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CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Gray

Emory held on to me as I rode into downtown Granville. He was much more relaxed than the first time he’d been on my bike.

Kind of like with sex, I thought with a smirk. Last night, I’d fucked him again, and this time, he’d come on my cock with a satisfying wail that probably haunted my brothers.

After, we’d both been too spent to do much more than clean up and collapse into my small bed for the night.

I was starting to love slumber parties.

When Emory got a text from Allison this morning asking him to go to the Goldenrod Days festival in the neighboring town of Granville, he’d asked if I might want to tag along since we’d have a little anonymity.

“I want you to meet more of my friends,” he’d said, and wild dogs couldn’t have dragged me away from his shy smile.

Emory was letting me into his life—even if it wasn’t a complete picture yet. I still didn’t know if he’d ever be brave enough to come out to his parents when that meant not fulfilling their wishes for him. Guilt and obligation had ruled his life up till now. But I really hoped this was a step in the right direction.

If I was wrong, if Emory couldn’t take that step, I was in for a hell of a heartbreak. But I’d gone through worse. Lost my parents. Lost my foster mom. Lost my brothers for a time…

I could survive losing Emory the way I’d survived everything else, but it would hurt like hell.

Which meant today was important. Showing Emory our lives could fit together was crucial to him making a decision that wouldn’t eviscerate me down the road.

Emory unwound one arm from my waist to point toward downtown, which was roped off for the festival. Vendors lined the sidewalks, selling art, crafts, and food. My stomach growled, telling me we’d have to hit those up soon.

Dogs had taken over the blocked-off street, making me do a double take as I found a place to park. “I thought this was a flower festival. Why…”

Emory chuckled. “They’re all decorated with goldenrods. Look at that poodle with the crown of goldenrods? And that little terrier with its leash covered in flowers.”

Thankfully, all the dogs were attached to owners, not running amok, but it was still a chaotic parade, considering that when you put a lot of dogs in a small space, they didn’t just trot along sedately.

There was butt-sniffing, a few snarling confrontations, and one or two pooches who’d suckered their owners into carrying them down the street.

Emory checked his phone. “Allison is in front of Glazed Holes. Come on.”

“ Glazed Holes ? Seriously?”

He snickered. “I always forget you only came back a few weeks ago. So you missed the fact that Granville rebranded itself to attract more tourism a few years ago. Glazed Holes is the former MJ’s doughnut shop. Plus, there’s Tops and Bottoms, a boutique store. Meat Market, which is the local grocer. Probably some others I’m forgetting. You get the picture.”

“Wow, and I thought Riverton was corny.”

Emory grinned and grabbed my hand, tugging me down the sidewalk. “We’ve got nothing on Granville.” He paused thoughtfully. “Except maybe our awful high school mascot.”

“The cornjerker is certainly an odd one.”

We passed a vendor selling T-shirts with goldenrods on them, another with goldenrod handmade soap, and a third—a little old lady who simply had a sign that said, Adults, ask me about my ‘golden rods’ for the bedroom!

Golden rods for the bedroom? Surely, she didn’t mean…

“Yoo-hoo!” she called. “Are you boys a couple? I’ve got the perfect thing to add some spice to your love life!”

Emory faltered, surprised at being called out. I drew him toward the booth, giving his hand a little squeeze. “This is why we came here, right?” I murmured. “No one knows us.”

He sent me a smile that made my pulse skip a beat. I was so fucking screwed when it came to this man.

“Golden rod doesn’t have to mean flower ,” the vendor told us with a saucy wink.

Emory laughed. “I think we’ve got all the spice we can handle already.”

She looked us over, gaze taking in the ink covering my arms and Emory’s toned thighs beneath the hem of his shorts.

“You’re both lucky men,” she said, handing out a business card. “If anything changes, you know where to find me.”

We both looked down at the card, which read Paula Goodman, Sensual Secrets.

“Thanks, Paula,” I said, tucking the card in my back pocket. “We’re on our way to meet someone, but you have a nice day.”

“You too, darlings! Love is love!”

Emory smiled so wide as we carried on down the street he was practically glowing.

“What is it?” I asked.

