DJ was a nice guy.
He was the kind of guy who never missed voting. Who separated out his glass recyclables from the plastic and the paper. He probably drove his grandmother to get her hair done every week. DJ had ‘settling down’ and ‘boyfriend material’ written all over him.
Which would be all well and good, except Joe was none of those things.
Joe was the guy you called when you were having a party and you needed help deciding which was hipper: a Ricky and Lucy theme or Man from U.N.C.L.E./Girl from U.N.C.L.E. Or when everyone was driving out to Palm Springs for the weekend and you needed a fourth to split the cost of the hotel suite. Or when it was Saturday night and you just wanted some no-strings fun and sex—because that's what Joe had written all over him.
DJ was a nice guy, not to mention his landlord. Joe didn't want to hurt DJ and he sure as hell didn't want to have to move. Shit, shit, shit. What was he going to do now?
Roll quietly off the couch, shower, dress and leave for work a little early, that's what—without looking back at a sleeping DJ. He needed time to think.
* * * *
"Hey there, punkin. Look what the cat dragged in this morning. I hope she was worth it."
Ginny, the office's receptionist laughed and gave DJ a barely muted leer, clearly expecting a response. Having no idea of what an appropriate response might be, DJ ducked his head and looked away, hustling past to stow his coat and books in the break room before heading back to check the day's patient log.
DJ figured he deserved it, though. Sleeping on the couch all night, his alarm upstairs in his room going off unheard and unheeded, he'd overslept and was only just now arriving for work. Late.
"Hi, Ginny. No, not even. My alarm didn't go off. I think I need a new one."
"Oh, too bad.” Ginny's broad smile evaporated. “I liked my scenario better."
He hated being late. But thinking about that only reminded him of the reason behind it. And that brought back memories of Joe bumping against him in the Jacuzzi, sweet tongue sliding easily into DJ's mouth, and Joe's hand jacking him like he'd never been jacked before.
God. DJ groaned softly and wrenched his thoughts back to the present. He had to forget about last night and focus on his work. Only a few years out of school, DJ didn't have the kind of tenure and track history that allowed for swanning into the office whenever he damn well felt like it. Who did he think he was, a cardiac surgeon?
"Yeah, me, too."
DJ patted the receptionist's ample shoulder and smiled a smile he hoped conveyed regret, all the while feeling like a complete and utter shit. He liked Ginny a lot. She was great at her job, good with patients and scary efficient. But she embarrassed the life out of him sometimes. A single mother with two teen-aged girls, there was seemingly nothing that wasn't fair game as a topic of conversation for Ginny, the more explicit, the better.
It wasn't that DJ was ashamed of being gay, but he would never dream of divulging his dating woes to Ginny. After discussing it with the rest of the staff first, she would no doubt kill him with kindness, throwing every single man she met—the ones she didn't want, any way—in his path. A gay yenta.
God help him.
Once he began working, though, things went smoothly. Bottom line: he liked helping people. It made him feel good when a patient came in with a debilitating injury and, because if his efforts, could eventually do pretty much everything they could before. That didn't always happen, of course, and at times it was heartbreaking when even his best efforts fell short.
What DJ really wanted to do, though, was get into sports injury therapy. After being a jock for most of his school life, more and more he was realizing that he missed the atmosphere, the passion and energy that serious athletes brought to their sports. And so he was going to school two nights a week, earning the additional credits he needed to be able to apply for work in a sports injury clinic. He was close to finishing, with only one more semester left. Then ... then he had a shot at doing what he really wanted to do.
It was Thursday, which meant DJ had his biomechanical analysis class. Although it was interesting as hell and even fun a lot of the time, it took all of his concentration to get what he needed to get out of the class. He knew that to get in with the group he'd been scouting, that he'd need to finish in the top five percent of his class. A B, even a B-plus, wouldn't cut it. He needed an A, and so he poured all of his energy and focus into his class. It made for a long day and DJ's tail, like everything else, was dragging by the time he got home that night.
