by Megan Bryce
He moved his hips between her thighs, a slight pulse that rocked her and the car. “I don’t mind when you call me Shane. How important is a fast car?”
She cocked her head. “I’m thinking.”
He pulsed again. “Are you?”
Her hands curled and her lashes fluttered closed. She murmured, “I’m thinking about thinking.”
“I’m thinking about how I’m going to get your pants off.”
“I’m thinking about leaving all the thinking to you; you seem to have it covered.”
“Good.” He popped the button on her jeans.
She opened her eyes a crack. “If you’re going to do all the thinking, you’ll have to tell me what’s next.”
He slid his hands under her bottom and boosted her up his chest. A small shriek flew from her mouth and her hands grabbed at his hair. He sat her on the roof of the car and rested his hand on her chest.
He said, “Here’s what’s next.”
Megan BryceSome Like It Hopeless
Three
Brady pushed at Cassandra until she let go of his hair and lay back on her elbows. He pulled her zipper down and yanked at her jeans.
She said, “Okay. I could like this.”
She looked over to where the hill dropped off and the city spread out below them. “Maybe.”
He climbed onto the car, leaning over her. She flung her arms out wide, grabbing at the car. “Is this roof going to hold the both of us?”
He said, “I don’t like it.”
“Yeah. I’m heading in that direction,” she said and he snorted.
“I don’t like Sundays and Wednesdays. I want every night. For as long as this thing lasts, I want every night.”
“That would be flattering if you didn’t want every night so you can be comatose for seven hours.”
He was already addicted to sleeping next to her. To sleeping.
He’d been yawning since Sunday.
He hadn’t slept in six years; only taking an hour here, an hour there.
One night of sleep and he couldn’t function anymore.
Cassandra said, “Maybe it’s not me. Maybe any woman in your bed would do.”
He shook his head. He’d had other women.
It was her.
She said, “Just how many sluts have you taken upstairs lately?”
He ran a finger along her arm. “Only one.”
She murmured, “I feel like I should get mad, but I’m leaving a butt print on the roof of your car. Sounds slutty to me, too.”
Brady slid his zipper down and Cassandra said, “I swear, I hate men. I’m here breezing in the wind and all you have to do is pull down your zipper.”
“There are women who hate men. You’re not one of them.”
He flicked her nipple with his thumb, making it pucker, and she said, “Oh, I’m starting to hate you.”
Her head tipped off the edge of the roof, her throat open and exposed.
She muttered, “I hope to God I set the parking brake,” and Brady licked her neck.
He looked past her, down the hill, and he whispered, “Don’t you want to?”
She peeled one hand off the car to grab at him. “Only sometimes. And not today.”
He lifted her butt, sliding into her. Her breath rushed out and Brady thought he didn’t really want to today, either.
He said, “You’ll move into the penthouse.”
She squeezed her legs tight around him, trapping him. “What?”
“I’m tired of driving all over the place for a good night’s sleep when all I have to do is move you in.”
She blinked.
He stretched out on top of her and said, “Pool privileges are included.”
“You want me to drive out there every night?”
He nodded. “I want you to move in.”
“It’s in Brentwood!”
He circled his hips, cutting off her protest and making her loosen her thighs enough for him to maneuver.
When she could breathe again, she said, “It’s an extra hour of driving, both ways. I don’t have two hours a day to give you, Brady.”
Brady.
He paused, sad for a moment that he wasn’t Shane anymore, then deciding it might be okay to be Brady again.
He had to be Brady again.
He said, “Twice a week is not enough. Not nearly enough.”
“Are we still talking about sleeping?”
“No.”
She smirked. “Then who says it’s only twice a week?”
He bit her jaw gently. “Only me.”
She wiggled against him. “Why? Give me one good reason.”
He thrust. “I’ve given you one good reason, over and over again.”
She closed her eyes, letting her head fall back.
He said, “Only me. Or Shane.”
Cassandra’s eyes popped back open and she raised her eyebrows.
He said, “I don’t think he’s going to switch teams. Just thought I could give you something in return for the long drive you’re going to be doing from now on.”
“You don’t think he’s going to switch teams? You haven’t even met him.”
“You seem pretty sure you’ll never have him. But just in case he changes his mind, I give you my blessing. But only him.”
She laughed, shaking against him and jiggling his balls. She said, “In case he changes his mind?”
She laughed again and again until Brady pulled out. He propped his cheek on his fist and waited.
When she’d snickered her last, he said, “Done?”
She pulled him closer. “No.”
She waited until he was comfortable again, until it was hard to think, hard to negotiate, to say, “I’m not going to move in with you. We’ll just have to make Sundays and Wednesdays work.”
He stopped.
She circled her hips. “No need to punish me.”
He said, “I’m just waiting for another car full of teenagers to drive up. With their phones. Their camera phones.”
She groaned, sliding her hand into his pants and digging her nails into his butt.
Brady said, “You can take my car. That’ll make the drive a little more fun.”
“Wait, wait, wait. Your car?”
