Page 18

I don’t know if I’m getting any sleep tonight.

I turn one way on the couch and every beat of my heart feels like Anthony’s breath on my cheeks again as we kissed.

I turn the other way and I feel his weight on my lap again.

I turn onto my stomach and my steel-hard dick keeps flexing and pushing into the mattress like I’m trying to fuck a hole into it.

I shouldn’t be the answer to that guy’s sexual identity crisis. I’m not just a toy for him to yank and pull on until he’s satisfied and figured out the blaring obvious: that he likes men.

The question is, does he even like me ?

Or is it just that I’m the man who happens to be there?

Aren’t I worth more than that? Don’t I deserve someone who won’t just toss me aside because he’s freaked out?

But every time I think about his sweet blue eyes, picturing the panic that pulses in them every time he looks at me, even when he tries to hide it, I’m reeled right back into his trap.

I care about him.

I relate to his sense of loss in a way I can’t put into words. Like I’ve emotionally been to the rocky bottom he’s calling home right now. And even if it’s wrong to let myself be used, I can’t stand the thought of just leaving him to his own devices, letting the guy freak out and suffer all on his own.

Maybe it’s my sense of duty that has me hesitating every time I tell myself no more with that guy. I want to protect him. To make him feel good. To help him find a sense of stability in his life that he’s been lacking for who knows how long. Forever, according to Trey and Cody. Every time he’s on his feet, something sweeps by him in life and knocks him right back down.

He needs something strong to cling to, if just for a while.

Maybe something like me.

Someone dependable. Someone to confide in. Someone who’ll weather the storm of his self-discovery journey, even if it gets messy. I care about Anthony enough to endure him.

I just hope I actually can endure it.

Y’know, before I fuck a hole in this couch.

But the more I keep tossing and turning, opening my phone, closing it again, and stuffing my face into the pillow, I also can’t escape the fact that Anthony is sometimes too fucking much. It’s like wrangling in a hurricane, spending time with him. His mood swings. His irritability. He’s a monster one second, then kissing me tenderly on a park bench the next. I can’t keep up.

Who am I kidding, acting like I could be what he needs?

You’re driving me crazy, Anthony, even when you’re not here .

Ten minutes later, I’m upstairs. There’s still light coming from the crack under the guestroom door, so I give it a knock. A grunt from Pete tells me to come in. “Wondered if I could steal your charger,” I say, poking my head in and giving my phone a wiggle.

Pete, lounging on the bed with his own phone, swings his legs around. “Come over here, dude. I’ve been thinking.”

“I just need to charge—”

“Sit.” He slaps the bed next to him.

I come inside the guestroom. My eyes flit over the mess of his eviscerated luggage and all the clothing carnage spilled out on the floor around it. “Christ. It’s just been a handful of days here and you’ve already tornadoed this nice room.”

“Almost a week actually, and I don’t hear anyone complaining except you. Sit.”

“You could still treat the room you’ve been given with a little more respect. Would it kill you to lay some socks in a drawer?”

“How’d it go with lover boy tonight?”

I meet his eyes and frown. “Lover who?” I ask dryly, swiping the charger off his nightstand.

He swipes it right back, grabs my phone out of my hand, then plugs it in for me and sets it down. “I know you took Anthony out for a date. Trey and Cody know, too. We’ve all been watching this slow-motion train wreck since we got into town.”

“Slow-motion—? The hell you talking about?”

“I just wanna know how it went, man.”

I sit down next to him on the bed, white-knuckling the edge of it. Finally I give in. “He got spooked.”

“Spooked?”

“Everything went fine until …” Should I be telling Pete this? It feels too personal, what happened tonight. My eyes keep drifting to the mess on the floor. “Nah, I don’t feel right talking about it.”

“Don’t go closing up on me before you started. What spooked him? Seeing your tree trunk? Did you almost let him blow you?”

“Why do I gotta mommy you all the time?” I mumble as I get right back off the bed and start grabbing his clothes off the floor.

