by R. Cayden
“Cool,” Gunner said again, with that glint back in his eyes.
“That sound good to you, Malcolm?” I asked. Considering he was at the center of the whole thing, I wanted to hear him say it.
“Yeah,” he answered. “If you think it’s a good idea, I trust you.”
And it was the weirdest thing, but as we said goodbye in the morning light, I trusted them, too.
As much as you could trust a couple of guys who broke into your house, that was.
Chapter Twenty
Malcolm
The next day, I stood on the porch to my parents’ house. It was a brick Tudor home, with high peaks to the roof and a big arch at the entrance. As always, the landscaping was immaculate out front, with seasonal flowers dotted among hardy shrubs and bushes. Sighing, I smoothed down the front of my shirt and mentally prepared myself for another family dinner.
I had never been very good at lying to my parents. I always fidgeted and averted my eyes the second I even considered telling a fib. But after the weekend I had, there was no way I could unload the truth on them. They were liberal people, working in the arts and the academy, and they never had a problem with my sexuality. But there was a lot of distance between supporting me when I started dating guys and standing by their only son after he spent a weekend trespassing and exploring kinky group sex.
I rubbed my backside, still sore and warm from the pounding I received. Every time I felt another tender ache, I remembered Gunner, sweating and thrusting above me, and I thought of Maddox, fisting his cock beside the bed.
I remembered it, and I wanted it again.
My mother opened the door, her lips pursed tight. “Why on earth are you standing there?” she declared. “Come in, come in.” You would think she would dress casually for dinner with her husband and son, but in a pair of wide-leg pants and a smart, floral blouse, she looked ready to walk into a meeting at the museum.
“Thank you, Mother,” I said, kissing her on the cheek and handing off the bouquet I brought every week. “What’s for dinner this evening?”
She waved her hand in the air dismissively and started to walk toward the sitting room, her heels clicking on the hardwood floors. “I’m not sure, dear. You’d have to ask the chef,” she said over her shoulder.
Like everything else in their house, dinner was always strangely impersonal. They hired someone to make the food, and they hired someone to clean the rooms, and you absolutely never even considered touching the pricey contemporary art that hung on the walls or the rare vases that sat on the decorative tables. It made for a beautiful life, and I appreciated all of the privileges I had been afforded, but it also drained a lot of joy from the luxuries.
I thought again of Maddox’s house. It wasn’t nearly as fancy, and he clearly cared more about poking around in the mud or in his workshop than he did about tidying the place up. But it was warm and welcoming.
It felt like someone actually lived there.
“Malcolm,” my father said, rising to his feet. He wore an Oxford shirt, tucked into his khakis, just like always. “I was just finishing my notes on this article,” he said, removing his glasses and putting them on the pile of papers and books by the couch.
“Still working on the history of the Panama Canal?” I asked.
He nodded quickly, patting me on the back. “I’ll tell you more about it later. It appears that some of our family in Panama were involved in the student protests following the Second World War, although I suppose that’s just a sentimental connection on my end.”
“I’d love to hear about it,” I said. My father was always doing interesting historical work, especially on the region in Central America where he had lived as a child. Whenever it seemed like he was going to give me some stories about our family, however, he just veered back into dry, historical facts.
“Maybe after dinner,” he said. “I believe the table is set now.”
I headed into the bathroom to wash my hands, then met my parents in the dining room. My mother’s hair was tied up in a tight bun, although my father’s looked unkempt, mussed up in a way that was appropriate for the life of a historian. Preparing myself for a long stretch of polite conversation, I shook out my cloth napkin and folded it carefully on my lap.
My mother lifted the salad bowl, passing it my way. “And how was your weekend, Malcolm?” she asked. “Did you have a productive few days off of work?”
I nodded, using the tongs to move some leafy greens to my plate. “Very productive,” I said, feeling my cheeks heat up already. “Although I haven’t found a new apartment yet.”
My father clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Still? Perhaps you’re being a bit picky, Malcolm. I can’t imagine that it’s this difficult to find someone to take your money.”
“You are doing fine financially, aren’t you?” my mother asked sharply. “I sometimes worry that we should have pushed you into a more lucrative field.”
I nodded, knowing it was better to avoid arguing with them if I could help it. “Yes, I’m fine, Mother. Perhaps I am being too picky,” I said, stabbing a cherry tomato with my fork.
“Tell us,” my father said, “what did you get up to this weekend, then?”
“I had a date,” I said, keeping my voice calm and steady even as I felt another warm ache in my rear.
“And was he a nice gentleman?” my mother asked. “Will you be seeing him again?”
“I believe so,” I answered. “He took me out for a very nice lunch, getting me a Cobb salad at a café with a lovely view of the mountains. And yes, he said he would call soon.”
It wasn’t entirely a lie. I had ordered a Cobb salad at the diner on our way back to Seattle, and Gunner had paid. I just left out most of the details that came before that.
“And what does this gentleman do?” my father asked. “Did you meet him at the library?”
I took a sip of the wine that had been waiting for me. “He works in antiques,” I answered, thinking quickly. “Old building interiors, architectural details, that kind of thing.” It was close enough to the truth that I didn’t feel like total scum for lying to my parents, although I still had to battle down the sense that I was selling Gunner out by lying about him.
