So Ryan waited.
Jack came back fifteen minutes later, body glistening.
Ryan stared, throat suddenly dry. He couldn’t remember how to breathe. Or swallow. Jack’s muscles seemed extra large and magnetic because, no matter how hard he tried, Ryan couldn’t tear his eyes away from them. Jack sauntered forward, until his dick was eye level with Ryan.
“We’ve got five minutes. Turn over.”
He was on his hands and knees before Jack finished his sentence. Jack probed Ryan’s hole with a slick finger, but he didn’t do much prepping. Ryan didn’t mind; he liked the stretch and burn as Jack slid inside him.
“Don’t make a sound,” Jack ordered. He grabbed hold of Ryan’s hips and went to work, but not even a minute later he started going soft. He slowed and then stopped, cursing.
“What is it?” Ryan asked, glancing back. Jack’s shoulders slumped. He stared up at the ceiling, mouth twisting in a grimace. But his face had turned a deep red. When he looked back down, there was something in his eyes Ryan couldn’t quite read. “What’s wrong?”
“I thought . . . I mean . . . I just figured . . .” He turned around. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair as he headed toward the dresser.
“Are you okay?” Ryan asked. “Did I do something?”
“No. You’re fine,” Jack said, tossing a pair of sweat pants and a T-shirt in Ryan’s direction. His shoulders were tensed, and his neck had turned a bright red. Veins stuck out in the backs of his arms, and Ryan wondered if he was gripping the edges of the dresser. “It’s all me. I promise.”
That didn’t inspire confidence, but Ryan didn’t push the subject, simply got dressed and made a beeline for the living room. He knew he should have left. If he had, that would have never happened, and he wouldn’t feel like he wanted to crawl into a hole and die right now. He kinda believed Jack when he said it had been a personal problem, but that didn’t mean Ryan would ever be able to look him in the eye again. Maybe I should just email the other partners my resignation right now.
No, he told the voice in his head. Relax and don’t go there. Everything is fine.
So why didn’t anything feel fine? He massaged his chest, where a dim emotional despair had begun to settle. And of course, he’d left his anxiety meds at home. Fuck.
“Hey,” Jack said. Ryan turned around as Jack pulled a tank top over his head. “It’s nothing to worry about. Really.” He slung his gym bag on his shoulder. “You ready?”
Ryan nodded. He didn’t trust himself to speak yet.
Jack gave him a half smile, and they left the apartment.
Halfway down to the lobby, a fresh wave of sorrow rolled over Ryan as he realized, once again, that Valentine was dead. She was the one he’d usually call when he needed to talk his way through an attack, no matter how mild. But he wouldn’t let himself cry in front of Jack again. Not right now, anyway. That would only make things worse. So he held his tears back, bid Jack farewell as soon as the elevator doors opened, and darted for the exit. Outside in the cool morning air, he let his tears fall.
He didn’t stop crying for the rest of the day.
Jack shuffled through the papers on his desk for the hundredth time, expecting something different. But it was a known fact that if something wasn’t there the first time, it usually wouldn’t appear out of nowhere because you decided to search again. This was a law firm. Not Hogwarts. He couldn’t even remember what he was hunting for. A deposition? Discovery file? He heaved a sigh and scrubbed a hand over his face. Why was his brain so all over the place lately?
Because you’re a piece of shit, a little voice in his mind supplied. He rolled his eyes and looked up in time to see Ryan walk past his office without even glancing inside. For the fifth time today. He deserved that, he supposed. The two of them had met up a couple of times in the week since Ryan left him standing in the elevator, but it hadn’t been the same. They hadn’t had sex at all and the conversation had been strained. No matter what Jack said, Ryan wouldn’t believe that he wasn’t the problem. And Jack couldn’t tell him the truth about why he’d stopped fucking him senseless.
How did you tell someone you couldn’t sleep with them when they weren’t in drag because you can’t keep your dick hard? Even thinking it made Jack’s skin crawl, so how would Ryan feel actually hearing it? No. Jack wouldn’t do that to him. He’d have to figure out a way around it. Especially because he was starting to miss the company. But what to say?