Pete watches me for a little while, smirking like he knows something. “He didn’t put out? Is that it? He blue-balled you?”

“Are these even clean?” I start picking out shirts to fold.

“Cody and I got a bet going that you guys are gonna have sex by Saturday, how you’ve been eye-fucking each other all week.”

“Why’d you pack so much damned underwear?”

“We’re going to a gay dance club outta town tomorrow night, all of us, even me.” He grins. “Can’t wait to dance my stupid ass off and disappoint so many guys.”

“If I’m going, then all the guys are gonna hit on me instead, remember? Everyone on earth hits on me, according to you.”

“Ouch, savage, right in the heart,” he exclaims dramatically as he falls back, then props his head up and creeps to the foot of the bed to watch me. “Why’re you folding my underwear, weirdo?”

I sit back on my heels with a huff. “I’m not uptight,” I say to some figment of Anthony in front of me.

Pete’s confused. “Huh?”

“And I wasn’t scolding you,” I go on, still talking to Anthony. “I’m not your damned daddy .”

“You talking about Anthony? You guys have a fight?”

I sigh. “He’s just … He’s too impulsive. Flies off the hat at the drop of a handle.”

“Even your sayings are fucking each other, you’re so pent-up.”

“You have to think first before you throw fists at anyone who looks at you wrong. He’s so damned immature.” I slap a folded pair of boxers onto the stack I’ve made, then glower when the stack goes sideways. I peel off the top one and refold it. “I can’t reason with a guy like that. It’s driving me crazy.”

“Seems he’s driving you crazy in several ways.”

I snap my eyes at Pete. “You’re not helping.”

“You know what will help? Bending him over a haystack and getting it the fuck outta your system, that’s what.” I ignore him as I pull open the nearest drawer and place the stack of boxers in it. “Don’t lie and try to tell me bumping his cute bubble butt doesn’t get you hard.”

“ You’re the one saying he’s got a ‘cute bubble butt’. Why don’t you date him and bend him over a haystack?”

“Who says I won’t just to prove a point?” He laughs at the eye roll I give him, then sits up. “But seriously, though. You’ve gotta do something about it. Bumping his bubble butt’s the answer to all your problems, man, I’m telling you.”

I eye him over the shirt I’m folding. “Pete …”

“Doesn’t have to mean anything. For either of you. Just fuck it out and move on with your lives. Not telling you to wed the guy.” He makes a swipe at the shirt I’m folding, but misses. “Stop doing my laundry and talk to me.”

“Stop making a mess everywhere and I won’t have to.”

He manages to grab the shirt out of my hands, nearly falling off the bed in the effort. “I’m telling you, the second you nut in his butt , all your uptightness is gonna go away.”

I slide the last stack of clothes into the drawer, close it, then zip up his empty suitcase and lift it to its feet. “I’ll worry about my nuts, you worry about yours.”

“Alright, then. Still got that hotel chick’s number?”

“Sacrificed it like a heart to the Temple of Doom, it’s no more, burned away to ash, only Harrison Ford knows her digits now.”

Pete grips his chest dramatically. “Fuck! Why’d you gotta go and Indiana Jones me like that??”

“Because I guess I’m a sadistic, uptight laundry boy who folds his buddy’s underwear, that’s why.” I cross the room and pull my phone off the charger. “Shit, this charges fast. 40% will get me through the night.”

“Stick it in his butt, bro. Just do it. Call him up and—hey!” I’m already out of his room and heading down the hall as his voice chases me. “Bury your big hot hatchet in his big hot butt, I swear you’ll answer each other’s prayers! Bridge! Hey!”

It’s almost one in the morning when I’m back on the couch, phone balanced on my bare chest, not a sound in the house except for the muffled hum of whatever’s playing on Trey and Cody’s TV in their bedroom. I’m absently licking my lips. I stop the second I realize I’m doing it, then wonder what the hell I’m licking.

Am I trying to taste Anthony again?

Do I need to “bump his butt and get it out of my system”?