“How delightful,” my mother replied. “I imagine there’s a thriving market for that work in Seattle.”
“He seems very busy,” I agreed.
My father placed his fork on his plate. “Malcolm,” he said sternly. “Is there more to this story that you’re not telling us?”
Just that I spent two days in the middle of the forest with him and an older man. And that I had the most explosive orgasm of my life. I also have a new interest in motorcycles. Do you like motorcycles, Mother and Father?
I shook my head quickly. “If I seem awkward, I suppose it’s just because I enjoyed his company.”
“Lovely,” my mother said abruptly, although there was no warmth in her voice. She glanced around the room for a moment, her eyes trailing over the wainscoting. “Perhaps he’d be willing to come by and give us his opinion on our interior? I know some of these details aren’t accurate to how the house would have been in the 1930s…” She sounded almost apologetic when she said it.
“It was just a first date,” I said quickly. “I don’t think we’re quite ready to meet the family yet.”
My father chuckled, lifting the cover off a silver tray to reveal a large white fish, adorned with lemons and capers. “Yes, dear, give Malcolm a chance to decide whether this is a serious match. I’m sure he’ll bring the young man by for our approval the moment he makes up his mind.”
I tried to picture Gunner across the table from me and felt my stomach flip.
All night, I had fantasized about seeing him again. I knew Maddox would be coming to town soon, also, and I had been hoping and praying that the three of us would get another chance to meet up. If they really were going to help me with my landlord situation, I figured we’d have to see each other at least a few more
times.
Which also meant a lot more lies to my parents and a lot more half-truths to try to cover my trail. With both of them staring at me from opposite ends of the dining room table, I felt anxious that I wouldn’t be able to maintain the charade.
Was I just fooling myself, thinking I could have my fun with Gunner and Maddox and still maintain my peaceful, proper life?
But as my father served me a steaming piece of white fish, I wasn’t anxious about getting caught by my parents. I wasn’t worrying about my reputation at the library or failing the strict expectations my mother and father had placed on me.
What worried me was the fact that I had tasted something different, and I couldn’t forget it. I had felt a kind of pleasure I didn’t know was possible, and now, with a napkin folded carefully in my lap, I couldn’t think of anything but those two men.
Finally, I knew what I wanted, and knowing it changed everything.
Chapter Twenty-One
Gunner
Maddox took the whole damn week to call me. I knew he was busy relaxing or some bullshit, but I still lost my mind, thinking he wasn’t going to call at all. Still, when my phone lit up the next Saturday morning to tell me he was coming by to pick me up that afternoon, I managed to keep my cool.
“Yeah, chill,” I said, lying in bed and trying to wake up for the conversation. “Do I need to do anything to get ready?”
“Do you have any miniature explosives?” he asked.
I laid there for a second before I realized he was joking. “Ha, ha, Maddox,” I said.
“Just bring yourself,” he said. “That’s all I need.”
“Cool,” I replied. I’m all he needs.
“And Gunner? See if Malcolm’s free later, will you? I might have a couple of questions for him.”
When Maddox hung up, I sent a quick text to Malcolm, then rolled out of bed. I hadn’t seen him since we got back to Seattle, but we had managed to text a little bit. When I took my cigarette breaks at work, I’d send him little flirty messages. Ever since I figured out he had a thing for dirty talk, I’d gotten pretty into getting him all riled up with a few filthy lines. Who would have thought my wicked mouth would end up getting me a cutie like Malcolm?
No matter how many times I told him I was dreaming about his ass or sent him selfies with my shirt off and my jeans undone, I still couldn’t get him to say anything dirty back. He just sent me little blushing smiley faces and hearts and told me how his day was going.
We also didn’t get any chances to talk about what we were doing. After those days together, I was pretty sure Malcolm was into me in a real way. I just hoped that I could keep showing up for him, keeping him happy and entertained. I worried that the cocky charm would wear off at some point, and he’d be disappointed in who I actually was.
When he texted back that he was free that evening, though, all those worries disappeared. I was so damn happy to hear from him, I rolled right out of bed and got my day started proper.
My apartment wasn’t anything special, just a one-bedroom in a small building on a side street. I had a couple of couches I’d hauled in from the Goodwill, a wooden dining table with a few random chairs pulled up to it, and a big TV I’d treated myself to after doing a bunch of overtime. I’d always intended to get more stuff and to actually invest in the place. When my father told me to hit the road, it wasn’t like he gave me time to pick some old family furniture and dishes to take with me. Once I’d gotten the bare necessities taken care of, though, I kind of lost steam for the project.
I whipped up a protein shake in the blender, pouring it into a giant plastic cup and then wandering back to the living room. It was already ten, which meant I had four hours until Maddox picked me up. Usually, Saturday would mean running errands in the morning and then laying around and smoking a joint with Laura in the evening. Thinking about Maddox coming to my place, though, I realized there was something I urgently needed to take care of.
