by Jayce Ellis
Carlton shouldn’t have kissed Deion. He knew that, but when he’d come home and seen Deion and Olivia, in the kitchen, Deion cooking for her like it was the most natural thing in the world, he could hardly help himself. And Olivia’s reaction had been so...her, that he still chuckled at the thought.
But Lawrence’s words rang through his head, while eating, all through the afternoon, and now in bed, waiting for Deion to join him. He didn’t want to lead Deion on, to promise or ask for something Deion couldn’t give. That he couldn’t give.
But Carlton loved the way Deion looked at him, the way his eyes went soft and that sappy little smile on his face after Carlton touched him. Like it was everything he’d dreamed of. It made Carlton want to beat his chest. And maybe that was too primitive, too uncouth for a grown, educated man, but he didn’t care, not one bit.
Deion stepped out from the master bathroom in a T-shirt and pajama pants, and Carlton wondered about the utility of instituting a rule that no clothes were allowed in the bed. Well, maybe underwear, so Olivia wouldn’t be embarrassed by them. But Carlton wanted to touch Deion, to wrap his hands around him and feel him, and he didn’t want fabric in the way.
The frown on Deion’s face didn’t help. “What is it?” Carlton asked.
He shrugged and climbed under the covers. “I don’t know. You tell me.” He scooted down, then turned to his side and propped his head up with one hand. “Carlton, what are we doing?”
Tonight. He promised he’d have the conversation tonight.
Carlton nestled under the covers to face him, then laid one heavy hand on Deion’s waist. “What do you want, Deion?” Way to deflect.
“Hell, I don’t know. I thought this was something we were doing for the benefit of Olivia’s adoption.”
“We are. This is so the adoption goes through smoothly. Once it’s done, we can, I don’t know, break up or whatever. I’m not trying to tie you into fatherhood here.”
Deion was quiet for a moment, then, “Maybe we do need to set some limits on this. How far we go.”
That made sense, and was something Lawrence would co-sign wholeheartedly. Carlton wanted no part of it. “What kind of limits?”
“C, don’t play dumb. You’re not good at it. You know what I mean.”
He nodded. He did. “You’re saying no more sex?”
“You saw how twisted shit got last night. You don’t think it’ll confuse things more?”
It probably would. Hell, Carlton knew it would. It didn’t stop him from wanting Deion, not one bit. He didn’t answer, unwilling to lie, and instead ran a finger across Deion’s waistband. Around the back, then he splayed a firm hand against him, the tip of his finger drawing circles on Deion’s back, just above the elastic, before trailing it back around to the front and resting again on Deion’s hip.
“Carlton, I know I said we needed to make this real, but not if it costs us our friendship. I was ready to let it go.”
“And then I forced the issue.” And got the best blow job I can remember in the process, before seeing how gorgeous you are when you come.
“I know how to say no, Carlton. Even to you.” His eyes twinkled, and Carlton nudged him playfully. “So, what, we’re fucking because we want to? Or to keep up the façade?”
Well shit. If that wasn’t a trick question. If Carlton said yes, Deion would absolutely shoot it down, and for good reason. Who wanted to fuck just to keep up pretenses? But if he said no, then...what? What did it mean? Carlton had gone from asking Deion to stay for Olivia’s sake, to yanking him into a relationship because the social worker assumed one.
Whatever he was feeling must have shown on his face, because Deion ran a hand over him. “Don’t stress. We can table it.”
Carlton groaned. “We’ve been tabling every serious discussion since you got here. At some point, we have to have them.”
Deion’s laugh was rich, warm. It felt like home. “True, but everything is in flux right now. There’s no reason why either of us should have all the answers. Maybe it’s better to play it by ear a little bit. We’re friends first and foremost, right? And I’m here to help you both, but Olivia’s needs come first. Isn’t that what parents always say about their kids?”
Carlton tightened his grip on Deion’s waist. Leave it to him to give Carlton a get-out-of-jail-free card and make it sound like the most logical thing in the world. “Yeah, that’s what they say.”
