I managed not to sigh in contentment. It was getting easier not to let on how much it affected me every time we touched. It helped that he hadn’t stopped touching me since we woke up. We’d slept past ten. It felt wrong to sleep away the time with him while he was in town, but it was heaven waking wrapped in his arms. And he’d be back once he’d figured out what kind of store to open. Those languid moments in bed, drifting in and out of sleep were nearly as magical as those at Gilbert’s cabin. And whether by magic or the power of dozing, I allowed myself to get lost in the fantasy that waking up with Joel was real life, that it wasn’t anything special—outside of one of the best feelings in the world. Well, that feeling was surpassed by the things he did to me as we showered, but still.
He must have read my mind, and he gave my hand a little tug. “I’m really sorry about the bruises on your hips. I didn’t realize how hard I was squeezing you last night.”
I scoffed. “Are you kidding? I wish I could show them off. Better than a hickey any day.”
He grimaced. “I’m not sure that’s saying much. I’m not sixteen. Having a hickey isn’t something I’m proud of.”
“Well, I suppose that’s true.” That was a lie. I’d take a hickey from Joel any day of the week. Whatever that said about my personality must have come from my father, as my mother would be mortified by me parading around town sporting a hickey.
“Come on, I see a coffee shop right up there.” Joel motioned across the street with his chin.
“I thought you’d given up on the coffee shop idea. I promise you, Pete isn’t going to cave.”
His brows furrowed, just for a moment, and then he grinned. “It might be past noon, but we still haven’t had coffee, and I’m an addict.” Joel led the way, jaywalking in the process. We’d just stepped onto the other sidewalk when he let go of my hand and halted. “Oh shit. I wasn’t even thinking. We’re not in San Fran or Lavender Shores. Not sure how this could go if the wrong people saw us.”
That was one of the beautiful things about growing up in Lavender Shores; I’d never had to worry about coming out. I’d missed out on all the hatred gay kids seemed to endure everywhere. It wasn’t even a thought. But San Francisco was even more liberal in many ways, at least in most places. It surprised me that Joel would care. “I think we’re okay here.”
He glanced around, nervously. It was a surreal moment, one I hadn’t expected at all. Joel seemed confident every second we’d been together, or walled up solid. Never self-conscious.
A horrid thought hit me. It wouldn’t be the first time a guy came to Lavender Shores, knowing its history, and played gay for a week. Or at least allowed himself to be who he really was for a few days. Hell, wouldn’t be the first time I’d fallen for it either. Fuck.
“Joel?”
He was still inspecting the people around us, but faced me slowly, looking distracted. “Yeah?”
Maybe I shouldn’t ask. Just enjoy the time we had. “Are you in the closet?”
He balked, and didn’t answer for a second. Too long of second. “No.”
My laugh dripped with sarcasm, though I hadn’t meant to sound that way. “That was convincing.”
Irritation crossed his face, but it vanished quickly. “Fine.” Joel gripped my upper arms tightly and kissed me. Hard. Not passionate or full of desire, just kissed me, for longer than such a kiss should last. He pulled back. “Good enough for you?”
I couldn’t tell if he was angry or something else. “Sorry.” I wasn’t even sure if I should be sorry. Maybe?
He shook his head, his expression softening. “No, I’m sorry.” He released my arms and slid a hand back to mine. “This still okay?”
My shoulders slumped as some of the tension left. “Yeah, of course. Sorry if I pushed.”
“It’s all right. I’m out. It’s just that—” He glanced at the coffee shop over his shoulder then smiled back at me. “Can we please do this over caffeine?”
I laughed. “Sure.”
He was probably proving a point, but I didn’t care. I loved it. Joel held my hand as we walked into the chain coffee shop, while we ordered, and didn’t let go as we found a table and sat down.
“Okay”—a teasing tone filled his voice as he spoke—“I’m going to let your hand go now, because although I’m a coffee snob, I do like cream and sugar, so I’m going to get some. It won’t be as gay as your fat-free mocha, but it doesn’t mean I’m hiding with the mothballs in the back of the closet, okay?” His volume rose just a bit. “And I still think you’re sexy, and I want your ass when we get back to the hotel this evening.”
