by Witt, L. A.
She left, and Garrett shifted his attention back to me as we dug into our food. “So working at the comic book shop—is that a long-term job for you?” He sounded cautious, like he was curious but also worried he might offend me.
“Don’t know.” I sliced off a piece of chicken. “Originally, it was supposed to keep me in the black while I was taking care of my uncle, but it’s turned out to be a pretty good job. They pay me well, the hours are flexible, and it’s actually kind of fun. So.” I shrugged. “Sometimes I think I should be doing something else. Sometimes I think I’ll stick with what I’m doing.”
Garrett nodded as he chewed. After he’d taken a drink from his nearly empty Coke, he said, “It’s hard to find a job you like that pays the bills. I don’t think there’s any shame in sticking with it any more than there’s shame in moving on to something else.”
The comment surprised me. I was automatically defensive about my job because so many people had given me shit for still working in retail—especially this flavor of retail. They’d either condescend to me about how I needed to get a real job, or pat me on the head and be equally condescending about how if I was happy, that was all that mattered. But Garrett hadn’t sounded like that at all. Both options were perfectly viable in his mind, and he didn’t try to nudge me in either direction.
So why the hell was I suddenly self-conscious about my career choice?
Heat rushed into my cheeks, and I stared down at my food. “Sometimes I do think about finding something more . . . I don’t know, respectable?”
“Why?”
Sighing, I met his gaze. “Because I’m not sure I want to go to my ten-year reunion and tell all my classmates I’m selling comic books for a living.”
Garrett’s eyes widened.
I shifted. “What?”
“Your . . . ten-year reunion?”
“Yeah. It’s next year.”
He groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose, and when I realized why, I laughed.
“Did I just make you feel old?”
“So old.” He chuckled before taking another bite. The waitress finally showed up with his fresh Coke, and he took a sip as he met my gaze again. “In all seriousness, I wouldn’t worry about how your life or your plans look to people you went to high school with. It’s your life. If you’re happy with what you’re doing, and it’s providing what you need, you’re ten steps ahead of more people than you realize.”
I nodded, not sure how to respond.
“A lot of people plan their lives out carefully and do all the things they’re supposed to,” Garrett went on, “and then realize it isn’t what they want after all. Or life throws them a curveball. I went to college right after high school, got a job as an accountant as soon as I graduated, and did the Monday-through-Friday, nine-to-five corporate gig—401(k) and all. And now I’m pouring drinks in a sports bar.” He shrugged. “For me, it was because my circumstances changed. Maybe you just decide you want to do something different, or figure out what you’ve wanted to do all along. There’s nothing that says you won’t find your calling when you’re forty, or that your calling is even a career. My sister works a soul-numbing job and throws the rest of her energy into what she’s passionate about.”
“Which is?”
“Painting. She’s amazing, and she’s even got some pieces on display in an art museum, but she’s never made enough to give up her day job. And she’s fine with that. Her art is something she does because she loves it. So, maybe your calling is something like that.”
“Huh,” I said quietly. “Maybe I just haven’t figured out what it is yet.”
“Maybe not.”
Our conversation continued wandering through hobbies and jobs and things we’d done and things we wished we’d done. As we talked, it struck me how Garrett could offer advice and wisdom without talking down to me. Yeah, he had quite a few years on me. Yeah, he had more life experience than I did. But nothing about his comments made me feel like I was being lectured or patted on the head. Hell, he’d listened to my insights about the Bluewater Bay real estate market; most people treated me like I was a kid who should just focus on selling comics and making rent.
That wasn’t Garrett’s style, though, and I liked that about him.
I had a feeling that, as I got to know him better, I’d like a lot of things about him.
* * *
The first time we came to Il Trovatore, we’d barely lasted five minutes. Tonight, we more than made up for it. Long after we’d finished eating, we were still sitting there, talking about anything and everything until our very patient waitress started dropping hints that they’d be closing soon. By the time we’d settled up the bill and headed out, it was nearly one in the morning, and they locked the doors behind us.
