Chapter 18
Joey
I beat Brad back to my house, which isn’t a surprise. To say I’m excited for his arrival would be an understatement.
Despite the flirting at the gym, I’m more than happy to let Brad set the pace between us. I’m in no rush for things to progress physically.
But the fact that Brad wants to hang out, doing something as simple and mundane as house renovations with me on his weekend? That means a lot.
I change into a pair of old jean shorts while I wait for him to arrive. When my phone rings and I see that it’s my mom, I answer.
“Hey, Mom, how’s it going?”
“Hi, my boy,” she says happily, her soft voice so very familiar. “Things are good here. What are you up to?”
“I’m about to do some work on the house,” I tell her, heading down the stairs.
She hums. “What’s today’s project?”
“The wainscoting in the dining room. Either refinishing it if it’s in good enough condition or scrapping it for new.”
“Well, if anyone can fix up some boards in need of loving repair, it’s my little carpenter.”
I smile. My mom never begrudged me wanting to follow my dad’s footsteps into construction, despite the obvious divide that grew between us. She’s always supported me following my dreams, just as she supported my decision to move here to Vegas.
“I’m hardly little anymore,” I point out needlessly.
She pshs at the same time as I hear the front door open and close. My pulse kicks up as Brad’s voice rings throughout the house.
“ Honey, I’m home. ”
“And who might that be?” my mom asks in my ear.
“That’s my…Brad,” I answer, holding the phone away from my mouth before calling, “In here.”
Brad comes sauntering down the hall and into the kitchen, a big smile on his face. When he sees I’m on the phone, he raises an eyebrow.
“My mom,” I tell him.
Brad nods, and before I know what’s happening, he’s plucking the phone out of my hand. He sets the call on speakerphone as I blink in shock.
“Mama Delgado?” Brad says cheerfully. “Hi. Hello. I’m Brad, Joey’s new bestie.”
“Is that so?” my mom asks, sounding amused. She knows perfectly well who Brad is to me. There aren’t many secrets between me and my mom. “It’s nice to meet you, darling.”
Brad beams, mouthing darling at me. “Same! Sorry we can’t meet in person. I give great hugs. Just ask Joey.”
“In that case, I’ll have to take a rain check,” she says gamely. “Are you helping Joey with the house today?”
“Oh, for sure,” Brad answers. “Brought some lunch, too. Can’t have my baby kangaroo going hungry.”
“Your…baby kangaroo,” my mom says slowly.
I drop my head.
That… was still a secret.
“It started because of his legs?” Brad tries to explain. “Like, kangaroos have strong legs, right? And so does Joey. And obviously he needed a name.”
“Obviously,” she agrees. “Do you have one?”
“In general or Joey-specific?” Brad asks, setting the phone on the kitchen table as he starts pulling our lunch out of a to-go bag.
“I suppose specifically from my son.”
Brad nods, even though she can’t see it. “I’m his bub.”
Silence. And then, softly, “That’s sweet, darling.”
“Isn’t it?” Brad says, looking at me with a happy grin. “Joey’s a sweet dude.”
Lord .
“Will you be coming with my son next weekend when he visits?” my mom asks.
Brad’s eyes swing my way, wide, as he mouths, “ Motorboating? ”
I snort before clearing my throat. “I, uh, haven’t had a chance to ask yet,” I tell my mom, speaking next to Brad. “But you’re welcome to join me. It’s my mom’s birthday.”
Brad perks. “If it’s not an imposition,” he says, even as he’s grinning.
“Not at all,” my mom answers. “Come. I insist.”
Brad’s palpable excitement makes it hard to remember this won’t be my… boyfriend meeting my mom. Not yet, at least.
“We should probably get to our lunch,” I say.
“Of course,” my mom replies. “I’ll see you soon, Brad.”
“Can’t wait. It was really nice to meet you, Mama D,” he says before handing my phone over.
I click off speakerphone, bringing the device to my ear. “Mom?”
“I love him,” she says instantly.
I glance Brad’s way before walking further into the kitchen. “It’s still—”
“Early. I know. You told me. Doesn’t mean I can’t hope for my son.”