Anthony is obviously undergoing some discoveries of his own. It’s no mystery this is all new to him and I’m apparently the sexual awakening angel who woke up the desire slumbering in his heart his whole life. Sure, in a way it’s flattering, but I can’t take it as casually as Pete wants me to. If Anthony is spooked by a sober kiss on a park bench, he’s gonna need to take time to figure this whole thing out. He’ll need to go slow. He can’t just run through the bases. The guy needs to walk. Slowly. Baby crawl, at that.

And with my limited time here in this town, I may not be that guy for him, sexual awakening angel or not.

After a conversation with the bouncer at the front, the four of us move through a small lobby, which honestly reminds me of the waiting area of a restaurant, leading me to wonder if this place might’ve once served tasty Chinese food, ran out of business, and got taken over by gay men and converted into a nightclub. We go through a tacky, colorfully-lit archway into a surprisingly narrow room full of dancing bodies and flashing lights. It really is one of the oddest nightclubs I’ve been to, but since entering the place, I haven’t seen someone who looks unhappy, so it must be doing the trick for the locals and whoever comes here from the surrounding towns—like us.

Besides the glances we get as we cut through the room, what catches my eye are all the neon signs glowing on the walls. One of them is a hot pink dick. Another is a martini glass. And right by the DJ’s head: a huge red smiley face with its tongue sticking out.

The second I see it, I recognize it. The sticker that fell off Anthony’s ass at the gas station. Does he come here? All the way out of town where no one will know? Or is it just a coincidence?

After our “date” last night, I’m not feeling like anything is a coincidence anymore involving that guy.

“What do you think??” shouts Pete at me as we cut through the crowd of dancing, half-naked men. “Isn’t it wild??”

“Smells like cat pee in here.”

“What??” The thumping music hits with enough intensity to crack walls. “Hey, let’s get drinks!”

The bartender is so busy, it’s ages before any of us have a drink in hand—minus Cody, our designated driver. Trey and Pete seem the most loose out of us, enjoying themselves as they dance and laugh by the bar. Cody has become closed up and guarded, nursing his soda, an intimidating presence as he studies the room with laser eyes. I’m acclimating to the dim yet lively atmosphere as I try my best to ignore the attention our arrival earned.

We’ve only been here for less than twenty minutes when Pete leans into me and says, “Hey, I’m gonna go outside with Cody for a sec. Think the noise is getting to him. He isn’t saying it, but he’s got that look . Keep Trey company, alright? Be right back.”

After they leave, Trey slides over to me with his vodka tonic. “It’s been ages since we’ve gone out partying like this.” Then he playfully rolls his eyes. “Married life.”

I chuckle, glancing off where Pete and Cody went. “I just hope this wasn’t too much for your husband. We could have a calmer time. Saw a billiards place just down the street. Bowling alley, too, if you don’t mind smelling like smoke and funk all night.”

“We’ll smell like that anyway here,” he points out.

I smirk and glance over the crowd. So many faces out there in the noise. Happy ones. Drunk ones. Aloof ones lost in the trance of the music. Peaceful ones, despite all the chaos around them.

I suddenly picture myself out there with Anthony. Are we finally letting loose, the two of us? Or is that some weird dream that’ll never happen? Why am I still thinking about him?

“Do … people from Spruce come to this place often …?”

Trey chuckles at my question. “Not that I know of. If they do, they don’t talk about it,” he adds with a laugh. “I heard Jimmy—one of the mayor’s sons, we should have him over while y’all are here—took his husband here once before they started dating. But they denied it, or I think they did. Marybeth isn’t the most reliable source of tea. You met her the other night, remember? From the clinic? Cody and I came here with Tanner and Billy, like, maybe a year or two ago, and all but one of the bathroom stalls were out of order, and the drinks were terrible, but we still had a nice—”

Trey has a lot more to say, but the DJ changes up the music, and half of his words get swallowed in the growling bassline. I try to follow, but my mind keeps stubbornly bringing me back to that damned Anthony, whose story I’ll probably never be able to figure out from any amount of questions. I keep gazing out at the dance floor, imagining us out there, feeling silly in doing so.