“So it’s okay for us to not have all the answers. Let’s just let this play out for a few weeks and see how it goes.”
“Yeah. That sounds good.”
Now Deion squeezed Carlton’s waist and nestled under the covers, turning to face the opposite side, away from him. And Carlton didn’t like that one bit. He tapped Deion on the shoulder.
“Yeah?” Deion asked, rolling to his back and looking over.
“I agree with letting things play out, but I think we’d be remiss if I didn’t insist upon a good-night kiss.”
“What?” The sound of incredulity in Deion’s voice made him laugh.
Carlton didn’t answer, instead shifting to lay one leg over Deion’s, nestled against his thigh, his dick resting against Deion’s hip, and leaned in for a kiss. A soft, sweet one that was more intense than any clashing of lips and teeth and tongue he’d done before.
He wanted more, and firmed his touch. Deion hesitated before craning his neck and opening his lips to invite Carlton in. Even then, they kept things gentle, their tongues flicking in and out of each other’s mouths, licking around the seams and pulling back.
Carlton thickened against Deion’s leg, and he drank in Deion’s soft moan when he rocked experimentally against him. He trailed a hand down Deion’s chest, tweaking the nipple over his T-shirt.
Deion whined. “Carlton, goddamn.”
Carlton loved when Deion got like this, when he let Carlton take charge and gave over to him. He’d done it last night on the couch, and again in the bed. He’d done it that one night all those years ago. It was amazing how much fuel Carlton received from those two instances. He wanted more, he wanted everything.
But he wouldn’t. Not until he knew what the hell he was doing with himself. Because Lawrence was right: Deion deserved more. Hell, the man deserved everything. And in the back of Carlton’s mind, a tiny voice whispered, And that’s why you need to let him go.
Because in twenty years, Carlton had never been able to commit to everything, even though Deion hadn’t asked. But Carlton knew, plainly now, exactly what his best friend wanted, and he had to decide, once and for all, whether he could give it to him. He’d held off giving Deion an answer, held off even thinking about it too hard, for fear he was incapable of being what Deion wanted—deserved—but Carlton was a selfish bastard. He wanted it all.
Still, with great reluctance, he pulled away. He ghosted his fingers lightly against Deion’s dick, rock hard and straining against his pants, and shifted to his side of the bed. “Night, D.”
A hoarse little laugh escaped, then Deion rolled back to his side, his back to Carlton’s chest. His voice filtered between them. “Yeah. Night, Carlton.”
Chapter Thirteen
It was Friday. A whole week of sleeping in Carlton’s bed, inhaling his scent, playing boyfriend and house husband and whatever else was needed of him, and Deion thought he might break.
They hadn’t done anything since that second awkward night, when he’d again forgone having a real conversation in lieu of being kissed by the man of his dreams. Carlton hadn’t stopped those, and lord knew Deion wasn’t tired of them, but he wanted more, and he was unapologetic about that.
Right now, he was also stir-crazy. Sitting at home was normally no big deal, but in DC, he had nowhere to go, nowhere to escape so he could process his feelings. If he’d done this with Carlton and then gone home, he’d have the opposite problem—too much time to process, which might b
e worse. In other words, his brain was a mess.
Carlton had stopped by Home Depot the previous weekend and had keys cut for him and Olivia. Deion dressed and, after locking up, stared. Somehow, it felt like winter had come early to DC. It was the end of October, still another six weeks before the official start of the season, but the leaves were hanging on by a thread. The sky was overcast, gloomy, and he briefly considered whether he should duck back in for an umbrella. That didn’t make the streets any more barren, though. They were as congested as ever, with people bustling around, just with longer, thicker, probably Sherpa-lined coats and hoodies on. He could admit there was a chill, but he was a born-and-bred Chicago boy, and he’d be damned if he threw on a winter coat for a slight chill.