I let out a sigh. Brad is pulling his chair out now, our sandwiches sitting atop their wrappers on the table. “I hope, too.”
She hums. “I’ll let you get on with your date.”
“It’s not a—”
“Toodle-oo! Love you.”
The line goes dead, and I huff a laugh. Ever the optimist, my mom. After filling two glasses with water, I join Brad at the table. He shoots me a closed-lip smile as he chews his sandwich.
“Your mom is nice,” he says once his mouth isn’t full.
“Yeah. She’s the best, really.”
He nods. “So are we driving over?”
I pause, lips quirking. “You want to go on a forty-hour cross-country car ride? Twice?”
He shrugs. “Could be fun. Ooh! We could stop at a bunch of those weird roadside tourist traps, like the country’s biggest ball of yarn or a wax sculpture museum featuring D-list celebrities.”
“ Or ,” I propose, chuckling, “we fly, and it takes a fraction of the time. I’d only planned on staying the weekend, anyway.”
“Sure,” Brad says easily, sandwich hovering in front of his face. “That works. I suppose now is as good a time as any to pop my plane cherry.”
He bites into his sandwich, and I stare at him, my own food remaining untouched. “You’ve never flown?”
“Never had a reason to,” Brad mutters. He shoots me another small smile. “But hey, it’ll be an adventure. Like the pool! You know, a lot of my firsts are turning out to be with you, Joey-roo.”
He chuckles, but I flush hot. At the implication of trust, maybe? At the memory of Brad clinging to me in the water? At another first we recently shared. His first kiss with a man. And what other sorts of firsts he’s expressed interest in.
“As long as you’re sure,” I say, shifting in my seat. “We could drive if you’d rather.”
“Nah, it’s fine,” he answers, giving my foot a nudge under the table. “Now eat up so we can screw.” His eyes widen, and then he coughs. “Fool— tool around. Christ , you know what I mean. So you can show me your tool. Your hammer . Oh my God, what is happening?”
I laugh so hard my eyes leak.
When Brad and I finish up our lunch, I head out to the garage to grab my tool bag. Remembering something Brad let slip when we first met, I grab my belt as well, slinging it around my hips.
Brad is waiting in the dining room when I get back inside, looking as if he’s inspecting the wainscoting I told him we’ll be removing.
“You’re right,” he says, running a finger over the flaking wood. “It’s in pretty bad shape, huh? How do you even repair something like this?”
“Sand it down,” I explain, setting my bag on the floor. “Hopefully, the wood itself is in good enough condition that we can simply repaint it after.”
“So I will get to play with your hardwood,” he jokes, spinning my way, only to practically fall over his own feet. His eyes shoot impossibly wide, his gaze settling on my tool belt. “ Joey .”
“You did ask to see my hammer,” I say, patting the tool at my hip.
Brad lets out an airy, “ Yeah . Yep. It, uh…looks good. Very girthy. And stiff.”
I huff a laugh and pull it free. “Here.”
“You want me to hold it?” he asks, voice high.
“If you want. I’ll loosen the panels, and you can pry them free.”
“While you…wear that,” Brad says, gingerly taking the hammer from my grip.
“While I wear my tool belt, yes.”
My lips twitch as Brad continues to stare. The fact that he’s not even trying to hide his newfound interest is a heady fucking thing.
“Remember what I said before?” I ask.
He meets my eye, cheeks a little flushed. “Um. Which thing? You’ve said a lot.”
“I’m safe,” I remind him. “You can try with me. Touch me. Do whatever you want with me.”
His cheeks darken. “Whatever I want?”
“Within limits,” I amend.
“Right,” he says a little roughly. “No watersports.”
I chuckle, taking a step closer. Brad tracks the movement, his breathing picking up. “What I mean, bub, is that you’re looking at me like I’m your favorite dessert. If you want to take a bite, you can.”
He lets loose a breath before closing the scant distance between us and tugging me in by the back of my neck. Our lips crash together, both of us taking a single second to breathe, and then Brad’s hand is in my hair, and mine are on his hips, holding him steady or maybe holding myself steady. He kisses the same way he does everything. Enthusiastically. He’s light and playful, lips toying with me almost, but underneath it all is a buzzing current of wonder I can feel in the way he jolts when our chests brush together. Can feel it in his soft moan as his fingers drift down to my neck and shoulders, as if he’s mapping the shape of me. I can feel it in his breathy exhalation as my own hands, surely bigger than his partners’ before, settle at the small of his back.