“Should we dance?” asks Trey. When I look at him, he smirks. “I see you eyeing the dance floor. You like the music?”

I laugh him off. “No, no, I was just—”

“Don’t be shy! Not a natural dancer? That makes two of us. Let’s hit the floor anyway and make the most out of our inflated cover charges.”

“No, really, it’s fine if we just …”

You’re so uptight , comes Anthony’s voice in my mind.

And Pete’s, which might be twice as annoying as Anthony’s.

Something inside me snaps. “Yeah, fuck it, let’s go,” I say, and after Trey laughs and downs the rest of his subpar drink, we ditch the bar and dive into the crowd.

I’ll admit, the alcohol sure helps me out, because otherwise, I’d be a two-by-four with zero rhythm out here. As it is, I probably still am, but with the little buzz I’ve got going, I care about it less.

We’re barely out here in the crowd for half a minute when I catch a set of familiar eyes on the far side of the dance floor closer to the DJ. It’s Anthony’s friend, the young woman with bubblegum lips and wide eyes, and she’s staring right back.

She appears as surprised to see me as I am to see her.

After a second, she lifts her fingers and wiggles them at me.

I nod back. She seems to be alone, dancing in a loose pink slip dress with her hair done up and curled tightly. Her makeup may have been nice when she got here, but it’s runny now with a large smudge under her left eye, and her skin is glossy with sweat.

Then apparently she decides to make her way to me, which is a comically difficult endeavor, falling one way or another as she dodges unpredictable arms flailing out and bodies dancing around. Twice she loses her balance and vanishes from sight entirely, only to suddenly pop back into view, blinking rapidly.

She nearly crashes into Trey when she finally arrives, clinging to him to stay upright. “Hi,” she greets me—or us, it isn’t clear.

Anthony might’ve mentioned it, but I can’t remember. “Never got your name,” I say, leaning in.

“Juniper.”

“Nice to meet you. Bridger.”

“Oh, you totally look like one!” she sings, suddenly animated.

“Really? Like a Bridger?”

“I bet you’d build really nice bridges. If you built bridges. You would probably make them really, really sturdy .”

I stifle a laugh. That makes Juniper smile for some reason. “I don’t believe anyone’s told me that before.”

Trey looks pleasantly amused, a big smile on his face as he glances from me to Juniper, probably feeling like a set piece in this strange scene between us, not even here.

“Are you looking for Anthony?” she asks me out of nowhere.

Hearing his name throws me right out of my body, like a can of secrets just spilled out at my feet.

I wonder if he told her what happened last night. Would he? Are the two of them that close, or is our fleeting park bench kiss something he’d hide?

“I wasn’t supposed to drink tonight,” she goes on before I can answer, “but then we decided to stay through Sunday, so I got us adjoining rooms at our usual place. Did you hear that part?” Still gripping Trey’s shoulder tight, she brings her face closer to mine. “Adjoining rooms. He has his own room. Without me. In case that piece of information happens to be important to you.”

Trey bites his lip to stifle laughter.

“Uh, thanks,” I mutter awkwardly, “but … I’m pretty sure I’m the last face he wants to see.”

“I think you’re the first, actually.” She rests her chin on Trey’s shoulder with a pout at me. “He’s usually fun. Tonight, he’s mister poopy pants. I even let him play his music the whole drive here instead of my ABBA and it didn’t make a difference. He just sulked the whole time. I’m pretty sure seeing you would change his mood right quick.” She smiles. “It sure just changed mine.”

Trey nods at me. “You should go find him, Bridge.”

Juniper blinks her eyes and turns, as if just now noticing the guy whose shoulder she’s been clinging to. “Oh. Hi there, Trey.”

Then Pete reappears like a magician, crashing into my side and grabbing hold of me. “My man’s out on the dance floor?! What kind of magic did you put on him, Trey?? This guy never dances!”

