A Bluewater Bay Collection

by Witt, L. A.

“Yep.” He smirked. “Now it’s gonna be in your face.”

  We both laughed, and the tension in the room seemed to ramp up and dissipate at the same time. Like the joke had given us permission to breathe, but also made it real that we were going to be curled up in bed together. Which was good. And new. And crazy. And totally not something I’d ever pictured myself doing. And—

  And I was supposed to sleep tonight?

  Here goes nothing.

  We stripped down to boxers and climbed into his bed.

  Getting into bed with another man—especially when we were both half-naked—unnerved me, but the alternative was going back to my place and sleeping alone. The only thing I was absolutely sure of was that I wasn’t ready to not be with Zafir tonight.

  As we arranged the sheets and comforter, I cleared my throat. “So, do we just stay on opposite sides, or . . .”

  “Are you comfortable being closer than that?”

  Years of calling myself a straight man said that no I was absolutely not comfortable being closer than that.

  But a few weeks of rethinking who I was—and spending as much time as possible with him—meant I was suddenly curious what it would be like.

  I rolled onto my back and gestured for him to move closer. He killed the light, then slid toward me, and rested his head on my chest as I wrapped my arm around his shoulders. He slung his other arm over me, and I put my hand on his elbow, and we just seemed to fit together.

  “This okay?” he asked.

  “Yeah. It’s nice. You?”

  “Same.”

  Normally, I was scared out of my mind the first time I went to bed with someone. There was so much pressure. I had more performance anxiety in the bedroom than I did at a major competition. And the fact that we were down to our underwear didn’t do much to back up his insistence that nothing was going to happen.

  On the other hand, with two people in a smallish bed, it was going to get too hot if we wore more than this.

  And usually by now, I was subtly bracing for the hand on my chest to start creeping downward. I could never relax until the other person was asleep. Except I knew that wasn’t on Zafir’s mind.

  I wasn’t nervous tonight. Now that we were settled in, this was . . . easy.

  Surprisingly—and not surprisingly—this was nice. His skin was warm, his body heat comfortably mingling with mine. I caught myself listening to him breathe, my own breathing falling into sync with his.

  The only thing that felt weird was the fact that it didn’t feel weird to be lying in bed with him. And there was no mistaking I was with a man. Even with his long hair, which I couldn’t stop running my fingers through, his shape was very male. A little smaller than me, just the right size to fit perfectly up against me with his head on my chest, but he was all planes and angles instead of soft curves like my ex-girlfriends. I was definitely in bed with a man.

  When I tried to pick it apart and wonder if this was weird, or if it should have been, my brain kept going back to It’s Zafir—of course you’re in bed with him. Like the only thing weird about it was that this was the first time we’d done this. What the hell had we been waiting for?

  The wait was over, though. Finally. Here we were. With no pressure to do anything except be here.

  That was it. That was why I was so relaxed.

  Whenever I’d gone to bed with one of my girlfriends, there’d been a strange feeling in my stomach. A mix of apathy and dread. And it wouldn’t go away until she’d fallen asleep, and I knew I was off the hook for the night. Then I’d relax, close my eyes, and drift off.

  God. How had I not realized what I was? What kind of idiot did it take to spend years stressing over sex, even dreading it sometimes, without realizing that, hey, maybe it wasn’t something I wanted after all?

  Except men wanted sex. All men wanted sex. The only variable was if they wanted sex with chicks, dudes, or both. Since I’d never thought twice about being attracted to another guy, obviously I was straight, and that was that.

  Then along came this other option, and it made sense, and now I was in bed with a man and completely okay with it.

  Which really did make sense. This was the part of every relationship I’d liked—the companionship. It made the sex worthwhile because afterward, we’d cuddle up and go to sleep together. My exes had all said they loved that I enjoyed cuddling. I’d just never been able to tell them—or myself, for that matter—that I would’ve been perfectly content to skip the sex and go right to this step. I’d never realized that was an option.