He shook his head. “I just feel so…” He grabbed a handful of my shirt and tugged me down. His lips brushed mine, and he sighed. “I can have this here, and no one cares.”

A sharp whistle cut through the air.

“Free show!” Allison called.

Marty laughed. “God, I’m the fifth wheel. Someone put me out of my misery now.”

Emory turned with an apologetic smile. “Sorry you couldn’t bring Sasha. I wasn’t sure…”

Marty waved it off. “I don’t think we’re there yet, anyway. I’m just going to console myself with as many jelly-filled doughnuts as possible.”

“Marty has a real taste for Glazed Holes,” Allison said, waggling her eyebrows.

“Don’t make it sound like that ,” he protested.

“That’s the whole point,” she said. “The owners are a total riot.”

Matteo rubbed the back of his neck, looking a little uncomfortable. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a man eye my ass so hard.”

I let the obvious joke slide by.

Matteo obviously hadn’t been paying attention to where Bailey’s gaze went the last time he was at the auto shop. My brother was lusting hard over Matteo’s fine figure. Probably best not to mention that in front of his girlfriend, though.

Emory turned to watch the parade go by. Ahead of the dogs, there were floats covered in blooms—like the Rose Parade, but on a much, much smaller scale. The festival was funny, because goldenrods looked more like a weed than a flower with a tall stem and clusters of little yellow blossoms. But it was the Nebraska state flower, and the folks in Granville had gone all out to embrace it.

Emory pointed. “Oh my god, check out the little schnauzer with the goldenrod headband. Maybe we should have brought Axel along.”

I chuckled. “Can you imagine if he tried to enter Taz into that parade? He’d be trying to eat everyone’s dick.”

“ Who’s eating dicks?” Marty asked, eyebrows rising.

“My brother’s devil of a Chihuahua,” I said darkly. “He almost got mine.”

“Poor Emory would have been so deprived,” Allison teased.

Matteo smirked. “Taz is super sweet. I don’t know why you’re afraid of him.”

“You just haven’t seen his evil side yet,” I said. “He’s luring you into a false sense of security before he gobbles your dick.”

“No one gobbles my boyfriend’s dick but me,” Allison joked.

“Allison!” Matteo exclaimed, horrified.

She laughed. “Oh my gosh, we’ve got to exorcize your Catholic guilt. We’re all adults here, babe. Emory and I tell each other everything, anyway.”

“Well, not everything,” Emory said. “Much to Allison’s disappointment.”

She made a pouty face. “I was just being a good friend by showing an interest.”

Matteo snorted. “Sure, your interest in another guy’s dick was altruistic.” He didn’t seem particularly jealous, at least. Then he added, “It’s a good thing Emory and Gray are having so much sex, or I might get worried.”

“How do you know they’re having so much sex?” Marty asked.

Matteo smirked. “Because Holden and Bailey bitch constantly.” He held up finger quotes. “‘They’re so loud! I’m losing sleep. Even with headphones, I can still hear them!’”

Emory covered his reddening face. “Oh my god. I can never have sex again.”

“I hope to hell that’s not true,” I muttered. “Just wait. When Bailey gets a boyfriend, I am going to give him so much shit for this.”

“Just Bailey?” Emory asked while we walked back to the Glazed Holes stand so Marty could get another jelly-filled roll.

“Holden doesn’t date, as far as I know.” I lowered my voice so only he’d hear my words. “He’s got touch aversion.”

His eyes widened. “I noticed he kept his distance from people, but…” His brow furrowed. “Didn’t he shake my dad’s hand at the bank?”

“He can push through it for less personal touches. When it’s necessary, anyway. But if you catch him off guard, or it’s something more intimate…”

“Oh. That’s so sad.”

“He’s been through a lot. It used to be a lot worse. It’s just a long, slow healing process.”

Emory nibbled his bottom lip. “Do I want to know why he has this aversion?”

“You really don’t,” I said darkly.

“It puts things in perspective, doesn’t it? We’re luckier than we know. So much suffering happens, sometimes to our family or friends or neighbors, and people just eat doughnuts, and laugh at cute dogs, and go on as if it’s just another day.”