That said, he’d brought clothes for a week in October, and if he’d learned one thing growing up with lake-effect snow, it was not to wait until the last minute to get ready for the cold front. Besides that, he’d been rotating the same clothes for a few weeks now, and he was not about that life. So he was going shopping, and Pentagon City seemed as good a place as any. And it was Metro-accessible, which helped. Deion paused, though, at the ticket machines, and changed his mind. He hated shopping. It’d just been a legitimate excuse to get out the house. So he decided to do something truly reckless: he closed his eyes and pointed. For once in his damn life, he’d let chance decide where he went.
Deion stretched out his hand, hit the clear glass covering the map, and opened his eyes. Farragut West. Okay, whatever the heck that was. He checked for directions on how to get there, then took off.
He exited the station and took stock of his surroundings. Lunchtime, and food trucks lined the streets. Perfect. Deion found a Korean fusion taco truck, grabbed a few pork banh mi tacos, and settled himself on an empty bench. Well, empty if you discounted the pigeons that joined him, looking intently, maybe even expectantly, at his meal.
He inhaled his food, one taco, then the second, then wrapped the third and sat back. It would make a lovely snack later. A pigeon waited for its cut and, when none was forthcoming, cooed at him indignantly and flew off.
“Deion?”
He shot up so fast his head hurt, spinning around before he spotted a familiar face, who was cringing with his hands up.
“Shit, my bad. I thought that was you, but wasn’t sure. Didn’t mean to startle you.”
Deion blew out a breath, his hand heavy over his heart. “JaQuan, right?” Carlton and Lawrence had called him Jaq, but Deion didn’t know him well enough to assume.
The man grinned. “Yeah, but please, call me Jaq. Good to see you.”
Deion nodded and pointed to the bench. “Same.” He circled the air. “You work around here?”
Jaq pointed to a street a few blocks over. “Yeah. Over there.” He looked at Deion with interest. “I didn’t know you were still here. Not that Carlton didn’t say anything, but I’ve been so out of the loop the past few weeks, I very well may have missed it.”
“I was supposed to leave a few days ago,” Deion admitted, “but I had nothing to go back to, so I figured I’d stick around.” He wanted to tell Jaq about Olivia, and Carlton’s plans to adopt her. But he didn’t know what Jaq knew, and he wouldn’t just spill Carlton’s business.
“That’s great,” Jaq said. “Maybe one day the four of us can all get together. I guess that should be five,” he continued with a frown, then shook his head like he was a little lost.
“You still seeing that guy from the club?”
“Yeah. But we’ve finished most of the project that brought us together, and now he’s splitting his time between here and his home office, which is around an hour away, so I’m not seeing him as much.”
“How do you feel about that?” An hour wasn’t terrible, but he couldn’t imagine working all day and then making that commute either.
“Honestly? I hate it. I wish he were here full-time, but I can’t say that.”
“Why not?” If anything, Deion assumed the guy would be glad to hear it.
Jaq gave a little laugh. “You don’t think that sounds needy as hell?”
Well, maybe a little. But Deion kept his mouth shut. One, he didn’t know Jaq well enough. And two, who the hell was he to talk? He was out here mooning over his best friend, too chicken-shit to do anything about it. At least Jaq had done something about his attraction.
“I can see where you’re coming from,” he told Jaq. “But honestly, if this guy likes you, I can’t imagine it being a problem. Hell, it’s probably nice to know someone’s really into you that way.” It had to be better than the hide-and-seek he and Carlton had played.
Jaq looked thoughtful, like he was turning Deion’s words over in his head. “Yeah, maybe.” Then he peered at Deion, considering him. “What are you doing out here? Anything in particular?”
Which reminded Deion of his original goal, the one he’d abandoned at the station. “I planned to go to the mall. Get some more clothes. Maybe see what they’ve got in bedding and stuff.” Carlton only kept three sets of sheets. He’d need more if he wanted to be able to change both his and Olivia’s beds weekly.
“Oh yeah?” Jaq perked up. “That’s what my company does, among a million other things. Why are you looking?”
How could he answer that without telling him about Olivia? “His bedding isn’t up to snuff?”
“You spending a lot of time in his bed or something?”
Deion opened his mouth to answer and snapped it shut, and Jaq laughed. “I don’t even know you enough to be joking like that.”
