Breaking into surprised laughter, Nick joked, “Whoa, who are you and what have you done with Trudy Gerard?”
“Careful, smartass. I could just as easily extend this meeting for another two hours.”
His hands held in mock surrender, Nick said, “I take it back. Every word.”
“Okay, then. Get out of here.”
Nick leapt to his feet and hurried back to his office, determined to finish his budget report. He did turn it in by the end of the day, but only by delaying Marta Cabrera’s counseling session until Tuesday, though the only slot he had for her was at the end of his day. As he climbed into his Jeep, Nick sighed, thinking longingly of his date with Logan the next night. He would still have plenty of time if all went well, but since not much in his life was trending that way lately, he decided to warn Logan he might be late. Nick headed for Allegheny Suburban Hospital, hoping for some good news for a change.
AS SOON as Logan turned off Route 19 onto Matson Boulevard, he relaxed slightly. The calming factor wasn’t just that he had nearly arrived at his destination; it was that the neighborhood was so obviously a working class one. The houses were mainly modest, two-story structures with older cars lining the streets, and kids could be seen—and heard—playing on many of the small front lawns. Logan didn’t know much about the city of Pittsburgh, but Nick had referred to this area as Observatory Hill, and to his ears that sounded like some fancy kind of neighborhood. He was glad to find nothing could have been further from the truth.
When Logan parked behind Nick’s Jeep in front of 54 Matson Boulevard, he saw that the place was a small brick house with a slight incline of steps running beside the driveway. The steps led up to a front porch that stretched across the front of the house. Seeing the Jeep had been another relief. Nick was evidently already home, even though Logan was a few minutes earlier than the appointed hour. Nick had left a message on his cell phone that morning saying he had a late counseling session but should be home by seven, traffic permitting.
As Logan trotted up the steps, he wondered why Nick didn’t park in his driveway, but upon noticing a well-worn basketball hoop attached to the porch railing, he considered that as one possible answer. Before he got to the front door, he was greeted by the smell of burning charcoal; Logan had thought it was a neighbor’s grill until he stepped onto the porch and saw a cast-iron hibachi smoldering in the corner. Nick evidently had immediate plans for dinner, which delighted Logan’s stomach but sorely disappointed another part of his anatomy.
That part of him had grown more impatient for this meeting with each passing hour, so much so that towards the end of the day, Logan had feared a coworker might notice the distinctive bulge that made him grateful for his loose-fitting work jeans. During his after-work shower, he’d soaped his crotch well, idly considering taking the edge off his impatience before deciding against it. He’d also taken care to clean the rear quarter well; unlike his Sunday morning shower, this time Logan didn’t have to pretend there was no particular reason for the attention, though he still preferred not to examine his craving too closely.
In that motel room with Nick, nothing had seemed wrong. In fact, everything they’d done had seemed exactly right to Logan, in a way nothing he’d ever done with a woman had. He fit with Nick—in every sense of the word—like the last piece of a jigsaw puzzle falling into place. The only interaction before in his life that had ever felt that natural had involved a wrench and a gasoline engine.
Unfortunately, the further away he was from Nick—in both time and space—the more insubstantial that comfort became. As he shaved Monday morning, though the welcome soreness in his ass was subsiding, Logan had stared at his reflection in the mirror, wondering if there was some visible sign of his weekend activity. Was he now marked in any noticeable way? Would other men now sniff him out like wolves did a weak member of the pack?
However, at work, none of the guys seemed cognizant of any change—great or small—in Logan Crane. The only verbal observation had come that afternoon from Jeanie, one of the more flirtatious checkout girls at the garden center. She had coyly asked if “that smile” was for her, and Logan had adroitly brushed her off with the answer that his smile had been for quitting time and nothing more.
Of course none of that mattered to him now; now that he was on the verge of seeing Nick, nothing, no unresolved questions or qualms nor his fluttering nerves, stayed his eager hand from pressing firmly on the doorbell. When Nick opened the door and let him in, Logan was as lost in a haze of dark eyes and white smile as he’d been upon first meeting the man—but this time he didn’t need to hide from the reason. Even better, this time he got to kiss him, and Logan immediately pressed forward, every part of him engaged: thrusting tongue, grasping hands, and aching cock, a kiss without surcease until his lungs protested and the need for air finally beat back his need for Nick.