“It’s called two mediocre vodka tonics,” Trey returns before going to kiss his husband Cody, who has also come back and seems to be in a much calmer state of mind. “Look, babe, we just made a new friend. Meet Juniper.”

“You’re familiar,” says Cody, eyeing her. “Weren’t you at the pageant a few months ago?”

“Yeah, I’m the lucky gal who bought Anthony,” she confirms.

Cody chuckles at that. “Not a bad guy. Just had him over for dinner couple of nights ago. Hey, you should come with him next time! We’re always doing something at our house. Trey’s obsessed with cooking. And when he’s not, I’m showin’ off my grill game.”

Juniper glances back and forth between the husbands, a finger curling in her hair. “Oh, sounds like I’m gonna gain some weight.” When her eyes fall on Pete, she staggers into Trey again, turning him once more into a wall she has to clutch to stay upright. “Hi.”

Pete can give me shit all day long for not knowing when I’m being flirted with, but the second he’s in front of a pretty woman, the guy loses every ounce of swagger he claims to have. “Hey,” he greets her stiffly, eyes wide and unblinking. “Hi there.”

“Hi,” she says again, her tone turning milky sweet.

“Hey,” he repeats, now with a smile.

“Hello.” Now it’s nearly a song.

“I’m Pete. Bridger’s friend. That guy,” he says without looking at me, just throwing a thumb my way. “I like your hair.”

“It’s a mess,” she says dreamily. “I’m Junip—”

Someone slams into her back.

Juniper flies forward and crashes into Pete—specifically: into his mouth with her own mouth—and as their lips unintentionally unite, the pair fall right down to the floor. Juniper lands on top of Pete, whose arms wrap around her instinctively to catch her fall. On the floor now, they stare into each other’s eyes, as the more or less indifferent crowd continues dancing around them, oblivious.

Pete quickly snaps out of it and gets to his feet, picking up a dazed Juniper with him. “Are you okay?” he asks. “Are you hurt?”

“I think I broke my face,” she says, still in shock.

“Can I get you a drink?” he asks her. I’m not sure he heard the part about her face.

“Yeah, this dance floor is … is super dangerous,” she agrees, though I’m not convinced that’s the real reason she decides to go off to the bar with Pete, but they can’t get away fast enough.

After they’ve gone, Cody shakes his head. “Well that worked out, I guess.” He turns to me and Trey. “You guys having a good time? Or should we bounce and leave Pete with this chick? She’s okay, right? Friend of Anthony’s?”

Trey, who hasn’t stopped holding back laughter through all of this, just gives a delirious shrug. “I think your pal’s fate is sealed.”

“Really?” Cody laughs at that. “That guy’s all talk. She’s gonna devour him and he’ll love every second of it.”

I chuckle distractedly at that, glancing over my shoulder to check on wherever Pete and Juniper went.

But it’s not them I find.

Standing by the wall in a loose red V-neck shirt, hands shoved in the pockets of his blue jeans, is Anthony.

He’s all by himself.

Looking like he’s been emotionally beat up left and right.

Eyes half-closed, lips bent into a partial scowl, as he stares me down from across the room, the flashing lights of the club flicking him in and out of existence, the side of his face flashing red, then green, then blue, and back to red again.

If eyes could fuck a person, that’s what he’s doing right now. Fucking me with every flash of the club lights.

There’s no mistaking it anymore. Anthony wants me.

Bad.

But he won’t make a move. If I don’t go over there right now and break whatever spell has a hold of his every muscle, there’s no hope of figuring out what the hot fuck is going on between us.

Just as I take the first step, he bolts from the spot, causing me to stop. I look around, searching for where he went.

Trey gives my shoulder an encouraging pat. “Go after him.”

I glance at Trey, not realizing he was paying attention, too. Of course he was. He always is. “Where would he go?”

“There’s a back area, like a lounge, right by the bathrooms. Go on, Bridge, we’ll be here. But don’t sit on the black leather seats—they’re always sticky.” I give him a nod of thanks and head off, but not before he shouts, “And if you’re gonna take advantage of that totally-separate room at the motel, it’s fine with—!”