He didn’t wait. He moved. Long and slow and deep, and then quick and shallow. And long and slow again.
He stopped, breathing hard and pushing the finish back.
He said, “You can drive my car when I’m not in it.”
Cassandra said, “Ohhhhhhh, yes!”
Brady said his own, “Ohhhhhhh, yes,” and collapsed on top of her.
His blood cooled, his heart slowed. And when they’d both stopped breathing fast, Cassandra murmured, “Now that the excitement has faded, I’m realizing that this is extremely uncomfortable.”
Brady pushed himself off her, climbing off the car and noting that his knees weren’t too happy with him.
He grabbed her jeans, shaking them out and throwing them up to her. She scooted to the edge of the roof and he helped her down.
She pulled her jeans up and said, “Well, cross that off the list. Don’t need to do it again.”
“Let’s just cross all of Mulholland off the list. We don’t need to come back up here.”
She smiled, then sighed. “It’s not going to work, Brady. This. Us. It’s just for fun, just a little distraction.”
“You already said yes.”
“I wasn’t saying yes to you. It was more of a ‘I’ll have what she’s having’ yes.”
“You were saying yes to the car.”
She grinned. “I might have gotten a little carried away thinking about zipping along in your car. But there’s the big problem of Argentina, remember? If I get in your car without you, I’m not coming back.”
“You will.”
“I won’t. I won’t come back, I won’t stop.” She nodded her head. “Except for the occasional messy burrito and the more frequent speeding tickets.”
&nbs
p; “Is Shane going to go with you?”
She’d been happy and playful, but she froze when he said that.
He said, “I have no one. You have half of someone. Half of him plus half of me equals as close as you’re going to get.”
“And you? What are you going to do with only half of me?”
He looked at the top of his car. “I’ll make do.”
He smiled at her.
When she didn’t smile back, he said, “Half of you is twice as much as I deserve.”
“You really want this?”
He nodded. He did.
Peace had turned out to be impossible to fight.
She crossed her arms and leaned against the hood, staring out at the city. “If I do this, I want it to be clear that I’m only using you. Your money, your body.”
“My car.”
She looked at him and nodded. When he nodded back, she pushed herself off the car, opening the driver-side door and saying, “Are you going to pay for the speeding tickets?”
“No. But I’ll pay for the gas.”
When Brady woke the next morning in Cassandra’s bed, her alarm blaring loud enough to wake the neighbors, he stared at the ceiling. Ran his hands along the sheets.
Seven hours, again. No dreams, no screaming.
He turned his head and found Cassandra watching him.
Six years. Six years of wishing he’d died, too. Six years of trying to punish himself. Six years of reliving that one moment that had changed everything.
He didn’t remember the accident, not during the day.
But at night, he dreamed, and he didn’t know if it was real or if it was a story his subconscious had made. Because a man couldn’t destroy his whole world and not remember it.
He pushed the sheet off, and Cassandra said, “I’m never getting rid of you, am I?”
He stopped, poking his internal wounds. They were still there, he could feel it. But it hurt a little less, as if it was finally healing. No longer raw, no longer infected.
He didn’t know why he’d been given this reprieve. All he knew was he would grab it with both hands. He’d denied himself the oblivion of alcohol, the flying freedom of coke, but this he couldn’t fight. Because it didn’t feel wrong.
It felt…not like forgiveness, but acceptance. It felt like what was next.
He said, “It might come back.”
Cassandra said, “I’m not that lucky.”
Brady blinked, then couldn’t help it as his lips tipped up. His smile grew, and hers answered, until they were both lying there grinning at each other.
He said, “Neither am I.”
She rolled toward him. “What are you talking about? You get all this,” she waved her hand down her body, “and all it’s going to cost you is your car.”
He laughed. The first time in six years he didn’t try and stop it, and then he did it again.
“You’re right. That is pretty lucky.”
And then they both got lucky.
Shane had given Christian a few days to himself. To miss what he’d found, to see what he wanted to give up.
Because Christian didn’t want Shane or his love.
Shane already knew, and was trying to give Christian time to figure out, that you can’t fight yourself. That you can’t be anybody but yourself.
Shane had been lucky. His mother hadn’t cared one jot that her son was gay. And if his father had cared, he’d hidden it well before he’d passed on. But Shane thought that the man had loved his son. Had loved everything that made him Shane and wouldn’t have changed anything about him.
Shane had had unconditional acceptance and love since the moment of his birth. Had never been made to feel that something was wrong with him.
Shane would give that to Christian. He would love everything about him. Love that he was careful and cautious. Love the daily struggle that had made him who he was.
And he would give Christian as much time as he could, it was just Shane Wilder wasn’t a very patient man.
Christian opened his door, his hazel eyes cautious and his brown hair brown, and said, “You were going to give me a week.”
“I know. Two days was all I could last. I froze my car keys in the ice tray last night, which was why you got a third night.”
Christian smiled like he knew he shouldn’t give Shane any encouragement but just couldn’t help it.
