by BJ Blakely
Logan’s eyes well with tears. “You didn’t have to do this, Jax.”
I snort and flick away the tears. “All I did was set up the shop. You’re the one doing the work. It’s your business to run.”
It’s too much for Logan to take. He lets out a wail, but stops himself before he bursts into tears. “Shit. I promised myself I wouldn’t let our sentimental moments turn into angst fests. But you’re making it awfully hard.”
I kiss his cheek. “You can cry if you want, but I’m so fucking excited you’ll be able to make a living doing what you love. It makes me so goddamn happy to see.”
“Can I put some paintings on there right now?”
“I didn’t realize you had paintings to sell.”
Logan’s face bursts with excitement. He looks like a kid on Christmas Day. “I made some in the truck,” Logan whispers shyly. “I hope you don’t mind.”
I snort. “Of course I don’t mind. Grab the paintings and put them on your shop. The sooner the better,” I add. “My cash is running out. If you start making money, you can chip in for gas.”
With an adorable smirk, Logan grabs my keys, slips out of the door, sprints to the truck, selects his paintings, and comes back before I can blink, throwing open the door and rushing to the bed. “Look, Jax,” he says proudly, gesturing to the paintings. “I can sell these.”
My heart swells in my chest. “They’re beautiful,” I whisper.
My eyes burn, but I refuse to let Logan see.
He’s the cutest guy ever, and the paintings are top-notch.
A pang of regret rushes through me that Logan will be sharing his art with other people, but I realize it’s the right move to make.
Logan can share his talent and his unique understanding of the world — the same individual understanding he shares in his art — with everyone who wants to see.
With my help, Logan will become the artist of his dreams.
But first, we need to put the pictures online.
“Can I borrow your phone?” Logan asks.
I nod and hand him the device. “Let’s get this business up and running. I want you to sell these priceless works of art so you can help pay our motel bills.”
Logan laughs, and we take the pictures together. He’s painted the Montana mountains, the woods of Bear Springs, and the sea. My boyfriend’s an artist.
The pictures are so damn beautiful. His paintings are going to sell like hotcakes.
I tell him as much.
Logan shakes his head. “I fucking wish.” He shoots me a sad glance. “It’s hard to sell stuff online. I’ll be lucky if anyone comes to my page, let alone buys anything. There’s a lot of competition on ArtSell, and plenty of painters more talented than me.”
I shake my head. While Logan has a point, he’s missing the crux of being an artist. I take his hand and lead him back to the bed.
“When you sell your art, you’re not trying to be the ‘best’ artist. You’re showcasing the unique way you see the world. No one could do these paintings or capture sunlight the way you do. They’re buying your work because it’s you. They think your work is special.”
Logan nods. “I get that, Jax. But I’m still scared.”
I kiss his cheek. “That’s also totally normal. Here,” I say, taking the phone back. “I’ll take the pictures. It’ll be the perfect push to get over your initial fear.”
Logan relents and lets me take the phone. I snap pictures of three paintings, listing them at $169; the price of the brush set. I also check the box that says Buy One Get Two Free!
I want my baby to sell a painting, and there’s no better way to sell art than offering a killer deal up front to potential customers.
Logan blushes. “Thank you, Jax. I can’t tell you how much this means to me.”
I snort and close the ArtSell app on my phone. “I’m sure you’ll thank me when you sell a painting. And you’ll probably thank me with sex. I know you better than you think.”
“You caught me.”
I come in for a kiss. “Luckily, I like sex,” I rasp, planting a hot kiss on his quivering lips. “So I’m not complaining.”
Logan snickers and kisses me back. “I love you.”
We cuddle, flick on HGTV, and head to bed.
But as soon as Logan starts to sleep, I whip out my phone one last time and pull up my socials.
I post the links to Logan’s ArtSell shop to advertise the sale, and write that Logan is a new artist on a trip with his boyfriend across the US who needs to help pay for gas money.
It’s shameless as hell, but hey. I’m not above lying to help my boyfriend sell a painting.
When it comes to selling your art, the ends justify the means.
