Page 15

CHAPTER 15

Geo

The minute I saw Zebulon Ingram standing in front of his red pickup truck, all dark features and glistening golden skin, reality hit me like a sledgehammer.

Mateo nudged my shoulder.

“New demographic?”

I nearly choked on my own words, because suddenly, I found it hard to speak.

“Uh huh,” I said as Mateo chuckled.

“You should go.”

“I should go,” I repeated, blinking as I came back to the here and now.

“We should all hang out later,” he called out, and I nodded in response, feeling both flustered and overwhelmed at the idea of my past and my present colliding.

Not that I think the guys would be shitty or anything, in fact, I’m pretty sure, given their advice and their support, they’d be all over Zeb if I brought him around.

Which somehow only makes me feel more vulnerable, more anxious.

Maybe it’s just best if I keep him to myself a little while until I get a grip on this whole new demographic thing.

My parents aren’t exactly anti-queer or anything, but it was heavily implied that same-sex relationships were not seen in the same way traditional relationships were in our house.

I often wondered what my parents would have said if I came home one day and said “I’m gay!”, but when I thought about it then, it was more or less teenage angst over the control my mother kept over me.

Then, it was a question of, “what if” in the sense that I thought at times, I’d do anything to get away from my parents because I felt like they were suffocating me with their idealistic image they felt God wanted me to represent.

But now.

.

.

Now it’s like for the first time I’m seeing everything from an entirely new perspective.

Including the sinfully attractive man who’s taken the place of the young adult I once knew.

The entire ride home, I couldn’t stop gawking at him while we sang along to all the songs we loved.

Even though I’d seen his photos, watched his YouTube videos, even though I knew what I was walking into, I don’t think anything could have prepared me for how it felt to see him again.

To hug him.

Once, we were like peanut butter and jelly.

We just.

.

.

worked.

Despite the age difference between us, Zeb got me, and he accepted me for who I was, and that was mutual.

It really was the easiest friendship I’d ever had.

Back then, I wouldn’t have thought twice about hugging him, because we were just close and he was like a part of the family.

But now.

.

.

God strike me down, I didn’t want to let go of him.

I liked how it felt in a way that I know can’t be classified as friendly.

His hold was tight, warm, and even if he didn’t look the same, the familiarity was there in the way he smelled; like vetiver and tonka beans mixed with teakwood.

He smelled like home, and I just wanted to close my eyes and dig my fucking grave in those much larger, golden arms.

It wasn’t awkward, at all, like I thought it would be, and it soothed something fractured inside of me, while at the same time, it felt like some invisible wall within me and around us had crumbled.

We sang the entire way home, to his house, and for the first time in a long time, I felt like me.

I’d watched him intently as he led me around his house, trying to picture what the last ten years had been like for him.

Because for me, they were so fucking lonely.

Sure, I released five albums, toured the world with Mage Of Mercy twice, and won a slew of awards, but at the end of the day, it was just me.

When you’re chasing your dreams, trying to build the life you so desperately want, you never realize that you’re missing out on life as it’s happening.

Not until you cross your threshold into nothing but silence, or crawl into bed alone knowing you sacrificed everything for it.

Katy never talked about Zeb when I called her, and I never asked about him, either.

It was sort of an unspoken rule, because my sister knows more than anyone how badly I regret how things panned out when I left.

My decision to leave was the hardest decision I ever made, but I knew it was the right one at the time.

But I’ll always feel some deep remorse over it, knowing I burned some bridges in the process.

At least, I thought I had, but now.

.

.

Now, as I stand in Zeb’s guest bedroom, inches away from him, I have to wonder if perhaps some bridges are capable of being repaired.

Or perhaps, renovated into something new.

Something better.

I’ve never been the best when it comes to relationships in general.

Most of my girlfriends were of the outgoing, bubbly, and confident variety, which was a blessing because it meant that they were also the type to pursue me.

