Returning Your Love (Pippen Creek #1)

4. Chaz

Chapter 4

Chaz

S helly put on a front, pretending to be the happy wife, bragging up how busy the shop was. At least she didn’t complain to everyone about me never being home like she did with me. While I’d much rather have been hanging with Jamie, I had to do the same as Shelly—play my part of the content husband who was financially killing it and winning at life.

God forbid anyone believe otherwise, never mind clue my father in on the truth.

Same as any length of time spent in my wife’s presence, I wondered over our future and what more I could possibly do to make shit bearable. I doubted we would ever be good again, but if we could exist without being miserable, I would be content.

The initial reunion with Jamie had gone much better than I’d expected and dreaded. He’d welcomed me with open arms, and fuck, he’d felt good and solid—comforting—all up in my space. Hadn’t wanted to let him loose when he’d hugged me, but I wasn’t about to reveal my true feelings for the man.

While shit might be weird between us on occasion, no way to avoid that with unrequited love on my part, something inside me settled at having him nearby. Jamie’s return was a breath of fresh air finally filling my lungs, invigorating the deadened emotions I’d been dealing with lately. He was that light I so desperately needed to combat the darkness hovering over my head.

I glanced over to find him still with his dad and Dexter, but a couple of other locals had joined them, voices growing louder with the hours passing and alcohol consumed.

But Jamie didn’t drink.

I eyed the beer in my hand, which had grown warm. At least I hadn’t taken to drowning in alcohol like my wife. She was already lit, laughing shrilly and stumbling around. My parents didn’t go to bars, no matter what type of party was being thrown, but I expected Dad would get wind of her behavior and ask me why I couldn’t keep her in line. As if I could. Dad’s generation might believe a firm hand was okay, but I sure as fuck didn’t. I figured I did a damn good job of not placing any demands on my wife except for that small portion of her income to help cover the bills. If only I didn’t feel so goddamned clueless and powerless to make shit better behind closed doors.

Jamie suddenly stood beside me, his grin from earlier replaced with a softer one that suggested weariness. “Hey—I’m gonna head out.”

“Already?” I asked, trying for a light tone that suggested shit was fine in my corner of the world.

He shrugged. “Not really into peopling tonight.”

“I hear ya. So, next weekend? The following?” I asked about that camping trip, more hopeful than I ought to be to have my best friend all to myself without someone bitching in the background or pretending everything was unicorns and rainbows when it sure as hell wasn’t.

“The sooner the better.” Jamie’s voice hinted at needing peace and quiet, something I rarely got these days. His dark blue eyes suggested he struggled not just with the noise in the bar, but the loss of his dreams as well. Made me want to hug him again, but I didn’t because I was glad he was home.

What a shit best friend I was. Almost as bad of a husband.

“Friday night, then,” I said, a thrill shooting through my stomach regardless of my guilt and waking butterflies I hadn’t felt in years.

He nodded, his eyes brightening the slightest bit, which soothed that feeling of failure for a brief moment. “Still have the same number?”

“Yeah.” I wanted to give him shit for not checking on that fact years ago, but like Shelly had said, I hadn’t reached out to him either.

Knowing I loved him more than I ever had Shelly but not being able to choose him had made him leaving Pippen Creek easier to handle.

But now?

I’d rather go back and do shit over, put my heart on the line in case I’d been wrong in my assumption about my best friend’s sexuality. Maybe things would have turned out differently. Perhaps even better.

Jamie studied me a few seconds as though searching out the truth of my life the last four years. Couldn’t have him believe I was on the same train tracks toward a wreck as I’d been in high school before he’d stepped in and helped me graduate by tutoring the fuck out of me.

I swallowed hard and looked away. “I’ll grab stuff for s’mores.”

“I’ll bring the strawberry wine.”

A corner of my lips quirked up. “I’d rather have a six-pack of beer.”