Garrett glanced back with a sheepish grin. “Hope that tip was enough to make up for taking a table for that long.”
“You tipped her almost thirty percent. I think we’re good.” He’d insisted on paying for dinner tonight, wanting to make up for our disastrous first date. I hadn’t argued, but I’d made him promise to let me pay when we went out again tomorrow.
We’d both parked in the lot around the corner, and we walked in comfortable silence to our cars. We reached mine first.
I turned to him and grinned. “So, what now?”
Returning the grin, he wrapped his arms around me, not a trace of self-consciousness in his expression despite being out in public. Not that there were many people awake at this hour, but still. And dear God, I loved it.
“‘What now?’” he repeated. “Don’t you mean, ‘Your place or mine?’”
“Mm-hmm.” I snaked my arms around his waist. “I’m pretty sure we both know what happens once we get there.”
“Yeah, we do.” He slid his hands into my back pockets and pressed me against the car door, caging me in and pinning his own hands behind me. “I’m just not sure I can wait that long.”
My breath hitched. The smoldering desire in his eyes damn near rendered me speechless, but I managed a pathetic, “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. I haven’t been able to get you out of my head.”
“Likewise.” I ran my fingers up the back of his shirt under his jacket. “I really want to get you into my bed again.”
“Oh, you will.” He grinned as he leaned in closer. “But first . . .”
One kiss, and I was grateful for the car and his solid body keeping me upright. I loved how Garrett kissed. I loved how he kneaded my ass through my jeans and teased my tongue with his and pressed his hardening cock against my hip.
The hint of wine in his mouth made the whole night real. Not just this moment, but the entire evening. How long had it been since I’d gone on a real date with someone and then ended up fooling around? Usually this kind of kissing only happened on Tinder hookups or in a back room at a bar. Not after I’d spent hours talking about everything with a gorgeous, intelligent man who just got more interesting by the minute.
“If I haven’t mentioned it,” I murmured, lips barely leaving his, “I love the way you kiss.”
“Likewise.” He teased the corner of my mouth with his tongue. “And if I haven’t mentioned it, thanks for giving me another chance.”
I grinned against his lips. “Well, you were pretty persuasive, especially once we got into bed.”
Garrett laughed. Then he kissed me again, and the kiss deepened as his hands drifted from my pockets to the small of my back and then up under my shirt.
He broke the kiss and dipped his head, and the instant his lips brushed my neck, my back arched off the car door. I held on to his shoulders, squeezing my eyes shut and tilting my head as his warm lips skated across my skin. I was painfully hard now, my mind full of pornographic fantasies of everything we’d be doing if we weren’t out in public. And . . . we needed to be someplace that wasn’t in public because I needed to have him bent over something, taking my dick until we were both wrung out and spent.
“We should get back to my pla
ce,” I breathed as he slid a hand between us. “Or yours. Don’t care. I just . . . Oh fuck, Garrett . . .”
“We’ll get there.” He nibbled my earlobe and kneaded my cock through my jeans. “But I’ve been keeping my hands to myself for the last few hours, and now I need . . .” He trailed off into a moan as he rubbed me harder.
When he started fumbling with my belt, I gasped. “What are . . .” I ran out of air. And thoughts. Somehow, I managed to grab his wrist, and his hand froze, a finger still hooked under the leather.
“You want me to stop?” he asked.
“Not even a little. But we’re not far from . . . We could . . .” His thumb slid over the head of my cock, and my vocabulary was reduced to, “Oh fuck . . .”
“Say the word and I’ll stop.” He trailed this thumb along my partially undone zipper. “Otherwise, we can go back to one of our apartments for round two.”
I shivered hard and released his wrist.
He laughed, his breath warm on my lips. “Had a feeling you’d see things my way.”
“You’re pretty persuasive.”
