By the time he’d been old enough to put a name to the differences he felt, Cole was long gone, already away at college. That hadn’t stopped the fantasies though. Everything from down and dirty daydreams, where Cole cornered him in the guys’ locker room and forced him to suck him off, to more gentle scenarios, where they held hands, kissed and made slow, sweet love to each other.
Plush cream carpet squished under the soles of his sneakers as Eric walked into the adjoining bathroom. He toed off his shoes and quickly stripped down to his skin. He dropped his clothes into a muddled heap on the blue tiled floor and bent over the tub, adjusting the shower thermostat to just this side of boil you alive, the way he liked it, and stepped in.
Just thinking about those dreams had his balls pulling up tight and his cock twitching in hopeful anticipation of the night to come. He resisted the urge to take himself in hand and relieve the ache thinking about Cole caused. Instead, he would wait and savor the buildup until later. Getting there was half the fun.
He wasn’t entirely sure Cole swung his way, but he wasn’t about to turn down the opportunity to find out. If he’d misinterpreted the signals, the worst that could happen was a punch in the face, but if he was right, well, then tonight would be the stuff dreams were made of. Only time would tell.
Chapter Three
After running some errands and basically just puttering around town for the afternoon in a bid to blow some time, Cole stumbled into his apartment. His hip hit the rickety table located inside the living room doorway and set off his answering machine, which was a touchy piece of shit. An automated voice confirmed what he already knew—he had zero messages.
Cole flopped down on his sofa and picked up the remote lying next to him on the side table. He flipped through the channels, passing by them all over and again, only to realize he hadn’t actually seen a single thing. His mind was too wrapped up in what had happened earlier, on the beach, and what would happen later that evening.
The upcoming outing with Eric had Cole’s balls tied up in knots. He didn’t know whether to think of it as a date or just two friends hanging out. The word outing seemed like the safest box to categorize it in for the time being, at least until he knew whether Eric’s overt flirting was normal friendliness, or something more. The image of the younger man’s sparkling blue eyes and teasing smile popped into the forefront of his mind and lodged there, taunting him. Naughty thoughts of exactly what he’d like that mouth to do to him played out like a high definition movie.
Settling back against the cushions, Cole unbuttoned his jeans, shoved them and his boxer-briefs down over his hips, and let his wayward imagination have free rein over his psyche. Wound tight as he was, he needed to do something to relieve the tension. Fantasizing wouldn’t hurt anyone and it wasn’t as if someone would know what he thought about when he jerked off. Inside a world of his own making there was no one to placate, not a single soul who would be offended by something he said or did. He could do who and what he pleased without fear of recrimination.
Closing his eyes, Cole took himself in hand, the hot flesh of his semi-erect cock like a shock against the cool surface of his palm. Starting at the base, he stroked up and over the head, pulling his flesh taut along the way. With his other hand, he reached down and cupped his sac, giving it a little squeeze and rub. Soft skin wrinkled, his balls drawing up as his cock expanded and throbbed under his grip.
Using his mind like an empty canvas, Cole painted the picture he wanted. The hand kneading his balls became Eric’s. The thumb he used to spread slick precome over the blushing cap and sensitive ridge morphed into Eric’s tongue, those pretty blue eyes staring up at him over the thick jut of his dick, just begging for a taste.
“Mmm. Suck me,” Cole muttered and bucked his hips, sliding his cock through the tight ring of his fist. Moisture leaked from the tip, dampness he used to pretend it was Eric’s mouth covering him, bathing every inch of his shaft in hot, slick pressure.
The pace of his strokes sped up, phantom Eric swallowing him to the root. Cole squeezed the head, an imaginary throat compressing around the tip. His ass clenched and his balls jerked, liquid lightning jetting up the shaft of his cock. Come sprang from the slit, molten ropes of it splashing over his abs and the hem of his T-shirt. He rocked up into his hand, milking the last bead of come from his body, and wished Eric was really there to lick the seed from his fingers.