And as a sex-starved twenty-something who felt stifled by his overprotective, image obsessed Christian parents, I think I would have said yes to just about anyone at the time even if they walked up to me out of nowhere and said, “Hey, you’re cute, Geo Graves! You’re my boyfriend now!”

Desperate people do desperate things, right?

I know Mateo is right, I do need to do my research.

To know for sure.

I mean, watching porn once, for the first time in general, might skew my results, right?

Except, I know I have more evidence than just the one video.

I’ve got my fantasies, and those have only gotten more intense over the weeks, even before I watched the porn.

And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy it because it feels really fucking good all of a sudden.

Like, I actually enjoy it.

And there’s also the thick tension and the lump in my throat when I looked at Zeb in the guest bedroom and realized he was close enough to fucking kiss.

Thank the lord my sister texted me.

I’m slightly afraid of what might have happened if she didn’t.

A hundred emotions and thoughts filter through my brain as I try to process everything.

Do I want to kiss him?

I think about Duncan’s admission from the other night, and the fact I can’t say no, makes me feel a certain sense of nervousness that is on par with the guilt I used to feel when I used to pleasure myself.

Sure, I still feel some guilt when I masturbate now, but that guilt is more or less because I am slightly worried I’m forming an unhealthy attachment to my cock now that getting to the finish line is easier, than it is about what I’m thinking about while I’m doing it.

I can’t say with full certainty, no, I don’t want kiss him.

But I’m not going to assume just because he’s gay, he’d want to kiss me either, even if it’s just to.

.

.

you know.

.

.

help me figure this out.

That sounds selfish, right?

I’m not even sure if or how I want to approach the topic with him.

Would he do it?

For scientific purposes?

Would I like it if he did?

Shit, what if I like it and he doesn’t?

What if I’m a terrible kisser?

That’d be super fucking awkward.

My girlfriends never said I was bad, but they never said I was good, either.

I decide to stuff the raging mid-life crisis thoughts down as he parks the car at Carl’s Cantina.

I didn’t even notice that we’d arrived, too tied up in my own insanity, I guess.

Zeb shoots me a glance.

“You okay?”

I unbuckle my seat belt, heading for the door.

“Yeah, of course. Just, uh... kind of dissociated there for a bit.”

Zeb climbs out, jogging around the vehicle and opening my door before I can, and I look at him where he stands.

I step down and he slams the door shut.

Thankfully, my sunglasses and hat keep me somewhat incognito enough that I don’t think we’ll be bothered too much, which I’m thankful for.

After last night’s shenanigans and today’s myriad of confusing thoughts and emotions, I am more than ready to eat my feelings.

The host sits us down quickly, and I don’t hesitate to pull up a chair, burying my head in the menu.

“What can I get you boys to drink?” Our waitress asks, and I don’t miss the way she bats her eyelashes at Zeb.

I feel a pang of jealousy that I know is totally unfounded.

To his credit, he doesn’t even blink.

But it strikes me like lightning, nonetheless.

“Probably just a beer and a water,” he says nodding to me.

“What about you?”

I take one look at him, then the bar.

“You have sour apple martinis?” I ask.

“With the little cherries?”

The waitress smiles.

“Absolutely, sugar.”

I nod with a grin.

“I’ll take one of those, please.”

I don’t miss the way Zeb shakes his head.

“What?” I ask innocently.

“I want to see what all the fuss is about.”

“Really?” He laughs and I shrug as the waitress heads to grab our drinks.

Across the room, I see a couple patrons socializing.

A man and a woman in the corner taking selfies, another couple sharing a plate of nachos, and in the far left corner.

“So, uh... you come here often?” I attempt to make conversation, even though I know I’m terrible at it.

“Not as often as I like for leisure. But I play here a lot.”

“Yeah, Katy said you were kind of a big deal around these parts,” I say.

I don’t miss the way his eyes glisten with excitement.

“Really? She said that?”

Okay, so I may have Googled him a bit more.

