by Nicki Rowe
It really is an obsession, how much I think about Lucky and Declan. They consume my dreams and every waking thought. Even now as I sit at the table with Anthony and Gideon I am thinking about them, wondering what they are doing. I know I just needed to fuck them out of my system. One night with the two of them in bed, and I would be rid of this obsession.
“Are you listening, Rhodes?” Gideon asks me, looking at me over the top of his drink glass.
We had come to some cheesy Italian restaurant I have already forgotten the name of, apparently it was where people went for date night. A lot of happy couples in Glensville had their first date in this restaurant. Gideon, Anthony and I are here because Anthony had a coupon he got through his e-mail, and I am not going to say no to someone paying for my meal.
“Sorry,” I mumble, nibbling on the end of a breadstick. “What?”
“Road trip in three months? You, me and Anthony.”
“That sounds good,” I pipe up. Maybe I can make enough money to get a bike by then, and I can follow behind Gideon and Anthony.
God damn that thought was appealing. I miss my motorcycle so much it was nearly painful sometimes. I had bought my second hand Honda Shadow VLX by working my ass off during the summers and with my parents pitching in. It had been my baby, my most prized possession. That bike hadn't been running when I got my hands on it, but after months of buying parts and fixing it with my dad, we had gotten it up and running by my senior year of high school. I had been so devastated when Oliver sold that bike without my permission. I didn't even get to see any of the money.
“I used the money to buy you a new wardrobe,” he had told me.
That should have been the first clue that Oliver was a fuckwad.
“We're going down the coast,” Anthony says. “I have a bunch of vacation time I can take, and I really need to get out of town,” he finishes with a sigh. The divorce between his client and her wife is draining him. They were fighting over who gets what, and neither of them are willing to compromise over who is getting the dog and the expensive ass china from their wedding. Honestly, I don't know how Anthony puts up with it.
“What about the kennel and the clinic?” I ask, nodding to the waiter who had brought out our food. A pasta dish for me, a salad for Gideon and some type of fish for Anthony. “Who is going to watch it?” I ask, twirling my pasta on my fork.
“My mentor in Seattle can take care of things while were gone,” Gideon replies, stuffing a forkful of salad in his mouth. “He's done it for me before.”
“Yeah, man,” I say, smiling. “That sounds like a blast.”
“Cool,” Gideon fist bumps the air. Yeah, he does that. “It's all set then. Two weeks on the open road. Man, I can't wait!”
~ ~ ~
Of course it's fucking pouring. The one day Gideon and Anthony aren't able to give me a ride to work and the sky fucking pours on me. I can't blame them for leaving me to walk though; it actually didn't look like it was going to rain today. And then the clouds rolled in and now I am nearly soaked to the bone.
I walk along the sidewalk, bundled in my leather jacket and a hoodie. At least I had the good sense to wear my boots instead of my Converse. Nothing is worse than soggy socks. I step over a pile of earthworms that had come out to enjoy the weather.
When I was younger I used to collect the worms after a rainstorm. I would put them in a huge glass bowl with soil until my mom made me release them back into the wilderness. I would bring home baby birds, spiders, lizards, anything that I felt like needed a home and some TLC. My parents knew I was destined to do something with animals, even when I was really young—like two or three—I would try to play vet on our dog, Toby.
I didn't realize how much I missed my parents. I hadn't been to Montana see them in nearly three years. Oliver never liked going to Livingston to see them, and they weren't really able to get out and see me very often. The first thing I had done after I broke up with Oliver was call my mom and dad. They told me I always had a place to stay with them in Montana, but the thought of going to back to my old room at the age of twenty-eight was just too depressing, that's why I had called Gideon. Thank fuck he needed help at his shelter and had a spare room for me in his house. As much as I love my parents, I did not want to move back in with them.