I couldn’t keep from laughing as I slid partway down my chair.
He winked and walked away.
Sure enough, the poor barista was staring at us wide-eyed from behind the cappuccino machine.
Okay, so officially not closeted. At least not enough to be all bro-ed out in public. Thank God.
Joel was back within seconds and leaned down to kiss my cheek before pulling up his chair.
“Okay, okay. I get it. You don’t have to put on a show anymore. You’re not afraid of letting people know you like guys.”
He cocked his head. “That one wasn’t for show. That was because I like you, Andrew Kelly.” He rose halfway and leaned over the table to give me a quick kiss, then sat back down. “As was that one.”
Since it had been officially more than twenty-four hours, maybe it was acceptable to admit defeat and embrace the fact that I’d fallen in love with Joel Rhodes.
Probably not.
Didn’t make it any less true.
Joel took a sip of his coffee then leveled his gaze at me, all flirting gone. “Okay, I’m going to give you the speed version, because I don’t want to put a damper on our day, but if you have more questions, you can ask. Deal?”
I nodded; no need to try to speak as my heart was racing from his kiss.
“I was married. To a woman.” Joel paused again, as if giving me time. Which was good, as my heart sped up for an entirely different reason.
“Okay.” I tried to think of what you’re supposed to say in moments like this. Despite my mother’s rigorous training on how to respond in any given situation, this particular example had been skipped. “Okay, then. So you’re bisexual.”
He shook his head. “No.”
“Oh. You were closeted when you were married.”
Joel shook his head and grinned. “Do you want me to tell the story, or are you having too much fun trying to fill in the blanks?”
I could tell he was teasing, so I mimed zipping my lip and tossing the key.
He gave a soft snort and shook his head. “Your level of adorableness is fucking ridiculous.” He grew serious again. “Speed version, remember?”
I nodded.
He took a deep breath, then launched. “I came out in college. As you may have gathered, my father is rather… particular. So having a gay son wasn’t the image he felt our business needed. Exact words were, ‘You’ll make us a million in San Francisco but ruin us everywhere else.’ He didn’t give a shit what I did in secret, just as long as it wasn’t on the front page of any paper. So he found a woman he thought was an acceptable match, I pursued her, proposed, and we married. I made it three years before I told her the truth, and we divorced. I still don’t make it public, but I refuse to be with a woman just because my father says so. Surprisingly, he’s okay with that.”
“Wow.” Again, another topic for which I didn’t have an appropriate response. “Wow.”
Joel wrinkled his nose. “Bad enough to deserve two wows, huh?”
For such a rushed story, I had a billion questions, but I blurted out the first thing that had popped into my mind. “Your poor wife. That had to hurt her.”
He waved that away. “Nah, she’s fine. I think she had some illusions of love when we started dating, but by the time I proposed, she’d figured out I wasn’t the straightest guy on the team, even without me saying it. She played her role and got paid well
for it. She continues to get paid well every month by my father to keep her mouth shut. Trust me; she’s doing just fine. She and her new husband will never have to worry about how to pay for their daughter’s college.”
A whole new set of questions came up. Being a Kelly, a grandson of one of the founding families, meant we had quite a bit of property and businesses in Lavender Shores. None of us were hurting financially. But we weren’t dripping in gold and diamonds. I didn’t know the amount of money his ex-wife was paid, but Joel referenced it as casually as if it was spare change. “What business does your father have?”
His eyes widened, and he sat up straighter. “Pardon me?”
“Well, you just sounded like the heir apparent to the crown jewels. I’m assuming your father isn’t the king of some small country, since you said he worried about how you being gay would affect business image.”
“Oh right.” He glanced at the ground, then back at me. “Actually, I know I said you could ask whatever you want, but do you mind if I plead the fifth on that? When people find out who my family is, they treat me differently.”