  Turned out, it was. And now here I was. And here he was. And this was the best thing ever.

  I put my arm over his. The other, I kept loosely around him as I stroked his hair with my fingertips.

  He was already out cold. I didn’t blame him. How he kept up with two jobs and Tariq—Christ, no wonder the guy was tired. And yet he somehow found time for me. A lot of time for me, now that I thought about it. Even when he was probably dead to the world.

  And now I was next to him, slowly drifting off while he slept beside me, and I felt like the luckiest bastard on the planet.

  Chapter 20

  Zafir

  Between Tariq and Brennan, I would’ve killed for a few more hours in the day. Dividing my time between the two of them and my two jobs was . . . not easy.

  Still, it was worth it. Brennan didn’t seem to mind that we could go two or three days without seeing each other beyond our lunch breaks.

  Brennan had filled in for Kelly again tonight, and to my surprise, when I came home, he’d cooked. Like . . . really cooked. Something that didn’t come out of a box.

  “What’s all this?” I inhaled deeply. “It smells amazing.”

  “It’s just some beef stroganoff my mom taught me to make.” He paused, then quickly added, “And don’t worry—I got the meat from that place down by the deli that has halal stuff.”

  I blinked. “You . . . Really?”

  “Well yeah.” He looked at me like I’d lost my mind. “You said you try to keep halal. I assumed that meant Tariq too. Right?”

  “Yeah. Yeah. I just . . .”

  “Tariq told me that’s where you usually go. So we went down there earlier.”

  “Oh. Wow. Most people don’t bother . . .” I shook my head. “Anyway. Thank you. Uh, what did Tariq think of it?”

  Brennan laughed. “Let’s just say you’re lucky there’s any left for you.”

  “Oh really?”

  He nodded.

  “You’ll have to show me how to make it, then. He’s finicky as hell, so if you’ve found something he likes . . .”

  “Happy to share it. It’s super easy.”

  “Well, you made it, so—”

  “Hey. Hey. None of that.” He paused. “You want a plate?”

  “Yeah, definitely.”

  While I threw back a gallon or so of water like I always did after a shift at Old Country, Brennan spooned some of the stroganoff onto a plate. He made a smaller one for himself, probably since he’d already eaten.

  “Where’s Tariq?” I asked.

  “Where do you think?”

  “Reading?”

  “Yep.” He set the plates and a couple of forks on the table. “I loaned him some books, and haven’t seen him since dinner.”

  I sat down as I opened my second bottle of water. “What kinds of books?”

  “Just some sci-fi.” He sat across from me. “Don’t worry—I picked out the ones that are fairly tame.”

  “Eh.” I took another swig of water. “He’s been sneaking Stephen King since last year, so . . .”

  Brennan laughed. “Yeah, well, I didn’t feel quite right giving a kid a book that’s wall-to-wall sex and violence.”

  “Much appreciated.” I took a bite of the stroganoff. “Wow. This is really good.”

  “Don’t sound so surprised.”

  I chuckled. “That wasn’t what I meant.”

  “I should hope not.”

  We kept eating, a
nd I made a mental note to make sure I learned how to make this. Finally—something besides the very, very small list of recipes I’d swiped from my sister.

  Brennan pushed his empty plate away. “So, I was talking to my boss today. There’s a big competition in Portland this summer.” He held my gaze. “Maybe you and Tariq could come along.”

  I sat up. “Really?”

  “Sure.” He shrugged. “Tariq would get a kick out of the skating, and we could probably check out the town too. And it would be nice to have more than a few hours off at a time.”

  I blew out a breath. “A few days off sounds really nice. Could be pricey, though. Getting there, getting a hotel . . .”

  “We could probably share a room. My sponsors pay for some of my expenses, so it wouldn’t be that much.”

  It did sound tempting. And Tariq would be thrilled to have a vacation that involved leaving Bluewater Bay, watching people skateboard, and hanging out with Brennan.

  “I’ll have to see how things go,” I said. “I have vacation time at Red Hot, but taking more than a few days off from Old Country is kind of a nightmare.”