Then I flick out the lights and cuddle up to Logan, although truth be told, I’m way too excited to sleep.
25
Logan
Sunlight streams through the window as I wake up in Jax’s arms.
Fuck, I slept well. I think I had a wet dream where Jax and I were fucking through a glory hole in a Port-a-potty on the beach, and I’ve never woken up more satisfied in my life.
But all my peace and bliss is replaced by excitement the second I remember the ArtSell shop, and then I can only think of one thing.
Did I sell a painting?
“Jax,” I hiss, elbowing Jax in the ribs. “Wake up, sweetie. We have to check my ArtSell store.”
Jax grumbles and groans. He lifts his hand and makes a shooing motion. “Shh. Still sleeping.”
Oh hell no. “Jax,” I shout, elbowing his ribs harder. “I’ve gotta check my shop. What’s the password for your phone?”
Jax groans and pulls the blanket over his head. “It’s TRUCKNMUNCH,” Jax grumbles at last through the blanket, his voice muffled. “Don’t judge me.”
“TRUCKNMUNCH?” I snort.
Jax coughs. “Yes. Or ILOVELOGAN69. Try both.”
I can’t help but snort. I’m guessing his password is the second one, so that’s the first one I try.
But it doesn’t open.
I sigh and turn back to Jax. “Damn. And here I thought you loved me.”
Jax groans. “I do love you. I guess I never updated my password like I intended.”
I return to the phone enter the first password into the keypad, and the phone unlocks like a fucking dream.
I can’t help but snort. Truck n’ Munch? Really?
“Cutie,” I grumble, flipping through the apps until I reach ArtSell. Of course Jax would set his passcode to the place where we first met.
It’s not exactly romantic, but it’s adorable to me. Some might think it’s trashy as hell, but then again, Jax and I aren’t the most sophisticated guys.
I’m a server. He’s a trucker. I’d be worried if his password wasn’t something like Truck n’ Munch.
I’d be a helluva lot more concerned if his passcode was the name of a mother-truckin’ Beethoven Symphony.
I open the ArtSell app, but before I check it, I close my eyes and say a quick prayer.
I’m not exactly religious, but you never know who’s listening.
I say a quick prayer to the Abrahamic God, Buddha, Krishna, and also to the universe, because I figure it’s better to check all the boxes than none when it comes to matters so serious as selling a painting.
I’ve barely finished my morning prayers when I see it.
Congratulations, Logan! You’ve sold your first painting. One happy customer will receive SUNSET AT THE BEACH along with the other two paintings for free. The amount of $169 has been credited to your account. The buyer has paid the selling fee. See shipping instructions below.
My heart explodes in my chest. “Jax,” I shout at the top of my lungs. My eyes burn like I got sunscreen in them, and I scream. “I sold a painting.”
Jax snaps his eyes open. He throws the blanket back and rushes towards me. “What?”
Tears well in my eyes. “I sold a painting,” I repeat with a sob, letting the emotion overwhelm
me. “Oh my God. Someone bought Sunset at the Beach. I’m going to be a real artist.”
Jax lets out a cowboy shout and takes me into his arms. “I’m so fucking proud of you. I knew you could do it.”
My body convulses as the sobs crash through me. “I love you, Jax.”
“I love you too.” Jax kisses my cheeks, eyelids, and forehead. He kisses the tears away. But this is so cute, it makes me cry harder. I sob and bawl as I bury myself in Jax’s arms.
Jax taps my shoulder. “This is turning into an angst fest, cutie. Just a heads up.”
I sob and choke on tears. “Fuck.”
Jax snorts and brushes my floppy hair to the side. “I’m not complaining. You’re so pretty when you cry.”
I let out another sob. “You’re pretty when you cry too.”
“Liar,” Jax counters with a snort. “I never cry.” His voice twitches.
I squint and look up at his face. Could it be…?
Oh yes. Jax is definitely crying. “Ha,” I shout, burying myself in his arms. “Caught you.”
Jax snorts. “The one time I cry, you bust me. Just know this is the first time it’s happened.”