“If you’re Carlton’s best friend, we have to assume you can take it.” He fished a business card out of his pocket. “But if you’re interested, my company has some holiday collections coming out. Use this for a discount.”
Deion took it from him. Kingsley Enterprises. Oh, shit. Deion had absolutely heard of them. His mother raved about their designs, how unique the textures and fabrics were, and how durable they were.
And that had been what Deion was looking for. Because Carlton’s house was an absolute bachelor pad, and he wanted to soften it. To turn it into a home. To take Olivia shopping and find what things she wanted for her bedroom, to make it a place where she was not only able, but wanted, to spend her next few years. It was exactly what Deion was looking for.
He knew it wasn’t really his place. It wasn’t his role to take Olivia shopping with him. It wasn’t his job to tell Carlton that his house was too stark and he needed something more family-friendly. But that was exactly what he wanted to do. Oh, sure, he needed clothes, but he’d had every intention of coming home with stuff for the house. And maybe that’s why, when he’d gotten to the Metro station, he’d forgone that plan, even with its veil of legitimacy, to do something spontaneous. So he wouldn’t overstep those boundaries.
But God, keeping them strict, at the forefront, was harder than he’d ever imagined. Somehow, he’d assumed, since sex had been taken off the table, whether explicitly or by happenstance, that things would calm down. Become something he could deal with for the next two months.
If anything, though, he was more confused than ever. By Carlton’s kisses and caresses, like he would give a longtime lover, by the solid length that nudged against Deion’s hip every night, by the indisputable fact that he’d somehow fallen further in love with his best friend. Something he hadn’t even known was possible.
“You okay? I feel like I lost you there for a minute.”
Deion blinked a few times and shook his head. “I’m good, thanks. And I will definitely be using this,” he said, holding up the card. “Tell your boss my mom is her number-one fan.”
Jaq laughed, then his phone buzzed. “Speak of the devil,” he said, standing up. “I’ve got to get back to the office. Tell Carlton to hit us up, and we’ll all get together sometime.”
Deion waved as he took off, then tapped the card against his hand
before standing and walking back to the Metro. He had to call his mom in a few hours for their weekly chat, and she would grill him if she so much as suspected anything was wrong. He needed to remember his role, put on his game face, and get it the hell together.
* * *
Carlton was on the verge of a temper tantrum, and wasn’t that a bitch? After decades of doing his own thing, being accountable to no one, he’d come to a simple and incontrovertible conclusion: he didn’t like being alone.
But Olivia was in her room, on some sort of Google Hangouts group project that she wanted to do tonight because she had a wrestling match in the morning, and Deion was in the bedroom, having his weekly video chat with his mother. That left Carlton to his own devices, and as recently as three weeks ago, he’d known exactly what he wanted to do during this time: a whole bunch of nothing. But it was a choice. Now he wanted to spend time with his...family?...and they were all busy.
The door opened, and Carlton swallowed the hint of remorse that the footsteps came from farther down the hall than his bedroom. Not that he wasn’t always glad to see Olivia, but he wanted Deion to get off the phone with his mom already.
“Hey, Uncle C?” Olivia asked. Her face was pensive, her brows drawn together, and she was chewing her lower lip. He straightened, immediately on high alert.
“Ollie, what is it? What’s wrong?”
“I, um, my period started. I didn’t bring anything from Gram and Pops’s house, and my friend gave me some stuff this afternoon. But, um, I need more.”
How in the hell had he forgotten about menstrual cycles? Carlton didn’t have anything at the house, because he didn’t think he’d ever had someone who needed them visit, even on a purely platonic basis, before Olivia and Evangelyn. “Okay, yes, of course. Do you just want to tell me what you need, or do you want to come with me?”
“I can come with you, if you want.”
He wanted. Because he could not fuck up and get the wrong things, and he needed to show Olivia—and his parents, and the social worker, and hell, himself—that he wasn’t scared of all the aspects of parenting a teenage daughter. “Sure, sounds good. Let me just let Deion know we’re heading out.”
