Finding Me (Another Falls Creek Romance Book 2)

by SF Benson

  “Where to?”

  This isn’t my first time in the Big Apple. The fellas and I have taken a bite of the town and its inhabitants on more than one occasion. Our debauchery in this town is the stuff legends are made of. I smile to myself thinking about the good times we’ve had. The females and males we’ve had. Problem is, I’ve never been in New York alone.

  What the hell do I do by myself?

  “Address, mister?” The cabbie still waits for my answer.

  “East 29th and Second Avenue.” The music bar is the first location that comes to mind. It’s one of my favorite stops for food, drink, and getting my dick stroked. Much like a prisoner on release day, I’m in need of all the above in no particular order.

  There’s a marked difference between people-watching and hunting down victims. With the former, you’re glimpsing behavior and checking out mannerisms. If you’re lucky, you’ll find a good, entertaining fuck. Someone you’ll stay with all night. The latter is all about fulfilling a need. Appearance and the ability to carry on a conversation don’t matter as much when you’re desperate.

  As an incubus turned human, however, the line between the two blurs. Without the benefit of sight, I can’t distinguish the demarcation. Since I can no longer see auras, I can’t figure out humans from supernaturals. I guess that’s no longer relevant. All I know is getting laid won’t be about staying alive. It’s simply entertainment that I’m craving like fresh air.

  “What’ll you have?” A perky blonde from behind the bar asks. Her low-cut blouse and swollen breasts suggest that more than food and drink might be on the menu.

  Why does she look familiar?

  A shot of whiskey—old habits die hard—would make all of this a little easier for me, but it’s a little early for hard liquor. “An order of wings and a beer.”

  “Bottle or tap?”

  “Tap is fine.”

  “Domestic or imported?”

  “Domestic.”

  Only a few drunks and die-hards sit at corner booths nursing glasses of alcohol. I’ve never understood the human need to live in an alcohol-induced coma. Sure, there are times you want to lose yourself, obliterate your senses to shed memories. But to stay in that oblivion long term? It’s not for me.

  The woman returns with my food and drink, saving me from pondering the idea further. She leans over the counter and gives me a glimpse of a tattoo—a pair of wings over one boob—and I suddenly remember the woman. She told me the ink was for a sibling who died.

  “I haven’t seen you here before,” she says.

  Nice to know Grandfather’s powers are working hard even this far away from home. Last time I was in New York, this waitress pumped my dick in one of the bathroom stalls. The memory sends a shudder down my spine. Desperation drove me to seek a refill of energy in the nasty surroundings.

  What the hell was her name?

  Julie…Jackie…Jenny…

  She slides a napkin across the bar with her phone number scribbled on it.

  Marjorie.

  Shit, I wasn’t even in the ballpark. I offer a wink and a smile. “Thanks.”

  As soon as her back turns, I crumble up the paper. She served a onetime need. If I recall correctly, Marjorie wasn’t even a pleasant fuck. She gave a decent blow job, but her pussy was like a shoe on a display rack—tried one too many times. Impetuosity won’t send me up that path again.

  Getting laid will have to wait a little longer. Making it as a human requires finding a place to call home. Fortunately, my new status hasn’t affected my bank account. I scroll through the app and determine I have enough funds to last two weeks. Staying in a hotel, however, will use up the money in a few days. Finding a job is definitely at the top of my to-do list.

  “Can I get you anything else?” Marjorie asks.

  I glance up. The woman eyes me like I’m the last man on Earth, and she hit the lottery. Is this how humans proposition each other? Instead of finding her interesting, I’m irritated as fuck. Maybe I’ll get peace at a table? Before I gather up my stuff, I remember I don’t have a phone charger.

  Forcing the smile to stay on my face, I say, “Yeah. Would you have a charger I can borrow? Or maybe paper and a pen?”

  “No on the charger.” Marjorie reaches into her pocket and removes a small pad and a pen. “You can keep it if you promise to call me.”

  “Yeah, sure thing,” I lie.

  She scribbles her number on the pad. “Try not to lose it this time.”

  Busted.

  “Thanks again.” I slide it into my pocket before taking my plate and drink to a table.

  As an incubus, I could drink all night long and not get drunk. After my third beer, however, this human body can’t handle it. The fogginess in my head prompts me to order a soda—a ghastly concoction. Immediately, I bail on the sugary beverage and switch to bottled water.

  First pitfall of my wish.

  More warm bodies fill the bar, and it’s getting claustrophobic. People keep asking if they can join me at my table, and I keep refusing. Finding solitude in a watering hole is probably unheard of, but it’s either stay here or walk the streets. Perhaps I’m safer inside.

  The backdrop to my prolonged stay at the bar is the melodic voice coming from the stage. He has the voice of an angel. His skills on the piano aren’t bad, but mine are better. I’m disappointed when the music stops.

  “Mind if I sit?” the deep male voice asks.

