by A. M. Arthur
Except Bobby.
They’d never been a couple, but some of their fuck sessions had turned into actual conversations. Bobby was a paralegal and a damn smart guy, and he always gave good advice on the rare occasion Alessandro asked for it.
He’d hit speed dial without even thinking, and only the sound of the other line ringing clued him into what he’d just done. The call went to voice mail, though, and he hung up without leaving a message.
The walk home took nearly an hour, because he didn’t go straight there. He was trying to waste time. Walking up and down the streets on different neighborhoods allowed him to not think too hard about Justin’s sideways threats. Eunice’s home finally came into view around the block at five minutes past noon.
Alessandro called Jaime’s cell.
Jaime picked up after one ring. “Hey.”
“Hey.” His mind went stupidly blank. “How was work?”
The pause did not slip past Alessandro. “It was a regular day, I guess.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit.” Alessandro nearly turned around and marched back downtown to do this in person. “What’s going on?”
A good twenty seconds passed before Jaime finally answered him. “Someone vandalized the bakery this morning before we got there.”
“What?” His pulse raced and anger spread like fire under his skin. “Tell me.”
“Somebody painted something on the front window. Rusty cleaned it off. It’s fine.”
“What did they paint, Jaime?”
Another pause. “Fag.”
Cold fingers ripped down Alessandro’s spine. “Fuck.”
“We found it early. I doubt anyone saw it. It’s like it never happened.” The faint tremor in Jaime’s voice contradicted that final sentence.
“Did you call the police and report it?”
“No. I didn’t want that, and Shannon understands.” His emphasis on Shannon understands served as a loud-and-clear don’t push me.
“I’m sorry,” Alessandro said. He didn’t know what else to say, other than to accuse Justin of defacing the bakery. He didn’t have any proof, though.
“You didn’t do it, so you don’t have anything to be sorry about.”
He had plenty to be sorry about, including putting Jaime on a collision course with Justin. For seducing him in the first place, and for not being strong enough to tell Jaime their association was over. He liked Jaime too much, and if he couldn’t cut him off, he’d keep him close and as safe as possible until he figured out Justin’s game. Or gave in and left town.
“I’m sorry it happened,” Alessandro said. “People can really be assholes.”
“Yeah, I’m getting that vivid purple-painted detail.” He sighed. “Listen, I need to get back to cleaning up. Are, uh, we still going out tonight?”
He wanted to say no, that going out was a bad idea. But he wanted to see Jaime. He wanted to take him out, show him off and expose him to a new side of gay life—to life, period, if he was totally honest. Jaime didn’t get out of town much, and a whole wide world existed for him to discover and enjoy. A world Alessandro could introduce him to and educate him about, before he inevitably had to let him go.
“Yeah, I’ll pick you up at eight.”
“Awesome.” Even over the phone, he heard the smile in Jaime’s voice. “See you then.”
“Bye.”
Alessandro began the short walk to the house and tried to work out the rage still pumping through him from news of the vandalism. Jaime had been targeted. The bakery had been targeted. And Alessandro couldn’t help but think it was all his fault.
Chapter Twelve
Jaime changed his outfit four times before settling on a pair of slightly too tight black jeans and an azure blue Henley over a white sleeveless undershirt. He didn’t own any “going out” clothes, so he’d settled on clothes he would be comfortable in for a few hours.
A few hours in a bar with Alessandro, watching other men flirt and dance and eye fuck each other. He’d been horny all afternoon just thinking about it. After dinner with Shannon, he’d locked himself into the bathroom for a shower and rubbed one out. He had to take the edge off, or he’d have been popping wood all damned night.
“You take your meds?” Shannon asked as he trotted down the stairs. She was in the living room reading, watching him over the spine of the book. In fact, she’d been hovering all day, ever since they found the painted window.
“Yes, I took them,” he replied. “And I have them with me.” He’d put his morning’s doses in a small, travel-sized pillbox and stuffed into his back pocket, along with his wallet. He didn’t know the entire night’s plans, or if he’d end up at home before dawn, and he needed to take his antirejection pills on time.
“He knows you can’t drink, right?”
