Lazy Sundays (Lazy Days Book 1)

by K-lee Klein

  He must have looked flummoxed because Scott touched his arm. “Mostly as a child but I've had a couple of attacks as an adult. I get it renewed every time it expires. Just in case.”

  “Good to know and you can wear it like you normally would. As long as it's closed and there's nothing to go flying out of it, it's cool. Or I can put your stuff in my saddlebags.”

  Scott didn't meet Devon's eyes. He fiddled with the buckle on the bag as he answered, “If it's okay, I'd kind of prefer to keep it with me.”

  Devon drew him closer with a hand splayed over his lower back. “Of course. I only want you to be comfortable, Scott. I swear I'm not going to be mad or think anything less of you if you don't want to do it. And I sure as hell understand wanting to keep your shit close. I'd do the same.”

  “You make me comfortable. I can do this,” Scott promised, sounding like he was trying to convince himself more than Devon. “Help me with the helmet?”

  “It would be my pleasure.”

  Together they got the helmet properly situated on Scott's head. Devon thought he looked bad ass and hot as fuck, but there was a time and place for everything. Scott hadn't minded the roleplaying they'd done up until then so Devon packed the leather idea away for another day. Instead, he kissed the tip of Scott's nose before flicking the facemask down. “Fits perfectly. How's it feel?”

  “Heavy.”

  “You feel safe, Scott? That's the most important part. I swear I'm a damn good driver and Bertha is like my spirit animal.”

  With a heavy sigh, Scott turned the helmet Devon's way. His voice was partially muffled, but Devon listened closely. “Thank you for sharing that about your dad. I like that we're still learning about each other and out of all the days we've had together, today is quickly becoming one of my favorites. Happy first Valentine's Day, Devon DuCaine.”

  “Back atcha, Scott Weston,” Devon crowed all formal-like. “I hope it's the first of many.”

  * * * *

  Devon stifled a chuckle as he helped Scott off the bike seat, steadying him with an arm around his waist while Scott wobbled like a newborn colt. He white-knuckled the bottom of Devon's jacket. “You okay, sweetheart?”

  Scott didn't answer and since the helmet still hid his entire face and head, Devon wasn't sure what to think. There'd been minimal screaming and their practice run around the block hadn't sent Scott running to his car. That was a very good first step. Scott also seemed to catch on quickly to the logical aspects of riding behind Devon, leaning when Devon leaned, tucking his head down, and he didn't even leave any gaping welts in Devon's sides from gripping too tightly.

  Devon thought Scott had done awesome. He hoped Scott felt the same way because he sure as fuck didn't want to break his boyfriend on Valentine's Day.

  “Sweetheart, you're freaking me out. Can you say something please? Do you need to sit down? Should I get your medication?”

  Mumbles floated from beneath the blackness of the visor before Scott raised a shaky hand and tried to lift the helmet off his head. There was more grumbling when he let go of Devon's jacket with the other hand and used both to drag the thing off. If they'd been in a cartoon world, Devon pictured the helmet making one of those exaggerated, loud “popping” sounds. That would've been cool.

  Scott's hair was sticking up every which way, helmet-static making it even more over-the-top, and Devon had to hold himself back from smoothing it down. Scott’s eyes were wide, and he looked a little stunned. It took a moment or two but eventually his mouth pulled from a tight straight line to a half-assed smile. Devon wasn't sure if he should hug him or duck and cover.

  “Um, Scott?” he encouraged gently, resting one hand on the small of Scott's back. He couldn't resist anymore and moved the other hand to pat down the bird's nest on top of Scott's head.

  “I'm not sure if I'm going to come or throw-up,” Scott whispered with a whip-quick burst of laughter. “You…that…does it always…um, vibrate like that?” He had one hand casually hiding his crotch and Devon held back a guffaw of his own.

  Holy hell, Scott had his first bike-woodie!

  Devon hadn't even considered that possibility and it was more than a little unfortunate that he couldn't haul Scott into the nearest bathroom or closet or whatever was convenient to help him with the little—big—problem. Valentine's Day was for love after all and you didn't get much more loving than falling to your knees in front of your man.

