7. Henry
CHAPTER 7
HENRY
By the time I wake up, it's already well into the morning. I've usually gone for my run, had my coffee, and headed into work by now. But I never set my alarm last night, and I had another restless night. I definitely got more sleep than the night before, once I finally stopped the hamster wheel of torment that my brain was stuck on. But even my usually meticulous internal clock didn't wake me at sunrise from the dead sleep I was in.
The house is quiet, which means the boys have headed into work. I sit on the edge of my bed and rub my right thigh. It's still sore from overdoing it yesterday. Taking a light jog is probably the best way to get over the stiffness. It usually works, and if anything else, it'll help me wake up and get my head right before I have to tackle the day ahead.
I make sure to stretch, standing out on the back deck like I normally do. I find myself staring at the hot tub, replaying the better parts of the night before I lost my damn mind. It reminds me to call my friend Robert Langdon, the owner of Lakeside Bistro. He's more than happy to make sure Mike has the best table and a bottle of chilled wine waiting. I chat with him while I grab the pool chemicals to shock the hot tub, and I continue staring at the water for too long after I hang up.
I can't believe I did that. Any of it.
My short stint of exhibitionism I can safely blame on the weed. And maybe it did up the horniness level, because I certainly can't remember the last time I came back to back like that. But if I'm being honest with myself, the rest of it was all me. I used the cover of being high to give in a little, and once I did, I fell straight into the deep end.
I replay every moment, cringing at the things I let him do to me. I'm embarrassed, but at the same time, I have to admit that it felt good. Really good. Too good.
My internal war with myself drowns out the music in my ears as I start my slow jog. I try telling myself that it's simply been too long since anyone but myself has touched my dick. A mouth is a mouth, it could have been anyone.
But I know I'm full of shit. Because it wasn't just anyone's mouth on my cock. It was Ian's mouth. My son's best friend. A man half my age. And Lord, that mouth…
I don't realize that I'm running at full speed, nearly sprinting, until my lungs are burning. I'm sure the smoke inhalation from last night isn't helping that, either. I'm so annoyed at myself, so intent on outrunning my own bullshit, that I keep going. I push myself harder and faster, punishing myself for every flash of memory from last night.
I let him put his tongue in my ass. And I liked it. A lot.
God, the mere thought of it makes me clench, and I stumble.
Sharp pain shoots up the back of my right thigh. I nearly fall, limping over to the side of the street. I have to roll over on my hands and knees to catch my breath before I can sit in the grass, hissing through the throbbing pain as I rub my hamstring.
I don't think it's anything serious, but I definitely pulled a muscle at the very least.
After taking a few minutes to compose myself, I stand up and take in my surroundings. I wasn't even paying attention to where I was running, although I have a pretty specific routine that I usually take to take advantage of the hills in the neighborhood. I'm about three streets away from my house, on the opposite side of my subdivision that backs up to the golf course. With a steeling breath, I slowly hobble down the street. I can't even bother to be embarrassed when one of my elderly neighbors pulls up beside me in a golf cart.
"You alright there, Henry?"
"Oh hey, Mr. Peterson. I seem to have pulled a muscle. You wouldn't mind giving me a ride to my house on your way to the golf course, would you? If it's not too far out of your way?"
"Of course not. Climb in here, son."
We make awkward small talk as the golf cart drives agonizingly slowly through the streets of our neighborhood. I probably could have hobbled faster, but this certainly hurts a lot less.
"Thanks for the ride."
"Lucky we happened to be out at the same time. Don't I normally see you out much earlier?" He's usually sitting out on his front porch drinking his coffee when I run by, always with a wave and a friendly greeting. I don't think I've ever stopped to talk to him, but I know him from the Home Owners Association meetings, and he and his wife come into the restaurant on occasion.
"I'm a little off my routine today," I admit as he pulls into my driveway, getting me as close to the front door as possible. "I really appreciate you taking me home. I hope the detour across the neighborhood doesn't make you late for your tee time."
He waves me off. "A little advice for ya—it's okay to break your routine once in a while. Live a little. You're not getting any younger."
"I seem to be getting reminded of that a lot lately. Thanks Mr. Peterson."
"See you around," he says, and backs haphazardly down the driveway, nearly taking out the mailbox on the way out.
I chuckle and wave, waiting until he's turned around and headed off before hobbling up the front steps to my door. By the time I get inside, all I can do is collapse on the couch and pant. I stare at the stairs up to my room with longing. I just want to take a hot shower and lay down with a heating pad until I can walk again. I consider the hot tub, but I just poured a bunch of chemicals in there to disinfect all the cum that got pumped into the water last night.
Pulling a throw pillow down on my face, I muffle a frustrated yell before taking my phone out of my arm band and calling the restaurant. Looks like I'll be taking a day off whether I like it or not.
"Mr. B? …Henry?"
Footsteps thud up the stairs, but I don't bother to move from my position in the center of the bed. It's not until Ian barges into my room that I wish I'd considered putting a shirt on, but getting a pair of boxer shorts on was my only priority once I'd forced myself through a shower.
Ian's eyes rake over me, more with concern than interest, although I notice his gaze linger on my chest before trailing down to the leg I have propped up on a pillow, wrapped in a heating pad.
"What are you doing here?" I ask.
"Uh, good to see you too," Ian snarks. "Michael said you hurt yourself. We both thought it best that I come check on you."