He rolled his eyes. “Yes, he knows I can’t drink.” Jaime hadn’t had a drop of alcohol his entire life because of his heart issues. After the transplant, he’d been repeatedly warned against it. Cyclosporine already came with the possible side effects of liver and kidney damage, and alcohol was also bad for his heart’s health. Jaime would never put his life at risk for a few hours of drunken fun.
Besides, he’d be with Alessandro, so fun was pretty much a guarantee.
“I’ll be fine, sis.” He perched on the arm of the couch. “Hell, I might even have a little fun.”
She made a noise and slammed her book shut. “You know I want you to have fun, Bug. Lord knows you deserve a tractor trailer load of fun, and then some.”
“But?”
“No buts. Not really a but. I guess I’m not used to thinking of you as a grown man who can take care of himself, but you are. So go have lots and lots of safe fun.”
“I intend to.”
“Good.”
Headlights flashed in the front windows as Alessandro’s car pulled into the driveway. Jaime grabbed his coat and practically flung himself out the door with a shouted goodbye to his sister. Alessandro climbed out of the car and wrapped him into an unexpected hug. A full-body, tight-armed, chin-on-shoulder kind of hug that Jaime melted right into. He inhaled the spicy scent of Alessandro’s aftershave, the leather of his jacket and the faint mint smell of toothpaste.
He held on, giving into the hug, enjoying the embrace and not caring if any of the neighbors saw. Alessandro pulled back first, but only far enough to recapture him in a kiss. He drank in the flavor of Alessandro—his toothpaste, and beyond it, the headier taste of Alessandro himself. Alessandro thrust his tongue gently into his mouth, licking at his lips and teeth, and Jaime made a soft, strangled sound, wanting more. Alessandro kept the kiss unexpectedly tender, and despite having just having been jerked off thirty minutes ago, Jaime’s dick twitched with awareness.
They could have kissed for a minute or an hour. Jaime didn’t care and he was only sorry when Alessandro stopped. “You look good,” he said.
“So do you.” Jaime hadn’t gotten a good look at Alessandro’s outfit, so he glanced down at a tight black button-down over a pair of tighter blue jeans. He wore the clothes to perfection. Tight was definitely on the menu tonight.
“Ready to go?”
“Absolutely.”
They had a thirty-minute drive to the city, and they filled the time with idle conversation. Jaime studied Alessandro’s profile. He was trying hard to look relaxed, but something was bothering him. They hadn’t brought up the vandalism. Jaime had been nervous to tell Alessandro about it at all, because Alessandro would—and did—blame himself for it. Jaime didn’t know how to convince Alessandro that something like that probably would have happened at some point, no matter what, because he was gay in a small town.
Shit happened. People were assholes. End of story.
Maybe Alessandro had popped his cherry, but Jaime had always been gay. Alessandro couldn’t blame himself for that one.
The Wilmington skyline—such as it was, compared to larger cities—came into vi
ew from I-95. Alessandro navigated his way around the various highways and bypasses like a champ. Driving around the city made Jaime nervous, because of the multiple lanes of traffic and the dozens of over- and underpasses all leading south to the beaches, north to Philadelphia, east to New Jersey or directly into Wilmington herself.
Alessandro took him into a residential area dotted with brick homes from the turn of the century, clustered together with barely an alley between some of them. Businesses were interspersed with the homes, most of them in renovated residences—bakeries, restaurants, bars and convenience stores. Parking places were at a premium, it seemed, and foot traffic was pretty heavy. Alessandro pointed out Pot O Gold, tucked into a white-facade building on 6th Street, then drove past it to a public parking lot on the intersecting Lincoln Street.
As soon as Alessandro shut off the engine, Jaime’s nerves shot through the roof. He followed Alessandro’s example by leaving his coat in the car. The air was cool, but he expected they’d both heat up pretty quickly. The distant thrum of bass was audible in several directions, as was an ambulance siren and screeching tires. Someone far away laughed, a thick and drunk sound.