  My mouth opens, ready to defend my space, as my gaze rocks up. All activity around me comes to a grinding halt while my heart speeds up. It’s the singer I’ve been listening to all night. It’s not solely his voice, however, holding my interest.

  Fluidity and incubi go hand in hand (no pun intended). I’m probably more fluid than a lot of Lilin. Even so, it’s only a problem for my parents. Rocco and the guys are aware of my preference for hard bodies and have never judged me. I’ve fucked my share of females, but if I’m given a choice, I’ll always choose males.

  My predilection has earned me Father’s persecution. Not conjecture. He told me so himself. He finds me offensive, and his philosophy is to punish whatever disagrees with him. After Father confessed his disgust with me, however, I stopped bringing guys home, but he knew I hadn’t changed. I didn’t wake up one day and agree to only fuck females. My resistance annoys the shit out of my father.

  Ask me if I care.

  I don’t.

  Most of the time.

  “Did you hear me?” the musician asks, snapping me out of my reverie.

  “I’m sorry.” I slide my crap out of the way. “Go ahead,” I say before he walks off.

  He sits and eyes me for a moment before extending a hand. “Name’s Jeremiah Jones. Everyone calls me JJ.”

  I shake his hand. Strong, long fingers. “Colt.”

  JJ’s blue-green eyes widen before a smile breaks across his handsome face.

  Beautiful teeth. Kissable, perfect lips.

  “Like a horse?” He snickers and then tries to muffle the laugh. “Are you serious?”

  “Afraid so.” It’s not the first time I’ve been ribbed about my name. “It’s short for Colton.”

  “Nice to meet you, Colton.” JJ lifts a bottle to his lips, and I can’t help wetting mine.

  No one other than Grandfather calls me Colton, but it’s okay if JJ does.

  This man is my type—longish hair, scruffy beard, tall, and not too muscular. He makes me miss being an incubus. My powers of coercion would have us in a stall where I’d fuck him senseless. Being human, however, I can’t even be sure if he’s into men. If he’d be into…me.

  Second pitfall of my wish.

  “I’m taking it that you’re not from around here,” JJ says.

  For the moment, I push aside my fantasizing. Without the ability to read his thoughts, I need to pay close attention. “No. Just passing through.” Suddenly, I feel the need for something a lot stronger than water.

  JJ points to the stack of napkins I’ve amassed. �
��Looks like it’s more than passing through. You a writer?”

  Writer? Humph. I used to write poetry. Haven’t done so in a long time. But I could write sonnets about this man. I gather up the napkins and the pad and shove them into my jacket pocket. “Oh, I ran out of paper. Had a lot to figure out.”

  “Interesting. A writer named Colton. You look the type.” JJ’s gaze lingers on me for a long, scintillating moment before he looks away and returns to his bottle.

  He’s interested.

  I’m out of my element being human. Flirting has always come naturally to me. No. Being an incubus made it easy. If I saw someone I wanted, all I had to do was stare long enough. The person’s defenses would drop faster than their underwear. With this man, however, I don’t know what to do or say. How do humans do this without special powers?

  “Staying nearby, Colton?”

  “No.” Pointing at my jacket, I say, “I’m still figuring out my next move. That’s what all the paper was about. I need to find a place to stay. I can’t quite continue hanging out here.”

  Is this how humans determine interest? Lots of talk about nothing important? It seems like a gigantic waste of precious time.

  JJ drains his bottle and sets it down. “Are you punishing yourself? If I didn’t work in this joint, I wouldn’t stay any longer than necessary. The food’s not that good and the clientele… Well, they don’t tip very well.”

  Tearing my gaze from JJ, I notice the room is nearly empty. Once again, I’m hanging out with the same drunks and die-hards from when I first arrived. But where else can I go? I overruled the hotel room hours ago. Maybe there’s a place I can get a room for a few hours. Figure shit out after a good night’s sleep.

  JJ rubs a finger across the engravings on the wooden table. His beautiful gaze drifts up to my face. “I may hate myself for saying this, but I’ve got a fold-out bed. You’re welcome to it until you figure things out.”

  I glance down at my wrinkled shirt. He must think I’m a damned charity case. “I appreciate the offer but—”

  He quirks an eyebrow up. “You got a better offer? This place closes in an hour. Walking around Kips Bay at this time of morning isn’t wise.”

  Morning? How long have I been sitting here? “What time is it?”

  “Two.”

  “Shit! I had no idea.” I rake a hand through my hair. “My phone died hours ago.”

  JJ stands. “C’mon. My place is within walking distance. I’ll even let you charge your phone.”

  It sounds like an innocent offer. One that a friend would make.

  Friends…

  One of Grandfather’s conditions. Outside of the fellas, I never had the need for anyone else in my life. Right now, I have a devastatingly handsome man offering me a place to stay. If it comes with conditions, am I willing to go there?