Shane said, “I want you to meet my friends. Brunch with Kenny and Tom, and then we’ll swing by and say hello to Cass. See if Dear Penthouse is there because her exact words were, ‘He’s big, he’s tailored, and he has a scar.’”
Christian sighed. “Shane.”
Shane sighed. “Christian.”
“I would love to meet your friends, I would love to be one of those friends. But you want more than that.”
Shane nodded. He wasn’t going to lie about it. “I do. And so do you. You just won’t let yourself.”
He grabbed Christian’s hand, holding on even though it was tense, even though Christian jerked. “So, I’ll take friends. For now.”
Christian pulled at his hand. “And this is being friends?”
“Yes. I hold Cass’s hand.”
“This is different.”
It was different. And it wasn’t because their attraction was one-sided, either.
But Christian couldn’t say it. Couldn’t say that he was attracted to Shane.
“Come meet my friends, Chris. ‘Resistance is futile.’”
And there was that pinched smile again on Christian’s face. Like he thought Shane was wonderful and fun, he just didn’t think he should think it.
Should, should, should.
Oh, how Shane hated should. Shane wondered just who came up with all these shoulds.
Shane stayed silent, hard though it was, and let Christian fight himself.
Christian finally said, “Don’t think that you can quote Star Trek at me and get me to do whatever you want.”
Shane sighed theatrically and tugged Christian out the door. “‘I find your lack of faith disturbing.’”
Christian’s smile was a little bigger, the pinch a little smaller, and Shane said, “I know. You prefer Star Wars.”
When they got to the car, Shane let go of Christian’s hand, and it wasn’t his imagination that the contact lingered; the reluctance to let go wasn’t one-sided.
Shane decided he wasn’t beating his head against a door that would never open. He just was beating his head against a door that might not ever open.
Kenny and Tom were already at brunch, sitting down side by side. They’d been “married” for years. Years before it had been legal for them to be, and they’d been one of the first couples in California to tie the knot when the state had granted them the privilege. The first time around.
They’d cried for the other couples who had missed their chance when it had been taken back, and cheered yet again when the Supreme Court upheld the decision that Proposition 8 was unconstitutional.
Kenny always said it was necessary to be a lawyer if you were gay today, so you could understand what was going on. Or “married” to one. Or, finally, married to one.
Shane bent to kiss their cheeks. Kenny, looking like he’d rather be in Hawaii, his brightly colored shirt sporting parrots. Tom in his double-breasted suit, even on a Sunday.
Tom patted his mouth tidily and peered at Christian. “And who is this? I was preparing myself for Cassandra’s sarcastic comments.”
Kenny chortled. “You mean, coming up with your own. But put them away for now because this looks like a nice young man.”
Shane held a chair out for Christian, and he was not the only one at the table who noticed the pause before Christian took it.
“This is Christian. And he is a nice, young man. From Utah.”
Kenny’s eyes flicked down to Christian’s plaid shirt. “Utah!”
Tom said, “A sad business there right now.”
Christian said, “I do think most people were surpr
ised when gay marriage became legal. I would have sworn it would be the last state to extend marriage to same-sex couples.”
Tom agreed. “They passed a law to prohibit it.”
Kenny said, “But it is exactly what happened in California. It shouldn’t be too long before it is legal again.”
“It took five years to make its way through the courts for California. I doubt it will happen any faster for Utah.”
Kenny sipped his cappuccino and slipped his hand into Tom’s. “Five long years. But for a moment, all things were possible, and some couples were able to take advantage.” He sighed. “When we heard the news, I was so excited but Tom said to wait and watch. I detest when he is right.”
Tom smiled slightly. “My dear, it happens so infrequently one would think you could just muddle through until I was wrong again.”
Kenny raised an eyebrow at Shane and Christian. “One would think.” He waved his hand in the air in front of him. “But enough of that. We are in California, where the birds are chirping, the smog is choking, and young lovebirds can sit stiffly next to each other. Just where did the two of you meet?”
Shane nearly groaned as the strawberry-covered waffles were placed in front of him. The whipped cream leaned precariously, the nuts covered it liberally. He said, “At a wedding reception,” and then filled his mouth with a large bite.
Kenny grimaced at him, then said, “Not Cassandra’s wedding reception, I hope.”
Shane closed his eyes, partly to enjoy the waffle, partly in shame.
He swallowed and hung his head. “Yes. I left her there, with her family. In purple!”
Kenny shook his head. “Gasp! She will never forgive you.”
Tom said, “Of course she’ll forgive him. Despite her mouth, she has a heart that is big and resilient. And all she has to do is look at these two to know her sacrifice was worth it.”
Kenny and Shane exchanged a look, and Kenny stage-whispered behind his hand, “Alas. He is wrong again and all is right with the world.” Kenny turned to Christian, trying to include him in the conversation. “And what did you think of our dear Cassandra? I see you survived the experience.”
Christian shook his head and Shane said, “He hasn’t met her. Yet.”
