Can I say what prompted me to get help now? No, not really. I guess there is a certain point at which too much time spent alone really is too much. Rounding the corner, my thoughts stray to Matt. There was nothing wrong with him, but there wasn’t anything special either. He wanted more, a house, kids, and the whole shebang. I want that, too, eventually; I think. But it’s a definite certainty that I don’t want that now, and I didn’t want it with Matt. He was a good enough guy, but “good enough” isn’t how I want to spend the rest of my life.
As I walk back through the office, Reid pops his head out of his cubicle. The second my ass hits my chair, he’s walking through my door. He’s moved beyond the pleasantries of an invitation. Resting his ankle on his knee, he leans back in the chair as if he owns it. He may as well; he’s in here just as much as I am.
“Can I help you?” Sarcastically, I prompt him to start talking when the silence becomes a bit too much. He shakes his head, and drops a file on my desk.
“We meet with Calhoun High School tomorrow about the Hernandez kid. I thought we could review some stuff.”
“We both know these files inside and out. What do you really want?” Of course, he gets nothing but the “cut the shit” look from me.
“How’d it go, with Dr. Baker?” Reid at least has enough good sense to cut to the chase.
I didn’t tell anyone that’s where I was going, so unless Braden developed an ability to speak in full sentences instead of “uh huhs” overnight, I’m not sure where he’s getting his information from. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You left about an hour ago. You walked. You seem more on-edge than when you left. So let’s just say I’m that smart and put it all together. Oh, and you wrote it on your calendar.” Smugly, he chuckles as he watches me shift uncomfortably in my chair. “So, how did it go?”
Shrugging, I admit, “Okay, I guess.” Having barely sorted out how I feel about it, I honestly don’t have much to say to Reid about it.
“You’ll go back?”
“I have an appointment next week, so yeah.” Relief replaces his smugness. “Why are you so worried about my mental well-being suddenly?” I ask, and even though his concern isn’t grating on my nerves necessarily, it’s definitely something I’ve noticed lately.
I half-expect him to tell me to shut the fuck up, but a serious look takes up residence on his face. “We both lost him, maybe not in the same capacity. But I lost you, too. You just up and left. Maddy and Braden have changed my life in the best ways possible and I see how unhappy you are. I just want to see you happy, that’s all. So if it means annoying the shit out of you about talking to someone and dealing with whatever is going on in your head, then that’s what I’ll do. I’m not going to let you fade away and miss out on the life you deserve all because of something over which you had no control.”
His raw honesty cuts through me. His thoughts reflect my own and help abate some of the guilt I feel over moving on.
“Plus, you’ve been kind of an asshole lately.” He laughs, standing from his chair. “You might want to work on that while you’re there, too.” I grab the squeezy stress ball next to my phone and chuck it at his head as he walks toward the door. He turns back to me after it hits him, and he bends to pick it up.
When he looks over at me, he’s trying to stifle a laugh. I shrug. “What? I didn’t do it.” He tosses the ball back at me, and by “tosses,” I mean launches it right at my face. At the last second, I duck and it misses me, bouncing off the window behind me.
When I pick my head up from under my desk, Reid is laughing his ass off. “What? I didn’t do it,” he quips and we both share a loud chuckle.
Though I try to concentrate on my work the rest of the day, I find it nearly impossible with Dr. Baker’s and Reid’s words replaying in my head. It’s five o’clock before I realize it. As I’m packing to go home, my cellphone buzzing from an incoming text pulls my attention out of those thoughts. It’s from a number I don’t recognize, but the “how’s the shoulder?” question lets me know it could only be one of two people. And I highly doubt Eddie the trainer would be texting me.
Rather than being annoyed that he’s somehow gotten my number, I find myself smiling at my phone like an idiot as I type out my response.
Good. How’d you get my number?
Membership paperwork. Is that okay?
Yeah, a bit stalker-like, though. Wouldn’t you say?
My parole officer says texts are fine.
I laugh and lean back in my seat.
It’s when you show up at my office that we’ll have a real problem, right?
I already know where that is, remember?
Besides, it’s only a problem if you want me to go away.
A few seconds pass before another ping alerts me to another text.
Do you?
I let my defenses down and in a moment of weakness, or bravery depending on how you look at it, rather than a sarcastic come back, I go for honesty.
No. I don’t want you to go away. My finger hovers over the “send” button for a second, before I decide to go for it.
Good. Dinner then?
A rush of excitement catches me off guard. There’s something about being around Conner that challenges me, makes me feel alive, turns me on. But wanting to keep him on the edge of his seat, I wait a minute before responding.
Sure. When?
His response is immediate.
Now. I’m outside.
Falling off the wagon, huh? Should I let your PO know?
I’ve kept him informed. Come down.
Now.
Pushy much?
Please.
There, is that better?
Much.
I’ll be right down.
My heart hammers in my chest as I take the elevator down. I don’t know much about Conner, but, at least based on his impromptu visit, I know enough to expect the unexpected. Whether it be his concern for my injured shoulder, or his kindness in making sure I got home safely, it’s safe to say I want to know more.
