Chapter 10
Joey
When I contemplated hitting a gay bar with Brad, countless scenarios entered my head. Having to watch Brad bend over a pool table. Having to watch him swallow down a hands-free blowjob shot in an attempt to be inclusive or some such nonsense. Having to explain to countless men, even, that the handsy guy I was with was, in fact, only my friend. And straight to boot.
Not once did I consider the fact that I’d have to watch Brad be hit on. Over and over again. And that he’d have no clue.
“No, man, my hammies are all right, but check out Joey,” Brad says, slapping my leg hard enough for my cock to kick. “Can you imagine having these things around your neck?”
Oh, good grief .
“I don’t know,” the cute twink says, giving Brad a flirty smile. “You look like just the right size for me.”
The blatant come-on flies right over Brad’s head. He just smiles politely and says, “What a nice thing to say. Thanks.”
“You guys together?” the twink asks, raising an eyebrow my way that seems to indicate he certainly wouldn’t mind that.
“Not like that,” Brad says, leaning closer and wrapping an arm around my shoulder. “Joey’s just my dude. My bosom buddy. My baby kangaroo-roo.”
“Your…baby kangaroo?” the guy asks, sounding appropriately confused.
Brad winces. “Yeah… Maybe don’t call him that. It’s mine.”
My heart thumps, the traitor.
“Hey,” Brad says at a whisper, his lips near my ear. “What are we thinking here? Green, yellow, red?”
The twink looks between the two of us before his eyes settle on Brad. “Are…you his Dom? Because I’d totally be into that.”
Oh, Jesus.
“We’re going to grab drinks,” I say loudly, hooking my hand around Brad’s arm and standing. He scrambles to keep up.
“Dude,” Brad says on our way to the bar, “he didn’t even appreciate your legs. I think that’s a hard pass, don’t you? I mean, what’s his problem? You’ve got great legs.”
I’m about to ask Brad to please stop bringing up my legs—not to mention scenarios in which he’s between them—but I pause at the last second. When we arrive at the bar, I turn to him, my pulse feathering.
Don’t do it. Don’t you dare ask.
“Yeah?” I say, despite knowing better. “What else?”
Brad cocks his head, not looking remotely put off by me asking what else about my person he appreciates. “I mean, your everything, man. You give good hugs, and your eyes are warm and always nice. You’re strong, so you could probably carry someone out of danger if need be. And, as I’ve heard from many, many guys tonight, you have a great ass. Which, dude , you do. Even I can admit that.”
Am I having a heart attack?
“Plus,” Brad goes on, utterly serious, “you make people happy, Joey. You’re calm and patient and genuinely kind. You’re flexible in your thinking, but not so much that you’d compromise your morals. And I’m not sure if you know this, but sometimes you smell like sawdust. Like those happy memories you mentioned from your childhood. I could see that becoming someone else’s happy memory, too, you know? You’re a catch. Inside and out. And someday, you’re going to make the right guy very happy.”
Holy fuck.
Just… Absolute fucking fuck.
“You smell like the ocean,” I tell him hoarsely.
His face brightens. “Yeah, that’s my body wash. Thought it was kind of nice. I’ve never been.”
I nod, my throat tight. “It’s, uh…another of my happy memories.”
That smile of his softens. “You and your watersports.”
I huff a pained laugh. “Hey, you want to get out of—”
“This stool taken?”
Brad grins over at the newcomer, giving me what I’m sure he thinks is a subtle prod. “Nope!” he says brightly. “You two go ahead and…converse or whatever. I need to use the bathroom anyway. Not for anything weird. Just…normal stuff.”
I sigh as Brad walks off, not sure whether I should laugh or scream. “If you were hoping to talk to him instead of me, no hard feelings,” I tell the guy.
He eases onto the stool next to me, a smile on his face. Admittedly, he is attractive in a suave sort of way, with his suit jacket and expertly styled hair. He looks confident, a trait I appreciate.
“Actually,” he says, “I was trying to get your attention. Is it working?”
Yep, definitely confident. “Not sure yet,” I tell him honestly. Because I know—I know —I can’t fixate on the man currently in the bathroom doing not-weird stuff, but my heart is having a hard time listening to what my head knows.
