Or…friends in general.
* * * *
“What are the schools like around here?”
Victor blinked, certain he’d misheard her, and trying to process the question.
Mrs. Olivieri was seventy-nine years young and widowed for fifteen years. That Monday morning, he was currently showing her around a high-end Gulf-front condo on Siesta Key, a one-bedroom unit that, for the same money, a person could buy a sprawling five-bedroom pool home out in Lakewood Ranch.
“Beg pardon, ma’am?”
At least he had the southern drawl down pat from his decades in Atlanta.
“The schools. How are they?”
If she still had a uterus, it was probably puffing out dust. “Um, well, the county school system has excellent rankings within the state. And as far as secondary education, here in Sarasota, we have a campus of USF, the Ringling School of—”
“I’m specifically interested in the high schools.”
He blinked again, trying not to let his mind think of creepy reasons she’d be asking. “Besides the county schools, there are several well-respected private schools.”
“I’m trying to convince my youngest daughter to divorce the asshole she’s married to, and my grandson will be starting ninth grade next fall. I’m going to offer to pay to move her and my grandson here if she’ll divorce the fucker.”
Oh, good. Context.
And it took him a moment to realize the benign-looking grandmother had just dropped two swear words, including the f-bomb, in the space of a breath.
“I know we have a list of files back at the office with all of that information. I apologize, Mrs. Olivieri. Had I known that was of interest to you, I would have had that prepared before our showings.”
She waved off his apology with a playful smile. “You’re fine. That was out of left field, I know.” She sighed as she looked around. “It’s pretty here. I like it. What do I need to sign? Can we dispense with the written offer crap, or do I have to waste more of what few days I have left in my life waiting for them to shit or git?”
She was pre-approved. She’d be paying cash for it, and had already signed to list her house with them once she purchased a condo and moved.
Not that she needed to sell her house, because apparently her husband had been a successful businessman who’d left her loaded when he passed. But she was looking to downsize to something that would be less work for her, less maintenance.
He pointed to the paperwork in her hand. “There’s the asking price. If you’d like to make a counteroffer, I can call their agent and give them a verbal offer and follow it up with an e-mail. We’ve worked with that agency before.”
She studied the listing sheet in her hand. “Eh, let’s just do it. Fuck it, it’s only money, sugar.”
He smiled. “All right, then. I’ll make sure he’s in, and we can go to his office.”
* * * *
Combine a motivated seller with an equally motivated buyer, and it meant Victor was able to leave work a half hour early, stop by the grocery store for a nice bottle of wine and a carton of ice cream, and head home to celebrate.
Such as it was.
After a shower, he spread out on the couch, dressed only in his shorts, with his laptop, a glass of wine, and leftovers Lara had sent home with him yesterday. What he was interested in was looking through their newest listings, as well as others in the Sarasota/Bradenton area, to see if there was anything that caught his eye for him personally.
He’d lucked out settling in Atlanta after college. He’d wound up in Georgia, after going to college in Illinois, because he’d traveled down there for spring break with a couple of buddies of his and realized the real estate market there, commercial and residential, was experiencing explosive growth.
So he’d taken his business degree and his freshly minted Georgia real estate license and quickly built a life for himself.
Including doing some real estate investing of his own. Buying undeveloped properties in rural areas, leasing them out to cattle ranchers for grazing to get the tax credits, and then selling them in a couple of years once development spread out far enough to catch up.
When he’d decided to leave Atlanta for good, he’d liquidated everything he still had. He didn’t feel like being an absentee landowner, or dealing with paying taxes when out of state.
He wanted a fresh start, free of any memories of or ties to Peter.
Thank god we weren’t married.
Technically, if he wanted to buy a small, modest house somewhere, he could probably retire now and not have to work again.
Except he enjoyed what he did. He liked the fact that he never had the same situation twice. The clients, even repeat clients, always brought new challenges to the table. He enjoyed listening to their goals and needs, trying to interpret if they really knew what they wanted and needed or not, and then bringing them the best options.
He’d quit counting the number of times he’d received the compliment from clients that they liked that he actually seemed to listen to them and show them properties they didn’t mind looking at, versus wasting their time trying a scattershot approach.
Sure, he’d be stupid not to stick an oddball listing in every so often, but he always prefaced it as exactly that, and added the caveat that he knew it wasn’t within the stated parameters.
But then he also told them why he’d decided to bring it up.
He now had a seventy-five percent success rate doing that.
Yeah, he kept track. Business major, duh. He liked spreadsheets.
He had a decent career and was relatively lucky in his life. He really had no reason to bitch, right?
Except…
Loneliness.
And how pitiful am I that I’m actually going to spend the rest of my night drinking wine and eating rocky road ice cream right out of the damn carton?
Pretty damn pitiful.
Chapter Five
Sleeping alone Sunday night felt both strange and freeing. No resentment simmering in Simon’s brain from the things he wanted to say to Greg and kept himself from saying, all for the sake of being “nice,” to keep him from settling into a peaceful slumber.