  “They don’t let you take off?”

  “Well, it’s more like what it does to my paycheck.”

  “Ugh. Yeah.” Brennan grimaced. “I get that. Let me know—I’m going either way, but it would be great to have you guys along.”

  “I will.”

  * * *

  After we’d eaten, I said, “Let me go check on Tariq and tuck him in. Then we could, I don’t know, watch a movie?”

  Brennan smiled. “Cool. He’s already brushed his teeth and put on his pajamas, so he should be about ready for bed.”

  “Good. Thanks.”

  Sure enough, when I stepped into Tariq’s room, he was in his pajamas, curled up on his beanbag chair with a ragged paperback in his hands. He was already a good third of the way through it too.

  “Hey.” I tilted my head, trying to read the cover of his book. “That one of the books Brennan loaned you?”

  He nodded. “It’s really good.” He shot me the same puppy-dog look I was pretty sure I’d used to manipulate my parents at his age. “Do I have to go to bed?”

  “Afraid so.” I glanced at the pages he’d already turned. “If I let you stay up, we both know you’re going to finish that tonight, and then you won’t be able to function tomorrow.”

  Sighing, he slid a bookmark into the book and closed it. “Okay.” He pushed himself up off the beanbag chair.

  “So did you guys have a good time?” I asked.

  He nodded. “Brennan’s fun. He’s a good cook.”

  “So I noticed. That stroganoff was really good.”

  “Yeah. Can you make it?”

  “I can try.” As he climbed into bed, I added, “We’ve got a few episodes of Wolf’s Landing downloaded. Maybe we can watch them tomorrow night. Since I’m off.”

  He nodded, pulling up his covers. “Okay.”

  I still wasn’t crazy about him watching that show, but obviously he was watching it with or without me. And over my dead body were we letting the whole season pile up before I made time to watch them with him.

  After I’d tucked Tariq into bed, Brennan and I settled on the couch to watch a movie.

  I yawned. “Fair warning—if I fall asleep on you, don’t take it personally.”

  He laughed. “Eh, if you do, I probably will too.”

  “Then I won’t feel so bad.”

  He kissed my temple. “So what’re we watching?”

  “Depends on what you’re in the mood for.” I turned on the TV and pulled up my small collection of movies. “I have a little of everything, and we can always download something.”

  “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  We scrolled through my list, and eventually, we settled on a dumb comedy. I turned it on, and he wrapped his arm around my shoulders.

  “This is okay, right?” he asked. “If Tariq comes out?”

  “It’s fine.” I rested my hand on his leg. “I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t be surprised at all.”

  Brennan kissed the top of my head. “Smart kid.”

  I leaned my head against him again, and we didn’t speak as the movie got started.

  This was amazing. I was starting to get spoiled. It had been so damn long since someone had shared my bed, or since I’d been with someone who liked cuddling up in front of movies, and now I had him. Too bad we couldn’t spend every night together, but I wasn’t going to waste the nights we did have bitching about the rest.

  * * *

  As the credits rolled, I clicked off the TV.

  I sat up and stretched. “So what did you think?”

  “It . . .” He swallowed. “Wasn’t bad.”

  I cocked my head. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. Yeah.” He shook himself. “Thinking, I guess.”

  “What about?”

  As soon as he looked me in the eye, my spine prickled. Was this going to be one of those uncomfortable conversations? The let-me-down-gently or the put-on-the-brakes?

  I put my hand over his. He didn’t pull away, which was promising, but the way he absently rubbed his thumb alongside mine felt . . . halfhearted? Or was I just imagining things?

  Finally, he met my eyes. “We’ve been doing this for a while.” His eyes flicked down to our hands. “Is it normal to still be getting used to it?”

  I moistened my lips. “Which part?”

  “All of it, I guess. I’ve never dated a guy. I’ve never dated someone I’m not sleeping with.” He paused. “I mean, sleeping with, like—”

  “I know what you mean.”

