Page 18 of In the Middle of No(ah)where (Rockport Ridge #2)

Marcus

W hen Noah pulls his sleeve up, the first thing I notice is the discoloration of his skin.

It takes my brain a second to process what I'm seeing.

Are those…cuts? Did he do them himself? Some of them look old.

Others are newer, pink still splashed around the edges.

It's not until he pulls the sleeve a little higher that I notice the more pronounced scar leading underneath the cuff.

Oh, my sweet boy.

I'm at a loss for words. If I open my mouth, I may sob. My eyes lock onto his as I remove my gaze from the scars.

"Noah." His name comes out as a whisper, and the only thing on my mind is keeping him safe.

In my mind, this boy has been mine since the day we met at the LGBTQ+ center years ago.

He's never been far from my thoughts. I feel a tear slide down my cheek, and I don't wipe it away.

I scooted out of the booth because I just wanted to be close to him.

The only thing I can think of is getting this boy into my arms. I notice his face drop a little.

Disappointed. When I slide back into the booth next to him, I lift my arm, and he scoots closer to fold himself into my chest. No words are exchanged, just an understanding.

As the minutes tick by, I feel Noah's body relax under my arm–the weight of his secrets lifting.

The Bamboo Garden, once a restaurant, has been transformed into a sanctuary—a haven where the two of us can begin to rebuild the bridge that time and circumstance destroyed.

As Noah shares his past, the noise and bustle around us seem to fade into the background. Extras in a movie scene.

After paying the check, I escort Noah back to my car where, on the drive, we sit in silence with Noah's warm hand tucked inside mine. The silence between us is calm.

"I had a nice time tonight," Noah tells me while looking out the windshield.

"Me too. Again…thank you for sharing all that with me. I hope you know that the only thing that changes is how much closer I feel to you because of it," I try to reassure him.

He nods.

As I pull in front of his apartment complex, I park the car before shifting to face him.

"Noah. Look at me." I command softly. His blue eyes find mine.

My hand cupped his face, my thumb brushing against the stubble on his jaw.

"You are beautiful inside and out. I've really enjoyed my time getting reacquainted. Can I see you again?"

A grin tugs at Noah's lips. "Really? I mean…yeah, of course."

"Good. I'm going to kiss you now."

And before Noah can respond, he leans in and meets me halfway.

His lips brush softly against mine. I angle my head and take his mouth deeper, sliding my hand to the back of his head, weaving my fingers into his locks, and tugging slightly, causing him to gasp.

A quiet moan leaves his mouth as my tongue finds his.

Tasting the sweetness of the orange chicken he had for dinner.

Pulling back to nip at his lower lip, I smile when I look into his lust-filled eyes.

I stare at him, knowing that I won't be taking it further tonight. We both need time to process such a heavy first date.

I lean back in my seat to take a breath before undoing my seatbelt, and he does the same. Before this little make-out session goes too far, I open the door and step around the car to open his.

"And they say chivalry is dead," he tells me with a smirk, grabbing my hand and letting me pull him out.

"Never."

When we get to his door, he starts fidgeting with his keys, and a small laugh escapes me. "Relax, I'm not coming in. I just wanted to walk you to the door. You know, chivalry and all," I tease.

"Thanks again for a great evening. Make sure you text me when you get home." He tells me with a soft laugh, reminding me of my worries from the zoo the other day.

"Yes, Daddy," I toss back, and the words sound so foreign on my tongue that I almost cringe saying them.

"No, no, no way. I am definitely not a daddy."

"Good. Because it would be hard to have two Daddies in this relationship…not impossible, but challenging." I give him a little wink. "Now, get your teeth brushed and in bed by eleven. You've got work in the morning."

Noah steps up, wraps his arms around my torso, and buries his head in my neck. His body relaxes against mine. If my taking charge and setting a few quick rules is getting this kind of reaction, what would it be like to really be his Daddy?

“Would you…can you…I mean, I know it's only–"

Noah stumbles for the right words, but the blush on his cheeks is giving away a lot more than he thinks. If I'm reading the room correctly, "Yes. I would love to get you tucked into bed." I give him a kiss on the cheek.

After Noah has brushed his teeth, he slips into some solid green PJs and a graphic long-sleeved t-shirt displaying a group of aliens on the front with the phrase "Aliens Don't Believe in You Either.

" Turning his lamp on and the overhead light out, I hold his sheets and blanket back so he can climb in. I sit on the edge of the mattress.

"Did you set your alarm?" I ask.

"Yeppers. I even set the backup alarm in case I accidentally hit the off button instead of snooze."

"Good. Now, snuggle in," I tell him as I pull the blanket up around his neck.

"Can you read to me?" He asks in a voice that sounds much smaller than before. From the moment we hugged on the porch, I knew he was slipping further into middle space.

I grab the book sitting on his nightstand, and of course, it has something to do with space creatures.

I lean back against the headboard, and Noah scoots closer, pulling his arm out from under the covers to wrap around my waist. I lean over and kiss the top of his head.

"Okay, Puppy, close your eyes and get some rest."

Noah snuggles in tighter, squeezing my waist. As I start reading the story about an alien who took on the form of a human girl, Noah's breaths even out as he slips into dreamland. I close my eyes briefly, relishing in the comfort of him next to me. Relishing in how this just feels…right.

???

It's been a couple weeks since our dinner, and things have been a lot more open with Noah. We talk daily, and he sends me the most ridiculous memes and GIFs. I won't tell him that I secretly love them–each one reminding me of him.

