Page 16 of Rhett (The Swift Brothers #3)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Rhett

I liked the feel of Tripp’s hand on mine. That’s what I keep thinking about as we stand at the counter together, rinsing off dishes and putting them in the dishwasher.

I liked it.

I liked it.

I liked it.

The touch was so simple. I don’t know that there was anything specific to like, or why I did, or why I’m thinking about it. Why each time his warm, strong arm brushes against mine, goose bumps run the length of my body.

The feeling is completely foreign to me, not just because it’s with a man, but because I don’t typically feel that way at all, about anyone. Male or female. Not even my ex-wife.

“What’s your favorite Italian food?” Tripp asks.

“All your favorite questions are about food.”

He shrugs. “I’ve asked about seasons and other things, but what can I say, I enjoy eating.”

We chuckle as he turns off the water.

I lean against the counter, not sure what else to do with myself. “Baked ziti. My mom used to make it.” Memories I keep locked away begin to push to the surface. “Sometimes, when my father wasn’t around, I would make it with her. We’d laugh and cook… Normally it was Morgan who did things like that with her, so it was fun when I did, but it was mostly baked ziti.”

“Why only when your dad wasn’t around? And why was it usually Morgan?”

“Because Morgan didn’t care what our dad thought. He was closer to Mom. It was my fault, not theirs. There were times they would ask me to join them, both Morgan and Mom, but I always said no, and eventually Morgan stopped asking.” Why wouldn’t he? All I did was show him I wouldn’t choose him. That I’d always choose Dad or school or anything else over my own brother.

“And your dad?” he prompts, then picks up a hand towel and begins…drying my hands. My breath catches, and I know I should pull away, but I don’t, don’t want to. I need this, need something .

“Helping my mom in the kitchen wasn’t in his plans for me. He kept me on a strict schedule with responsibilities he deemed important—my education, extracurriculars, volunteering, anything that made me look good to others because that made him look good.” It takes me a moment to realize I’m answering his questions. I wouldn’t have done that before, and maybe I wouldn’t have with anyone else. Or hell, maybe I’m reading too much into the situation, and it’s just that my mouth is getting more used to letting words out because of talking with Talia.

Tripp sets the towel down and lets go of my hands. I immediately miss the contact, my brain spinning with what that could mean and why I’m feeling it now when I never have my whole life.

“I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair to you.”

“At the time, I thought I wanted it. I would have done anything to make my father proud, to show him I could be just like him.” Now he disgusts me, and parts of myself disgust me too.

“That’s because he was your dad, and you were a child. You didn’t know better. You didn’t understand the consequences. You just wanted to make him proud. He should have known better. Not you.”

I shake my head. Everything he says is true. I understand that. I know it, but I have a lifetime of trauma and learned behavior…and part of me still wishes he’d been different. That feels guilty talking about him this way. I have to bite down my urge to snap at Tripp, to take my anger at my dad and myself out on him, but I don’t want to do that to him. I don’t want to do it to anyone. I’ve done it too much with Morgan and East. “I don’t want to talk about him.”

“Okay.” His gaze goes even softer. “Can we make baked ziti one day, though? You could teach me how. Maybe Meadow-bug too. If you don’t want to, you don’t have—”

“Yes,” I blurt out.

“Perfect. What’s your favorite color?”

“Huh?” I meet his cobalt gaze.

“You said everything I ask you is about food, so I’m shaking things up.”

He grins, and I can’t help but do the same in response. “Blue.”

“Your favorite piece you’ve ever made?”

“My porch swing. It’s for my mom.” And there I go again, talking in this way that’s new to me.

“Well, that tells me a lot about you right there. Even if I didn’t already see it, now I’d know you have a big-ass heart in that chest of yours.”

I roll my eyes. “You don’t know me very well.”

But then, I don’t know myself very well either.

“I know you,” he says softly. “And I want to know you more.”