Cole opened his eyes and wiped his damp palm off on his shirt. He stood and headed into the bathroom, wondering how reality would measure up with his fantasy. At the rate he was going, he would never know. Even if the opportunity presented itself, he wasn’t sure he would have the balls to go through with anything.
By the time he rushed through a quick shower and agonized over what to wear, Cole was running behind schedule. He hopped in his car and drove across town, breaking the speed limit half the time, while praying he didn’t pass a cop.
Dusk began to darken the sky and change it into hues of lavender and pink as he made a left-hand turn onto Eighth Street. He slowed down, keeping an eye peeled for the club where he was supposed to meet Eric.
At the end of a strip mall, only three establishments wide, sat The Razor. He knew he’d found the right place before he saw the lighted black and silver sign bearing its name because clusters of young people loitered in groups outside the entrance, some waiting in line and some obviously just milling about, socializing.
Cole guided his pickup into the first parking space he saw. Nervous butterflies bit at the lining of his stomach as he got out and darted across the road to the opposite side. Making his way up the two blocks between where he was and where the club sat, he repeatedly second-guessed his motives for being there. It would have been so easy to stay home and stand Eric up. Not like he’d have to worry about getting an earful later on or something. The chances of running into Eric again, when they clearly ran in completely different circles, were slim to none.
And yet here he was, approaching a club he’d never heard of, to listen to music he didn’t particularly care for, in the hopes of… In the hopes of what? That Eric was gay and would jump his bones? Drag him out of the closet and profess undying love? What a load of bullshit.
Agreeing to meet Eric, when he was so attracted to him, was a mistake. Which didn’t explain why his feet walked him right up to the back of the entrance line, tapped impatiently while he waited, and then carried him through the club’s door and into the dark and smoky interior.
Cole blinked a couple times, while his eyes tried to adjust to the change in light. A classic Metallica tune, “Enter Sandman”, blasted through unseen speakers, setting the mood as he swerved around groups of college kids and walked deeper into the cavernous room.
A black veneered bar with a cylindrical chrome rail decorating its lip, hugged the length of one dark paneled wall. In need of a stiff drink, he moved toward the bar, pushing and shoving his way through the quickly multiplying number of people. Wedging himself between two occupied stools, he waved the bartender over.
“Bud, in the bottle, and a shot of Jack, please.”
The bartender, a skinny little man with enough piercings in his head to keep all the tattoo parlors in the county in business for a month, nodded and poured his liquor. While the man reached into the cooler beneath the bar for a beer, Cole threw back his shot, wincing as the stout liquor slid down his throat, and returned the empty glass. The bartender popped the cap off a longneck bottle and slid it across the counter in trade for the cash Cole held out. He accepted his change, dropped a five into the tip jar and wandered closer to the raised platform at the front of the room.
Along either side of the dance floor sat small tables, some with four stools and others with only two. He chose one of the smaller tables, butted up against the side wall, and sat down. From where he’d chosen to sit, Cole had a good view of the stage and the front entrance. He wanted to be able to spot Eric as soon as he came in.
Glancing down at his watch, he squin
ted in the low light, trying to make out the time. He silently chastised himself for not upgrading his watch to one of those with the luminescent numbers. Finally, he found a good angle and saw that it was five minutes till nine.
He looked up, having already decided he would only give Eric until half past nine to show up before he would leave, and saw Eric striding toward him. The anxious butterflies in his stomach began to do the rumba while his gaze wandered over Eric’s svelte form, from the top of his sun-kissed hair to the tips of his white and blue sneakers. A snug white T-shirt stretched across his chest, the barbells piercing his nipples visible through the cotton. Faded denim, worn white and tissue thin around the pockets, hung low on his trim hips and hugged the long expanse of lean thighs.
Cole swallowed, the lump in his throat expanding right along with his dick, as Eric drew near. Sometime during the course of the day he’d managed to convince himself Eric’s eyes weren’t as blue as he remembered, that the attraction he felt hadn’t been quite as electric as he’d thought. He was wrong. If anything, Eric’s eyes looked more brilliant, his athletic shape more enticing, the attraction Cole felt more amplified.