The place was dark when he threw his book bag down on the little round table that served as a dining area. Mail he hadn't seen before lay piled neatly on top, so Joe must have been home at some point. Although, judging by the silence, he wasn't home now.
DJ's eyes strayed to the townhome's upper level and the balcony leading to the bedrooms. When he caught himself straining for a noise, any sort of noise at all, he knew he was in trouble. That's when he let himself think about how much he wanted Joe to be home. His stomach turned over just thinking about seeing Joe again, and DJ finally admitted to himself that all day he'd been rehearsing little things in his head to say to Joe. Ways to say, “Hell, yes,” without sounding too pitiful, to anything Joe suggested, as long as it involved the two of them.
God, he was pathetic.
Look at him, hoping with a fervor that bordered on desperate to run into his roommate. DJ wanted to kick himself. He and Joe had only been sharing living space for a couple of months. They'd been pretty compatible in most ways, respectful of each others’ differences, and things had been going really well. Just when it looked as though he might've found someone to live with potentially long term, he'd gone and screwed it up. He'd not only fallen for Joe's charm, but he'd let himself act on it.
He was a moron.
He knew Joe didn't have long term relationships.
In the nearly two months they'd lived together he'd seen Joe bring home—what?—twelve or fifteen guys? What was that, one-point-five guys per week, average? The NFL's top defensive lineman didn't manage that many sacks in a week. And those were just the ones Joe brought home.
Shit. Brooding wasn't getting him anywhere. Walking to the fridge, DJ propped the door open with one arm and looked for something that sounded good. His gaze stopped on the sparkling water and he almost reached for it. But then he spotted the Coronas. He really didn't need the extra calories, but ... Oh, screw it. A man couldn't live on a diet his whole life.
DJ found a bottle opener and, after popping the top, he reached for the remote and flipped on SportsCenter. A little Chris Berman sounded good—comfort food for the sports fan's soul. Slouching down on the sofa, DJ refused to think about the last time he'd been on this sofa. Absolutely refused. Letting his mind go blank, DJ focused on Boomer's voice and let the stats and stories of the day pour over him. And if his hand strayed to the spot where Joe's head had rested last night—if he stroked the spot mindlessly with his thumb and imagined he could still feel the heat from Joe's body—well, that was no one's business but his own.
* * * *
Looking up at the professor from his desk in the second row, Joe realized he was going for the wrong degree. Instead of international finance, he should have gone for business school instructor. Okay, so maybe the pay scale wasn't exactly equal, still ... This guy got to talk about whatever he wanted, for as long as he wanted, and the class was his captive audience. They couldn't tell him to shut up. They were all paying a shitload of money to be here and most of them needed the grade.
Maybe if the instructor was more entertaining Joe wouldn't find his mind wandering back to last night so frequently. God damn, but DJ had a fine body. Big and satisfyingly thick. Muscles he could sink his teeth into. Wrap his legs around. Go down on and—
Whoa, buddy.
Not going to go there, remember?
Damn, it was hard not to, though, with the prof droning on and on ad nauseum with yet another of his unfunny stories about the tim
e he'd ... Oh, who cared? Joe really, really wanted to tell the man to shut up and either get back to the subject matter or let the class go.
The professor didn't, though, and Joe resigned himself to listening with half his brain in case the man said something pertinent accidentally. The other half of his brain kept circling back to DJ and last night. Even aside from the smokin’ hot sex, Joe'd had fun just hanging out with DJ. Smart, funny, easy to be with—DJ wasn't constantly trying to one-up him, or shore up a shaky ego by pulling out esoteric bits of knowledge to make himself look smarter than he was. Man was secure with himself, and wasn't that refreshing?
When the class eventually broke up, Joe grabbed his things and headed for the door before the prof had time to recall any more stories. He was half-way across campus, heading for his bike, when he heard someone calling his name and turned. There was no mistaking the tall figure cutting across the grass to intercept him. Tall, Asian, goatee and glasses that were the last word in fashion, Casey Kim had been a member of the same loose configuration of friends that Joe had found himself a de facto part of since high school.