Okay, maybe more than a bit, but I don’t need to tell him that because then he might actually think I am a pervy, creepy, old man.

And I really don’t want him to think I’m any of those things.

“Yeah. I, uh, saw some of your recent stuff. On your YouTube page,” I offer as our waitress sets down our drinks.

Zeb chews his bottom lip as he reaches for his beer.

The waitress takes our orders, and it takes entirely too long for my liking.

But once she’s gone, I take a sip of my martini, puckering my lips from the tart taste.

It’s like drinking a cold, liquid version of a jolly rancher.

But I kind of like it.

“Yeah. You sound great, really,” I say as I let the sour concoction coat my throat.

“Yeah? You think so?” he asks, smiling from ear to ear.

“I mean, you always sounded great to me. Even back then.” I spin my cherry around the green potion by its stem.

“But now...” I let my voice trail off as I take another sip of my drink.

“Now, what?” he asks.

He shifts in his seat, which draws his stool a little closer to me.

I look up at him, at his bright green eyes, the way his dark hair falls across his temple.

The way he twists his lush, full lips.

“Now, it fits. The deep, sexy voice, I mean.” I feel a flush creep up my cheeks the minute I say it, and I turn in my seat if only to avoid the look on his face, because I suddenly feel like a baby bird that’s been dropped out of their nest.

“So you think my voice is sexy, huh?” He chuckles, nudging me with his shoulder.

I turn to look at him, realizing he’s gotten closer.

“Yeah. It suits you. And your music, of course.”

“Mhmm.” He raises an eyebrow.

Is he.

.

.

is he flirting with me?

“So, uh, besides singing sexy covers on Youtube, uh, what else have you been up to?” I ask, running a hand through my hair.

God, I suck at this small talk shit.

Zeb shrugs.

“Not much, really. Just the music, mostly.”

“Drinking with my sister.”

Zeb laughs, shaking his head.

“Yeah, that, too.”

I take another sip of my martini.

“So are you, like, seeing... anyone?” I throw out carefully.

“Or, you know, in the last ten years, in general?”

Zeb cocks his head to the side.

“There were a few people, but uh, nothing serious.” He pauses, his beer halfway to his lips.

“You?” he asks.

I purse my lips.

“There were a few women, but, uh... nothing serious.” I let out a frustrated sigh.

“Still waiting?” he asks, his gaze dipping to the warm steel band around my ring finger, and I feel the weight of his question in a way that is terrifying and new.

“For the right woman, I mean?” He chokes a little on his beer, smacking his chest to clear it.

“Just waiting for the right demographic , I guess.” I shift my weight in the chair, feeling strangely on the spot.

He narrows his gaze.

“What?”

“Never mind,” I say, shaking my head.

I look at my martini, and immediately, I regret my decision to drink this damn thing because the words that come out of my mouth next are completely beyond my brain’s control.

“How come you never told me you were gay?” I say, fixating my gaze on him.

I watch his smile fade, his eyes darken.

“It was an accident. Katy?—”

Zeb’s jaw tenses, and immediately, I reach out, setting my hand on his arm.

His gaze flashes to mine.

“It just sort of came out the other night after the sour apple martinis, and I just?—”

I let out a breath as I watch Zeb’s jaw tense, his eyebrows furrow.

Fuck!

“Somehow I am not surprised,” he says, letting out a breath, shaking his head slightly.

“Hey, I told you I’m cool with it. I just?—”

“You just what?” he says, his voice thick with panic.

I know panic better than anyone.

I squeeze his arm, imploring him with my gaze.

“I just... thought we were close, you know. I thought... I thought you would have told me something like that.”

Zeb stares at my hand where it rests, then he glances up at me.

“I didn’t think you wanted to know,” he says, his voice serious.

“Zeb...”

He slides his arm from underneath me.

“When?” I ask softly.

“Three years after you left.”

The temporary stitch unravels itself in my heart.

“You could have called me, you know,” I say.