Maybe I didn’t have much to show for my home, but I did have my truck. My father always told me that I failed his expectations. I failed him by being gay, I failed him by disobeying, and I failed him by taking after my mother instead of after him. But there was one expectation I always met. I took pride in my truck.
Pulling on a sweatshirt and sweatpants, I filled a bucket with soapy water and headed out to the street. I had a few rags in the back of the truck, and my toolbox was locked inside. It wasn’t the warmest day we’d had that fall, but it wasn’t the worst, either. Heading back to the side of the apartment building to grab the hose, I set to work cleaning the previous week of dust and grime off the exterior.
By the time Maddox showed up, I wanted to have the truck in perfect condition. I’d been meaning to fill the tires anyway and fix the cockeyed rearview mirror on the driver’s side. The truck itself wasn’t fancy, just a Toyota from the late ‘90s, but I had been maintaining it and working on it since the summer I turned sixteen. I’d rebuilt some of the engine, salvaged a replacement side door after an accident, and kept the machine running like a dream.
Twisting the hose and spraying the front of the truck, I was glad to have something to do with the day. I knew Maddox wasn’t the kind of guy who would care about how expensive my vehicle was or how nice I kept my apartment. But he would notice how well I had taken care of my old truck, and I wasn’t going to miss a chance to show him what I was capable of.
MADDOX
When I pulled up to the address Gunner had texted me, he was already waiting outside. The back of his truck was open, and he was sitting on the bed, swinging his legs off the back and smoking a cigarette.
I angled my bike to the side of the road, then yanked off my helmet. I ran a hand through my hair and took a second to stretch my arms and legs out. While I did so, Gunner hopped off the back of the truck, sauntering over to me.
“Nice truck,” I said, eyeing the vehicle I had last seen in the middle of the storm. “You work on it yourself?”
He grinned, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yeah, that’s my work.”
I nodded again, then squeezed his shoulder. “Great. You’ll drive.”
I headed over to the vehicle, and he hurried to catch up with me. “Yeah, that’s fine. You don’t want me to hop on the back of your bike, though?”
“Better if we’re in this,” I said, patting the top of his truck. “Much less conspicuous.”
He seemed satisfied with that answer. In another pair of tight jeans and his black leather jacket, though, I could imagine he had been counting on a cruise through the city on my bike. I made a note to take him out some other day, assuming he kept in line and didn’t do anything to shake my faith.
“What’s the plan?” he asked. “You going to fill me in, or am I just the clueless driver?”
I hopped into the passenger seat, admiring how clean it was inside. “I’ll tell you on the way, clueless driver,” I answered.
I had gone over the plan a million times in my head, thinking through every angle and every possible way it could go wrong. Even accounting for my uncle’s predictability, however, I had worried the details to death. My intention was to give Gunner a little guidance and show him how to make smarter choices instead of letting his hothead tendencies lead the way. Screwing up the plan and getting us both in trouble would fly in the face of all that, and I had no intention of letting anything bad happen to him under my watch.
“Head down to the Industrial District,” I said. “My uncle keeps a weird office location.”
“Will he recognize you?” Gunner asked as he started the truck and pulled down the street. “Do I need to keep my eye out for anything?”
“He won’t be there. He never works a weekend. If he did get a good look, though, it’s hard to say whether he’d recognize me. You’d think a man would remember his relative, even after a decade, but my uncle is a pretty selfish prick. He might well have forgotten about me altogether.”
“So he’s not the uncle of the year,” Gunner said. “
Got it.”
“You said Malcolm will be able to meet up with us after?”
“Yup,” Gunner answered, smiling a bit wider at Malcolm’s name. “He has the day off work, too.”
Knowing I was going to see them both again made me smile a bit wider, too. I needed the week alone in my house and valued every minute of peace, but I was ready for a little distraction.
Gunner pulled us onto the highway and sped up as we headed down toward the center of the city. He steered the truck like a pro, flipping the gearshift and handling the steep Seattle inclines like it was nothing.
“Actually,” he continued, “I wondered if I could ask you a question.”
“Yeah?”
“I’ve taken Malcolm out twice now. First, I took him to a park by the lake, and after that, I took him on a date to your house.”
I barked a laugh. “A date is one way to describe it. What’s your question?”
He gripped the wheel a little harder, the water stretching out in the distance beyond us. “Well, that’s kind of all the date ideas I have. I thought about taking him to a movie, but that seems boring. And then I can’t really afford any fancy dinners or whatever he’s used to, and I don’t think Malcolm really likes bars.”
I had to bite my lip to stop from chuckling. He was asking me for dating advice.
“What makes you think I’d have a good date idea?” I asked. “For all you know, I’m some loner off in the woods.”
Gunner rolled his eyes, hitting the gearshift again. “I heard some of your stories, Maddox. And trust me, Malcolm and I have both noticed how sexy you are. If you don’t have some good date ideas, I don’t know who would.”
“I’ll take the compliment,” I said, glad to hear the charm hadn’t warn off me yet. “But I can’t really tell you what to do on a date. You have to be thoughtful about Malcolm and about yourself and figure out what’s going to be right for the both of you.” I punched on his radio, flipping through the stations. “And maybe try to think of something that breaks fewer laws this time.”