“Hi,” Eric said, sliding onto the stool across from him. He bounced a little and smiled, the single dimple in his cheek winking at Cole. “Thanks for grabbing us a good table. They fill up pretty quick some nights.”
“Sure. No problem. This looked like as good a spot as any.” Cole’s gaze trailed from Eric’s cute dimple to his full bottom lip, and then lower, to where Eric’s nipples pressed against his shirt. He wondered how sensitive those piercings made Eric’s nipples, if he preferred for his lovers to nibble or lick, and if he would get the chance to find out for himself.
“You didn’t have any trouble finding it, did you?”
Cole’s gaze shot back up to Eric’s in confusion. “Huh?”
Eric laughed and patted Cole’s hand where it lay upon the tabletop. “The club,” he repeated. “You didn’t have any trouble finding it, did you?”
Cole shivered at the feel of Eric’s warm palm resting on his hand and resisted the urge to turn his hand over and intertwine their fingers. It was crazy, this inexplicable longing he felt for someone he barely knew.
Cole extracted his hand from beneath Eric’s and used it to pick up his beer. He took a long, deep pull from the bottle before setting it back on the scuffed tabletop. “So,” he said, “tell me about this band.”
“Well,” Eric drawled out, “Epoxy’s Resolution is a great band. Their sound is sort of a mix between metal and grunge. It’s kinda hard to describe to someone who hasn’t heard them, you know, but they’re really good. They do a lot of cover songs but the stuff they write themselves is the best.”
Cole quirked a brow. “Sounds like a weird mix to me.”
Eric laughed and scooted his chair closer, so they were both sitting on the same side of the table. His thigh brushed up against Cole’s as he leaned nearer. “That’s what everyone says. You’ll like ’em, just wait and see.”
Cole wasn’t too sure about that, but he wasn’t about to say so. After all, he was supposed to be there for the music, not to salivate over the guy sitting next to him. Hell, as long as Eric stayed where he was, the band could sound like cats screeching and he wouldn’t move. He couldn’t, not with his dick as hard as a tenpenny nail. Who would’ve thought just sitting beside Eric in the dark would have him ready to pop the seam out of his jeans?
Rows of white lights lit up at the top and bottom of the stage. The crowd hushed as the band ran onto the stage and the lead singer took the mike and shouted a welcome.
Cole sat motionless, listening as the band started their first song, the ear-splitting noise loud enough to drown out the pounding echo of his own pulse. He faced forward, trying to appear as if he were paying attention to the show, while watching Eric out of the corner of his eye.
Beside him, Eric wiggled in his chair, his excitement almost contagious. Every few seconds he would brush up against Cole, rubbing their shoulders or thighs together in a way that did nothing to help Cole’s hard-on subside. It was as if Eric was intentionally trying to drive him insane.
* * *
Cole stared up at the stage, seemingly riveted on the antics of the lead guitarist as he swung his guitar wildly about. All of Eric’s attention was on Cole. With him busy watching the stage, Eric finally had a chance to study the man without being obvious about his interest. Though the room was dim, light from the stage illuminated Cole’s chiseled profile, highlighting just enough of Cole’s features to make Eric’s pants tighter than they already were.
He’d been half hard all day, just thinking about tonight, but the reality was even better. Either Cole wanted him just as bad as he wanted Cole, or the man had some strange fetish for metal, because Cole had been sporting wood since the band took the stage. He probably wouldn’t have noticed, but he’d been rubbing up against Cole every chance he could without being too obvious and he’d been watching to see if he would have an effect on the man. Eric wanted to know if he was barking up the wrong tree before he actually put his ass on the line and hit on Cole. It wasn’t that he was afraid of being rejected. Lord knew, he’d gotten used to that, being a single gay man. But he didn’t want to freak Cole out, or come off as some slutty little twink who hit on every man he met. Whether they ultimately ended up as lovers or just friends, he still wanted Cole to like him.
The man in question glanced over at Eric and smiled. “You were right. They aren’t half bad.”