  However, he wasn't going to tell Scott that, not now at least.

  “Gives you kind of a kick, doesn't it? How's your anxiety? “

  Scott drew in a noticeably large breath but shook his head in response. “Tolerable.”

  “I'm proud of you, sweetheart.”

  Scott handed Devon his helmet coyly. He gazed at the building they'd parked in front of. “Bertha's Joint. Eat Big or Go Home? Really?”

  With a huffed snigger, Devon stashed the helmet with his own then tangled his fingers with Scott's. “Best damn diner in the city. The band and I practically live here. This is gonna be great, I promise.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The fact that Scott had survived his first motorcycle ride was nothing short of miraculous…to him.

  And it hadn't been nearly as terrifying as he'd expected, at least not the whole time. There'd been excited screaming at first, followed by Scott losing his voice altogether and pressing himself as tight to Devon's back as was humanly possible. He'd totally felt Devon's chest-shaking laughter too. Jerk.

  But he hadn’t died from fright or anxiety or careless driving. And the truth was, Scott felt exhilarated after—once he'd found his footing, his knees had remembered how to work, Devon helped him wrench the helmet off his squished brain, and he realized his partial erection didn't make him some kind of freak. Who knew being vibrated to within an inch of his life could also make him excited in the down-there department.

  It was a total win on Scott's short list of total wins. It did feel a bit like flying as Devon refereed to it, minus the physically leaving the ground and being stuck in a tin can for hours on end parts. Scott had never been on an airplane, and luckily, riding behind Devon didn't make Scott want to throw-up like the simple thought of getting on an airplane did.

  But Scott had found enough courage to lift his head once, wanting to feel the wind in his hair like he saw in all the movies. Of course, Devon had the hair for that, not Scott, and the facemask totally blew that idea out of the water. He'd contemplated trying to flip the mask up like Devon had done, but that would have required relinquishing his white-knuckled hold on his driver. Plus, he had a vivid image of falling off the bike because of a silly need to have a little breeze in his face.

  He tried resting his chin on Devon's shoulder and opening his eyes to get the full effect. But the full effect had involved being instantly assaulted by dizziness, so he surmised the original plan of staying snuggled close against Devon, arms wrapped as tightly as he liked, was far better and safer. So, he'd concentrated on the intoxicating smell of fresh leather, and even with his face shielded, Devon's scent had soothed and made him more comfortable. It was ridiculous but seemed effective.

  And Devon was proud of him. He'd actually spoken the words. “Proud of you, sweetheart.” Scott was positive no one had ever said that to him, with or without the sweet endearment, but at the same time, he wasn't entirely sure how he felt about it or even how he should act when someone offered such praise. It was foreign to him except in terms of doing a good job at work, but that was so completely different.

  Devon being proud of Scott made his whole life worthwhile, or at least it felt like it. It sounded dramatic and totally messed up even as he thought it, yet it made his insides wiggle and his heart flare against his ribs. Suddenly he understood all the sappy references to love changes everything because Scott felt like a changed man. At least until he stumbled over his own feet and ended up ass-first on the sidewalk.

  “Shit,” Devon chastising himself, crouching beside Scott. “I'm sorry. I d
idn't realize you were still dizzy.”

  Scott scoffed at him unintentionally. “I wasn't. Tripped over my own feet. How proud are you of that, Dev?”

  Devon rose to his full height again, arms crossed, hands tucked under his armpits as he hovered over Scott. His mouth was a line of disappointment that was far too familiar to Scott. So much for basking in his so-called pride-worthy behavior. Devon clicked his tongue, eyeing Scott with disapproval. “Do I have to put you on a time-out?”

  “Excuse me?” Scott gaped up at him then scrambled woozily to his feet. He swatted the dirt off his pants then mimicked Devon's stance. “Time-out, really? What are you? The mean school marm?”

  Devon's strict expression cracked into a grimace. “What the hell is a marm?”

  “Oh god. Old-fashioned term for, I dunno, nasty schoolteacher or something,” Scott grumbled. He peered around the street on which they were loitering. “Are we just going to stand here?” He knew his hackles were up and it was mostly the shame of sprawling onto the pavement in front of Devon and the whole world, or you know, anyone in the area. But it was also confusion at Devon's comment.