No listening to Greg snore and wondering if there was any part of his life that Greg wasn’t going to basically steamroll through regardless of Simon’s needs.
No Greg, a physical embodiment of what Simon wasn’t happy about in his life, and thinking back to a time when he could sleep how he wanted, undisturbed, and awaken to a clean house and no bad surprises.
No wondering if he should thumb the call to voice mail because he didn’t feel like talking to Greg while at work, even though he could.
The next morning, Simon awoke refreshed, and didn’t have to stumble around a very sleepy, irritable Greg, who was anything but a morning person. He didn’t have to fight to bite back snarky comments because of his frustration that Greg was in his way and slowing him down.
He didn’t have to clear Greg’s shit off the bathroom vanity just so he’d have room to shave and brush his teeth.
Hell, now he had room in the vanity for little luxuries like spare towels, toilet paper—the things currently relegated to a shelf in the upstairs hall closet, because Greg had needed the room for his crap.
Why didn’t I do this sooner?
Oh, yeah. I’m “nice.”
When he arrived at work at the hospital, no less than three people he knew slightly better than on a passing basis stopped him to tell him how happy he looked that morning.
Holy. Fuck.
He usually received head-tips and smiles, but this was…
Wow.
Had he really been that miserable?
He settled at his desk in his office. Now the department head, he’d spent over fifteen years working here, first as a billing clerk part-time while he was still in college. He’d never expected his accounting degree to lead to this. But a full-time job opened up just as he was graduating, and it meant health benefits and
a 401k. So he took it, and…
Here he was.
Not the best paying job, sure, but it paid better than many, was stable, and he was looking at his long-term future. He didn’t have to take his job home with him, he didn’t have to work weekends, and he was pretty sure their hospital, part of a larger chain, wasn’t going to go out of business anytime soon in a retiree-intensive area like Sarasota.
By the time he finished work and headed home, swinging through the grocery store first, he’d almost forgotten about Greg and the fact that he wouldn’t be there tonight.
Simon also noticed something else that was missing—the tight, uncomfortable tension that usually built in his abdomen as he prepared to go home. Dragging out after-work errands or taking a longer way home to avoid the inevitable bitchfest that would happen when he walked in.
Greg would immediately start in on every bad thing that happened during his day, and, of course, Simon would listen and nod and give his sympathies.
Then Greg would start with the “innocent” sniping any time Simon sat down to relax and read or watch TV. Of course Greg didn’t let chores cut into his free time. “I’d like to wear that blue shirt tomorrow, babe. Can you do laundry tonight?” Or, “Do we really have to have meatloaf again tonight? You made that last night. It wouldn’t take you long to cook a couple of chicken breasts, right?”
Or, “You know, my allergies are bothering me, babe. How about you dust the—”
“Arrrrrrgh! That lousy motherfucker!”
Simon was glad he was safely sealed in his car at the stop light when he pounded on his steering wheel and let out that scream, because he suspected everyone around him would think he was crazy if they’d heard him.
When he’d met Greg, Greg had blamed growing apart, being tired of New York winters, and the opportunity to transfer to Florida for his breakup with his ex. He’d never badmouthed the guy, either.
Simon assumed, after having navigated the dating pool in real life as well as dating apps, that meant Greg was a decent, stable guy.
He’d never gone boiled bunny and tried to seek Greg’s ex out for a second opinion. He wouldn’t have known where to start, anyway.
There had been no obvious red flags flying at the start of their relationship to warn Simon away from Greg. And Simon was pretty good at spotting those.
In the beginning, Simon hadn’t minded taking care of Greg. They hadn’t exactly had a D/s kind of relationship, more an informal thing with play thrown in. Simon wasn’t a hard-core submissive, even though he did enjoy getting his ass spanked and being tied up and helpless for sex. If pressed to label what he was, sure, he was a bottom, sexually and for play. A little switchy on occasion, but happy to bottom if he felt a solid connection.
And at the beginning, he’d felt that connection with Greg. Greg definitely wasn’t a leather Dom, more a…coordinator.
That didn’t really become clear to Simon until nearly a year in, when going up to the Toucan for a lazy Sunday afternoon in the sun, looking at cute guys, started morphing into getting a room Saturday night and finding a cute guy who was a heavy bottom to blow them…
And then…
It wasn’t an overnight thing.
It wasn’t overt abuse.
Simon felt pretty confident Greg wasn’t even aware of how assholish his behavior had become. Of how he’d been taking Simon for granted to the point Simon had lost his ability to give a shit anymore.
Five years.
As he pulled into his driveway, now able to take up the middle, like he used to before Greg, he quietly realized something.
I have to start over again and put myself out there.
But now, he wasn’t sure if he had the confidence to try.
* * * *
Tuesday, Simon had lunch with Dr. Justin Rede, a researcher who’d been there the better part of a year now and seemed like a genuinely nice guy. They weren’t super-close personally, but enough to have pleasant lunch conversations when they ate together once or twice a week.
“So how’d your weekend go?” Justin asked.