When I step outside, the unexpected is exactly what I get. “A motorcycle?”
“A Harley, actually.” He smiles proudly, swinging his leg over the seat.
We’re in that odd stage. Unsure of how to greet one another, I step to his side and walk around the bike, pretending to inspect it, like I have any idea what I’m looking at. I might not know a single thing about bikes, but this one is definitely high-end, possibly custom made. It’s black and chrome with deep red flourishes as trim. The bodywork matches his helmet, which is tucked under his arm. We stand, facing one another, the bike between us. His leather jacket pulls tightly across his muscular chest and arms. Loose fitting, dark-wash jeans cover his thick legs. His dark brown hair is messily styled. I can’t deny the physical reaction I have whenever I see him. It’s impossible not to, especially when he looks like that.
Though, if I’m reading him right, the way his eyes are scanning over me indicate that he’s dealing with the same reaction.
I tip my head over to my car which is parked a few spots away. “So I guess I’ll meet you there.” Conner chuckles as he steps around the bike. He unstraps an extra helmet from the back of the seat.
“Nope, you’re riding with me.” He holds the helmet, waiting for me to take it. “Unless of course, you don’t want to.” His eyebrow arches suggestively as he waits for me to take it from him, which I do, of course. “I thought this might be fun,” he says by way of explanation, tossing his leg easily over the seat. I stand there, amazed with the ease of his movements, the smoothness of his attitude and the carefree tone of his words. He pats the seat behind him. “Come on, Dylan. I won’t bite.” He winks before adding, “Unless you want me to, but that’s more of a third date revelation.”
I laugh and shake my head before pulling my keys out of my pocket. After dropping my briefcase off in my car, I slide the helmet into place and join Conner on the bike. His voice echoes in the helmet. �
��You ready?”
I nod, non-verbally answering him. I hear his laughter in my helmet again and that’s when I piece it together that there are microphones and speakers in the helmets so we can communicate. “Yeah, I’m ready,” I answer, finally.
He laughs again, shaking his head. “Okay, but you might want to hold on.”
“As long as you don’t drive like you did the other night, I should be just fine back here,” I joke, but to be honest, I’m not sure if I can handle being pressed up against his back, being wrapped around his body.
“Suit yourself,” he mutters, though I can barely hear him over the loud roar of the engine revving. Smoothly, he pulls to the end of the lot. When the road is clear, he pulls out into traffic so quickly that I have no choice but to hold on. That was probably his plan, after all.
“See? I told you.” His deep voice fills my helmet once more as my arms tighten around him. “Just lean when I lean and hold on.”
Giving into his commands, and my own desires, I slide forward on the seat, nestling my legs up against his. I move my hands so they’re just resting on my legs, figuring I can just hold on to him on a sharp turn if I need to. Conner, however, has other plans. While he steers with one hand, he uses his other to guide my arm around his waist.
I don’t move it for the rest of the ride. It’s not entirely because I don’t want to piss him off, either.
We pull up outside of a small, casual steak house. He secures the helmets and we walk in. The hostess, a young, attractive woman with long brown hair and chocolate eyes greets us with a wide smile. “Good evening, gentlemen.” She openly peruses us, her eyes wide as they scan over Conner’s broad shoulders. “Would you like a seat at the bar while you wait on your dates?”
Her assumption forces an odd chuckle from my mouth. Conner speaks for us. “A table, please. By the bar is fine. For just the two of us.” After reading her name badge, he looks her straight in the eyes. “Thank you very much, Lydia.”
Lydia’s face blushes a furious shade of red. “Oh, okay. Sure.” She stumbles over her words as she gathers a few menus. “Right this way.”
Conner glances over to me, a sly smile playing across his face. “It’s always fun to do that,” he says when we’re seated.
“What’s that? Confuse women who were eye-fucking you? Is that a favorite pastime of yours or something?”
“I have a lot of hobbies, but none of them involve playing with people’s emotions.” He takes a sip of his water. “It’s just not the first time I’ve shown up somewhere on a date only to have someone misread the situation, thinking that our girlfriends are running late.”
“They’re probably just mad that you’re not here with them,” I mumble around the lip of my glass.
“Maybe,” he admits oh-so-humbly. “I think it’s more that when people see two gay men out on a date, they expect one of them to be wearing glitter-covered rainbow pants or something like that. Some people can’t wrap their heads around the idea that being gay does not always mean being flamboyant. Besides,” he leans forward, pitching his voice lower, “maybe she was upset that she wasn’t here with you.”
Thankfully, the waiter interrupts us and takes our orders. It’s a steak house so there’s not much of a choice to make. Steak and something green with a side of potatoes and we’re both good to go.
“So how was work?” Conner asks.
I shoot him and his small-talk question a suspicious look across the small table. “Okay, nothing out of the ordinary. You?”
“Fine. Got a few new machines in. Things are really starting to pick up.”