"Why you?"
He looks at me like it's obvious. "I'm an athlete. I know a bit about sports injuries."
"Does swimming count as a sport these days?"
Ian lifts his shirt, showing off his washboard stomach. "What do you think?"
I roll my eyes at his ridiculous eyebrow waggle and consider smothering myself with a pillow. Because, as if this day couldn't get any worse, I'm now stuck in close quarters with the most beautiful man alive.
"Why are you so fucking pretty?" I grouse.
His grin spreads across his face, dark blue eyes flashing as he pushes his dark hair off his forehead. "You think I'm pretty, do you?"
I groan. I really didn't mean to say that out loud.
I might have taken a muscle relaxer.
"Pretty like a girl," I mumble. "With your soft hair and long eyelashes and puffy lips. You're even hairless like a girl."
"Did my dick taste like a girl?" he asks, amused rather than offended by my rambling.
I narrow my eyes at him and ignore his question, which seems to amuse him even more.
"Right, so painkillers are on board, I'm assuming?"
"A muscle relaxer," I say, gesturing to the pill bottle on the dresser. They're left over from pulling my back out while hanging Christmas lights this past year, not that I'm about to admit that to him right now. "I don't like taking them because they make me loopy."
Ian chuckles, "I see that. Well, is it okay if I take a look?" He gestures to my leg, and I gesture dismissively.
I suppose I should be thankful that he's here helping me, and maybe I would be if I didn't feel like this is highlighting just how much older I am than this young, beautiful, sexy thing. I glare at my own crotch, willing it to behave. It's the only part of me that seems to think it's in its twenties.
Ian sits on the edge of the bed and unwraps my thigh. He asks some questions, and feels around the muscles, remaining entirely professional the whole time. Meanwhile, I'm struggling to focus on anything outside of his hands on me.
I'm pathetic.
"Pretty sure it's just a pulled muscle, but you should definitely take it easy for a couple of days. I'll be right back." He runs downstairs and returns with several ice packs. "Icing a pulled muscle is better than heat for the first couple days because it reduces swelling."
I curse when he touches me with the frigid ice pack, especially after my skin was nice and warm from my heating pad. Instead of wrapping it around my leg, he holds it to the back of my thigh himself.
"We'll keep ice on it for fifteen to twenty minutes, depending on how long these ice packs hold out. Then I'll throw them in the freezer for a while, and we'll repeat every few hours. In between, we'll wrap it up tight and elevate. You'll be right as rain in a few days."
"Thanks, doc," I say sarcastically, although I give him a nod to let him know I'm truly appreciative.
He gives me a saucy grin, holding the ice pack to the back of my thigh while running his fingers up the inside of my leg with his free hand. I fight not to clench my thighs in response to the light tickle of his touch.
"You know, if you want to play doctor…"
"You sure you two are going to be okay?" Michael asks me.
"I'm a big boy, Michael. I'd be fine on my own. It's your dumbass friend that insists on coddling me like an invalid," I say, gesturing to my mostly healed leg that is currently wrapped tightly in a compression sleeve.
He quirks a grin. "Yeah, well, we can't have you falling and breaking a hip next."
"Har har."
"Should I hide all the knives, scissors, and whatever other sharp objects we have in the house?"
"I could maim him with blunt objects just as well," I quip. "Seriously, it's all good. He's helped me a lot the last few days, and I really appreciate his expertise."
"I told you he'd grow on you."
If you only knew.
"Quit worrying about me. Go enjoy your weekend."
Michael makes a face. "It's not too early to be going out of town and meeting her parents, is it?"
"To be fair, her sister is getting married and you're just her date. The rest is all happenstance. But to answer your question, no, I don't think so. You're clearly enamored with her, and from what Ian tells me, you two have been dancing around each other for two years. Not that you ever deemed to tell your old man about it," I say in mock offence.
"Alright, I'm sorry. It was one of those things, ya know? I didn't want to admit to myself that I had feelings for her, because I didn't know she liked me that way and it would have sucked to get rejected."
"I get it."
"Says the man who hasn't even attempted to date anyone in the twenty-three years that I've been alive."
"I've gone on dates. They just didn't go anywhere."
"Why, though?"
"Because there was nothing about them that made me feel like I'd prefer their company to my own. They didn't light me up in any way."
"Maybe you should try to find someone that lights you up, then."
"Meh. I'm pretty comfortable in my old age."
"You're old, not dead. And jokes aside, you're not even that old."
"Mmm hmm. Thanks for the pep talk. Now get the fuck out of my house before you're late to pick up your girlfriend and make a shit impression on her parents. I raised you better."
"Alright, alright, I'm leaving!" He gives me a hug before pointing at me. "Don't kill Ian." Picking up his duffle and garment bag, he yells up the stairs. "I'm out! Don't let my dad kill you!"
"Have fun, man!" Ian says, bounding down the stairs. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do," he says, thumping him on the back.
"Name one thing you wouldn't do," Michael calls over his shoulder.
"I'll text you when I think of something!"
Ian watches Michael get in his car and closes the front door once he's out of sight.
"Are you staying hydrated?" he asks me.
"Yes, doctor," I sass, holding up the sixty-four-ounce insulated cup he's been making me carry around.
"Good. Now, get your sexy ass upstairs."
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me. It's time for your sports massage."
"Ugh. No. I hate those."
"I promise you'll like this one," he says, winking.