I don’t catch the rest, but I got the gist: I’ve got Mommy Trey and Daddy Cody’s blessing to stay over with my new friend in his totally unsupervised motel room.

If I can manage to find him in this dark, crowded place.

The lounge is small and square-shaped with frustratingly dim lighting and several areas to sit. There are tall decorations spread through the room—potted plants, partitions, and all sorts of other items separating the room into smaller gathering areas. For no reason at all, I wonder if this was the kitchen of that hypothetical Chinese restaurant I’m pretending used to be here. I move slowly through the room, eyes gliding from group to group. Some people are just casually chatting with their drinks. One long lavender couch is occupied by two cuddled-up men deep in conversation. I spot a bald guy on his phone who looks to be nearly in tears, perhaps just having gotten his heart broken, who knows.

I stop after circling the room three damned times. Where did he go? Was I wrong and he actually left the club? My foot starts to tap in place as I second-guess myself, frustrated. Every second I stand here, he could be getting further away.

I turn around to head back to the main room.

Only to stop short when Anthony’s scowling face appears in front of mine. “What’re you doin’ here?” he barks at me.

I sigh with relief. “Thought you’d left.”

My reaction seems to surprise him. “You wanted to see me? What’re you doing? Stalking me now?”

“What? I’m not stalking anything. I didn’t know you’d be—” I brush that aside. There’s no point anyway. “Your friend Juniper said you wanted to see me.”

“Well, she lied.”

I snort. “Did she now?”

“Yep.”

“And what’re you doing here?” I ask right back. “Looking for some other unsuspecting guy to try stuff out on? You’ve got quite a few choices …”

“Not lookin’ for anything.”

I come in closer. “Sure about that?”

He doesn’t step back. “Yeah,” he says right in my face.

I don’t know what it is that’s got him all riled up and angry at first sight, but something about that scowl on his face is seriously turning me on. “I don’t believe you.”

His upper lip twitches with agitation. “W-Well, you … you can just … just believe my ass as I walk away, then.” And with that, he turns and heads off—and my eyes drop right to his ass on cue.

Just bump his butt and get it outta your system .

Shut up, Pete.

He stops at the door to the men’s restroom and peers over his shoulder, as if to check if I’m still there. Obviously I am. “Just go home,” he says to me. “I don’t need no babysitter. I’m a grown-ass man with … with a whole Friday night ahead of me that doesn’t include lookin’ at your stupid face.”

He pushes the restroom door open and disappears inside.

I pray this isn’t an invitation to follow him into a grimy public restroom so he can try more stuff out on me. But something must possess my feet, because I go straight in after him.

I find him at the sink, faucet at full blast, staring at me hard.

“Thought you said my face was pretty.” My words echo in the cramped restroom, muffled only by the water exploding from the sink. “Now you think it’s stupid?”

He says nothing back. He just stares, still scowling in that sexy way he was before. Goddamn him and those dopey, sensitive eyes …

“I just want to be clear,” I tell him calmly, swallowing my own desire. “Crystal clear, so there’s no misunderstanding. I’m not sure what’s going on in your head … or your heart or whatever, but … I don’t judge it either way. I’m sorry for … flipping out at the park bench the other night. I don’t even care if you used me for a kiss to confirm things you may or may not be feeling about me … or about guys in general. If you want me to leave—if you want me to really leave—just say so, and I’ll go. I’ll leave this restroom. I’ll … I’ll leave this club and go on back to Spruce with the guys. And I won’t bother you anymore. Just say the word.”

A moment passes. Processing my words. Staring back at me.

Hard.

Then he twists off the faucet and comes at me.

I back away. My heels hit the restroom door.

His face stops in front of mine, lips curled with agitation.

I wait for him to shove me out of the way and finally see himself out of this restroom and out of my life for good.

Instead, he reaches for the door—and locks it.