That if I keep this up, I’m bound to get hurt.
“Fair enough,” the guy says, looking, if anything, pleased by my answer. He probably likes a challenge. “Sit with me? I’ll buy you a drink.”
Deciding I have nothing to lose, I nod and take a seat.
“Alan,” he says, holding out his hand.
“Joey.”
He grips my palm longer than necessary before flagging down the bartender. “What’ll you have, Joey?”
“Whiskey. Neat.”
His smile is almost victorious. Smug, even. It’s been a while since I’ve had someone so blatantly pursue me in this way. I can’t help but wonder if he’d be just as dominant in every facet of his life or if he’s the kind of person who needs to let go of the buttoned-up routine every once in a while. I try to imagine that. Try to let myself get lost in the fantasy of taking over, fucking him so hard and fast that he loses all composure. And I just…can’t.
That would have done it for me before. Big time. But now, all I can see in my mind’s eye is Brad’s laugh and his smile and the ways the two of us could have fun. That fantasy is one that’s all too easy to settle into, as impossible as the reality of it is.
And I don’t think it’s going away anytime soon.
“So, Joey,” Alan says, sliding the drink the bartender poured my way. “What do you do?”
“I’m in construction,” I tell him.
His eyes slip down my torso, appreciation there, but he doesn’t have time to say anything more before a familiar body plops unceremoniously onto my lap. I look in surprise at Brad, who loops his arm over my shoulder with a grin.
“I’m back,” he says.
“I can feel that,” I reply.
He laughs. “No seats, man. Don’t mind me.”
Brad turns away as much as he can while sitting on my lap with his arm over my shoulder, and Alan gives me an unimpressed look. Yeah , no doubt he’s not a fan of Brad’s special brand of codependence.
I simply shrug. “If it’s a problem, that’s a problem.”
Alan appraises me for a long moment before nodding and slipping off his seat. Brad catches him walking away and gives me a frown. “Oh no. No luck?”
“Nah,” I tell him, wrapping an arm around Brad’s waist. “But that’s okay. I think I’m done here.”
“You sure?” he says. “It’s early still. I bet we could find some stud for you to sink your drill into. Get it? A stud ?”
Brad’s waggling eyebrows have me laughing, despite his terrible attempt at construction-related dirty humor.
“I’m sure,” I say, tossing the rest of my whiskey back. “Besides, I had a thought.”
“Yeah? What’s that?”
It’s a bad idea—the absolute worst, really. But knowing that doesn’t stop me. “You mentioned wanting someone to cuddle with.”
Brad goes still. “Are you proposing what I think you’re proposing?”
“Cuddle sesh?” I offer.
His responding smile has me feeling things I have no right to. “ Dude , you’re not going to regret this,” he says, slipping off my lap. “I’m such a good cuddler—you have no idea. You’re going down .”
I banish that mental image immediately. “You realize it’s not a competition, right? We’re on the same side?”
He pfts as we walk toward the door. “That’s what you think. But just wait until you feel what my hands are capable of. I’ll have you flat on your back in no time.”
I swallow thickly.
Brad and I hop in my truck and drive the short way to his apartment. He keeps up a companionable stream of chatter on the way, talking about the forestscape he’s designing for work and his other gym buddy Cas, who’s helping coordinate a 5k charity run.
He never seems to run out of words, and I find myself hoarding every scrap of information he gives me. Even if I refuse to acknowledge to myself why that is.
Once we reach his place, Brad unlocks the door and flicks on the light. “Bed or couch?” he asks, slipping off his shoes and setting down his bag. “Bed has more room if you’re good with it.”
It doesn’t have to mean anything.
“Bed,” I answer, too weak to stop myself.
Brad nods and heads down the hall, and I follow like the lovesick puppy I am.
Just like the rest of his place, his room is not what I expected. The walls are a dark slate, nearly black, the curtains the same color. In contrast, his headboard and sheets are white, and his comforter is a serene gray. He flicks on a lamp, bathing the room in a gentle glow.
“I have trouble sleeping sometimes,” he says, giving the curtains a little tug to make sure they’re blocking out the streetlights. “This helps.”
I assume he means the darkness. I get it. The whole effect makes me want to sink onto his bed and ignore the rest of the world for a while.