This is new for him. Exciting. And it makes it all the more clear to me how damn lucky I am to be the one he chose in the first place.
I won’t ever abuse that trust. Not ever. Not even if, when all is said and done, Brad goes on his way. Without me.
The thunk of the hammer against the floorboards has both of us jolting. Brad huffs a laugh, our faces still close, his eyes feathering open and latching on to me. “Sorry. Lost my grip.”
I give the sides of his waist a squeeze before stepping back and picking up the hammer. “Might want to keep a firmer hand on your tool,” I tell him, passing it over.
He snorts, eyes drifting down over me before he faces the wainscoting. He clears his throat several times. “So, uh…show me how this thing is done?”
With a nod and a quick adjustment of my tool belt, I grab a chisel and a mallet and start loosening the boards. Brad follows after me, using the claw of the hammer to tug the nails free and then lightly knocking the panels loose after I demonstrate the process for him. He has a smile on his face the entire time we work, and when I point out the nails he’s removing are called brads, he gleefully starts making jokes.
“Fuck, that brad was tight. Really had to wiggle my way in.”
“Heh. Wanna watch me hammer myself?”
“Hello, brad. I’m Brad. Prepare to meet your doom, as there can only be one.”
I wonder if he’d prefer a spring or fall wedding.
It only takes fifteen minutes for us to strip the wainscoting from the walls. Afterwards, Brad helps me lug the panels outside. I set up my corded sander as he watches on.
“Moment of truth,” I tell him, lowering my protective goggles so I don’t get dust in my eyes.
“Do it, my man. Give that wood a good hard rubdown.”
I look over at a frowning Brad.
“Why is everything wood-related so dirty sounding?” he mumbles.
With a laugh, I start up the sander. It doesn’t take long to find out the wood is still in great condition beneath the cracked, flaking paint. Of course, with the uneven texture of the wainscoting, it’s more trouble to remove the topcoat. But, after doing all I can with the sander, I grab some loose sandpaper to get in the crevices.
“Wanna do this part?” I ask Brad.
“Fuck yeah,” he says, trotting over.
I grab an extra pair of goggles from my tool belt, settling them in place over Brad’s light green eyes. There’s a flutter in my chest as he grins at me. A tug in my groin I can’t quite control. It’s me who pulls him close this time, smacking a kiss against Brad’s lips that causes him to grin wider.
“My, my,” he says, tone teasing when I let him go. “Does working wood turn you on, Joey-roo?”
“Doing it with you sure does,” I admit.
He looks pleased by that. Happy. And the fact that Brad has gotten comfortable enough to flirt with me makes it all too easy to tease him right back.
“You’re up, apprentice. Show me how you stroke your wood.”
Brad squints at me. “Is this, like, a kinky roleplay thing? ’Cause I could get into that.”
I snort, but apparently he’s only getting started.
“ Ooh , Joey, your belt is so big . Please, teach me how to hold your drill. Oh! No, no, wait.” He clears his throat dramatically, and I can’t help but bite my lip. With a lift of his chin, he says, “I’ve got a Brad right here you can tap. Shit, that was good.”
My smile feels ridiculously wide, my chest bubbly and warm. “Hey, bub?”
“Yeah?”
“I’ve tapped a thousand brads, but not one of them measures up to you.”
He gapes at me. “ Dude . That was smooth.”
“Just like this wood will be when you’re done rubbing it.”
He busts out laughing. “Holy fuck. You picked the dirtiest profession.”
“Somehow,” I say slowly, “it’s only dirty with you.”
Brad preens at that, looking quite proud. With the sun beating down on us, I wave the one and only Brad Ulysses Bradley forward and show him how to get the sandpaper into the tight corners of the wainscoting.
By the time we’re done, the wood has been smoothed back down to its natural glory, and I wonder if I’ve ever spent a day better than this one.