Rules to Live By

by Lisa Henry

  She turned back to Gabe. “Darts?”

  “Of course.”

  Angela led us past the wall of flat-panel TVs to a smaller room with no screens, less music, more appropriate lighting for a bar, and three two-seater tables. Two of those electronic dart machines too. No one else was sitting in the room.

  “Julie will be by to take your order,” Angela said, then left us alone.

  Gabe leaned back in his chair. “Better?” He gestured to the small room.

  “Yeah. Quieter.” My brain was still stuck on Thomas.

  Julie came by to get our drink orders. “Gabe! My favorite customer! Your usual?”

  Well, Gabe was a popular guy with the women here. That little twang in my chest was not jealousy, not at all. Especially since I wasn’t even on Gabe’s radar.

  He nodded. “And a second for Thomas.”

  I stared at Gabe. Who had just ordered for me.

  “Guinness on tap,” he said, as if that explained it all.

  “You going to order my food, too?” I was aiming for annoyed, but it came out, well, breathless.

  Easygoing Gabe chuckled and stopped looking so gentle. “You’ll probably default to a bacon cheeseburger. Get the pizza burger, though. It’s more interesting, and you need a bit of a change.”

  Holy hell. The sense of command in his words. I’d experienced it last from the man who’d caused me to pack up and leave California. I almost stood and fled, but this was my friend. “Gabe—”

  He raised an eyebrow, and my whole body answered with a spine-tingling shudder. Thank God Julie brought our beers.

  If Gabe was flirting with me, it had zipped beyond the normal and into another fucking universe. If. I wasn’t sure I wanted Gabe to be flirting. The way he poked at my submissive side, it might be a dream come true or lead to an unmitigated disaster. The last guy? He’d been a nightmare. Sherri was a bigot, sure, but Dominic had been, well, bad enough that I’d moved three thousand miles to forget his particular betrayal.

  Julie pulled a pad of paper from her apron. “Do you know what you want?”

  “I do,” Gabe said in a voice that sent every single one of my nerves buzzing. He ordered a buffalo chicken sandwich.

  “And for you?”

  I stared at the menu for a second, skimming over the bacon cheeseburger. Had Gabe made a suggestion or given me a command? If I ordered my usual, I risked Gabe’s displeasure, and that was the last thing I wanted. “Pizza burger. Medium. Fries.” I handed the menu back to Julie and my hand didn’t even shake. Please don’t let this be a mistake. I’d lost Sherri. I couldn’t lose Gabe.

  Julie bounded off again, and I hazarded a look up.

  Deep-blue eyes met my gaze and for once, Gabe wasn’t smiling. He looked pleased, though. Very pleased. Like a Dom would.

  So much for not getting a hard-on. Warmth spread like fire over my body, and my dick fucking ached, even as the little red warning light in the back of my brain blinked on and off. Was Gabe feeling me out? And for what? Fuck if I knew. Chances were, it was all in my head. I reached for my beer, and now my hand shook.

  After a long draw, I set the glass down and met Gabe’s silent stare again. “What’s going on?”

  He shrugged. “Date night.” There was that little turn to his lips. The one that took his expression from pleased to the devil incarnate.

  Oh. Oh. Not completely my imagination, then.

  His laugh didn’t help the swirling in my head. “If I had known you played for both teams, I’d have asked you out for a drink months ago.” His amusement fell away. “By the time I figured it out, you were with Sherri.” He toyed with the edge of his glass. “Now you’re not.”

  I took a mouthful of Guinness. It wasn’t often—oh hell, it was never—that I was the guy being pursued. Yet here we were, with my heart slamming against my ribs. “When did you . . .?” I gestured vaguely.

  “Figure it out?”

  I nodded.

  “Biking. Lycra doesn’t hide much.” He finally lifted his beer and drank.

  No, it didn’t.

  I should have asked for water. My mouth was dry, but the beer was already going to my head. Or maybe that was Gabe. I closed my eyes.

  “Thomas.”

  Couldn’t help the tremble. “Should I start calling you Gabriel?” I opened my eyes.

  He coughed a laugh. “No, I prefer Gabe. Gabriel has too many syllables.”

  “Too many . . .?”