Another laugh, then another kiss, and his lips and tongue almost distracted me from the buzz of my zipper separating and the jingle of my belt buckle falling free. When his fingers wrapped around my cock, we both groaned.
Then he went for my neck again, and I was in heaven as he stroked my dick and kissed my throat. His hand was just callused enough to create some friction without being too rough, and that friction was underscored by the softness of his lips and breath on my throat. I gripped his shoulders, leaning hard against the car as he made the whole world spin. I was usually the aggressive one, not the one melting and trembling and holding on for dear life.
His lips left my neck. His weight shifted.
And then . . .
Fuck. Oh fuck. His mouth. I hadn’t even realized he’d gone to his knees, but there he was—kneeling on the pavement, a hand braced on my hip while the other steadied the base of my cock. He focused on the head, then deep-throated, then focused on the head again. When his eyes flicked up to meet mine, I had to bite my lip to keep from crying out and giving us away to the whole town. As he ran his tongue slowly around the head, I stopped caring if everyone in Bluewater Bay—hell, the entire Olympic Peninsula—knew what was going on. The sight of him, the delicious sensations he licked to life on my cock—I lost all sense of shame or decorum.
Moaning, I gripped the side mirror and pressed back against the car, curling my toes inside my shoes as his lips slid up and down my cock. “Oh my God . . .”
He hummed softly against my dick, the vibration nearly turning me inside out. I could’ve stood here all night, letting him work his magic like this, but damn if I was going to last. Not when I’d been half-hard all day just thinking about sleeping with him tonight, and not when his mouth was so goddamned talented.
“Oh shit,” I breathed. “Garrett, I’m gonna . . . gonna come. Fuck . . .”
I thought he’d stop—a lot of guys did even though swallowing was safe—but instead he doubled down, stroking harder and taking me so deep I must’ve been hitting his gag reflex. My eyes rolled back and my spine arched off the door. “Fuck!”
I came hard, thrusting into his mouth as much as the awkward position allowed, and Garrett didn’t quit. His lips, his tongue, his hand—he kept going and going until I couldn’t take anymore and somehow blurted, “Stop.”
He eased off and stood, and the instant our eyes met, he gripped the back of my neck hard and kissed me, his mouth vaguely salty. I grabbed onto the front of his shirt for something to hold on to, and kissed him back just as eagerly. My head was spinning from my orgasm and the fact that I hadn’t even begun to catch my breath, but . . . whatever. If I passed out, it wasn’t like I was going anywhere.
Garrett slid his hand up into my hair and made a soft, almost inaudible sound against my lips. Kind of a growl, kind of a moan—whatever it was, I took it to mean he was enjoying himself. If that didn’t give him away, the subtle twitch of his fingers against my scalp and the languid way he kissed me were pretty convincing hints.
After a while, Garrett broke the kiss, and while I gulped in air—holy fuck, I was still out of breath—he grinned. “So. My place?”
“Y-yeah. Your place.”
Chapter 16
Garrett
“Can I ask you about something?” Jesse met my gaze from across the table at Flat Earth, the pizzeria he’d been dying to introduce me to. “If, um, you don’t mind one of those ‘you come from a different generation’ questions.”
“Well, now I’m definitely curious.” I peeled a piece of insanely hot pepperoni off my slice of pizza, and just before I popped it in my mouth, added, “Go ahead.”
He took a bite of his pizza, washed it down with a swig of Coke, and sat back, wiping some grease off his fingers. “You said before that you lost your job because your boss didn’t like gay people. And I know that happened a lot more back then.”
“Back when we were all riding horses and had to fetch water from the well every morning.”
Jesse snorted, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Anyway.” His expression turned more serious. “How did your family take it? Knowing you were gay?”
“They took it better than some of my friends’ parents did, let’s put it that way.”
His eyes widened.