I flinched. “I would never—”
He shot his hand out and grasped my forearm. “Oh God, sorry, Andrew. I didn’t mean you would. Truly. I know you’re not like that.” He sighed, and I thought he was going to tell me, but then he looked at me, pleading clear in his eyes. “Do you mind if we just don’t? I don’t want to talk about my father anymore or worry about business or anything. Can we just be here, now?”
The smallest tinkling of bells sounded alarms in the back of my mind, but I muffled them. “Yeah, of course. Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”
He shook his head again and squeezed my arm. “You’re not. At all. It’s all just, really, really complicated.”
I nodded, not having anything else to say. Or at least having no idea what to say.
Joel released my arm and sat back. He let out a frustrated breath. “See, Dad does it every time. Makes everything heavy.” He lifted his coffee cup and gestured toward the door. “How about we take a walk and shake this off?”
I chuckled. “You mean like—”
“If you say Taylor Swift, you’re going to have nonfat mocha in your hair, and I don’t care how hot you are, that’s not a good look on anyone.”
I grinned. “Fine. Spoilsport.”
“Although…” He rolled his eyes playfully to the ceiling, like he was thinking. “That is something to keep in mind. Licking you clean could be a great way to pass the time tonight.”
And just like that, the ease that had been there since we’d woken up returned. We stood and walked outside. I turned to him before we made it much farther and moved to the side to allow the tourists to pass. “Speaking of tonight, I was thinking.”
Joel’s wicked grin appeared. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.” My cock twitched. “It’s silly for you to pay for the room when we’ll be sleeping together. You might as well stay at my place.”
His smile faltered, and I was clueless as to what he was thinking.
“Sorry. I wasn’t trying to pressure you. I don’t have to stay. I didn’t mean to presume. I can leave after—”
“I’d love that.” Despite his words, the gleam of wickedness was gone. He almost seemed sad.
“You don’t have to.”
He smiled, though the melancholy lingered. “No, really. That sounds perfect.”
“If you’re sure.” The thought of him in my home, in my bed… If I hadn’t already totally lost my heart to him, I was certain I would. Which probably made this a horrible idea.
He took my hand again, linking our fingers once more. “I’m certain. I’ll call the B and B and let them know. Probably too late to get out of tonight’s reservation, but the rest will work.”
Disappointment filtered in. “Tomorrow, then.”
“No. I didn’t mean I’d stay at the hotel tonight.” He shook his head, and his smile finally reached his eyes. “I want to be at your place.” He tugged my hand again. “Come on, handsome.”
We walked along the shops, mostly just looking in windows, enjoying the first day of June, the sun bright and warm. Our hands never broke contact.
I lost track of time, of worrying about him leaving on Monday, and how long before he came back. About if this meant he wanted something when he came back. I didn’t think of a thing other than how completely wonderful every second of this was. I was brought back to reality as I realized his hand had slipped from mine several paces ago.
I turned and spotted him instantly. Joel stood staring through a window, his hand against it to block out the glare. I wandered back to him and glanced at the name on the front door—West Coast Collectibles. I looked back at him. Joel looked like a little kid, staring longingly at a toy store.
“You have a thing for knickknacks?”
He turned bright green eyes on me. “No”—he pointed at the window display—“but look at this!”
I looked. Autographed basketballs, baseball cards, and a football in a glass dome. A beat-up-looking flag with a grinning mascot I didn’t recognize. “Uhm, you like sports?”
He nodded. “Yeah, I do. But I really like the sports memorabilia. The old stuff. Cards that are hard to find. Autographs by the greats of years ago. All that shit.”
I couldn’t fathom why anyone would care about any of that, but the absolute excitement on Joel’s face was stunning in its beauty. “Wanna go in?”
He gaped at me. “Can we really?”
What an odd thing to say. “Sure? Can’t we?”
Joel looked at the display, at the door, at me, then back at the door and nodded slowly. “Yeah. We can.” Then he walked to the door, opened it slowly, and stepped in as if he was entering a church.