“So, uh,” he goes on, turning to me with a grin. “Top or bottom?”
I bite the inside of my cheek.
“Or sides,” he adds quickly. “I’m good any way.”
I’m sure he is, but I rein in my wayward thoughts. “Whatever you prefer, bub.”
His smile widens, and he jumps onto the bed. Literally jumps. The comforter gets skewed when he lands on it, but Brad doesn’t seem to care. He settles on his side and waves me in.
I feel like the character in every horror movie who walks into the darkened cave when they know danger is lurking. There’s a voice inside my head screaming, “ What are you doing? Don’t go in there! Turn away! Run, you idiot! ”
Yet my feet carry me forward anyway, and my knees hit the bed. It feels almost unbearably intimate as I lie down opposite Brad, his piercing green eyes inches in front of me. He doesn’t appear to have any reservations because he inches forward immediately, going low so his head fits tucked neatly underneath my chin. He wiggles his arm beneath my own so he can loop it around my back, his fingers settling near my nape as he lets out a happy hum. I feel like I can’t take a big enough breath, my lungs refusing to cooperate, each hint of sea salt air I get off Brad making it harder to inhale fully.
He’s everywhere. In my lungs, my arms, my head.
“Are you close with your mom?” Brad asks, his fingers stroking the back of my neck.
I hum roughly. “Yeah, she’s great. My biggest worry in coming here was having to move away from her. But we talk all the time, and she was really supportive of me getting to know my relatives.”
He nods against my chest. “Was your dad homophobic?”
It surprises me that he picked up on that. Although I’m not sure why, considering Brad has shown himself to be a good listener.
“He was,” I say, rubbing Brad’s back in slow strokes. It feels nice. Too nice. “He could tell I was gay before I came out, and he started trying to man me up , you know? But my mom wasn’t having that. I was ten, eleven? They began arguing a lot, and, eventually, my mom filed for divorce and full custody. My dad never fought it. He packed up and moved back here.”
Brad’s fingers tighten against the back of my neck before loosening. “I like her already.”
I huff a small laugh, the implication of that already pinging around in my mind, as if Brad is certain he’ll meet my mother at some point.
I don’t argue it.
“But the rest of your family is supportive,” he says, connecting more dots.
“Yeah. My aunts and uncles and cousins, they’ve all been great. My Uncle Johnny made it very clear they didn’t share my dad’s beliefs when he offered me a job. I’m not… glad my dad died, of course. But I am glad to have the opportunity to know this side of my family.”
“I get that,” Brad says softly. “Sometimes I wonder about my parents. But they didn’t want me. And they didn’t want me to know them. So I haven’t gone looking. I imagine, if things were different, I’d be happy to meet them, too.”
Ah, God .
“Bub…”
“No, don’t,” he says, giving my neck a firmer squeeze. “I’m fine. My grandfather and me were never close, but he stepped up and raised me when there was no one else. And I’m grateful for that. Plus, I had Jason.”
“Your Birdie.”
I can hear the smile in his voice when he says, “Yeah. The Birdie to my Bee. You’ll meet him at some point. He’s kinda quiet, but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t like you. It just means he’s thinking. Family isn’t always given, you know? Sometimes it’s earned. And I think that makes it all the more important. Choosing to love? I don’t think there’s anything greater than that.”
I don’t speak for the longest time. I can’t.
“Jason’s lucky to have you,” I finally manage.
He lets out a small laugh. “He’s a good dude. Not much of a cuddler, though. So this is nice. Thanks for being here, Joey-roo. I’m lucky, too.”
I ease out a breath, realizing, at some point while we were talking, that we shifted positions. Brad is lying on top of me now, wrapped around me like a koala.
“Told you,” he nearly whispers. “Got you on your back, didn’t I?”
My chuckle shakes Brad, and he laughs with me. “You’re good,” I concede. “This, uh…this is what you wanted?”
He deflates with a happy sigh, even though he was already perfectly relaxed to begin with. “Yeah. This is perfect. Pretty sure I could fall asleep just like this.”
Yeah . Pretty sure I could, too.
I never thought I’d fall into bed with a straight guy.
I can’t seem to locate my regret.