  The look he gave me was one I recognized for a change, the one from work that said, You’ll figure it out, dumbass.

  As usual, I had no fucking clue. “So, what now?”

  He slid the case to the edge of the table between us and unzipped it. “Darts while we wait. Let’s see if you’re really as hopeless as you think.” He took out six darts, three with blue and silver fins and three with black and silver. He inspected the plastic tips. “Eh, these will do for this.”

  He pushed the black-finned darts to me, and I picked one up. They were lighter than I’d expected. Balanced. I’d only ever played with the darts that came with the machine, and those were heavy in comparison. “You’re serious about this.”

  He’d gotten up to pull out the darts that were in the board, which he dumped unceremoniously onto a little drink table. “Darts? Yeah. I’m in a league.”

  I stood, my legs shakier than I liked. The electric shock of Gabe ordering for me, and perhaps ordering me, swam through my blood. While my cock wasn’t rock hard anymore, it wasn’t exactly soft.

  This was a date? Holy shit. He wanted me?

  Gabe stretched his arms above his head and revealed a glimpse of his tattoo. I so wanted to know where the rest of that design went. Now I actually had a chance to find out. Maybe trace it with my tongue. Jesus. Heat rose to my face and my dick swelled. “I thought pros liked real boards?”

  I suspected Gabe knew exactly the effect he was having on me, but he didn’t show it. “We do. But so few places have corkboards anymore. Gotta practice somewhere.” He put some cash in the machine. “Have you ever played cricket?”

  “That the one where you try to get three points on the high numbers?”

  He nodded and selected the game. “Fifteen through twenty, plus bull’s-eye.”

  “I’ve played that. I’m really good at hitting the low numbers.”

  He snorted, then backed up. “Show me.”

  I stepped up to the line and studied the board. Twenty was straight up. I aimed and threw . . . and the dart bounced off the wall next to the board. Heat rushed to my face. “Told you.”

  Gabe fetched the dart and straightened the tip. “Wall doesn’t count. You still have three shots.” He handed the dart back.

  Great. I swallowed and willed my pulse to settle down. My next throw hit the machine’s board, but not in the ring.

  “Again.”

  The next time I hit the two wedge. Then the eleven. I’d never felt more like a failure. “I’m really not—”

  Gabe held a finger to lips, and I clammed up. “Were you aiming for the twenty?” He pulled out my darts.

  I nodded, throat too tight to speak. Of all the things we could do together, he had to pick the bar game I was abysmal at. Why not pool? Hell, shuffleboard was better than this.

  He gestured for me to come over, and I did, though my feet felt like lead.

  “Honestly,” he said, “you look like someone kicked your dog. You’re not hopeless.” He took me by the shoulders and turned me toward the machine. “You just don’t know what the fuck you’re doing. Big difference.” He grazed the back of my neck, the part exposed by my ponytail, with his fingers. “Stand right here and pay attention to what I do, how I move, when I breathe. Understood?”

  Between his touch and his voice, I had no fucking choice but to say, “Yes.” It came out in a near moan.

  His breath caught for a moment. “Good,” he murmured, then picked his darts off the table, strode to the line, and threw. Three times. I tried to take it all in—the
way the dart levitated from his hand, his back leg coming up, that he inhaled right before he threw, the intense focus in his eyes, the set of his mouth—all of it. I didn’t know how it would help, but my God, the man was beautiful.

  The beeping of the machine barely registered in my brain, but when he was done, he pulled out his darts.

  Bastard had closed the twenty wedge. “Before this night is out,” Gabe said, “you’re going to close the eighteen.”

  “You’re out of your mind.”

  “Am I?” He switched the darts in his hands, then returned to the line. “Come here.”

  I went. God, he was hitting all my sub buttons. Did he know? Part of me hoped so, the other part was fucking terrified. I didn’t want him to turn out to be another asswipe of a Dom. This was Gabe, for God’s sake. My coworker. Who handed me my darts, took me by the shoulders, and pointed me at the board.

  “Remember what you saw me do, pretend you’re going to throw, then freeze when you’d normally let go.”