The room gets echoey, blood rushing through my ears, heart pounding, chest aching…body tingling. I want to know him more too, but I can’t seem to say that. Don’t know how to let it be real. I sure as shit don’t know what it means.

I’m still leaning against the counter, with Tripp right in front of me. He’s wearing jeans and a long-sleeved shirt that says Cassidy’s Carpentry above his heart. There’s a dusting of red stubble along his jaw, which is square and strong. His hair is messy, something I’ve noticed a lot with Tripp, parts of it flat from the beanies while other hairs stick up like they refuse to behave…the way I’ve always behaved.

When have I ever in my life broken the rules? When have I done something unexpected, something for no other reason than I just wanted to? The job, maybe, but even that is something I have to figure out one way or another because I can’t be unemployed forever.

Tripp swallows, and his Adam’s apple bobs. The pulse in his neck beats to what feels like the same drum as my heart. He smells like fresh-cut wood, cinnamon, and kindness. Does kindness have a smell? If so, it’s Tripp Cassidy.

His gaze smolders, like he’s feeling the same want I am. The way he’s looking at me, eyes on my mouth, I think maybe he is.

He makes me feel good, makes me want , and I crave holding on to that, grabbing hold and taking it in because it’s so damn unfamiliar to me.

It’s almost like that moment with Dusty, leaning against the lighthouse all those years ago, except with Dust, I can’t say who kissed whom first, but with Tripp, I’m the one leaning in. I’m the one dying to taste him…and I am dying for it, in a way I wasn’t with Dusty that night. That had been all confusion and anger and jealousy. This is desire and connection and more .

My lips press against Tripp’s, slow and gentle at first, testing the waters. He kisses me back, both of us delving and exploring.

My lips burn with the kiss, but in a good way, like sun against your skin when you’ve spent too much time being cold. Tripp is like a warm jacket in the middle of winter, a mug of hot chocolate in freezing hands.

I let my tongue sneak out and tease his slightly parted lips.

What am I doing?

What does this mean?

What if Tripp hates it? Hates me? What if this makes me lose him?

I pull back. “I’m sorry. I…” Jesus. I don’t even know if he likes men, and I never thought I did.

“I’m not sorry. I’ve been wanting to do that for a while now. I’ve been wanting you.”

Wanting me. Tripp wants me.

I smile and close the distance between us, taking his mouth again. The kiss isn’t slow this time. I push my tongue between his lips, and he opens for me, our mouths moving together. Tripp steps closer, pressing me between his wide, strong body and the counter, electrifying me in the best way.

My hands move to his hips, Tripp’s around my shoulders, his hand buried in my hair.

Our kiss is like a dance, a give and take. He lets me explore his mouth, taste every single millimeter of it, and then he does the same to me.

Each time we move, his stubble scratches against my skin, sending shockwaves of pleasure through me. It’s like an earthquake, with aftershock after aftershock rocking me to my core.

My head spins with so many thoughts, but the pleasure of our kiss takes them away. The hungry sounds Tripp makes that I swallow down, the tug of his strong hand in my hair, the way he rocks his broad body against mine, and…oh…he’s hard, and damned if I’m not hard to.

“Dad?” Meadow calls from upstairs, and Tripp and I jerk apart.

I’m breathing heavily, an avalanche of thoughts coming down on me now that I’m not kissing him anymore.

I just kissed my second man.

And it felt better than any kiss I’ve ever had, every kiss I’ve ever had combined, maybe any other moment I’ve ever had.

“I should go,” I rush out.

“Don’t go. Please don’t go.” I watch as he adjusts his dick. “Yeah?” he calls to Meadow, who is still upstairs.

“Oh, never mind. My sewing machine was stuck, but I fixed it,” she shouts.

“Okay. Rhett and I are going out for a bit. I want to show him a few things.” He’s talking to her but looking at me, pleading with me not to leave.

Why? Why does he want me to stay so badly?