“One of the first guys I dated was kicked out of the house after his mom found a gay porno in his room when he was seventeen. That happened to a lot of guys I knew, actually.” I picked another pepperoni off the pizza. Still hot. “So, I was lucky. Mine weren’t thrilled, but they came around after a while, and they’ve actually adored a lot of my boyfriends. And my husband.” I paused to eat the pepperoni. “How about yours?”
Jesse shrugged. “Eh, it wasn’t like they hadn’t figured it out before I told them. They were basically like ‘Yeah, and?’” He laughed. “My coming out was pretty anticlimactic.”
“That’s good, though.” I smiled. “It shouldn’t be a big deal.”
“I know, but after I’d worked up to it for six months, you’d think they could’ve . . . I don’t know, at least acted surprised.”
I chuckled. “Those bastards.”
“I know, right?”
We nibbled our pizzas for a little while, and I decided he had good taste in pizzerias. I was definitely not leaving here without one of their refrigerator magnets so I could call for delivery.
After we’d both gone through a few slices, I sat back, soda in hand. “I have to say, with families and acceptance and all that—the gods favor no one. My family was great. Should’ve known that would mean in-laws from hell.”
Jesse grimaced. “Oh yeah?”
I nodded. “They weren’t homophobic or anything. Hell, they went to Pride with Sean from the time he was a teenager. They just didn’t like me.”
Jesse cocked his head. “Why the hell not? Have they met you?”
“Yeah. That was about the time they decided they didn’t like me.”
His eyebrows climbed his forehead. “What did you do? Sacrifice a goat at the dinner table?”
I snorted. “No. But they took serious exception to Sean being with someone so much older. Or rather, with someone so much older being with their son.”
“You were, what, fifteen years older?”
“Yep.”
Jesse shrugged as he pulled another slice of pizza from the pan between us. “So what was the big deal? I mean, that’s about the same as us, isn’t it?”
“Give or take a year, yeah.” I sighed. “The thing is, they thought I was taking advantage of him. I mean, they never said it to my face, but I could read between the lines. And Sean told me a few things they’d said.” Shaking my head, I rolled my eyes again. “His mom and sister were both convinced I was using him, but for different reasons.”
“I’m going to guess one of them thought you were using him for sex.”
“That would be Mom,” I muttered.
Jesse wrinkled his nose.
“I know, right? But his sister was convinced I was just looking for someone to depend on me.”
Jesse blinked a few times. “Come again?”
I exhaled, absently wiping some lingering grease from my fingers. “Because Sean was still finishing his master’s, and I made the mistake of—within earshot of her—suggesting we move in together so he could quit his second job and focus on school. Somehow that came across to her that I was trying to erode his financial independence.”
“That’s kind of . . . nuts.”
“It is, and it isn’t. I mean, she meant well. She adored her brother, and the guy he dated before me was really manipulative and actually did try to make him dependent. So she was just being protective.”
Some of the tension fled Jesse’s posture. “Oh. Yeah, I guess that makes sense. Older sister?”
I nodded. “He was the youngest of four, and there were six years between him and his next sister. So he was the baby of the family, and they all protected him like grizzly bears.”
“Wow,” Jesse whispered. “That must have been rough on them—all of you—when he . . .”
I swallowed hard. “Yeah. We actually did make peace while Sean was sick, though. I think part of it was because he encouraged us to, but also, I think they realized I genuinely did care about him. If the fourth or fifth time my mother-in-law found me asleep on the floor in Sean’s hospital room didn’t convince her, I don’t know what would.”
He glanced at his pizza like he wasn’t so sure he wanted it anymore. “Man. I just can’t imagine everything you guys went through.”
“It wasn’t fun,” I said flatly. “Thank God they were all there, though. And Scott—my friend who lives around here—came over almost every weekend toward the end. So there was a lot of support.” I paused, then cleared my throat and reached for another slice of pizza. “So that conversation took a depressing turn. We don’t have to stick with this topic if you don’t want to.”
He laughed, sounding a bit relieved, but he shook his head. “No, we can talk about it if you want to.”