Me: Date night. U excited?

Puppy: Duh! golf ball emoji

Me: Don't be a brat.

Puppy: laughing face emoji

Puppy: U know I'm the mini-golf champion, right?

Me: Is there such a thing? Because if so, I will strip you of that title.

Puppy: LOL. U said strip.

Puppy: t-rex swinging on a stripper pole emoji

Me: Why do I have a feeling you have this costume?

Puppy: I can neither confirm nor deny this accusation .

Me: Accusation - that's a big word for you. Surprised you knew how to spell it.

Puppy: Autocorrect helped. wink emoji

Me: Brat. Need to get back to work. CU tonight .

It's Saturday evening, and the early autumn air is cool and sweet.

Noah and I are both snuggled in hoodies as we check in to get our equipment.

Twinkle lights have been hung overhead, adding to the ambiance of the whimsical mini-golf course, casting playful shadows across the meticulously manicured greens.

"Ready for an ass beating?" I ask Noah. His eyes widen, and pink blushes his cheeks before I realize what I just said. "No, I mean…crap."

Noah stops fiddling with his putter. "Oh, I know what you mean. And yes. But for now, I'll just win at mini-golf." He responds with a wink before placing his bright green ball on the indented space to tee off.

Noah leans over to putt the ball, glances over his shoulder at me, smirks, and shakes his rounded tight ass. With him nowhere near middle space, this is going to be a long, heated eighteen holes.

Noah's swing is smooth and effortless—a fluid motion.

I look on as Noah's eyes follow the trajectory of his ball, a concentration that he spoke of not having when his brain gets chaotic.

That subtle vulnerability he sometimes displays is missing in this moment.

A surge of something resonates deep within.

More than just the nostalgia of being here and the memories of doing this when I was a kid.

It's the connection I feel with Noah. A renewed awareness of what we could be together.

As we play, our competitive spirits emerge.

Each putt a tiny battle. Each successful shot is a small victory.

Yet, even in our playful rivalry, a more profound connection develops.

Our hands or shoulders brush accidentally as we walk the course; our laughter intertwines to create a melody of shared joy.

Noah's flirting, I have discovered, is a tactic he's using to distract me from beating him in this game. Jokes on him. Our scores are tied after the ninth hole.

As we navigate the course of vibrant colors, tricky obstacles, and playful rivalry, the conversation stays light.

It flows like a miniature stream cutting through the eleventh hole.

Noah is in the lead by one point, thanks to the windmill on the fourteenth hole.

It's absurd they would install it that late in the game.

The banter and gloating from Noah is next level.

"What's wrong, Daddy?" he says the word in a mocking tone, "having a hard time getting it in the hole? You know they make a pill for that, right?" He giggles while lining up his ball on the fifteenth hole. There is no real bite in his words or tone.

I step up behind him, lower my voice, and turn on my Daddy-Dom persona.

I look around to ensure we're alone. Growling just behind his ear as he lines up his shot.

"Trust me, Puppy. I know how to sink into tight holes just fine.

" I see a shiver overtake his body. He turns to face me with a slack jaw.

He's been doing most of the sexual innuendo flirting, but it's time to play fire with fire.

"Keep shaking that ass at me, and you won't be finishing this game.

" I slap his ass hard before stepping back to the sideline.

"Well," I ask him in a lighter tone. "Are you going to putt, or are you just going to stand there? "

He just stands there, breathing heavily. I have him right where I want him.So I thought.

Unfortunately, my distraction didn't work as Noah focused harder and landed a hole-in-one. I get it in two putts and am now trailing behind him by two points. The next couple of holes are challenging, but I'm able to gain an extra point.

The final hole––eighteen––is next, and as we wait in line behind a family of four, our eyes and brains are trying to take it all in.

Hole eighteen is an explosion of color. A flock of bright pink flamingos guards a precarious-looking bridge.

At the same time, a miniature pirate ship lurks menacingly in a shallow water hazard.

A giant inflatable monkey holding a banana bunch sways on a tiny putting surface that threatens to send your ball tumbling into a brightly colored, oversized clown's mouth.

The air is filled with the sounds of laughter, the clinking of golf balls, and the excited squeals of children.

"If they're trying to distract us with this overstimulating scene… it's working," Noah says.

"I think they put all the themes together in one final battle. I'm not even sure what to do here." I whisper close to his ear.

"I think they were tripping on acid," he whispers back.

I'm not sure what to even say, so I say nothing. We stand shoulder to shoulder, watching the family.

"Your ball needs to go up the narrow ramp, which I believe is a drawbridge for the glittery castle.

But you have to be careful because there are no edges, so your ball could go over the side into the water.

" Noah tells me. I look down into the water and realize there are a good number of balls of every color that didn't make it to the pink sparkle castle–because why not have another awkward thing added to this final hole.

"If the monkey hits your ball, it will send it over to the clown's mouth," I warn after noticing what happened to the mom in the group ahead of us.

"That thing's creepy," Noah says.

"Just that one or clowns in general?"

He takes a beat.

"Clowns in general." Noah steps up to the putting green. He lines up his shot, and I see his shoulders rise and fall with his deep breathing.

I step up behind him and snake my arm around his waist, pulling him to my chest. I bury my face in his neck and press a kiss on his soft skin. Noah lets out a soft moan, but his body relaxes. I release him, and he takes his shot.