I squeezed his hand. “People aren’t built to bear the weight of the world every day. We’d all go mad. Or get so depressed we’d want to die too.” I caught his gaze. “But we don’t forget either. It’s always there. The people we’ve loved and lost. The pain we’ve endured. The reason we should appreciate these small pleasures.”

He smiled tentatively. “Yeah. I guess I owe him that much, don’t I? To enjoy the life he didn’t get to have.”

“Yes.”

Allison returned from the stand, holding a carton of doughnut holes. “You two are looking serious.”

“Just appreciating what an amazing day this is,” Emory said. “I’m so glad we could all get together like this. I wanted you all to get to know Gray. To see…”

She smiled and slipped an arm around him, giving him a quick squeeze. “Happiness looks good on you, friend.”

“You too,” he said, his gaze darting to Matteo, who was standing a few feet away with Marty, his eyes flitting to Allison every few seconds, looking bemused.

By the event? By the fact he’d fallen in love with such an amazing person? Maybe all of the above.

I could relate.

My heart stuttered. I could relate all too well.

A man pushing a cart loaded with flowers came by. He paused when he saw our linked hands. “Free flowers for the sweethearts.”

He pulled a few different flowers out, making quick work of arranging a small, vibrant bouquet, and handed it to Emory.

“It’s beautiful,” Emory said, dipping his nose to smell it. “Thank you.”

The florist, who was rocking purple hair, shiny lip gloss, and an appraising gaze that said he was 100 percent gay, smiled at us. “Just stop by Rainbow Garden sometime. Enjoy!”

He carried on, a sashay to his hips.

Emory smacked my arm. “Don’t look too hard.”

I kissed his temple. “Don’t be silly, golden boy. You’re the only one who makes me hard.”

“Good, because that femboy over there is making the florist look bland by comparison.”

I glanced over, and sure enough, there was a slim, lithe guy in jean shorts that barely covered his ass cheeks, fishnet stockings, chunky sandals, and an off-the-shoulder tank top that reminded me of the eighties. He wore makeup, though it wasn’t overdone, and his hair was just long enough to flop into his eyes.

“Oh, that’s Sassy Solo!” Allison exclaimed. At my blank look, she added, “Sassy is a drag queen over at Glitter Balls. She has a Facebook page. Um…” Allison’s brow furrowed as she thought. Then she snapped her fingers. “Oh yeah, his name is Kevin, and he lives here.”

Glitter Balls was a drag club and one of the few places with a name that could give Granville a run for its money. I’d never been, but Bailey had mentioned going with some friends on an eighteen-plus night.

Kevin had himself some kind of daddy. A man in his forties, wearing a gray T-shirt, had one beefy arm over the pretty boy’s shoulder. As we watched, a group came up to them—at least two more gay couples, along with a couple of women in the mix. They started talking and gesturing wildly, laughing, nudging each other—and in the middle of it all, holding hands, touching their partners casually, obviously comfortable with their sexuality in the midst of their hometown crowd.

I glanced at Emory, seeing the longing in his eyes as he watched them. It was heartbreaking to watch the emotions play across his face, but at the same time, my stomach fluttered with hope.

Maybe if Emory could see what he wanted—could see it was real and attainable—he’d find a way to embrace it.

We spent hours browsing all the vendors, visiting the quaint little downtown shops, and eating more than we should at The Stag Pub.

Before we left, we strolled through the small art show that showcased various depictions of the goldenrod: in vases, growing in gardens, thriving in wild fields, and so on.

“Maybe you should do some art for the festival next year,” I said. “Looks fun.”

“Yeah,” Emory mused. “They have a lot of festivals and art shows here. Maybe I could even do some of that tattoo art.”

“Or you could just set up and do henna tattoos,” I suggested. “Get a taste of putting ink on a man instead of just tracing it with your tongue.”

He laughed, a blush coming into his cheeks. “Maybe I should.”

It was a beautiful day with a beautiful man, and as we called goodbye to his friends, climbed on my bike, and rode into the darkness, I couldn’t help but feel like possibility stretched out in front of us, as far-reaching as the highway we traveled.

All we had to do was keep going.