“All right! I’m probably going to bed soon,” Meadow replies.

His voice is huskier than normal when he says, “Will you come out with me?”

I nod, not sure I can find my voice.

We put on our coats, and then I follow Tripp out the back door, along a lighted walkway, to his shop behind the house. He presses a code and opens the door, signaling for me to go in first.

I do, and a moment later light bathes the space. It’s warm, like mine, so he clearly has it temperature-controlled too. When he takes off his jacket, I do the same, sweating even though it’s not that hot in here.

“Are you okay? I’m sorry if that’s something you decided you didn’t want and I didn’t realize it.”

“What? No,” I finally find my voice. “I wanted it. It’s just, I always thought I was straight. Despite kissing Dusty all those years ago. And then you…and how it felt…why hasn’t it ever felt that way? I didn’t know it could feel that way.” I pace, hands in my hair, pulling in frustration.

I’ve never been a very sexual person. That’s partly why the kiss with Dusty surprised me. Most of the time, sex was something I did because it felt like something I was supposed to do, but tonight, I hungered for Tripp.

“Hey. Slow down. We’re okay. You’re okay.”

But I can’t slow down. I don’t know if everything will be okay. “What if that kiss messes everything up? Meadow, or work, or things with East and Archer.”

“You’re giving us a whole lot of credit here to mess up a lot of things.” He intercepts me, slips his arms around my waist, then presses his lips to my nape. “It’s okay, Rhett. We’re okay.”

His hold makes me melt against him. His scent slows the rapid beat of my heart.

“I’m sorry. There’s something wrong with me.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you.”

“I’m weak.” Isn’t that what we’ve been told? Showing emotions is weak according to Gregory Swift.

“Jesus. No, you’re not. Come here.”

He takes my hand, leads me to the back of the shop and into the small office there, with a couch, a desk, and a chair. He sits me down on the couch in this way I would never let anyone else do to me, in a way no one has ever wanted to do with me, and then joins me.

“The last thing I want is to mess with your head. You thought of yourself as straight?” He dances his fingertips against my temple.

“Yes.”

“Did I do something to make you feel pressured to kiss me?”

My gaze snaps to him. “No. Fuck no.”

“Just making sure. It’s okay to just realize you’re bisexual, or pansexual, or however you choose to identify.”

There is so much I’m figuring out about myself, it’s overwhelming. “How could I not know?”

“There doesn’t have to be a reason. Maybe you just didn’t know how to admit it to yourself. And it’s okay to explore who you are. You’ve never given yourself that opportunity. You’ve done everything your father wanted, and now you’re trying to figure out what you want. That’s something to be proud of.”

It’s something I want to be proud of. I want to believe him, but it feels so convoluted.

“Can I be honest with you?” he asks, his hand traveling to my nape and resting there.

“Yes. I’d prefer it. I need you to be honest with me.”

“I liked kissing you. I wanted to kiss you. I like you, Rhett. More than a friendship, and I haven’t wanted more than just friendship or sex with someone in a long time—not since April. But more than my want for you, I care about you. This friendship, I think it means a lot to you too.”

I swallow. Then nod.

“That’s the most important thing. I’m afraid of doing something that could hurt you. I haven’t dated since April left. I don’t know that I’m ready to have an official relationship with someone Meadow knows about. She already feels like her mom abandoned her, and I worry about bringing someone into her life, and then how it will affect her if it doesn’t work out. I want you, but I’m scared to want you. I’m scared my daughter will get hurt…that I’ll get hurt…and of hurting you. But I also know that I can’t kiss you like I did tonight without my feelings getting involved even more.”

Two thoughts whirl together in my head: Tripp cares about me. About our friendship and my feelings. He cares about me in this way that it’s impossible not to believe, in a way I’ve always craved. And the second thought is how much Meadow means to him, how much he considers what’s best for her, the way a father is supposed to do…the way my father never did.