Zeb takes a swig of his beer.

“What was I gonna say, Geo?” His voice is thick with emotion and I watch the way he rubs his arm, his large hand settling where mine was only a minute ago.

The desire to reach out and touch him is overwhelming.

To make him feel better, to make him understand I’m not angry with him.

I just feel like I should have been there for him.

But I can be there for him now, right?

“You could have called me, too, you know,” he says gruffly.

It’s my turn to sigh deeply and I take another sip of my martini, swallowing hard.

“I didn’t think you wanted anything to do with me,” I admit.

Zeb sighs.

“I didn’t.”

I look down at my hands, gripping my drink.

“But I still wanted to hear my friend’s voice all the same,” he says, his voice barely a whisper.

The waitress drops off our food, and I let out a sigh of relief.

I look at Zeb as he squeezes a lime on his tacos, and I feel the weight of the world on my shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” I say, and he stops.

His lips turn up in the slightest ghost of a smile.

“I know. I’m sorry, too,” he replies.

There is a solid silence between us, and I take a bite of my burger, relishing in the tart sauce and pickles for the moment.

“What happened in the past, it’s... it’s in the past, right?” he says quietly, drawing my attention.

I lick my lips as I look at his deep, green eyes.

The way his eyebrows furrow.

“You’re here now.”

He passes me the hot sauce for my fries without my asking, and my heart lifts a little.

It feels like an olive branch, but it also feels like so much more.

“I’m here now,” I agree, my heart in my throat.

He gives me a soft smile, and the stitch starts to repair itself again.

“So, make it up to me now.”

I think a lot about Zeb’s words as we head back to his place to shower and get ready to meet my parents and my sister for dinner and cocktails.

Thank God there will be alcohol, because I’m not sure I’d be able to do this sit down family dinner with my parents without it, given that the day’s already been pretty emotionally taxing.

I glance at Zeb, noting the way his dark hair blows in the wind, his facial hair stark against his pronounced, tanned jaw, the length of his thick lashes, set against the desert sky.

So make it up to me now.

God, where do I start?

My phone goes off, and I see that it’s Mateo.

How’s your research going?

I glance at Zeb, tapping out my reply as The Used’s I Caught Fire blares through the speakers.

It’s complicated.

Mateo texts me back quickly.

No, it isn’t.

You’re just overthinking it.

I huff out an aggravated sigh.

Easy for him to say.

Zeb casts me a look.

“Who’s that?”

“Mateo.”

I don’t miss the way Zeb’s hand grips the steering wheel or the way his jaw sets.

What does he have against Mateo?

Mateo texts me back.

I don’t know how to do any of this, Mateo.

Literally any of it.

“What’s he want?” Zeb asks.

“Just checking to see how things are going,” I say.

It’s not a complete lie.

“You guys are pretty close, I take it?” he asks smoothly.

I shift uncomfortably in my seat.

“Yeah, I guess he’s kinda like the closest thing I have to a best friend in the biz.” I shrug.

“We’ve been on tour a couple of times together.”

Zeb grips the steering wheel as my phone chirps.

I look down at the screen.

Dare says you should do “the lean.”

What the fuck is the lean ?

I text him a question mark.

When you’re alone, feeling comfortable, lean into his space.

If he leans in, too, it’s a pretty good indicator he probably wants you to kiss him.

My cheeks heat and I slam my phone down in my lap, turning to look out the window.

The reality of what we’re talking about hits like a thousand bricks.

“What’s he saying?” Zeb asks as he stops at a red light.

“Nothing.” I glance back at Zeb, who is raising an eyebrow at me, and I feel my phone vibrate against my cock.

Which clearly has a mind of its own.

“Doesn’t look like nothing,” he replies.

“Just the usual bullshit.” I force a smile.

Zeb nods slowly.

“Okay.”

Once he takes off again, I look at my phone.

Dare says you got this.

I chew my bottom lip, hoping he’s right.