“Liar, liar,” I grunt. “Pants on fire.”
In one quick motion, I untie Jax’s pajamas and pull out his cock.
“Pants on fire,” I whisper greedily, tugging his softness, sliding my finger under the foreskin and teasing the soft head.
It doesn’t take long for Jax to get hard.
I peel back the foreskin, exposing his shiny glands. A whiff of musk flutters into my nose.
While it should probably disgust me, it turns me on. It’s his. His scent, his musk. This is my goddamn motherfucking boyfriend’s cock I’m jerking.
And he’s made me the happiest artist alive.
“Fuck,” Jax groans, sinking back into the pillow as I jerk him. A shudder of delight courses through me, because Jax has no idea what I have planned. He thinks I’ll jerk him off or suck him.
No honey. Today I’m riding this cock like a cowboy.
I grab lube from the dresser and apply a copious amount to Jax’s cock. “You ready?” I whisper greedily, sliding my legs over his and throttling him, exciting him with my virile body.
Jax lets out a husky moan and nods. “Fuck,” he grunts. “You’re so fucking hot.”
“Yeah,” I whisper, climbing on top of him. I moan and whimper as his thick man meat slides into my canal. “I’m so fucking sexy. You like that? You like guys like me?”
“Fuck yeah,” Jax growls, reaching behind me and bringing his outstretched palm down on my hairless cheeks with a meaty slap. “You’re such a sexy fuck. You wanna ride me?”
I moan and let Jax’s cock slide all the way up my asshole.
Reaching down, I grip Jax’s shoulders for support, and ride him like a fucking pony.
“Yes,” I moan at last, my matted hair flopping across my forehead. It’s going to be a mess when I’m done, but I don’t care.
All that matters is pleasuring Jax and thanking him for his selfless gift for me.
You'd do it too, if he was your man.
Jax smacks my ass again. “Dirty little slut,” Jax growls, his voice so fucking feral it sends pangs of need coursing through me. “Sucking truckers off in the Truck n’ Munch bathroom. Only a matter of time before you spread those sexy legs for me.”
“Fuck yes,” I cry out, riding his cock like a rig on a bumpy road. “I’m so fucking naughty. Smack my ass. Punish me.”
Jax lets out a primal roar and brings his hand down hot and hard on my cheek. Slap. Smack. “FUCK,” I scream at the top of my lungs as the red-hot pain sears through me. “Jesus JESUS. Fuck me.”
“Little fuckin’ slut,” Jax growls, grabbing my hips and ramming into me, his balls smacking against my pathetic hairless cheeks. “Take this trucker cock. Let this trucker empty his oversized load between your cheeks.”
“Oh fuck,” I scream as Jax fucks me hot and hard, slamming his cock violently into my asshole until he bottoms out, then repeating the motion again and again, fucking me with a need so fucking primal I nearly blast my seed.
“Fuck me,” I cry out, clawing his chest hard, digging my nails into his skin, knowing full goddamn well he’s going to have marks but not fucking caring a whip.
“Tell me who’s you are,” Jax barks, bucking into me violently, fucking my tight hot hole with desperate need. “Tell me.”
“I’m yours,” I gasp. Spit flies out of my mouth, and I let out a series of incomprehensible moans.
Jax roars and bucks hard into my asshole, sending spurt after spurt of heat into my channel, coming so fucking hard he cries out and loses control, fucking me a goddamn come rag or a sex doll.
I scream and spurt on his chest, coating him with great puddles of semen. So fucking thick. Pungent. Desperate with thanks and gratitude for what he’s done for me.
“Thank you,” I mutter, collapsing in the spunk on his chest, his come trickling down my taint but I don’t care. “You’re so fucking good to me.”
Jax kisses my sweaty forehead. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” I whisper back. “Thank you for setting up my shop.”
Jax snorts. “It’s nothing. All I did was set it up and post the links on my socials. You have to do the work if you want to succeed.”
I kiss his lips. “I know,” I whisper, nibbling his lower lip. “I have to work hard. But you’ll help me.”