Both things make me like Tripp more, make me feel changed, make me want to take a chance. Wouldn’t that be what Talia would tell me to do? Isn’t that what Morgan did? He took a chance with Dusty. East took a chance with Archer. I’m not saying Tripp and I will end up in the same place. I don’t believe he’ll fall in love with me, but he’s offering me something I never knew I wanted, and even if I had, never imagined I would get.

“Say something.” His fingertips dance along my nape.

“I like you more than just friendship too, and I don’t think I’ve ever liked someone more than that before, not even my ex-wife. I need your friendship, but I think I need to see what this is as well. I’ve missed out on so much. I don’t want to miss out on this.”

“Jesus.” Tripp cups my face, angles my head in his direction, then drops his forehead against mine. “You’re twisting me up, Rhett Swift.”

“Is that good or bad? Honest question.”

He chuckles, then presses his lips against mine softly. “Good. So we take things slow? Date? Meadow?”

“I’m not ready to tell her either. I’m not ready to tell anyone. My head doesn’t work that way. It will stress me out and make it harder for me to enjoy…us.” Is that what we’re saying? That we’ll be an us? I want that—to be an us with someone.

I want to be happy. I want to be normal. I want to know who I am.

“Okay. We date, and we keep it between us for now. But I already told Archer you got me feeling things.”

“What?” I pull back.

“Is that okay? I never said you feel the same.”

I nod. “It’s okay.” I just can’t imagine him feeling the need to tell someone how he feels about me.

“So…back to that kissing thing…about how good it felt…you think I could kiss you again?”

I smile so fucking big, my face hurts. It’s ridiculous, but I can’t help it. I want to laugh. I want to kiss him and laugh with him and pretend I know how to be happy.

“Yes,” I reply, but then it’s me who leans in, me who takes his mouth. Me who nibbles his lip and sucks his tongue and tastes him before Tripp does all those same things to me.

My body buzzes, sparks and zings with so much pleasure, that I don’t stop myself when I lean against him, when Tripp goes to his back and I lie on top of him.

“Am I too heavy?”

“Fuck no. You’re just right. Being with someone more similar to my size is one of my favorite things about being with a man. It can add some extra special fun.” He pumps his brows.

I answer by kissing him again, my tongue slipping into his mouth, brushing against his. His arms go around me, hands fisted in my shirt. He makes noises again that I swallow down.

We kiss until my jaw hurts, but I don’t want to stop, don’t know if I ever want to stop.

Tripp maneuvers us so we’re on our sides, facing each other. There’s not a lot of room on the couch, but then he’s sliding to the floor, pulling me with him.

“Luckily, I got the office carpeted,” he says, running his hands up and down my body as he resumes the pleasure assault on my mouth.

I feel like I could die, like I could be kissed to death and it’s something everyone should aspire to.

My dick throbs, and when he rolls on top of me, I hiss in response. “Too much? We can just kiss.”

“I was on top of you earlier.”

“Yeah, but this is different. You’re new to this, so you’re running the show.”

Because that’s the kind of man Tripp is. He wants to make me comfortable and do what’s right, and I…I just want him. Want in this way I never have before.

I hold the back of his head and pull his mouth down to mine. He kisses me hard and hungry, ruts his cock against mine, and… “Fuck,” I gasp. I haven’t come with another person in years, and I’m close, so fucking close. “You’ll make me come.” Maybe that should be scarier than it is, but I’ve spent my whole life being afraid of everything. I’m not afraid of Tripp. He’s too good. And I want to soak up the way he makes me feel.

“What do you want?”

I want Tripp to bring me pleasure, to help me step outside my body and give myself to him. I’ve never done that, not really. I’m always the one in control of everything, and the times I wasn’t, those times had nothing to do with sex; those times I gave up control because I had no choice or felt like I had no choice. But now, in this safe space Tripp has created, I want him to decide. “Whatever you want…just make me feel good. I trust you.”