He pulled his phone out of his desk and debated texting Ryan. That was so impersonal, though. Ryan was right up the hall, so why not grow a pair, walk up, and talk to him like a fucking person instead of hiding behind the safety of a screen?
Jack got up, but froze before he could leave his safe zone. Because once he left this room, he wouldn’t let himself turn back until they talked. And that wouldn’t be a bad thing, but for whatever reason his palms were slick with sweat and his stomach knotted, and fuck, he did not have to piss this bad a few seconds ago. He tried to shake the nerves away and imagine what he’d do if he were Sheila. Or any woman, for that matter. Women were braver. They faced their problems head on instead of dicking around in their office like a scared puppy. He needed to woman up and get it over with.
He made it to the door before he chickened out. Why didn’t he just cut his balls off and put them in a jar somewhere, because they weren’t doing him any good right now. Jack went back to his desk, but before he could sit down, the phone rang.
“Yes, Michelle?”
“Mr. Swift would like to see you in his office,” his assistant told him.
Jack’s heart dropped into his feet. They were going to have that conversation no matter how terrified he was. “Okay. Thank you,” he croaked, and hung up. “Well played, universe.”
He straightened his jacket and walked out into the hallway.
Ryan’s office was only around the corner, but the floor seemed to stretch on for miles, and with every step Jack’s tie got a little tighter. He’d been going for two, seven, nine hours; he’d need to stop and pitch a tent for the night soon. But finally Ryan’s door came into view, only an ocean of associates away. He could make it. Maybe.
He knocked lightly on the open door. Ryan looked up. There was no spark. No lust. Barely even recognition. Jack had royally fucked this up, and he wasn’t sure how to fix it. He cleared his throat. “Michelle said you wanted to see me, sir?”
Something seemed to flash through Ryan’s eyes, but it passed too quickly for Jack to read. Had he imagined it?
“Yes,” Ryan said. “Please come in.”
Jack did as he was told, resisting the urge to close the door behind him. He took a seat across from his boss (drag queen. Friend. Lover?) and folded his hands in his lap.
Ryan inspected him for a moment. “I wanted to talk to you about the Benning case.”
Jack nodded. “Okay.”
Ryan started talking, but Jack didn’t hear anything he said. He kept replaying that morning in his apartment and the defeated, confused look on Ryan’s face as he jetted from the room. Jack had wanted to tell him then, but hadn’t been able to find the words. Even now, he still couldn’t, and the more time he let pass, the worse things were going to be for him. He knew that from experience. Jack wanted to keep hanging out with Ryan. God knew he did. And he wanted to keep nailing him, because who wouldn’t want to fuck an ass that perfect on a person who had next to no inhibitions? He’d have to be crazy to want to let that go. But it wasn’t fair to make Ryan dress up just so they could have sex if he didn’t want to. It wasn’t right. And Jack wouldn’t hurt Ryan like that.
He didn’t know what he was going to do. Or how to go about this. But he did know that he desperately wanted some alone time with his boss away from this fucking building. Alone time that wasn’t peppered with awkward silences and covert glances that stopped as soon as the other person looked your way. Even if they just went to a fucking bar and got drinks.
Ryan snapped his fingers in fron
t of Jack’s face. “Earth to Jack! Are you even listening to me?”
“What?” Jack blinked several times and shook himself back to reality.
Ryan drew his lips into the tightest line Jack had ever seen. “What’s so important that you can’t pay attention for five fucking minutes?”
Jack held Ryan’s gaze for the first time since he’d walked in. He licked his lips, took a deep breath, and said, “You.”
“Excuse me?” Ryan raised an eyebrow.
Jack lowered his voice. “Look, I’m sorry about last week and how weird it’s been since then, but if you let me explain—”
“This is not the place for this,” Ryan said through gritted teeth. His whole demeanor had changed, and suddenly Jack was afraid of the man in front of him. After all, on a professional level, Ryan held Jack’s entire life in his hands. “Besides, you’ve had more than enough time to explain. If you can’t even be honest with me, I’m not interested in anything you have to say.”