Eric’s chest tightened. He nodded at Cole, too mesmerized to even pretend he wasn’t gawking at him. Cole was a sexy man, but when he smiled, the expression lit up his whole face and made tiny, adorable crinkles pop up in the corners of his eyes. It transformed him from sexy to devastating.
He expected Cole to refocus on the band. He didn’t. Cole stared right back, an odd look on his face, as if he couldn’t decide whether to kiss Eric or kick his ass and run. He wanted to kiss Cole so bad he could taste it. All it would take was leaning forward the slightest bit and their lips would touch.
He acted on the thought before he even realized his intent. Cole’s eyes widened and he jerked back, covering the hasty retreat by picking up his beer and taking a long gulp. Eric felt his face flame and dropped his gaze to his lap, embarrassed that he’d acted on the impulse to taste Cole and been rebuffed so amiably. God, hadn’t he just decided he wasn’t going to try and jump the man? And what did he do right after, but try to kiss the man. Jesus.
Eric swallowed his pride and looked up. “Listen, Cole, I’m sorry about that. It’s just that you were looking at me, and I just…” God, he sounded mental, just blurting everything out loud like that. Eric tried to shrug it off with a laugh that came out a trifle too shrill for the carefree attitude he was trying to pull off. “Well, I acted before I thought, and I’m sorry.”
“No sweat. Don’t worry about it.”
Cole’s gaze lowered and Eric would have sworn the other man was staring at his mouth. He could actually feel his lips tingling from the attention and couldn’t resist tempting fate by swiping his tongue over his bottom lip, just to see how Cole would react. Though he wasn’t sure what to expect, the soft groan that spilled from Cole’s parted lips wasn’t it. That one tiny sound echoed through his bloodstream and shocked his balls like a cattle prod. His already snug jeans tightened further. The metal fly bit into his swelling shaft, making him squirm. As subtly as possible, Eric turned to face the wall and readjusted himself, trying to give his cock room to expand. He swallowed a whimper and idly wondered if he had masochistic tendencies he wasn’t aware of.
Eric surreptitiously glanced back at Cole from around the rim of his drink. The pads of his fingers itched to rub over the surface of Cole’s short brown hair and test its bristly texture. His gaze traced the expanse of Cole’s forehead, the shallow dip where brow met nose, the straight bridge of his nose and bow of his thin upper lip. A full bottom lip and slight cleft in his chin softened
the sharp cut of high cheekbones and his square jaw. The man was too damn hot for his own good.
The final strains of the song came to an end as he turned around. The lead singer shouted good night just as the lights around the stage dimmed and the overhead ones came back on. Finally, the concert was over. He loved the group, but being near Cole and smelling the intoxicating scent of his cologne and underlying musk—the tension of not knowing whether or not he had a snowball’s chance in hell of being with him—killed his enjoyment. His little slip up didn’t help matters any. Now he just felt awkward and dumb. He should’ve known better than to try to kiss Cole, even if the man did have a set of lips that appeared as if they were made to suck cock. He looked up from the lips in question and found Cole staring at him, another one of those curious expressions on his face. Eric felt his own cheeks go up in flames. He was busted. This could get ugly. “I, um.” Damn, he needed to say something. “You have a nice smile.” Eric winced. God, was that the best he could come up with? The man wasn’t even smiling.
Cole quirked a brow. “Uh, thanks. Listen, I’m going to go get another beer. You want one?”
Relief, thick as syrup, slowed Eric’s thundering pulse. “No thanks.” He held up his coke. “I’m not much of a drinker.” Eric paused, wondering if he should say something about the number of beers he’d seen Cole consume during the show. His conscience wouldn’t let him stay quiet. He gave a pointed look at the near-empty brown bottle in Cole’s hand. “Um, you aren’t driving yourself home after the show, are you?”
“Aww, isn’t that sweet. You’re all worried about me.” Cole smiled and winked at him. “Don’t worry, I’ll call a cab. I may have a nice little buzz going, but I’m not stupid enough to drink and drive.”
You May Have Met Him Page 30