Even if moving back in with my parents was too depressing, I still miss them something awful. My chest actually aches as I think about them as I walk. My mom with her constant need to be exactly like Martha Stewart or any of those other celebrity chefs on TV, despite her inability to make anything edible. I can just picture her with her brown hair piled on her head, singed apron tied around her waist, her tongue poking out as she desperately tries to follow a recipe. The smell of charred something or other making the smoke detectors go off.
My dad was always in the garage, fixing up some contraption or another. Sometimes it's cars, other times it's a computer or the fire alarm. He had always been good with his hands, he could fix anything that was broken. I remember spending afternoons in the garage with him as he tinkered with whatever struck his fancy that week. He would ask me to bring him various tools, sometimes a beer. Whenever I brought him a beer he would always let me have the first sip.
“Don't tell your mom, Al. She'll rip me a new asshole,” he would say right before popping the lid and letting me drink some.
It was from my dad that I got my love of classic rock, motorcycles and learned how to say fuck, ass and shit before I learned anything else. My dad was also the person who would fix me up when I fell off my bike, he taught me how to drive and he taught me that a father's love should be unconditional.
My parents didn't even blink when I told them I was gay. My mom had cried and told me how happy she was for me to finally be able to live as my true self. I had been fifteen, I didn't even know who my true self was yet. The only thing I knew was that I was different from the other guys in my class. But I had been so nervous to tell my dad. When I told him, he was silent. His silence was so loud it was deafening. After I told him, he got up from the table and went to the garage. He was gone for only a few minutes, but it felt like hours. Enough time for me to question whether I had made the right choice in telling him, question whether he loved me, question whether I was a good son or not. When he came back he had the keys to his truck.
“Let's go for a ride, son.”
My dad drove me to the baseball field where he had taught me how to throw a fastball and how to swing a bat. I wasn't much into baseball, but for him I had learned. We sat in the bleachers, watching the practice of a little league team. I dared a glance at my dad; he was wearing aviators, a thick mustache covered part of his mouth. He looked like Burt Reynolds or someone from the seventies even though it had been 2003.
“So,” he sighed, looking out at the field. “You like boys, huh.”
“Um....yeah.”
He looked down at me then. “No shame in that, Al. Boys, girls, doesn't matter to me who you like. As long as you're safe and happy.” He paused, spat on the ground. “You got a boyfriend?”
I had shaken my head.
“Well now, when you do get you a boyfriend you make sure he's good to you.” He spat again. “You make sure you're safe during sex. You know about condoms, right?”
And right there in the middle of the little league practice my dad gave me the sex talk.
I shake my head of my trip down memory lane and it's only then that I realize a truck is parked next to me on the road. It's a old Chevy Cheyenne. I look inside to see Declan smiling at me. His rugged face is lighter, softer when he smiles. He has rolled down the passenger window.
“You wanna ride?” he asks.
I rub a hand over my face, it's damp from the rain. “No, I'm cool. It's only two more blocks.”
“Come on, Alex. My mom and Callum with both have my balls if I let you walk in the rain.”
I smile. “So, you only want me to get in your car to appease your conscience?”
“More or less,” h
e says with a shrug and another smile.
I laugh. “All right.”
I slide into the passenger seat. The inside of the truck is toasty from the heater, and probably the warmth that seems to roll off of Declan's big body in waves. Aerosmith is playing low on the radio. The inside of the cab smells like him: leather, spice and smoky from working in the restaurant. He smells so fucking good, I just want to lick him. There's a picture of him and Lucky from when they were teenagers clipped to one of the vents.
Declan's hair is longer in the picture, tied back in a ponytail. He's wearing a beanie, a black tee, and baggy pants that seem to be held up by the force of sheer will and a chain. Lucky is laughing in the picture. He seems so carefree as a teen wearing a supposed-to-be-funny graphic tee and jean shorts. Declan has his arm thrown over Lucky and is looking down at him like he holds all the secrets to the universe. Even then, when they were young, you could feel and see how in love they were.