“You’re right.” Jack hated how timid his voice sounded. “About everything. So meet me after work tonight at Icefire. I promise you I’ll explain as much as I can.”
Icefire was a bar not far from his place. It was far enough out of the way that he didn’t think they’d be recognized, but popular enough that they could be lost in the crowd.
“Sheila has a show tonight.”
“Then meet me before. Or after. Please. I miss spending time with you, man.”
There it was again. That same flash from before. But Jack knew what it was this time. Doubt.
“Please,” Jack repeated. “Don’t make me start quoting Britney. Cuz I’ll do it.”
“Fine,” Ryan said, cracking a smile for the first time since Jack had walked in. It filled Jack with a subtle warmth.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. You’re not out of the doghouse yet.”
Jack grinned. “But I will be.”
“We’ll see about that.”
Jack relaxed; it felt like days since the last time he had. “You wanna run that info about the case by me again?”
Ryan’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve got a meeting to get to, so I’ll shoot you an email.”
“Okay. That’s fine.”
“I know it is,” Ryan said with his head cocked to the side. “Now get the hell out of my office.”
Jack’s face stretched in a smile. “Yes, sir.” He stood up.
“And stop calling me sir.”
Jack wanted to lean forward and whisper his response, but people were probably passing behind him every few seconds, so instead he lowered his voice and said, “Would you rather I called you ma’am?”
“Fuck you,” Ryan growled playfully.
Jack went on his way, and the walk back to his own office was much shorter. He fell into the plushy chair in the corner of his office and breathed a sigh of relief. The hardest part had been setting up the talk. Now that that was done, though, he still had to figure out what in the name of Chuck Shurley he was going to say. But he had time to work on that. Or to chicken out and risk Ryan never speaking to him again. He wasn’t going to let that happen, though. He pulled his cell from his pocket and sent Ryan a message.
See you tonight.
Jack stood outside Icefire, his insides doing the hokey-pokey. Maybe Ryan wasn’t coming. He’d probably only said he was to get Jack off his back. Jack pulled his shirt down again. The tighter it was stretched, the better his chest would look and the less likely Ryan would be able to resist him. But that only worked if Ryan showed up. He checked his watch. Quarter past eight. Sheila’s show started at ten, so they didn’t have a lot of time. Getting in drag couldn’t be a quick thing; all the makeup and hair and tucking. How long would Ryan need to become Sheila?
Jack was about to just go inside and grab a drink, when he spotted his boss walking around the corner. He smiled without meaning to, his entire face growing warm.
“Hey,” Ryan said as he approached. “Sorry I’m late. I had to stay back at the office and lost track of time.”
“It’s fine. I’m just glad you came.” Jack held the door open and they went in. They found a table on the other side of the bar and settled in. There was a basketball game on the TV, but Jack couldn’t hear what they were saying. The air reeked more of booze than usual, and there was a steady hum of conversation that he was grateful for.
“Do you want a beer or . . .?” he asked Ryan.
“Whiskey soda,” Ryan said. “I like to have a light buzz going when I’m putting on my makeup.”
The corner of Jack’s mouth quirked up in a grin. “You got it.”
He went up to the bartender and put in their order. His skin buzzed as he leaned on the counter and waited. He’d spent an hour getting ready and then another fifteen minutes standing outside the bar before he’d even gotten here. Now that he had what he wanted—at least for the night—he didn’t know what to say. Or how to bring it up. He looked over his shoulder and saw Ryan inspecting his fingernails—maybe he was sizing them up for press-ons. He hadn’t made a run for it, though. That was a start. If Ryan was brave enough to be here, then Jack could be too. But when he got the drinks and headed back to the table, time did that weird warp thing again, and it felt like seven days and seven nights before he sat down and pushed Ryan’s whiskey soda toward him.
He sipped his own vodka cranberry, racking his brains for something, anything to talk about to break the ice.
“So why are we here?” Ryan asked after gulping down his drink.