  “Okay, I think we need to regroup,” Devon replied. “It was probably a bad joke, sorry. Mom used to tell Shadow and I she'd put us on a time-out when we did something that pissed her off, even as adults. The guys and I use it as a joke when we don't like something.”

  Scott chewed the inside of his cheek, fumbling with the strap of his messenger bag. “My parents didn't care enough to punish me for anything. Not that I did anything to warrant it since I stayed out of their way most of the time and I was too scared to do anything against the rules in school—I'll shut up now.”

  Devon's face immediately turned soft. He held up a hand, one of those things he tended to do when he was broadcasting the fact he was going to touch Scott. It often felt like he was being treated like a wild animal, but Scott understood it was simply Devon's way of asking for consent. Scott managed an embarrassed shrug before he was happily smothered by Devon's massively caring spirit.

  “I'm sorry,” the big softie whispered into Scott's hair. “If you ever want to talk about—”

  Scott wiggled from his grasp, effectively breaking the awkward moment. “So, this is where we're going to eat?” he asked, referring to the building they were parked in front of. “A diner? Seriously? And a diner it was, complete with an only partially lit up sign stating, “Bertha—wait. Oh my god. You named your bike after a restaurant?”

  “Not just any restaurant,” Devon replied with a mischievous look. He'd recovered from his sappy kindness quicker than usual and Scott was glad there weren't sad puppy eyes looking piteously back at him. “The greatest.”

  It certainly didn't look like anything special and it wasn't the type of place that Scott had ever frequented. He forced a neutral expression as he peered around at the crumbling buildings, over-flowing garbage cans on the curb, and dingy storefront windows, but it was near impossible. He had to ask. “But why?”

  “I've been coming here for like ever.”

  “It certainly looks like it's been around that long,” Scott suggested under his breath. Of course, Devon heard him because he had supersonic hearing or something along those lines. “Sorry.”

  “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder or maybe in the taste-buds of the diners,” Devon quipped, chuckling at his own unfunny joke. He reached for Scott's hand, kissing his fingers before tangling them with his. “Shadow, Beth, and I used to hang out here all the time. It's where we met the other guys. Bertha died a few years ago but her son runs the place now.”

  “So it has history. To you guys, I mean,” Scott acknowledged. He let Devon pull him closer to the door.

  “Bertha let us set-up in the corner when we were starting out back in the day. And my mom worked here for a while too.”

  Feeling like a total heel for his snap judgment, Scott balanced on the balls of his feet to kiss Devon on his scruffy chin. “That's sweet.” Devon seemed lost in thought so Scott squeezed his hand. “Should we go in or will they serve us out here on the patio?” Scott hoped he sounded flirty and not judgy again. He should have known Devon would get him though.

  “Smart ass. I'm trying to figure out if you deserve a Valentine's breakfast now,” Devon countered, tapping his bottom lip with his index finger. Scott snorted a laugh and hastily covered his mouth. “You did make us both proud by getting on that bike and lasting the whole ride.” He winked at Scott whose heart fluttered like a swarm of butterflies had moved in. “And it wasn't so bad, right?”

  “I plead the fifth,” Scott teased.

  Devon snickered. “Admit it. It was a piece of cake and you can even have cake for breakfast if you want.”

  “Really? I'm not sure if that's a good or bad thing.” Scott side-eyed Devon, his free hand slipping down to not-so-casually adjust the crotch of his jeans. It had certainly been interesting, not to mention the fact that Devon's ear-to-ear grin was killing Scott in the very best way. But he wasn't ready to give in yet. “I understand the history you have here. But can I ask one question?”

  “Shoot.”

  “Wouldn't it be far more romantic if you cooked me breakfast, preferably in bed?”

  “Did you move the stove into your bedroom, Scott?” Devon asked with mock surprise, eyes wide like one of those demented stuffed animals that were all bulging eyes and not much body. He'd never admit it was pretty darn cute.

  Instead, Scott shook his head and looked at the dreary February sky. “I don't know what I'm going to do with you.”