When his power of speech returned, Logan grinned back at a smiling Nick, gasping out, “Nice place you got here.”
An equally winded Nick answered, “Thanks. It’s kinda small and needs some work, but I like it.” He paused uncertainly before offering, “You wanna tour?”
A devil who rarely saw the light of day popped out in Logan, and he responded archly, “Sure. Let’s start with the bedroom.”
Laughter bubbled out of Nick and bounced off the walls of the narrow entryway. “I can’t believe I’m turnin’ that offer down, but I thought we’d have dinner first.” A sly grin broke across his face as he added, “’Course, I could just leave the burgers in the fridge.”
There was a renewal of hostilities between Logan’s gut and his dick, but the winner turned out to be the part of Logan touched by the thought of Nick bothering to cook for him—his heart. Though as he trailed Nick down the hall to the kitchen, there was no conscious acknowledgment of the victor on Logan’s part.
He watched Nick retrieve a plate containing four hamburger patties from the ancient fridge, and Logan took a second to glance around at his surroundings. The furniture, worn and slightly dowdy, matched the refrigerator, all of it a far cry from the sleek bachelor pad Logan had been picturing. Belatedly, Logan remembered that Nick wasn’t really living the bachelor life. “How’s your mom doing?” he asked while gladly accepting Nick’s silent offer of a cold IC Light.
Nick took a long pull of his own beer before saying, “Not great. But I met with the infectious disease specialist last night, and he put her on a more aggressive antibiotic regimen. He says he’s had some success with it in the past on advanced cases.”
“That’s good,” Logan answered, though there really didn’t seem to be much good in that report, but he wasn’t about to add his own dose of gloom. He followed Nick out to the porch and watched him flip the burgers onto the miniature grill before asking, “Did they ever figure out what brought on all this trouble for your mom?”
Nick shrugged sadly before tilting his head up at Logan and saying, “Nah. The one doctor was telling me it happens to a lot of Alzheimer’s patients—supposedly they forget how to swallow properly or something….” He rolled his eyes at Logan, adding, “I’ve told him three times now that my mom doesn’t have Alzheimer’s.”
Puzzled, Logan stammered, “But, uh, I thought you said your mom was… um, demented?”
The porch light was dim, but Logan could still see a crease that spoke of pain appear on Nick’s forehead as he explained, “She is, but it’s not from Alzheimer’s—it’s from brain damage.”
“Sorry. How awful—for both of you.”
Logan took a long swallow of beer, debating whether or not to ask how she’d been injured when Nick blurted, “My dad did it to her.”
Shock and sorrow stole any eloquence Logan might have possessed. “Fuck! That’s brutal.” Nick was busying himself with the burgers, so Logan softly asked the back of his head, “How old were you?”
Nick straightened up and looked at Logan, answering in an audibly controlled tone, “Twelve. I had just turned twelve.” Logan was still s
truggling to formulate a reasonable response when Nick started talking in a jumpy register. “Never gonna forget that birthday. Ya see, it was—well, not my fault, I know that….” Logan heard a man trying to convince himself more than his audience but stayed wisely silent as Nick continued, “Anyway, I got this basketball hoop for my birthday, and I wanted to put it up. God forbid the old man help me, you know?”
His own father would have jumped at the chance to help either of his sons with such a task, so Logan really couldn’t relate, but he nodded, encouraging Nick to go on.
“I wasn’t allowed to touch his tools, so my mom gave me this useless old ball-peen hammer used to belong to her dad. I could’ve hammered all night with that thing, for all the good it would’ve done me, so I snuck into the shed and got my dad’s brand new hammer without her knowin’. Had the hoop up in no time, but I got so excited with the idea of tryin’ out my birthday present that I forgot to put the hammer away—left it layin’ there in the grass.”
Logan had a sickening feeling he knew where this was going and wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the details, but, remembering how good it had felt to unburden himself, he prodded, “Forgot all about it, huh?”