As two of the group's three gay members, it occasionally struck Joe as odd that he and Casey had never paired off, beyond one drunken make-out session when they'd both been too trashed to care. Or maybe not. Casey wasn't really his type; a little too classically effeminate, too interested in the latest gossip and who was sleeping with who.
"Joe, how are you? Great to see you, sweetheart. How's every little thing?"
It was still good to see Casey—a living link to his misspent youth. “Doing great, Case. Still trying to finish up that degree. How ‘bout you? Still trying to decide what you want to be when you grow up?"
Casey laughed and dished back. “Fuck you, you little punk. I'm meeting Elaine and Ronnie at The Green Parrot in a half-hour and I was going to invite you along, but you can just forget it now. You still have the manners of a peasant."
Joe shrugged and acknowledged the assessment. “You know me—same old, same old."
"Seriously, though,” Casey laid a hand on Joe's arm, “why don't you come with? It's just drinks. It'll be fun. I haven't seen them in months and you ... I haven't seen you in forever. However, one does hear stories."
Casey smiled slyly and Joe wondered who'd been talking. They had plenty of friends in common, but Joe couldn't think of anyone he'd seen recently that might have made editorial comments.
Funnily enough, though, Casey's suggestion didn't even begin to sound good. Ronnie and Elaine were good people; smart, funny and always up for a good time. So why didn't he want to go? Joe was always up for a party. Except tonight, apparently, so he lied. “Oh, man. That sounds good. But you know what? Say hi for me, would you? My neck's been giving me problems lately and I think I'm gonna head home. Next time, though.” Shifting his books to the other arm, Joe pasted a wistful smile on his face and rubbed his neck for effect. Like Joe knew he would, Casey caved.
"I can't believe you're turning me down.” Casey shuffled his feet, jingled the change in his pocket and thrust out his lip in a caricature of a pout.
"Yeah, me either. Gettin’ old, I guess. Take it easy, Case.” Taking off before Casey had time to think of any more arguments, Joe found his bike, strapped his books to the back and headed for home.
The cool night air carried the scent of strawberries as he raced by a ten-acre field of them, going fast, and Joe was nearly past them by the time the aroma caught up with his nose. He tried to remember the last time he'd had fresh strawberries, distracting himself from things he didn't want to think about by recalling meaningless details. He thought about buying some if he could get by during the day when the stands were open. When Joe realized he was thinking about buying the extra-ripe ones and feeding them to a naked DJ...
Shit.
All roads lead to home just like lately all thoughts led to DJ.
Joe gave in and let his thoughts wander where they obviously wanted to go. To DJ. A picture of DJ's smooth, naked chest came into his head, and Joe pictured squeezing a piece of ripe fruit over one bare nipple and licking up the juice, watching DJ's face as he alternately nipped and licked at sensitive flesh.
The bike shook as he hit a shallow rain channel, and Joe spent the next few seconds working to bring the bike back under control. He'd better pay attention or he'd lay the damn thing down and he knew from experience road rash wasn't a good look for him. So he focused on riding before he killed himself or someone else, and in only a matter of minutes he was home.
Time to suck it up and pay the price for last night's pleasure. What would DJ do? Treat everything as business as usual? No harm, no foul? Or would he expect something? Joe couldn't decide which he was hoping for most.
It crossed his mind that DJ was possibly avoiding him, because by the time Joe got home DJ was already in bed asleep. He told himself that he felt relief from dodging the bullet and not disappointment that DJ wasn't ready and waiting for round two.
* * * *
Maybe Joe was avoiding him.
Either that or Fate was screwing with him, because over a week had gone by since that night in the Jacuzzi. And in the entryway. And on the sofa.
Not that DJ had been thinking about it constantly, or doing anything even remotely close to obsessing about it. True, the thought of Joe's mouth moving on his might have crossed his mind once or twice. He might even have caught himself curving his hand into the shape of a tunnel, remembering the feel of Joe's dick sliding inside it a time or two. And so what if he'd run his tongue around and around his mouth, as though he could still taste the salty flavor of Joe's come there?
Nothing wrong with that. Nossir, not a thing.
