by L. A. Witt
How the hell had this happened? He was in bed, naked and sweaty, with . . .
He looked, just to make absolutely sure he hadn’t imagined the whole thing.
Nope, it wasn’t a dream or a hallucination. Or, well, if it was, it wasn’t over yet, and Joel had every intention of enjoying it until it did, because his brain had convinced him he was really in bed with Andre.
Smiling like an idiot—and not giving a damn—he sighed happily. “Man. I feel great.”
“Me too.” Andre turned on his side and ran a hand up Joel’s forearm. “And this was, um, unexpected.”
Joel laughed. “Tell me about it.” He paused. “Except I get the feeling you and April were in cahoots somehow.”
“What?” Andre scoffed and put a hand to his chest. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Mm-hmm. Sure you don’t.”
Andre chuckled. “Okay, okay. She did put in a good word or two for you.”
Even though Joel had already known April was involved, hearing it from Andre sent heat rushing into his cheeks, and he groaned. “Oh my God. I’m sorry. She—”
“Sorry?” Andre draped his arm over Joel. “You’re in my bed. What is there to be sorry about?”
Mortified or not, Joel couldn’t argue. After all, he was in Andre’s bed. He’d give April hell for this, but he’d have to give her a hug for it too. And details, since she’d asked and would ask again.
“Fair enough,” he said, and kissed Andre because, hell, he could. So why not?
Andre propped himself up on his elbow and trailed his fingers up and down Joel’s arm. “You know, if you’re game, we could meet at the dungeon and—”
“What? No.” Joel shook his head. “I mean, I . . . Look, I was just there because April needed somebody to keep an eye on her tonight.”
Andre chewed his lip. “But you . . . I mean, we . . .”
Joel sighed. He pushed himself up on his elbow and twisted toward Andre so they were eye to eye. “I was there for April. You know that.”
“Yeah, but then we ended up, well, here.”
“Mm-hmm. And we didn’t do anything kinky.”
“Right . . .”
Joel held his gaze, and after a moment, the pieces fell together. Irritation tightened his chest. “I was turned on by watching you with April, so that means I still want to be kinky after all?”
“Well, no. But I mean, I—”
“For God’s sake, you got turned on by tying up April. Does that make you straight? Or bi?”
Andre blinked. “No, no, of course not. I don’t have to be into someone sexually to play with them like that.”
“So why is it so hard to believe I could get turned on watching you and not be turned on by doing anything kinky?”
“Okay, that’s fair. I guess I . . .” Andre studied him. “When you and Rob were playing . . . I mean, when he wasn’t being an absolute jackass . . .” He tilted his head. “Did you enjoy it?”
Joel exhaled. “Sometimes, yeah.”
“And since you left him, have you . . . thought about trying it again? Just to see if—”
“Really?” Joel jerked his arm from under Andre’s touch. “This from the guy who shut someone down for telling me the same—”
“Hey, hey. Easy. I just wondered if—”
“No.” Shaking his head, Joel put up his hand. “We’re not discussing this.”
“Okay. Okay. We’ll drop it.”
But now Joel felt like an ass because things were weird and awkward. He sighed. “I’m sorry. Look, I mean, it’s not like I never enjoyed it, but I just don’t think it’s my thing.” He met Andre’s gaze. “At the end of the day, I’m a vanilla guy. Maybe with some . . . I don’t know, some kinky sprinkles on top or something. But definitely vanilla.”
Andre couldn’t hide the disappointment in his eyes.
Goddamn it. That’s why you wanted to hook up. Because you thought I might come out of my kink shell.
Wait, does that mean I led you on?
Joel put a hand on Andre’s arm. “I hope I didn’t make you think—”
“No. No.” Andre shook his head and plastered on a smile. “You said at the munch that you weren’t into kink anymore. I knew why you were there tonight.”
“I know, but . . .” Joel chewed his lip.