Something stabs at my chest, but I'm not really sure what to make of the feeling so I ignore it.
“Thanks, man,” I say and it's then that I notice my voice is full of emotions. Thinking about my parents had stirred up something in me. I almost feel like crying. Almost.
“What's wrong?” Declan asks as he pulls away from the curb.
“Nothing. I was just thinking about how I haven't seen my parents in almost three years.”
“No shit. Why not?”
“Oliver, my ex, never wanted to go out and see them, and they don't really have the money to travel out here.”
“Well, that's fucked. About your ex, not your parents. He didn't let you see them?”
I shrug. I sooo did not want to talk about this. “How old are you and Lucky in that picture?”
I can feel him looking at me, but he accepts the subject change. He chuckles. “Sixteen. It was taken a week after we officially got together.”
“Lucky said you have been together since you were fourteen,” I say. That's what he had told me when I had ran into him at the market the day after we had met; I had asked him about Declan and how long they had been together, all while holding a bundle of bananas. We stood in the middle of produce while he told me the story of how him and Declan had met.
Declan chuckles. “He counts that. It took us two years to get our heads out of our asses. I met Callum when I was fourteen. We were friends for a while, but by the end of that year I had developed feelings for him. Two years later we got together.”
“Why did it take you two years?” I ask, genuinely curious. For some reason their relationship fascinates me. Hell, everything about these two fascinates me.
Declan shrugs. “He was the first boy I ever had a crush on. It was all very confusing. I thought I was abnormal for liking a boy, so I never told anyone about it. Callum felt the same way. We just didn't really know what to do with our feelings.”
I nod, remembering the first boy I ever had a crush on, and how that was a confusing and scary time for me. I had no one to talk to. Being out and proud in high school wasn't really a thing back then. Even though I came out to my parents when I was fifteen, I didn't come out to anyone else until I graduated high school.
“Who made the first move?”
“Callum. We were sitting in his living room, and he just kissed me.”
I smile. “You guys are lucky to have each other.” Unexpected sadness fills my voice. I'm reminded of how happy and in love they are, and how there is no room for me because they are already a couple. A couple? Shit, they have been together for twenty years, they are practically married.
I can feel Declan looking at me out of the corner of his eye. We pull into the parking lot of Marshall's Kennels, and even though my hand is on the handle I can't make myself get out of the car.
“Alex.”
I turn to him. He's looking at me with such an intense look, my belly actually tightens. His mouth opens like he wants to say something, but he doesn't. He shakes his head. “Have a good day, okay?”
I nod and slide out of the truck.
Chapter Four
Lucky
Usually I like the thump-thump of the music at Oasis, one of the hottest gay clubs in Seattle. Bodies are grinding, drinks are flowing, Wilson is killing it in his latest gown and wig, but tonight it's doing nothing for me. Even with Declan grinding up behind me, pushing his semi-hard cock into my ass, I'm distracted. Not even twenty feet away, Alex is dancing with a meat head that I have seen grinding up on almost every single man in the club—I'm pretty sure he's slept with half of Seattle—and I fucking hate watching him grind his pelvis against Alex. Jealousy is ripping through me hot and ugly. I know it's affecting Declan too, he's watching as the meathead bends close to Alex's ear, licking up the shell, lightly pulling one of Alex's piercings in his ear with his teeth. Declan's hands dig into my hips almost painfully. I'm pretty sure I hear a growl rumble in his throat.
I know it's stupid, but I kind of feel like Dec and I have laid some sort of claim to Alex....kinda like we saw him first so fuck off. Ever since we got this idea into our head that Alex was going to be ours for a night, it's all we have been thinking about. It's almost like something in us believes no one should be able to touch him until we have him.
That's fucking weird, right?
The meathead isn't even bad looking, on any other night—if my dick wasn't so enamored with the idea of being buried in Alex's ass—I would even think the meathead and Alex would look good together, but not on this night. Tonight is the night that Declan and I finally take Alex back to our bed.
