulge the shorts were covering. Finally, our eyes met, and we both started chuckling.

  “I can’t say I fault your methods.” I stood up to pull on my shorts. I would have said more, except Wolff stood at the same time, pulled me into his arms and kissed me long and gently. I didn’t know what to expect, but his soft lips caressed mine and I sighed and frowned a little when he pulled away. He smiled like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. I was actually at a loss for words; I knew I had a complete thought before the kiss. At a snail’s pace, I pulled my shorts back up.

  “I’ve wanted to do that since the first, second and third time I saw you.” He grinned.

  I tilted my head. “What were we talking about? I seem to have lost my train of thought.” I chuckled as I reached out my hand to make sure he was really there. Then I found myself going in for another kiss and I slid my hands down his chest. The rest of what I wanted to say popped back into my head; as I pulled back

  “For what it’s worth, you’re not the only person I know who wants me to get away from Jake.”

  Wolff brightened at that and then asked, “What’s the story with him, anyway?”

  “Jake’s... a rich bitch. His boyfriend is worth millions, and Jake’s kind of full of himself. He doesn’t deserve Prescott, but he gets by on his good looks and, from what I understand, some great moves in bed.” I shrugged. “He thinks he’s all that, but it’s all show.”

  Wolff leaned forward, pulling me closer. “So why does he keep taking you away from me? Sounds like he’s got it made.”

  I thought about that. What was it Colin had said? “Jake has... pretentions. He thinks he’s a Southern gentleman, except he’s gay. But all that look-down-on-your-lessers Southern cultural crap? He was raised with that like it was mother’s milk.”

  Wolff grunted as he shifted the belt again. “Oh, I’ve run into that before. Grew up in Tennessee. I saw a lot of that shit.”

  Oh, that’s where the accent is from. “We’re all from New Orleans. It’s just something I put up with; Jake’s not going to change.”

  And I thought why am I wasting talk about Jake, when I’ve finally got the man I’ve been lusting after all weekend in front of me. I tentatively reached out my fingertips to the top button of his shirt, popping it open.

  “Is your name really Toby Lee, or is that just what he calls you?”

  A little thrill went through me. He remembered my name! Then I admitted, “Pops named me Lee, because he knew I wouldn’t be able to spell anything bigger. When I moved to New Orleans, I became Toby Lee.”

  He didn’t put up a fight as I continued unbuttoning his shirt. It was still tucked in, and when I made my way to the zipper, the conversation continued as though nothing was happening. his time, he held onto my hand.

  “Is that your whole name—first and last?”

  “Don’t I wish. Pops couldn’t even spell our last name. It’s

  Lapispathak. It’s Hungarian.”

  Wolff nodded. “Toby Lee it is, then.” He grinned again. “Does this make us formally introduced?”

  “Yes...” My hand moved down his chest to stop at the top of his belt, my eyes never leaving his. “You still haven’t told me your full name, Mr. Wolff. Turnabout’s fair play, isn’t it?”

  His grin turned a little uncomfortable. “My first name’s Jerome. I’m named after my grandfather, not a man I want to remember.” He bit his bottom lip. It was the first time I’d seen him vulnerable. He lowered his eyes. “When I moved to the island, I reinvented myself. I like the feel of Wolff, my last name. Jerome doesn’t come off as tough; Wolff does.”

  I stood there quietly for a minute, because he seemed to need the space. I slid my hand into the opening of his pants and leaned in to kiss him once more. Then a knock on the door interrupted my progress. “Shit. That’s probably the food I orde
red for the lunch I’m holding today. Can you excuse me for a minute?”

  Wolff nodded, looking at my hand and then at me. I sighed as I withdrew it. “I’ll be right back, I promise.”

  A harried man in chef’s whites was standing at the door. “Are you Mr. Lee?”

  “Yes, I am, is there a problem?” I didn’t intend to speak sharply, but my words came out rushed and biting.

  “Sir, I’m sorry, I would have...” hurriedly looking up and into my eyes. “Uhm... Sent my sous chef over, but we are getting ready for our own lunch service.” His eyes darted around the room, apparently catching the glance of Wolff behind me. “The restaurant can deliver the foodstuffs you wanted, but we can’t do it until two o’clock. I hope this doesn’t inconvenience you... too much.”

  My mind whirled. Their plane left at four; two o’clock was too late. And there was Wolff... a bright idea came to me. “Chef... Davis,” I read his name from his whites, “instead of the order, could the restaurant arrange a lunch party for eleven people around noon? My guests have to catch a plane at four, so two wouldn’t work.”

  The chef’s tense face relaxed. “We can certainly do that, sir. Just call the restaurant from your room phone, and tell them Chef Davis authorized this reservation. I’m sure it will be no trouble, and I’ll clear it as soon as I get back there.”

  “Thanks,” I said, smiled and shut the door.

  I came back into the living room and Wolff smiled at me. I smiled back. “Uh, I need to make a phone call or two, and then we can have lunch? Or something?”

  “Sure, mind if I take a shower? My gym bag’s in the car.”

  “No problem. It’s right through there.” I pointed toward the bedroom.

  “Be right back,” he said, getting up from the chair as I went to the phone.

  The call to the restaurant took no time at all. Then I dialed Colin and Clay’s bungalow. Clay answered. “Hey, Clay. I found him. I’ve rescheduled lunch for noon at the hotel restaurant. Can you let the rest of the gang know? I think I’m going to be... busy.”

  I could hear the laughter in Clay’s voice. “Then get busy, baby. I’ll let them know.”