“You’ve had some bad experiences. Hell, I can’t imagine you had a lot of good experiences with—”
“Don’t.” Joel put up a hand again. “I don’t want to talk about him. And yes, those were bad experiences, but it doesn’t mean I’m wired for the kind of stuff you’re into.” He didn’t want to argue, so he didn’t give Andre a chance, and sat up as he said, “Listen, this was great, but I should go.”
Sitting up too, Andre started to reach for him, but hesitated. When he withdrew his hand, Joel couldn’t decide if he was relieved or disappointed.
We just had sex. Why does it feel so wrong for you to touch me?
“I’m sorry,” Andre said. “I didn’t mean to fuck this up.”
“No. No. You didn’t.” Joel rubbed the back of his neck.
Silence. Long, awkward, miserably uncomfortable silence.
Awesome. He’d had sex with Andre—unbelievably amazing sex, for that matter—and the night had still turned out to be a goddamned disaster.
Joel cleared his throat. “I really should go. It’s . . . late.”
Andre glanced at the clock beside the bed. Okay, so it wasn’t that late. Joel hadn’t even been here all that long, but he definitely needed to get out of here now, so he got up and started getting dressed. A moment later, Andre did the same. Quietly, they dressed and moved into the living room. There, they stood in uneasy silence by Andre’s front door.
After a while, Joel smoothed his shirt, focusing on that instead of looking at Andre. “I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean for things to get like this.” He pushed his shoulders back and met Andre’s gaze. “Tonight was . . .” He smiled, but it probably wasn’t all that convincing. “I enjoyed tonight.”
“Yeah, me too,” Andre said. “It was more than I’d hoped for when I came to the dungeon tonight, that’s for sure.”
Joel laughed, hoping it didn’t come across as halfhearted as it felt. “Same here. Guess I should be thanking April for dragging me along.”
“You and me both.”
“Anyway.” Joel rocked from his heels to the balls of his feet and took his keys out of his pocket. “I’ll, uh, see you around.”
“Okay.” Andre smiled, and damn but it looked forced. His eyes definitely didn’t echo anything from his lips.
There wasn’t any standard protocol for saying good-bye after an awesome-hookup-turned-awkward, so Joel offered an appropriately awkward handshake, then made a quick exit. He hurried down the walk to his car, all the while muttering, “See you around? Really? Where?”
Oh well. It didn’t matter. He’d gotten out of the house, and now all he had to do was leave Andre’s neighborhood and put this whole thing behind him.
Far behind him. Far, far behind him.
See you around?
Kind of hope not.
Three days after they’d hooked up, Joel got a text from Andre.
Hey—can we meet up & clear the air?
The text came through just before he left his client’s office, and all the way home, it was on his mind. Was Andre upset with him and expecting an apology? Was he going to try to persuade Joel to come to the dungeon after all? Or maybe convince him he’d overreacted?
Maybe he had overreacted. Andre hadn’t pushed the kink angle. He’d suggested it, and he’d apologized for bringing it up. And they hadn’t exactly parted angrily. They’d politely agreed they weren’t compatible, and they’d gone their separate ways after some amazing sex.
Still, Joel couldn’t help but be annoyed that Andre had brought up the possibility of them playing together. Mentioning it at all had put light on the elephant in the dungeon—Andre was kinky, Joel wasn’t, and the
re was no getting around that. They could burn up the sheets all they wanted, but sooner or later, that difference would come creeping in and make itself known. What was the point in getting in too deep? Getting a little too hooked on the way Andre kissed and the way he fucked? It had been awkward enough to walk away that night. If they’d been a few nights, weeks, months into this . . .
Joel shoved that thought out of his mind. Even if things hadn’t ended awkwardly, there wouldn’t have been any “nights, weeks, months into this.” He was an idiot for thinking any differently. It was over. Done. Case closed.
Even once he was home, though, the unanswered text wouldn’t leave him alone, so Joel sat down in his office and shoved his phone in a drawer where he could ignore it.
That was easier said than done. Despite a giant stack of files to go through—something that had to be done by the end of the week—his mind kept circling back to that unanswered text.