“He's looking,” Declan growls in my ear.
Oh, I know he's looking. I haven't taken my eyes off Alex since he stepped foot into the club with Anthony and Gideon an hour ago. Alex's brown eyes meet mine and he smirks.
He looks so fucking delicious in his white mesh top, which shows bits and pieces of the tattoo on his chest, his muscular biceps are on full display. He's wearing tight black leather pants and boots with straps and buckles. I can see every muscle in his thighs, that's how tight his pants are. I can also see the outline of his bulge which has me practically drooling. His hair is styled to look like he had just been fucked. My dick is hard just looking at him.
Alex leans back and whispers something to the meathead. The meathead laughs and pulls Alex closer into his body.
“Fuck this.”
I reach behind me and grab Declan's hand, pulling him to where the meathead is practically dry-humping Alex on the dance floor. I'm practically vibrating with rage, jealousy and lust.
“Hello, boys,” Alex greets. He smiles at us. There's a boldness about him that isn't normally there.
The meathead has stopped dancing, but doesn't say anything. He's looking between Alex, Declan and me. I don't look at him, my eyes are glued to Alex. The meathead whispers in Alex's ear. I want to know what he's saying, but I can't hear him over the thump-thump of the music.
Alex turns, patting the meathead on the cheek. “Sorry, baby boy, but it seems my night is booked.”
The meathead slips something in the back pocket of Alex's jeans. “My number. Call me sometime.”
Alex smiles. I want to growl out that Alex will not be calling him, but I don't. I feel Declan tense up behind me.
“Wanna dance?” Alex asks, winking at the both of us, wiggling his hips.
This Alex is so different from the Alex I had come to sort of know over the past three and a half weeks, Declan and I kept bumping into him all around town and we usually stopped to chat about stupid shit, like the weather and how good the coffee at Greta’s is. This Alex is wild, flirtatious and carefree; the other Alex is gentle, sweet, a little broody. The dichotomy is reeling.
“Have you been drinking?” I ask, perplexed by Alex's bold, carefree attitude. Surely, he's been body snatched or something. “Did you take something?”
He frowns. “I had one shot and some fruity shit that tasted awful, but that's it.” He holds up three fingers. “Scout's honor.”
That makes me chuckle. “I doubt you were ever a boy scout.”
“I wasn't.” He laughs. “I promise. I'm not drunk or high. I just wanted to have fun tonight.” He pauses, cocking his head to the side and looking us up and down. “Hopefully with the two of you.”
I relax and I feel Declan relax behind me.
“Alex,” Declan steps forward. He puts a hand on Alex's shoulder. Alex looks up at him, blinking, but a smile curving on his kissable lips. “We want you to come home with us tonight.”
“Really?” Hope flares in his chestnut eyes. “Okay. I just have to tell Anthony and Gid so they don't worry.”
I laugh, placing a hand on his other shoulder, liking the way electricity dances between my skin and his. Does Declan feel that too when he touches him? “We don't have to leave now, Alex. The night is still young.”
“Hmm,” he cocks his head to the side, “I was really looking forward to sucking one or both of you off before midnight.”
Who knew this guy had a dirty mouth? I love dirty talk, and my dick is definitely taking notice of the words coming out of his filthy mouth.
Declan leans close, licking his lips. “Don't worry,” he says, so low only Alex and I can hear him. “I promise you'll be choking on both of our dicks by the end of the night.”
Fuck. That was hot.
I always knew my man had a way with dirty talk, but hearing him say that to the man we have been desiring and obsessing over for the past three weeks makes me want to come in my pants right there in the middle of the club. Declan leans back, looking at Alex with an intense stare. And it's there in that moment that I realize how utterly beautiful and perfect Dec and Alex would look together. The tension between them is so palpable, so hot that it makes my breath hitch.