Right. Straight to the point, then. Jack took another moment (or maybe it was closer to ten. He couldn’t be totally sure at this point) to compose himself. “About the other morning . . .” Ryan nodded, watching him with a cynical expression, like he’d heard it all before and was only sticking around to see how creative Jack’s excuse was. “I meant it when I said it wasn’t you. Not completely, anyway.” Ryan tilted his head and his gaze turned inquisitive. “The truth is I couldn’t keep my dick hard, okay? It felt great at first, but then I looked down and I just couldn’t keep it up.”
“What are you saying? What happened when you looked down?”
“I saw . . . you . . .”
Ryan nodded, dragged his bottom lip between his teeth. His eyes darted toward the exit, then back to Jack, then down at the table. Jack could swear those were tears growing fat at the corners, and that was a knife slicing white-hot through his own gut.
“It was a mental thing!” he said quickly. “My brain is stupid and it’s all my fucking parents’ fault. Literally the only problem was that you looked like a dude.”
Ryan sniffled. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“Look . . . growing up . . . my entire life all my family ever told me was how wrong it is to be gay. And they think being bi is even worse. My aunt and my uncle on my dad’s side disowned my cousin and practically beat him to death just because he said he wasn’t leaving home. My sister got arrested for breaking the hand of a girl who she thought was flirting with her, even though she wasn’t. I talked to the girl. She was just trying to be nice because she thought my sister needed a friend.” Jack chewed the inside of his cheek. “My parents preached fire and brimstone and went on and on about how unnatural it is, and so when I found myself seeing guys that way, I freaked.”
Jack took a deep breath, let it out as slow as he could. He ran a hand over his head and took another swig. “I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to lose my family, so I hid it. I had girlfriends and brought them home to meet everyone and we fooled around and it was nice. I even really liked a few of them. I just . . . I kept wondering what it would be like to be with a guy. But I was terrified, so I never tried anything. And the girls . . . they . . . I dunno sensed, maybe, that something was wrong. I wasn’t giving them my all, or even my three-quarters, and they all left me. I’ve spent most of my life alone.”
Jack stared down into his cup. There were only a few cubes of ice left, and even those had st
arted to melt. His drink wasn’t red anymore, so much as a deep pink. He blinked away tears, because he’d never told anyone this before and he hadn’t been ready for how much ripping the bandage off his past had stung. The walls were crumbling down, and he didn’t know how to stop them, so he kept talking. “Even through college, I just couldn’t do it. Every time I thought about it . . . every time I tried . . . I’d get close and I couldn’t get over the fact that they were dudes and it was a total boner killer. At least, I thought it was because they were dudes. Back then I didn’t even truly understand why. All I knew was I had these feelings and I wanted to have sex with these guys, and I couldn’t. I’d be at full-mast and ready to go when I thought about it and even when I was about to do it. And then I’d get in the moment and . . . feathers were harder than I was. I always thought guys were supposed to be able to get it up and fuck whenever.”
He looked up at Ryan to find his boss’s (friend’s?) mouth hanging the slightest bit open and his eyes sparkling with tears. “You’re the first man I ever slept with. And as shitty as it is to say, the only reason I was able to do it is because you were Sheila. I sought you out because you were Sheila and I needed to know what it felt like to fuck a guy at least once before I turn thirty, and if you’d shot me down that night, I don’t know what I would have done.”
Ryan scoffed playfully. “I didn’t know I had that much power.”
“Yeah, well, you did. I can keep a hard-on when I’m with Sheila because she looks like a woman. I can trick my brain, I guess. I’m trying to get past it, but I need you to give me a little more time. I mean, we don’t have to have sex whenever we see each other. We can hang out. I’m not trying to pressure you, or anything. I wouldn’t even ask, because I know it’s a shit thing to do. But somewhere along the line I started to really like hanging out with you, and now it makes me feel like shit that I might have ruined that.”
“You didn’t ruin anything,” Ryan said, shaking his head. “I wish you’d said something that morning, is all. Since then I’ve been feeling like a fool and I didn’t know what was going on or what to do.”
Anyone But You Page 6