“Yeah, until I was in school the next day and it started pourin’ rain.” Nick squinted off in the distance, staring at the hazy moon as he polished off his beer. Seeming fortified, he continued. “The old man came home early, found the hammer layin’ in the mud, and went berserk.” There was a long pause, and Logan thought he might be done, but with a great heave of his chest, Nick added, “Beat the hell out of my mom with it.”
“Fuckin’ bastard,” Logan fumed, his hands tightening on the neck of his beer bottle, a poor substitute for the real object of his fury. “Can’t believe a man could do somethin’ like that to his wife.”
“I could, with him. I wasn’t even surprised.” Nick hurled his empty bottle at the recycling bin in the opposite corner, hitting it dead center. He brushed his hand across his eyes and, in a choked voice, continued, “I prayed to God that whole day, begging Him to let me get home before my dad. I was still sayin’ ‘please, oh please’ as I ran home from the bus stop. Right up ’til I spotted the ambulance in front of my house and saw the cops loadin’ my dad into a squad car. I knew right away what’d happened. Right then I figured out that God—if He exists—sure don’t hear the prayers of Nick Zales.”
Grasping for some comfort to offer, Logan stepped close to Nick, saying, “You know, Sister Ciera says when it seems like God’s abandoned you, that’s when He’s workin’ the hardest for you.”
Nick snorted with bitter amusement, retorting, “Yeah? She also thinks there’s hope for guys like my dad.”
He almost let it go, but something made Logan say, “And me.”
“What?” Nick was staring at him like he had started speaking in Swahili.
“They ain’t all like your dad. Maybe some of them’re like me.”
Nick waved his hand as though he were batting Logan’s suggestion away. “You’re nothin’ like… those other guys. Any of ’em.”
“Bet that ain’t the way Linda sees it.” This was a recent revelation to Logan, one that he had avoided for months—one that had caused him some sleepless nights of late. Now that he’d finally said it out loud, he was anxious to hear Nick’s answer.
“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean….” Nick trailed off as he squatted down to check the burgers. “They’re done,” he announced a trifle too heartily. “Come on, let’s eat.”
Logan was as glad to let the unhappy topic drop as he was to eat, though there was a part of him that wished Nick had finished his thought. It was good to know Nick didn’t lump him in with those other guys, but Logan would have liked to hear the basis for that belief.
Over dinner, Logan told Nick that the machine shop had all of the Thunderbird’s reconditioned parts ready, and they could probably finish the engine that Sunday if they devoted most of the day to the task.
“Hot damn! You mean it might actually be a car again instead of lookin’ like the end row of a junkyard?”
Logan licked a glob of ketchup and meat juice off his thumb, then cautioned, “Well, it’s still gonna look pretty rough until we get it painted. Given any thought to what color you want it?”
“Red, it’s gotta be red—just like God intended,” Nick laughed.
“First time I ever heard anyone confuse Ford with God.”
Nick laughed even harder as he stood up and collected their empty plates. He dumped them unceremoniously in the sink, then turned towards the table, asking, “Had enough?”
Logan jumped up and trapped Nick against the sink, one steely arm on either side of Nick’s body. “Enough food, yeah. But I want you for dessert,” he growled before diving for Nick’s mouth.
The kiss continued and built upon itself, Nick only briefly breaking to say, “You read my mind,” before pulling Logan back for more. Logan ground against Nick’s hard body and harder erection, sparks of passion igniting when cock met cock until Nick grabbed his hand and said, “Come on, let’s christen my bed before we think of doin’ it in the sink.”
That startling revelation was tucked away for later contemplation as Logan eagerly followed Nick up the stairs. When they got to Nick’s sparsely furnished bedroom, Logan felt Nick pushing him towards the bed and was happy to go along for the ride. He felt the edge of the mattress hit the back of his knees and fell purposely back onto it, dragging Nick down on top of him.