Work wasn’t happening, so he got up and took the dog out for a walk. A long walk. A much longer walk than they had any business taking during the workday. But . . . meh. Cinnamon enjoyed getting to sniff some fences, bushes, fire hydrants, car tires, a discarded Dr Pepper can, the nose of a German Shepherd ten times bigger than her, and a crack in the sidewalk that was intensely fascinating for some reason. By the time they got home, she was exhausted and flopped down next to Joel’s desk before he’d even unclipped the leash. When he came back into his office with a cup of coffee, she was already snoring as only a French bulldog could snore.
Joel chuckled. Oh, the exhausting and stressful life of a spoiled dog.
He sat down and got back to work, but it only took about three lines of data analysis before his brain went back to the text, which was still unanswered on his phone, which was still shoved in his drawer. Ignoring it wasn’t going to make it go away. But what would acknowledging it do? He wasn’t obligated to answer the text, or to take Andre up on his suggestion. It wasn’t like the guy was standing in front of him expecting an answer, and even then, Joel could walk away.
He shook himself and tried to concentrate. Didn’t help. His brain was in the drawer with the phone and already trying to plot out the response that wouldn’t sound too terse, too stupid, too wordy, too abrupt, too clumsy . . .
Eventually, he gave up, closed the file in front of him, and rubbed his temples. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about that night with Andre, and in particular the horribly abrupt and awkward end, and Andre’s text wasn’t helping. He could’ve lived with being shot down by Andre, but disappointing the guy had left an awful taste in his mouth.
Leaning back in his desk chair, he sighed. Obviously it wasn’t going to stop bothering him, so maybe they did need to clear the air after all. And if Andre was a dick about it, or he somehow thought Joel owed him an apology or an explanation for not wanting to be tied up and beaten, then he could shove it—unlubricated—up his ass.
Joel blew out a breath. Okay. He’d respond. They’d meet up and clear the air, as Andre had suggested.
And then . . .
He’d move on with his life.
Or something.
Joel arrived at the restaurant first. He’d expected as much—he was twenty minutes early, after all. Being obsessively punctual was a double-edged sword sometimes, though. Sure, it meant he didn’t have to stress over cutting it too close or—horrors—being late. It also meant he’d arrive early and then spend the long wait wondering if he’d be stood up, or worrying about what was going to happen when the other person did arrive.
Considering this promised to be an uncomfortable conversation, he’d already been worrying well before he arrived. Now that he was seated at a table beneath a hanging light that felt like an interrogation lamp, that worrying amped up by about eighty percent. Nothing soothed a stressed-out brain like imagining conversations and trying to predict every possible word and outcome, especially when that stressed-out brain was pessimistic to begin with.
He perused the menu several times, not so much looking for something to eat as for something to hold his attention. Like the fact that the copy was a little off and the colors on some of the photos didn’t quite line up. Or the typo in “Mom’s Homemade Meet Loaf.” Or the fact that the lamination was peeling off the pages where the binding had been rubbing against the edges. He didn’t normally care about things like that. After a day of scouring spreadsheets and lines and lines and lines of “look how fucked this company is” data, he wasn’t usually in any frame of mind to pay attention to any details of anything.
But focusing his tired eyes and wrung-out brain on misprints, typos, and wear and tear, he kept himself from obsessing over Andre or glancing at the door every twelve nanoseconds. That was what he told himself, anyway.
He checked his phone. Five more minutes.
Joel closed his eyes and steeled himself. He’d done enough apologizing for what he did and didn’t want, and he wasn’t going to do it again tonight. If this got weird or if Andre tried to guilt him, he’d leave. Plain and simple. The door was right over there (he knew because he kept glancing at it). He’d driven himself here. All he had to do was get up and walk out. He even had enough cash in his wallet to toss some down and cover his part of any tab they’d rack up.
The air pressure changed, nearly popping his ears, and when he turned, he wasn’t at all surprised to see Andre stepping in through the door.