  I did, and he clicked his tongue. His hands landed on my hips and he rotated my lower body an inch or two. Then he moved my arm and wrist. “Like this. Feel the difference?” Holding my waist, Gabe brushed his fingers over the junction between my jeans and my tucked-in button-down.

  I did feel a difference in how I stood, in the way the dart felt—everything was balanced. Stronger, somehow. But his fingers? They had my cock at full attention. “Gabe? That’s—” I shuddered when he gripped me tighter. How many of my fantasies had involved Gabe touching me, but with far less clothing between us? “That’s really distracting.”

  “Good.” He pulled my shirt out of my waistband. “You need to be distracted.”

  His fingers found the flesh beneath my shirt, and I nearly dropped the dart.

  “Come back to standing.”

  He didn’t move his hands, but I did as told.

  “Look at the eighteen. Remember how I had you positioned? Move there, and this time let go of the dart.”

  With Gabe’s hands under my shirt and resting on my hips. Right.

  “I know you can do this, Thomas.” Those words were like a caress.

  I took a breath to settle my trembling, and stared at the eighteen wedge. Then I moved, trying to emulate his grace, trying to end up where he’d willed me to be before. My arm came up, and I threw.

  The machine beeped. Because I’d fucking hit the wedge. Only one point, but damned if the dart wasn’t there. “Holy shit.”

  Gabe tightened his fingers. “Now, do it again.”

  I did. Nearly the same place too. The third throw didn’t hit the eighteen, but it was so close, a peg off, really. Nothing to be ashamed of at all.

  Gabe let go. “Fetch your darts.” The pride in his voice sang in my veins and warmed my blood. I yanked the darts out. Two points. Fucking amazing.

  “Hey guys, here’re your sandwiches.” Julie placed our meal down on the table.

  “Good timing.” Gabe assured Julie we didn’t need anything else, then took his seat.

  I slid into mine, carefully laying my darts next to Gabe’s. “What about the game?”

  Gabe smiled. “We have plenty of time to finish that.”

  I had a suspicion he wasn’t talking about the darts.

  After dinner, I closed eighteen. Sixteen too. Gabe took everything else and won. Other folks showed up and wanted to play, so we teamed up and beat their sorry asses. I’d never known darts could be so fun.

  It was nearly ten by the time we left, and then it hit me that it wasn’t the weekend. I’d completely lost track of everything, and damn had that felt good. Dominic had shattered me. Sherri had shaken me. Now, I was happier and more relaxed than I’d been since, well, probably since before I’d come to Pittsburgh. I glanced over at Gabe as we crossed the parking lot. “Thanks.”

  His grin was all teeth. “Feeling better?”

  “Much.”

  “Good.”

  “But—”

  He lifted his eyebrow, and the smile fell away.

  I kept going. “You’re— I mean, we work together. What the hell happens now?”

  We reached the car. He clicked it unlocked, opened the passenger door, and dropped the darts onto the seat. “What happens now—” he reached up and pulled off the elastic band holding my hair back “—is that I’m going to kiss you.”

  Then his lips were on mine and his hands were wrapped into my hair, and fucking hell he was a good kisser. At the first touch of his mouth, I opened, letting him explore my mouth, bite my lips, tangle with my tongue. He backed me up against the car, and ground his hard dick against mine. The gentle tug on my hair turned sharp, and I moaned into his mouth. Felt his answering chuckle.

  He broke the kiss but didn’t let go of my hair, just moved his mouth to my ear. “Tomorrow,” he whispered, “you’re going to read the corporate handbook and discover it’s fine for employees to date, as long as one doesn’t report to the other.”

  “Oh.”

  “Oh, indeed.” He sucked my earlobe and yanked my hair. Hard. In public. In a parking lot. I nearly came right there, humping against him.

  “Gabe.” That one syllable was more moan than anything else. Then it hit me. One syllable . . . not three. You couldn’t moan Gabriel. That’s why he preferred Gabe.

  I was fucking doomed.

  He stepped away. “Get in the car, Thomas.”

  I did, though I picked up the darts. After I belted myself in, I hefted the case. “Should I put these away?”

  He started the car and eased out of the space. “Please.”