Nothing wrong except that it made reasons four-twenty-seven through four-twenty-nine that he needed to get laid. And for real laid. Full penetration, fucked hard all night long, kind of laid. Because when a couple of kisses and a hand job had him mooning around like a middle-schooler with a crush ... yup, that was a pretty good sign.
He was pathetic, definitely. Look at him: folding laundry when there was a beautiful almost-spring day outside. What he ought to do was get off his butt and go down to the park and see if he could find a pick-up game of hoops. Yeah, that sounded good. Get hot and sweaty with a few other guys, maybe guard a little too close. Make a some unnecessary body contact. Who knew? He might finally get lucky. While he was at it he could check out the summer softball leagues.
Softball made DJ think of baseball, and thinking about baseball of any kind took him back to college. God, that had been fun. Funny how you didn't realize at the time when you had things really good. Being part of a team, the camaraderie, sharing the highs when they'd won, crying in their beers together when they'd lost.
A big part of the rosy glow of nostalgia probably had to do with Danny. He'd met Danny Esposito at the College World Series his senior year, where Danny had been part of the host school's team staffing the event in a town two-hours away. Danny had been his first. His first real boyfriend. They'd managed a weekend a month together for nearly eight months before distance and differences had combined to let his first romance fizzle out. He'd managed a few short relationships since, but nothing ever seemed to last.
DJ carried his folded laundry upstairs to his room, and thought about why that was. He shrugged to himself and admitted that maybe it was him. He wasn't the most exciting guy in the world. Or maybe it was the ten or so extra pounds he'd picked up since college. An attractive body always caught his eye, too, so he hardly had room to throw stones there.
DJ was just clearing the last step down the stairs to the condo's main level when the front door open and Joe walked in, his helmet in one hand and leather jacket in the other. Speaking of attractive bodies ... Snug jeans outlined a taut, curvy butt and a white T-shirt, plain save for a clothing company's logo that stretched nearly from nipple to nipple, displayed Joe's gorgeous chest and shoulders perfectly. Joe flashed a surprised smile in DJ's direction and carelessly tossed his belon
gings down on the chair nearest the door.
"Hey. How ya doin'?"
"Pretty good. How ‘bout you?"
There, that was a fairly bland response. He'd had a full week to think about how he should respond to Joe, but his body obviously had its own agenda. There were butterflies turning somersaults in DJ's stomach and he had to fight hard to keep a goofy smile off his face.
"I'm good. Happy. It's the weekend and I got my big project finished—the one that's been kicking my ass for the past two weeks. It's done, the bosses are pleased, and I'm a free man.” Joe's smile was blinding, and against his will DJ felt himself slipping under its spell again. He loved that smile and he'd do a lot to see it again. Rubbing his neck a bit, Joe's impossibly beautiful smile somehow got even brighter. “My neck's even good—I think it must have all been stress-induced. I feel like celebrating."
"Yeah?” Stay out of this, pal. You're not going to get involved, remember? Isn't that what you decided?
"Yeah. What are you up to? Feel like doing something?"
Shrugging, DJ made a last, vain attempt to resist Joe's charm. “I was thinking about going down to the park, actually. Maybe playing some basketball."
Joe pretended to consider it, pushing his lower lip out, practically begging DJ to imagine what he could do with it. Bite it. Suck it into his mouth and—
Aw, crap. Be strong, man. Be strong.
"I was thinking about a ride down to the beach. You know the—What's the name of that place? The seafood place. Right on Coast Highway, I think. You wanna go? Have a drink, maybe get something to eat?” It sounded great and DJ's resolve was slipping faster than Bluebird Canyon after a big rain. “C'mon, it's a beautiful day out."
DJ cast a desperate look around the room, hoping to spot a chore that absolutely couldn't be put off. Before he could find anything, though, someone that sounded just exactly like him said, “Yeah, sure. That sounds good, actually."
Joe's smile was back in force and DJ grinned goofily back.
"Cool."
You are doomed, Charlie Brown. Doomed, doomed, doomed.
Boys of Summer: Sharing Spaces Page 3