Door’s close by. Car’s outside. Leave if he’s a dick.
Joel took a breath, then stood and extended his hand. “Hey.”
“Hey.” Andre smiled uncertainly. Almost shyly, which was weird on a Dom. They shook hands and took their seats.
Of course now Joel had been through the menu enough times that it didn’t hold his interest anymore. Not even the spot where some water had leeched under the lamination and made some of the ink run, turning an otherwise appetizing plate of beef stroganoff into something out of a horror film. Nothing particularly appealed to him either, aside from a double shot of something way too strong to drink on a weeknight.
“Listen, um . . .” Andre clasped his hands together on top of the open menu.
And here we go.
Joel thumbed the edge of his menu and waited for Andre to continue.
After a long moment, Andre sighed. “Things got a little weird the other night.”
“They did.” Joel kept his guard up.
Andre nodded. “Yeah. So, I wanted to apologize. In person.”
Joel blinked. “What?”
“I didn’t mean to make things awkward. Suggesting you come to the dungeon, and . . .” Andre shook his head. “I’m sorry. I guess I got caught up in thinking that since you were turned on at the dungeon, you were turned on by the dungeon, and I kind of got my hopes up. But I didn’t mean to put you on the spot.”
“Oh.” That wasn’t what he’d expected. And now he had no idea what to say.
Andre either wasn’t finished or needed to fill the silence, and went on. “I should’ve known better. I mean, it took me a long time and a lot of soul-searching to realize I’m a Dom, and even more time and more work to figure out I’m a sadist. What the hell kind of asshole would I be if I thought you were wrong for knowing who you are?”
“I . . . Wow. Um . . .” Joel tapped his fingers on the table. The silence dragged on long enough that Andre was probably waiting for him to say something. And maybe he did need to say something. Hell if he knew what, though.
“Joel?”
He met Andre’s gaze.
Andre cocked his head. “What’s wrong?”
Joel thought fast. He took a quick drink, then shook his head. “I guess I just wasn’t expecting you to apologize to me. Or to . . . get me.”
Andre regarded him for a moment. “Rob really put you through the wringer, didn’t he?”
“Huh?”
“Let me guess.” He tilted his head. “You’ve been psyching yourself up for this”—he pointed at himself, then Joel—“because you expected ‘clear th
e air’ to mean you’d have to explain yourself and apologize.”
Joel’s jaw fell open. “Uh . . .”
Andre rolled his eyes. “I’m pretty sure you know this already, but Rob was a dick.”
“Uh.” Joel swallowed. “Yeah. Yeah, I . . . kind of put that together. I’m just trying to figure out how you knew his game.”
“Well, it isn’t like I never saw you with him.” He lowered his gaze. “To be honest, I seriously considered pulling you aside and talking to you about him. A few times.”
“You . . . Really?”
Andre nodded. “Whenever I saw you two together, you seemed so miserable. I guess I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
Joel stared at him, disbelieving. “I didn’t even think you knew I was alive.”
“Of course I did.” Andre met his eyes. “I noticed you the first time you and Rob showed up.” He paused. “Okay, admittedly I noticed Rob first, but only because he was being loud.”
“Yeah.” Joel laughed. “That does sound like him.”
Andre laughed too, though cautiously. “So, yeah. I noticed you. I won’t lie—I was interested in you too. And the other night, I got a little too carried away with thinking that since we were compatible in the bedroom, everything else would work out. So . . . I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Joel said softly.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.”
“So, we’re good, right?”
Joel nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, definitely.”
“All right.” Andre pushed out a breath that sounded like a sigh of relief. Then he shifted his attention to the menu. “With all that out of the way, I guess we should figure out what to eat.”
Joel looked down at his own menu. Now he actually had an appetite, and read the menu in search of dinner rather than weird flaws to hold his attention. For the first time in a few days, food sounded good, and he could breathe without the constant “Why do I feel wound up? Oh that’s right” feeling in his chest.