  There was that rope again. I was tempted to ask, but this night had been so insane that I didn’t want to be disappointed to learn it was there for ordinary reasons. So I closed the box. He was right. There was time enough to play this game, even if I wanted everything right now.

  We headed back toward the city. “I know you live in Shadyside,” he said. “But where exactly?”

  I rattled off the address. Of course he knew where it was. Didn’t even use the GPS on his phone. I watched the lights go by and listened to the silence between us. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t quite right either. There was a weight to it, a need to fill it with sound. Questions and answers. Words. Except it was Thursday night after ten, and we both had a meeting at nine on the dot tomorrow morning.

  As if reading my mind, Gabe sighed. “I should have done this tomorrow. But I’ve wanted to take you out for so long—couldn’t help myself.”

  Really? I licked my lips and tasted Gabe on them, and there was my answer. That and the bulge in his jeans. “I’m glad you did. I didn’t even know you were interested. Guess my gaydar is busted.”

  He laughed. “I’m bi, too. Tend to prefer men a bit more, but if you’ve noticed me checking out women, that’s real.”

  I hadn’t. Mostly because I’d had to work so damn hard not to be checking him out.

  This time, the silence was distinctly uncomfortable. He cleared his throat. “Um, you and Sherri—”

  I hadn’t told anyone the details of the breakup, any of my breakups, actually. Too many wounds I didn’t want opened. But if I could tell anyone, it was Gabe. “She didn’t like that I’ve slept with guys.” I paused. “That I bottom. That I like cock.” I let out a breath. “I . . . asked her to peg me.”

  He exhaled. “Wow. She freaked?”

  “Pretty much. Didn’t want to be dating a fag.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Gabe flinch. “Dude, I’m really sorry.”

  I leaned into the seat. “Something tells me I’m not going to have that problem with you.”

  “No, not at all.”

  The way he said those words made my every nerve tingle down to my fucking toes. Gabe’s cock inside me? Yes. Oh, please. Except the dashboard clock mocked me. “Fucking Thursday.”

  “I know. If I come up to your apartment, neither of us is going to sleep tonight. Or go to work tomorrow.”

  My breathing faltered. “Oh, f
uck.”

  “Yes,” he said. “Quite long. Quite hard.” And I could hear his wicked smile.

  My lungs didn’t want to cooperate, and my heart pounded so hard he probably heard it over the potholes.

  Gabe slid his hand over my thigh, then up until he found my cock. He stroked and squeezed me through my jeans, and I gripped the edge of the car seat, voicing something between a groan and a whimper.

  “I promise I’ll make the wait worthwhile.” Damned if his voice didn’t turn my bones to fire.

  Laying my head back against the car seat, I closed my eyes. There was no doubt in my mind about that promise.

  Friday at work was interesting, to say the least. Despite jacking off pretty much as soon as I’d gotten in the door Thursday night, then again while tossing in bed, then again in the shower this morning, I wasn’t satiated. At all. Didn’t help that Gabe had worn nice, tight jeans to the office. Damn his legs. His ass. The bulge I shouldn’t be checking out during our nine o’clock standup meeting.

  When we returned to our cube, I sank into my chair. “This isn’t going to work.”

  “’Course it will.” He pointed at my monitors, the devil in his smile. “Code. Won’t write itself, will it? That’ll keep your mind off things.”

  No it wouldn’t. But I turned around anyway. My IM flashed, from Gabe.

  Besides, the better you are now, the more fun you’ll have tonight.

  I swallowed my groan and resigned myself to being semihard for the rest of the day. I glanced at the words again. Well, if that wasn’t incentive . . .

  Soon enough, I was deep into the zone. Gabe sat on the other side of the cube, the tapping at his keyboard a welcome, soothing sound, as natural as my own heartbeat. Comfortable, not distracting, his presence was a part of the way things should be. The god-awful squeaky noise echoing through the office? That wasn’t. The sound came closer until it stopped right outside our cube. “Gabriel Visser?”

  We both turned. Gabe stood. “That’s me.”

  The delivery guy held out his device for a signature, which Gabe provided, then deposited the large box just inside the cube. “Have a good one.”

  As the sound of ungreased wheels faded down the hall, Gabe shifted the box farther into the cube, then fetched a pair of scissors to cut the tape.