The solid weight of Nick felt so good, so right, and Logan tightened his arms to keep that man right where he belonged, though Nick seemed a most willing prisoner, entwining his legs with Logan’s and returning the ardor in full. Logan pulled Nick’s head down for a deep, probing kiss, lips rough, tongue wet and voracious, teeth nipping at tender lips; Logan moaned deep in his throat, wanting more contact. There was too much cloth between them, he wanted—needed—to feel Nick naked against him, needed it now.
Reading his mind or the tremors in his body, Nick joined Logan in removing any obstacles, stripping clothing off himself and off Logan. After shucking his jeans, Logan reached into the pocket and pulled out his “goods.” He dropped the brand new condoms and lube on the rumpled sheets, grinning proudly at Nick. Nick laughed in return, pointing at the bedside stand where a twin set of supplies waited. Logan threw his jeans over the edge of the bed and smirked at his lover, saying, “Well, that should last us—for tonight.”
Nick seemed to agree with that sentiment, rolling on top again until he was straddling Logan. A wicked smile lit those intense brown eyes from within as Nick bent down and puffed in his ear, “Been thinking of this all day. Thinking of what I was going to do to you, how you was gonna taste and look….” He breathed in deep, adding, “And smell.”
Logan groaned deep in his throat, his cock growing ever more erect; his eyes fluttered closed when he felt a tongue snaking from the side of his neck down to his collarbone, felt the mouth grow more demanding, sucking and biting. Logan knew there was going to be a mark there but couldn’t care right then, was inspired to launch his own attack on Nick’s neck, intending to return the favor and finding the taste of Nick’s skin and sweat enthralling.
By the time Nick thrust his slick fingers into Logan, he was more than ready for the welcome intrusion and thrust down greedily onto Nick’s hand. Logan was taken with the sight of Nick’s face—pupils dilated with lust, tousled hair looking wild. He didn’t want to lose that view, delighted to do it this way, so glad when Nick pulled his legs up and placed his cock in position.
Nick teasingly placed only the tip inside and then, committing sweet torture, ever so slowly thrust inside. The rhythm gradually picked up until each stroke was pushing Logan higher and higher, nothing could be better—until Nick grabbed his heated cock and started stroking him inside and out. He was nearly delirious with the sensation of Nick being everywhere, his body surrounded by Nick, wrapped securely in his man.
Logan struggled to keep his eyes open de
spite the overwhelming sensations, wanting to watch Nick this time, see the obvious pleasure dripping off him. His own nerves were singed by the sight. Logan couldn’t stand it anymore, had to let go, found that watching his come splatter onto Nick’s chest had to be the most goddamned erotic thing he’d ever seen. An elated grin stretched across his face as Nick joined him in orgasm seconds later. Nick kept them joined for a shuddering moment, then rolled off and collapsed onto the mattress, allowing Logan to stretch his long legs out with a primal groan of satisfaction and pull his lover into the sheltering circle of his arm.
NICK WOKE with Logan’s body half-draped around his. He’d never been one for cuddling, and neither had most of the men he’d slept with, but something about this was okay. More than okay. It was damn good. A tongue rasping against the back of his neck and a deep rumble in his ear, “Mmmm,” let Nick know that Logan was also awake.
He let Logan continue his ministrations for a few seconds before stretching and rolling over to give his bed partner a cheeky grin. “I see you’re up.”
“Not yet, but I’m gettin’ there,” Logan joked, though his eyes were searching the bedside table. Nick figured Logan was looking at the clock and glanced over to see that it was 10:30. Still time for another round—I hope. However, Logan evidently hadn’t found what he needed on the table, since he was now looking over at Nick’s dresser.
“What’re you lookin’ for?”
“An ashtray.” Logan pushed the sweaty blond strands off his face, saying, “Guess you don’t smoke in here, huh?”
“I don’t smoke at all.”
“Oh, right.” Logan shrugged sheepishly. “Been thinking of quitting, myself. Krista nags me ’bout it all the time.”
“Good idea,” Nick declared, though he didn’t mind the smoky taste that was part of Logan’s unique tang. It reminded him of his own days as a smoker. Nick leaned in for a quick kiss before pulling back to say, “It’s rough to quit. I won’t lie to you ’bout that.”
Dreamspinner Press Year Four Greatest Hits Page 117