Jaime swallowed hard, mouth dry, and tucked his hands into his jeans so they wouldn’t shake. He followed Alessandro closely without actually touching him. Back down to 6th, and then up half a block to Pot O Gold. From the outside it didn’t look like much. The white facade was meant to mimic Old World architecture, and the sign above the door had a giant rainbow bursting from the golden pot. The windows were painted over, making it impossible to see inside. A handful of men loitered outside smoking cigarettes.
Alessandro gave them polite nods, then held the door open for Jaime. Heavy dance music and the odors of sweat, booze and male drifted out to greet him. Jaime suppressed a shiver as he stepped inside.
A long dark wood bar ran the entire length of the wall where they first came in, and it was surrounded. Three bartenders in a variety of bright green shirts—one mesh and perfectly see-through—were busting ass to fill drink orders and flirt their way toward bigger tips. A video DJ was set up in the far left corner, above a mosaic of plasma screens displaying whichever video he was playing. Next to it was a small platform holding a variety of instruments, meant for tonight’s live music. Cozy green leather booths lined the rest of the walls, leaving the interior floor space for dancers and clusters of revelers. Three large support pillars divided the dance floor a bit, each with a circular, chest-level bar around it for empties, leaving a shadowed area farthest from the DJ for couples to grope freely.
Alessandro slid a hand around his waist and urged him toward the bar. He inserted himself between two men on barstools and leaned over to shout an order, never once losing contact with Jaime. Jaime couldn’t seem to do anything except study the incredible selection of men in front of him. Tall, short, thin, overweight, toned, hairy, tan, pale. Brunets and blonds and black hair, bald, long and shaggy and all manner of facial hair. Tattoos. Even the clothing ran the gamut from sexy-tight, to after-work professional attire. He wouldn’t peg many of them as over forty. Most were probably in their twenties, like him.
He made eye contact quite accidentally with a man about his age who was leaning against the nearest support pillar. He had blond hair swept up with gel, a silver stud in his left eyebrow, and he wore a silver sleeveless shirt like a second skin. His gazed dropped from Jaime’s just long enough to sweep down the length of his body, and the appreciative look in his eyes afterward made Jaime’s insides tighten in a pleasant way. He was being checked out and approved. Silver Stud was cute, too.
He wasn’t Alessandro, though, who turned around to hand him a Pepsi. He sipped at his own drink through a tiny straw—something yellow in a small glass, topped with a stemmed cherry.
“Whiskey sour,” Alessandro said, lifting his drink. “To another first.”
Jaime grinned and tapped the lip of his glass against Alessandro’s. “Another cherry popped.”
“Amen.”
They drifted away from the bar so others could move in and get drinks. The song changed to something similar—music he didn’t know but could easily dance to. The beat sank into his bones and made his heart pound pleasantly. He tapped his feet and swayed a bit out of instinct.
“Everyone here’s gay?” Jaime whispered directly into Alessandro’s ear.
He nodded. “Gay, bi or unsure.”
“Wow.”
“I know, right?” Alessandro laughed, which lit up his entire face. In the dim lighting, he was even more handsome than usual. Even his coffee-colored eyes seemed to dance under the lights as he took in the scene.
“You know anyone here?”
“A few people. Why? Someone you want to meet?”
“Not really.” He sipped his Pepsi, and they watched the dancing. Or attempts at dancing. A lot of it was sexual grinding that came pretty close to fully dressed frottage. Some pairs of pants left little doubt that the dancers were aroused. The air was charged with something Jaime couldn’t explain, an energy he’d never felt and could never hope to describe. It filled him like a deep, satisfying breath after holding it for too long, both calming and exciting him.
“Hey, honey.” A tall, beefy man wearing a black leather jacket appeared in front of Jaime. “You got any Irish in you?”
Jaime blinked. “Um, no, I don’t think so.”
The man leaned in, eyes glinting, breath humid and reeking of beer. “Would you like some Irish in you tonight, laddie?”
“Huh?”
Alessandro slid his arm around Jaime’s shoulders. “I think he’d rather have some Brazil nuts tonight.”
Jaime snorted laughter. The big man also laughed, then wandered away to try and pick up someone else. “That was a pretty funny line, actually,” Jaime said.