Ten
Joel
My heart thudded like I’d finished a kickboxing class as Andrew and I wandered around the small shop. The old guy nodded at us from behind his desk and then returned to his newspaper. Andrew stayed close but didn’t speak. I didn’t either.
It had been years since I’d been surrounded by so much memorabilia. Nearly two decades. I’d almost forgotten that wonderfully musty smell, the tang of mold and paper. I’m sure it was all in my head, but I preferred it to the odor of the used bookshop the day before.
I eyed a basketball signed by Michael Jordan that sat behind glass. Not really vintage enough for my tastes, although, I supposed that was going to be vintage soon enough. Next to that, a small frame hung on the wall with what looked like a receipt of some sort surrounded by green matting. I leaned forward, squinting. Hank Aaron’s signature was at the bottom. Reaching out, I smoothed my fingertip over the glass and then realized my hand was trembling. I stuffed it into my pocket. I needed to get a hold of myself. I wasn’t a teenager anymore. This was nothing but foolishness and asking for trouble when I’d already stumbled into more than enough.
“Is that valuable?” Andrew leaned in beside me, inspecting the autograph.
I glanced at the price tag. “Not as much as they’re asking. Although, I’ve been out of this particular game for a long time. Maybe that’s a decent price now, but I doubt it. The paper isn’t in that great of condition, and the top part of the receipt is smudged so you can’t even tell where it’s from. I can’t imagine it’s worth what they’re asking. But still, Hank Aaron. No small thing.”
Andrew straightened and nodded, his lower lip jutting out as he considered. He obviously had no clue about any of this, but it was endearing to watch him try to figure out what to say. “He played”—Andrew glanced at the Michael Jordan autograph—“basketball?”
I barked out a laugh and noticed the old guy flinch over Andrew’s shoulder, crunching up part of his paper. “Sorry!” I lifted my chin toward him then returned my attention to Andrew. “Are you serious?”
He blushed. “So not basketball, then? Baseball?” Yes, so very, very endearing.
“Yeah, baseball. I take it sports aren’t your thing.”
�
��No. Sorry.” He shrugged, and his blush deepened. “I have a rather large collection of cookbooks by the chefs on Food Network.”
“Well, that’s…” I laughed again, though quieter this time. “I don’t know what that is, actually. Is cooking a sport now?”
He shrugged and grinned self-consciously. “Well, maybe, depending on who you ask. I was just saying I collect things too.”
Holy shit. I was supposed to leave him in a matter of days.
How the fuck was I going to make myself do that?
“Ah, it all makes sense. And yes, those two things are very similar.” I grinned at him.
“I know that’s not quite as sexy and manly as collecting baseballs and jockstraps and such, sorry.” His eyes twinkled.
“Very true, collecting jockstraps is the definition of manly. I’m going to have to start that.” Taking my hand out of my pocket, I slipped a finger into his belt loop and pulled him closer. I’d noted he seemed to like that move before, and sure enough, I caught a sharp intake of breath. “But I’m guessing your collection of cookbooks might be handier than a collection of baseball cards tonight. If you’re going to cook for me.”
He nodded, breathing heavy.
I pulled him a bit closer. “And if you happen to be wearing a jockstrap when you do”—I shrugged—“well, I guess combining our interests would be appreciated.”
I could barely hear his whisper. “If you keep talking like that, I’m going to shoot in my pants right here and now.”
That would make two of us. “Well, that’s one way to increase my love of sporting memorabilia. If you get your come on the merchandise, I bet it will lower the value. I, however, will pay more for it.” I released his belt loop and ran the back of my finger over his bulging erection.
We both jumped as the old guy cleared his throat.
I didn’t look at him this time, but laughed softly. So much for good old Dad’s proclamation of not being a nelly homo in public. I gestured toward the door. “Come on; let’s get out of here before we’re arrested for fucking in public and turning the local shop owners gay.”
The Palisade (Lavender Shores) Page 10