Simon knew Justin was gay, but neither of them had pried into the other’s personal life. He also knew Justin lived with two guys, a married couple he was apparently involved with, but Simon didn’t know all the details about that.
Simon snorted. “I lost one hundred and sixty-eight pounds Sunday evening.”
“Huh? Oh. Ohhh. Sorry, man.”
“Wasn’t unexpected. This weekend was…the final straw for me. I gave him an ultimatum and he refused, so I told him fine, it’s time to end this because I’m done.”
“Yowch.” Justin dropped his voice. “I promise, none of this goes any farther than just me.”
“I appreciate that.” He picked at his salad. “So, hey, if you know of any single guys who don’t like to fuck around…” He shrugged.
“Ouch. He cheated on you?”
“Not…exactly. It’s complicated and veers into TMI territory. Not sure how comfortable you’d be hearing it.”
Justin smiled and leaned in. “Dude. I’m a collared slave to two guys, and love every second of it. I’m not exactly a prude.”
Well, allllrighty, then.
Without getting too graphic, Simon summarized things for him, what had led to his breakup with Greg.
“Can I ask you a question?” Justin said after Simon finished telling him his tale of woe.
“Sure.”
“Are you kinky?”
“Yeah, but I’m not exactly a BDSM expert or anything. Why?”
“Well, we’re members at Venture. We were planning on having dinner with friends before going Saturday. One of our friends there, she’s got a wicked awesome track record at matchmaking. I mean a spooky good record.”
“Sure, what the hell. Why not. Where and what time?”
Justin texted him the restaurant address, Sigalo’s, a place he’d seen in passing but had never been to. “You can look the club up online to get their address and their rules and stuff.”
“So what do I wear?”
“Dress like you are now. Or even jeans and a button-up shirt. At least for this first night. No one expects you to be a perfect bondage dude or anything, especially on your very first time there.”
“Fair enough.” He tucked his phone away. “I’m not, like, going to make your guys mad for talking to you like this, am I?”
“No. They’re not assholes. And they talk to newbies, too. It’s kind of a pay-it-forward mindset our friends have. We were all new, once upon a time. I never would have met Glen and Wade if it hadn’t been for friends. Well, and my sister.”
“Your sister?”
“Yeah.” Justin noticed the time. “Sorry. We can share that story another day. I need to get back to work. So I can tell the guys you’ll be joining us?”
“Absolutely. I’d love to get out and meet new people.”
“Great!” Justin stood, took his tray, and headed back to work.
Simon sat there for another moment, immersed in thought. Yeah, he had “friends.” But most of those friends were mutual friends he’d made while with Greg.
And more than a few of them had fucked him, thanks to Greg’s machinations.
He wasn’t ready to announce to them yet that he was single and on the market, needing to fend off guys who wanted a kinky bottom.
Besides, most of them were of the same mindset as Greg, that fucking was fine as long as it wasn’t love.
Nope.
He’d never realized that before, either. Why, he didn’t know. It’d just naturally…happened.
The few friends he had who weren’t like that, most of those friends he’d known before Greg, he’d reach out to them over the next couple of weeks. Right now, he needed some distance, physically and emotionally, from Greg’s sphere of influence.
* * * *
By the time he returned home that night, Simon had almost forgotten about going to dinner and the club on Saturday. Except as he was pulling into his driveway
, his phone dinged with a text message.
From Greg.
Ready to talk?
Fuming, Simon was tempted to tell him to go to hell.
About what?
He sat there, car running, waiting to see if Greg would reply.
About us.
It took Simon three attempts to compose a typo-free response.
Unless you’re ready to agree to my demands, no. My answer hasn’t changed.
When Greg still hadn’t replied a few minutes later, Simon shut off his car and headed inside. That’s also when he noticed the earlier text from Justin. He saved Justin’s contact info in his phone and was about to set the phone down on the counter when Greg replied.
YRU being so unreasonable?
Yeah, no, he was not going to get dragged into an all-night text convo with the selfish, clueless fuck.
Have a good life.
He set the text conversation to mute so his phone wouldn’t blow up with alerts all night and then plugged it into the charger in the kitchen. After changing, eating, and doing some chores, Simon returned to his phone over an hour later to find a ranting, one-sided diatribe from Greg.
And a text from Justin.
Friends of ours are bringing a friend of theirs to dinner and the club Saturday. Single, mono, Dom, GWM. :)
Simon smiled and replied. Cool. Looking forward to it.
He didn’t bother reading Greg’s thread, knowing it would only piss him off and was yet another attempt to get Simon to “change back.” He’d wait until right before bed, scan them to see if there was anything he legitimately needed to know, then delete them.
Because frankly, even if Greg did suddenly manage to shoehorn his head out of his ass, Simon knew he was already past the point of no return and not looking back.
He needed a fresh start, and not with Greg. Not with anyone like Greg, either.
He wanted someone who wanted him, and who thought he was plenty enough.
Never again would he settle for less.
Chapter Six
Rub Me Raw [Suncoast Society] (Siren Publishing Sensations ManLove) Page 4