  “You can start by having breakfast with me.” The cockiness of Devon's usual tone was replaced with a soft indecision. “Or maybe…shit, maybe this was a bad idea.” He scraped his boot against the gritty pavement again. “I feel so bad about hiding everything from you before and hiding you from everything.” Scott's heart ached a little but when he opened his mouth to reply, Devon shushed him with a finger to his lips. “I know I did that and no matter the reason, it wasn't fair to you and I'm sorry.”

  “Dev—”

  “Today is about sharing with you, Scott. I know it's Valentine's Day and I promise we'll do something later, just the two of us, but I promised I'd be an open book. So today I'm sharing my bike, my diner, my people inside the restaurant—”

  “People?” Scott asked, suddenly breathless.

  The look on Devon's face was pure sweetness and honesty, his eyes bright with hope, mouth barely turned up into that beautiful crooked grin Scott loved. He was such a study of opposing impressions; soft and mushy but wearing black leather like he owned the whole word. He'd pulled the elastic out of his hair and let it tumble to his shoulders and it made him look both dangerous and beautiful at the same time. Scott had the urge to grab him and wrap him up in a big fuzzy blanket so they could sit on the porch all day.

  “I want you to meet my friends and I want them to meet you, but I don't want it to be a bad thing for you. You know I don't always think things through.”

  “That's your passionate soul.”

  Devon wrinkled his nose. “I don't know about that, but I think my excitement got the better of me. You already told me you don't like surprises so it's okay if we don't—”

  Scott mirrored Devon's previous gesture when he tapped Devon's mouth to silence him. “Is there anything else in there I should know about before we go inside?”

  He watched as Devon tried not to smirk…too much. “I swear there's no cockroaches inside the restaurant.”

  “No…what?”

  “I'm just kidding,” Devon said but his chuckle was unconvincing. “I hope. But seriously, I want this to be your decision. We can go inside or skip the whole damn thing. Your call, sweetheart. All I want to do is spend the day with you. You can meet my friends some other time.”

  Scott's heart pounded harder against his ribs, but it was less panicked anxiety than fearful anticipation mixed with a little excitement. “Do you remember our talk about my panic attacks?”

&n
bsp; Devon didn't skip a beat. “I should talk to you in a low voice but not get excited. Stay close. Ask if it's okay to touch you. Remind you to breathe and recite your mantra. You can stand or sit on the floor unless you look like you're going to pass out then I should make sure you're safe.”

  Scott was amazed at the recitation, nearly word-for-word of what he'd told Devon. He wondered when he'd stop being amazed at the lengths his boyfriend went to not only understand Scott's eccentricities but teach Scott so much about himself too. Devon was an influence, sometimes bad but mostly good of course. Sometimes he still worried that Devon was too perfect. “You need to stop being so perfect.” And that…he hadn't meant to say it out loud. “I mean you said that perfectly.”

  Devon smirked at him, moving another two steps closer to the entrance of the diner. “I'm anything but perfect but I'll keep it in mind. Does that mean we're good?”

  “I have you and a messenger bag full of Ativan. What else do I need?” And Scott honestly meant it. His anxiety was a low buzz under his skin, yet he truly believed being with Devon gave him a natural anti-anxiety fix. “You ready to introduce me to your friends, Dev?”

  Devon kissed his temple, his goofy grin lingering against Scott's skin. “If they give you a hard time, just say the word. I know all their weak spots and can have them moaning on the ground in the blink of an eye.”

  “Good to know.” Scott matched the expression, then, “Sounds a little kinky actually.”

  His insides vibrated when Devon threw back his head and laughed. They took the steps hand-in-hand before Devon opened the door and bowed like some buffoonish doorman. Despite the words of encouragement and Scott's own self-assurance that he wasn't going to panic, nervous energy rattled inside him like a butterfly convention. It wasn't quite panic, but Scott knew to pay attention to any other clues that might join the fluttering insects. He wanted to do this, needed to do this, for Devon and for himself. Devon's confession had melted his heart and all he wanted to do was make him happy and lay to rest some of the guilt he was obviously carrying.