  He inhaled slowly. “I like it. All of it. But sometimes I do have to kind of stop and think about it.” He played with a loose strand of my hair. “Not like I want to bail. Just . . .”

  “Trying to get your head around it?”

  He nodded. “And I guess I’ve figured out the asexual part, but I’m still hung up on the other part.”

  “What other part?”

  “Being, like . . . biromantic, or aromantic, or whatever.” His Adam’s apple jumped. “I’m still trying to work out—how do you fall in love with someone when you’re asexual?”

  If you knew what I felt every time I look at you . . .

  I shrugged as casually as I could. “It’s easy if you think about it. I have no desire whatsoever to have sex. I’m not repulsed by it, just not interested. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want a companion. And it doesn’t mean I can’t connect with someone. I don’t have to be sexually interested in someone to feel like my world is better with them in it. It’s a different kind of love than loving my sister or my son or my friends. It’s like . . . this is a person who’s come into my life and changed it, and I want them to stay.”

  Brennan held my gaze for a moment, as if searching for something in my eyes. “Have you ever felt that way about someone?”

  I nodded, blood pounding in my ears. “Twice.”

  “Yeah?”

  “The first time was Megan. And that . . . didn’t turn out very well.”

  He kept his gaze fixed on mine. “What about the second time?”

  My pulse went through the roof. Stomach all tied in knots and heart slamming into my ribs, I wasn’t even sure my voice would function, but I tried anyway.

  “I’m . . .” It took everything I had to keep looking him in the eye as I put a shaking hand over the top of his. “I’m not sure yet.”

  Brennan’s eyes widened. He stared down at our hands, and I was sure he was about to pull his away and put some distance between us. Instead, he turned his over and clasped our fingers together. “You’re serious?”

  I nodded.

  “Wow.” His eyes lost focus. Though he didn’t let go of my hand, I was still convinced he was about to sprint for the door. Me and my big mouth. Again.

  I forced a quiet laugh to get my breath moving. “Is this another one of those times where I’ve thrown too much at you and—”


  He kissed me softly. His hand warmed my cheek, and his gentle touch brought my pulse back down a little at a time.

  He drew back and met my gaze. “No.” He ran his thumb along my cheekbone. “It isn’t too much.”

  “Are you sure?”

  With a lopsided grin, he said, “I’m still here, aren’t I?”

  “True. You are.” I ran my fingers through his hair. “I love you.”

  He brushed his lips across mine again. “I love you too.”

  My heart skipped. I wasn’t sure if I was more relieved to hear him say it, or terrified of where things went from here. The words were out. No pretending we hadn’t crossed this line. As if we hadn’t already crossed a few dozen.

  “I’d suggest having you stay again,” I whispered. “But I’m not sure if Tariq’s ready for that.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” He kissed me lightly. “We’ll get there.”

  Oh yes. I had no doubt we would.

  And I couldn’t wait.

  Chapter 21

  Brennan

  After practicing a few jumps on the big half-pipe, I got out of the way for someone else to skate. My ankle was throbbing a bit anyway, and my back was starting to get annoyed, so it was as good a time as any for a drink.

  A couple of my buddies had taken over one of the picnic tables, and I dropped onto the bench next to Kim. Sven was sitting on the table, nursing a can of Monster that was almost as big as his forearm, and Kim was icing his knee.

  “How’s that healing?” I gestured at his leg with my water bottle.

  “Eh.” He shrugged. “Doc says keep icing it, so . . . I’m icing it.”

  “Still hurt?” I asked.

  Grunting, he nodded. “That’s why I have to keep icing it.”

  “Smart-ass,” I muttered into my drink.

  He chuckled.

  For a minute or so, we all watched the other skaters.

  I tilted my water bottle toward the scrawny eleven-year-old who was currently practicing a complex trick on the edge of the smaller half-pipe. “Man, Sven. That kid you’ve been working with is killing it. He’s going to be beating all of us before he’s in sixth grade.”