  “Are you sure you don’t mind?” I ask, sliding on my jacket.

  “If I did, I wouldn’t have offered. Besides you look like you need a friend.”

  JJ doesn’t know the truth in his statement.

  After being inside for so long, I find the night air crisp and rather refreshing. I fall into step beside JJ as his long legs cut a path up Second Avenue. He points out a few places along the way—a bank, a pizzeria, and an apartment building.

  “So, Colton, are you running away or running to?” he says as we cross the street.

  “Huh?”

  “No bags.” He glances at me. “I figure you’re running away from something or someone.”

  We walk up East 27th and past a park. Even at this hour, the street is still busy with traffic and people. New York City is nothing like Falls Creek. In my hometown, the only beings out at this hour are those that howl at the moon and prey on victims after dark. I could learn to appreciate people out in public around the clock.

  “I’m not running from anything,” I lie. Thoughts of Father enter my mind. Okay. I’m running from someone, but JJ doesn’t need to know about my personal demon. “It’s an impromptu trip.”

  “How long is this impromptu trip?” JJ points to a building on the other side of the street as we step off the curb.

  “A month.”

  “And then what? Do you turn into a pumpkin or some shit?” He laughs out loud.

  Mellifluous. It’s the sound a musician should make. I like it.

  “Some shit like that,” I reply. JJ would probably freak out if he knew what I’ll turn back into.

  “You don’t have to tell me. I can appreciate wanting to keep stuff private.”

  And why is that?

  A man who looks like JJ could be an archangel for all I know, but would that matter in this moment?

  What about your principle?

  The likelihood of JJ being an angel is exceedingly slim.

  We stop in front of a modern structure with double glass doors—it reminds me of an office building. JJ yanks on a door, and we step into a brightly lit lobby. Our footsteps echo across the white tile floor as we approach the elevator.

  “If you’re gonna be here for a while,” JJ says as the elevator closes, “you might want to get an apartment in the neighborhood. It’s not a bad place to live. Convenient to everything.”

  As long as it’s convenient to him, I’m sold.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Colt

  A lot can be ascertained about a person by where they live. Oversized mansion screams entitled. Tiny, studio apartment hints at either a lack of money or a person starting out on their own. JJ’s sparsely decorated place speaks to a soul who wants few connections to the world.

  Only the essentials—a gray sofa, a coffee table, and a floor lamp—occupy one side of the narrow living room. Its white walls stand bare. Exposed. Honest. The area in front of the floor-to-ceiling window—the only one in the room—contains a keyboard, a stool, and an acoustic guitar. The misfit in the space—other than myself—is the small flat screen TV in a corner. The freedom from color offers a surprising solace after a month in Hell. The sound of keys dropping on a table pulls me out of my head. I turn to see JJ walking past the small white kitchen table.

  “It’s not much, but I like to call it home.” He goes over to the window and lowers the blinds. “I’ll get you some sheets. You sleep in the buff, or do you need something? Just a warning. It gets nippy in here.”

  What does he sleep in?

  Taking in his physique, my curiosity piques. The idea of seeing this man naked stirs my dick. Angling my body away from JJ, I attempt to hide my throbbing erection. Over my shoulder, I say, “A T-shirt and sweats are perfect.”

  The baggier, the better.

  “Cool. I’ll be right back.” His footsteps retreat through the kitchen.

  I make a quick adjustment to my crotch before checking out the sofa bed. I’ve only slept on a contraption like this a few times in my life. Thankfully, they all fold out the same.

  “Oh, good. You figured it out.” JJ returns with a stack of white sheets, a pair of gray sweatpants, and a white T-shirt.

  “Are you a fan of white?” I ask as I take the sheets from him and make up the bed.

  The corners of his mouth turn up. “The place came furnished. It kind of reminds me of the place I grew up in.” JJ heads back to the kitchen, halts, and then turns around. “Bathroom is at the end of the hall. I’ll leave the door open for you.”

  “Thanks. Good night.”

  The smile doesn’t leave his beautiful face as he lingers, his eyes not leaving mine. Finally, he drops his gaze. “Night.”

  JJ leaves me—and my too-hard cock—alone in his pristine living room. My heart thuds right along with the door banging closed. I toe off my shoes and tug down my jeans. A raging boner is not how I planned to spend the night. This must be what men call blue balls. If I was still an incubus, I wouldn’t be in agony. I would have thoroughly fucked JJ and left his bed in the middle of the night.

  You do have an out. Make the call.

  No. I wanted this experience. I’m pretty sure I’m not
the only human male who has been in this situation. I slide on the sweats and slip beneath the cool covers.

  Staring at the ceiling, I realize that camping out on a stranger’s sofa doesn’t count as finding a place to stay. I’ll rectify the situation in the morning. I’ve always been fond of brownstones. Maybe I’ll find one close by. Rolling over, I shut my eyes and try to sleep.