“I’ll help you,” Jax echoes. He flits his tongue over my teeth and sends a rush through my spine. “Now let’s hit the shower, and then we can go back to the beach.”
“Okay, Jax.”
“Maybe you can even bring your paints.”
I fucking adore this man. “That sounds like an excellent idea, Jax. Thank you.”
My heart is filled with warm fuzzies as we get ready for the first day of the rest of our lives and head to the beach.
26
Jax
September
“Jesus, Betty. This is the best sausage I’ve ever had.”
We’re standing on Tilly’s back patio basking in the warmth of our relationship coming-out party.
Betty’s catering the entire damn thing, and she whipped up the best freaking sausages ever.
They’re even more delicious than her bacon.
But the best part is the entire Big Rig came to the party to celebrate our love.
Lucas grabs a sausage link off my plate and bites the tip. “Damn,” he moans, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. “What’d you put in this, Betty? It’s heavenly.”
Betty snorts and shakes her head. “Top secret. I’ll have to kill you if I let you know.”
Lucas groans and chomps off another bite of the sausage. “Come on, Betty.”
He swallows the mouthful in one piece. “You know damn well I can’t whip up sausages myself. I mean, I’ve got some German in me, but not nearly enough to create links like these. Your secret’s safe with me.”
I snort and shake my head. Lucas and Betty have hardly known each other for two hours, but they’re already bantering like old friends.
I've actually never met Betty until this afternoon either, so I'm stoked to see she’s such a character.
Logan told me as much, but it's funny as hell to see it first hand.
Betty, seeing that Lucas doesn’t pose a threat to her diner business — he doesn’t exactly seem like a Michelin star chef — finally relents.
“Fine.” She puts her hands on her hips. “Come closer, and I'll tell you the secret. I don’t want Tilly to overhear.”
Instinctively, Lucas and I glance around the backyard festival for Tilly.
Our gaze passes by Jasper, who’s schmoozing with Mary Beth by the punchbowl, Logan, who’s keeping Forest and Max company, and lastly Riggs, who’s helping himself to an extra tong-full of sausage links, in addition to a gargantuan serving of crispy bacon.
Jasper recently dyed his hair pink, and he’s never
looked more fucking fabulous.
Lucas’ tattoo and muscles flash in the sunlight, and he looks like a fucking catch.
And Riggs, as usual, is hulking over the rest of the attendants, his dark brooding eyes taking in everything, his even darker tattoos glimmering across his shredded biceps.
Lucas takes a hit of his vape. As he exhales, it surrounds him like a cloud.
When it clears he cocks an eyebrow at Betty. “Give us the truth, Betty. Why are you worried about Tilly?”
Betty glances again at the gathering, and when she’s confident Tilly isn’t within earshot, she scoots closer and gets right up next to Lucas’s ear.
“She’s a thief. Every damn summer at the local Pride Festival Mary Beth puts on, Tilly tries to steal my recipes.”
My jaw drops. “No.”
Tilly and her partner Natasha are so freaking sweet, and I find it very hard to believe she’s a thief.
I still can't believe I'm invested in this drama, but for some reason, it cracks me up and I can't help but listen intently.
Betty nods earnestly. “Last summer, I had the most delicious plate of Tex-Mex nachos on my menu that I learned to make when I stayed at a BnB in Texas. It’s not an easy recipe. You’ll never guess what happened.”
An image of nachos from Tilly’s flashes in my mind. Yeah, I definitely ate those with Logan.
They were good.
Almost as good as his perfect asshole and delicious come.
I glance down. "Just as I suspected,” I grumble, adjusting myself in my jeans. The fuckin’ thought of my perfect little boyfriend has made me horny.
Ugh. Damn Betty and her ilk for throwing a sweet party for Logan and I, when all I wanna do is take my sexy man to bed.
Lucas furrows his brow. “Tilly stole your nachos?”
“She stole my nachos. I banned her from the diner and never invited her to another party again.”
I can’t help but snort. As much as I want to keep daydreaming about my perfect man, I have to contribute to the conversation at some point.