The waiter drops off our drinks, and just as Conner is mid-sip, I interject, “What do you want? With me I mean?”
Conner takes a long sip of his iced-tea before answering. “See, this is a date, Dylan. I like you. I think you like me. We eat; get to know each other better and maybe make plans to do it all over again in a few days.”
Rolling my eyes is the only response I can come up with initially. “Thank you very much for that rather concise explanation, Conner.” I shoot him a pointed look and we both laugh.
“That’s better. You’re fun when you laugh.” Conner winks at me, satisfied that the tension is gone. “So, tell me about your family. Reid is your brother?”
“No, I’m an only child, actually. Reid’s my best friend, the only family I have locally, really. My parents just recently moved down to Florida, typical snow birds.”
The waiter interrupts us once more, placing our salads in front of us. Before I take my first bite, I ask, “What about you? Siblings? Parents?”
“Rachel, the receptionist at the gym, is my sister. We moved up here from New Jersey after my parents died.” Conner adds the last part quickly, painfully
“I’m sorry.” Reaching across the table, I lay my hand on top of his. Shocked by my own forwardness, I stare down at our joined hands. Lightly, I trace my thumb over the top of his wrist. Little jolts of electricity fly between us, as if the spots where our skin is touching are actual live wires, sparking wildly. He covers my hand with his, mirroring the same motion of my thumb.
“Thank you.” His voice is thick, heavy with emotion. “They died in a house fire. The house was old and something in the electric shorted out. The smoke detectors malfunctioned or the batteries were expired, so by the time my father knew what was going on, my mom was already unconscious from the smoke inhalation. He tried his best to save her, but he couldn’t. He made it halfway down the stairs before he couldn’t make it any further. Since it was just the two of us, Rachel and I moved out here after that to start over.”
Conner moves his hand to give the waiter his cleared salad plate. I do the same and take a long pull on my beer. “That’s some move, though. From New Jersey to a sleepy town in upstate New York.”
He rolls his shoulders and glances up at the television over the bar. “We just wanted a fresh start, I guess.” I can hear the “I don’t really want to talk about this” tone in his words. It’s one I’ve used all too frequently, so I know he’s not trying to play games. He really doesn’t want to talk about it.
When our food arrives, we eat in peaceful silence. Occasional discussion of the start of baseball season peppers our meal, which of course leads to me telling him about my fall softball league for The Bridge.
“What position do you play?” I don’t miss the hidden undertones of his question.
“Pitcher.” His eyes widen on my response. “Well, I used to pitch when I was in high school and college. Now, in my old age, I play second or third.”
“I pitch, too.”
His answer catches me off-guard. “I didn’t realize you played. I thought you just fought.”
Conner leans across the table, his large body eating up the space easily. The sand and leather scent of his cologne invades my senses and I want to drown in him, get lost there for some time and not think about how I’ll get out. “I wasn’t talking about baseball.” He winks.
His words make my cock strain in my pants. I could say it’s been too long, that I’m just in need of a good fuck, but it’s more than that. I want more than just sex. I want sex. With Conner. Now.
Simple enough, right?
He takes stock of my wide-eyed non-verbal response and places his hand back on top of mine. When my tongue shrinks back to its normal size, and the sip of water hydrates my turned to sawdust mouth, I ask about his fighting career.
“So about the fighting?” I pull my hand away, needing to regain a sense of my control. “You were favorite to be middle-weight champion of the world in 2013, and then you broke your contract and you were gone. What happened?”
“Someone did their research,” he quips with no added laughter. “What else did Google tell you?” He’s making no effort to cover up his anger.
“Nothing. Nothing at all, actually. Reid told me.” He scrubs a hand over his face. “For the record, I don’t care what Google would tell me. If it’s anything important, which I’m assuming it i
s, that’s for you to tell me when you’re ready.”
I only hope he’ll extend me the same sense of understanding when, and if, it comes time to talk to him about Shane.
He considers my words before softly saying, “Thank you.”
The waiter drops the check and we fight about who’s going to pay. My concession on his paying surprises even me. “Fine, you pay, but only if you let me make you coffee at my place.”
He’s all too quick to take me up on the offer. On the ride back to my office to pick up my car, I slide right up against him on the back of the bike. My legs cradle his and his ass fits perfectly in between. Rather than leaving my hands to the side, I coil them around his waist, inhaling his leather-scented masculinity the whole way there.
I mourn his warmth as I drive in my car back to my apartment. The rumble of his motorcycle following behind me is tied to my skin, vibrating there like the taut strings of a guitar.
I park in my spot and watch as he eases his bike into the visitor section of the lot. My cock stirs again as I watch him walk toward me. Even in the low light of the early evening, I can see his eyes, sparkling playfully as he approaches.
For a moment, fear washes over me. What have I gotten myself into? I shake my head at my internal question. Because when I feel the heat of Conner’s body behind me as I open the door to my apartment, I’m not so sure that coffee is the only thing on the menu.
The Love Series Complete Box Set Page 128