“It was an old one, that’s for sure. I, uh, hope you didn’t mind me speaking for you.”
“Of course not.”
Alessandro bit the side of his lip. “I mean, if you find someone here you’d rather be with tonight, no hard feelings.”
Jaime stared at him, a little lost. Had he completely misinterpreted tonight’s outing? Was Alessandro already sick of him and trying to pawn him off on some other guy for his ongoing sexual awakening? Tonight wasn’t a date after all. Not really. “Is that what you want?”
“No.” He shook his head. “Not at all. But this is your first time here, and there are a lot of hot guys around.”
“There’s a pretty hot guy right next to me, and I’d rather go home with him tonight.”
Alessandro smiled, and Jaime swore relief was in his eyes as he knocked back the rest of his whiskey sour. “Good. So how about we go make some heads turn on the dance floor?”
“Works for me.”
Jaime gulped more of his soda, then put the cup on the nearest pillar bar top. He let Alessandro pull him closer to the DJ where the fastest moving dancers were. He hadn’t danced in public in…well, ever, but his nerves disappeared the moment Alessandro began moving. Arms, legs, torso, chest, all shifting in time to the fast-paced beat and heavy bass—the sexiest thing Jaime had ever seen in his life, and he was going to dance with him. Alessandro wrapped his arms around Jaime’s waist and pulled him closer, indirectly coaching him into the beat, and it worked.
Sweat dotted his forehead and the small of his back, and the heady smell of so many men, so close together, filled Jaime with something he’d never experienced. A sense of belonging, maybe. Hands that weren’t Alessandro’s brushed his body, and he didn’t mind. His dick tingled with awareness, unhappy with being pressed up inside his jeans and not free to enjoy itself. He slid his hands around Alessandro’s waist, then back a little farther to rest on the top of his ass. Muscles moved and bunched beneath his fingers, reminding Jaime that he knew what that gorgeous ass looked like naked.
A swell of protectiveness hit him, and he moved closer to Alessandro, so close their groins bumped as they moved. The thick hardness behind Alessandro’s fly s
ent a shock of excitement through him. Alessandro’s wandering hands directed him to turn around, and he did, pleased to feel Alessandro’s chest pressing against his back. Groin to his ass. An arm came around and pressed flat to his stomach, holding Jaime’s back to Alessandro’s front. Jaime curled his fingers in the legs of Alessandro’s jeans and hung on. They moved like that, like they were fucking on the dance floor for all to see.
Jaime closed his eyes, losing himself in the vortex of Alessandro holding him, faux-fucking him and of being watched by dozens of jealous eyeballs. Because Alessandro was his.
A strange hand stroked down his chest. Jaime blinked at Silver Stud, whose lithe body writhed within inches of his. His eyes were a funky purple, probably contact lenses, but they held an I want to fuck you right now look that made his knees a little shaky. Alessandro’s grip on his stomach loosened. Silver Stud looked over his shoulder, at Alessandro, and then his mouth quirked into a smile.
Silver Stud moved in, pressing into Jaime’s body from the front the same way Alessandro still held him from behind. Jaime’s erection rubbed against Silver Stud’s. Was it okay for someone else’s dick to be rubbing on his? The way Alessandro’s breathing had sped up said yes, it was okay. And amazing. And real.
Jaime gave into it and closed his eyes again, allowing the two men surrounding him to carry him away safely. Hands smoothed up his arms and sides, over his waist and chest—four hands paying attention to him and no one else. The song changed, but their rhythm never faltered. The moist heat of Alessandro’s mouth pressed against his neck, just below his left ear. Goose bumps prickled across his shoulders and down his back.
Silver Stud’s lips brushed the skin near his right ear. “Goddamn, you’re hot,” he said.
Jaime made a noise he meant as a response. Unsure what to do with his own hands, he grabbed Silver Stud’s neck with one and Alessandro’s hip with the other. Someone nearby whooped. Someone else whistled. Laughter bubbled up from deep in Jaime’s chest. He was sandwiched between two of the hottest men in the bar. Of course he was being cheered on. He was where all those other men wanted to be.