“You got it, brother.” Jamie grasped my hand tight, lingering long enough my heart skipped a beat.

He left without another word, and it hurt like fuck not to watch him walk away.

I shouldn’t be happy that Jamie was back in Pippen Creek so soon, but I couldn’t help myself. Would he hate me if he knew I wasn’t all that upset over his injury that had forced him to give up his dream? What would he think about my lack of apology? Everyone else offered condolences. Sure, it sucked. I had really wanted Jamie to hit his goals, but I couldn’t be sad about his return a decade or two earlier than I’d expected.

Guilt churned in my guts, but my thoughts weren’t something Jamie ever needed to know, no matter how close we became again.

I doubted the three of us would pick up where we’d left off, at least. Shelly hadn’t shown much interest in him other than the initial greeting she’d offered, so I expected the three musketeers had disbanded.

Thank fuck.

I wasn’t above claiming him as my best friend and hoarding him all to myself. He was my only friend, really, even though years and distance had separated us. Between work and attempting to keep Shelly happy, I hadn’t had much time for socializing over the years, so no one had taken his place.

No one ever could, either.

Would he and I still fit seamlessly even though so many seasons had shifted between us, forcing maturity and responsibilities I hated to acknowledge?

Jamie was been the only reason I hadn’t ended up repeating tenth grade and missing out on graduating with him. I’d been on the brink of failing and had been scared shitless Dad would whip my ass when he saw my report card. My best friend had caught me crying after tanking my geometry midterm.

Numbers and I hadn’t ever gotten along. Hell, reading and I weren’t best friends either. I realized later that I had difficulty learning the way other book-smart kids did, but put me in a place where I could use my hands to figure shit out, and I succeeded.

Jamie saw me through the rest of high school, then I pursued a future in mechanics because cars made sense more than numbers had since tenth grade when I’d started working in the shop.

Dad wasn’t too happy with me for not choosing to become an accountant and eventually taking over his office on Main Street, but I would have been nothing but a liability to the family business my grandfather had started. Dad called my attempts at making a living lazy, but with the hours I put in and how exhausted I was every night, dragging my ass home after twelve-hour days, I knew better.

Still stung like a bitch though when he pointed out his disappointment in me. At least it wasn’t outright these days but more in a passive-aggressive way that some might overhear and not catch onto unless they knew our history.

Jamie would recognize my dad’s bullshit for what it was. He always had and been right there to hug me when I needed it while Shelly had been too consumed with her own trauma to see mine.

Fuck, what I wouldn’t give for another few seconds wrapped up tight in Jamie’s arms. The memory of their strength sent shivers down my spine and intensified a yearning I hadn’t forgotten over the years.

He’d used a different soap or cologne from the last time I’d seen him, but beneath lay his usual scent, a warmth I’d never been able to name. I wondered if his sweat and musk was the same as when we’d been teens.

My groin actually fucking twitched at the thought, and I closed my eyes against the mass of people packing out Frenchie’s. The noise wasn’t as easy to shut down, however, and my head started to pound.

Shelly hung on her girlfriend—couldn’t remember her name—their laughter loud and annoying as fuck.

“Shell!” I hollered over the voices and music surrounding us.

She didn’t hear or rather, probably ignored me.

“Shell!” I yelled, placing my hand against her lower back to get her attention.

Her head spun my way, but it took a while before her eyes focused on my face. “What?” She slurred a reply, more than three sheets to the wind.

I leaned closer, and the scent of booze on her breath made me want to vomit. “Are you about ready to go home? I’m beat and have a headache.”

“We just got here!”

More like she’d been spending my hard-earned cash on Frenchie’s liquor for close to two hours, but I wasn’t going to argue.

“I’ve had enough and am heading out.”

“Have fun!” she shot back, sarcastic as fuck.

“I’m your ride,” I reminded her.

She glanced at her friend, who was just as smashed as she was.

“Sorry, bitch,” her friend laughed, “but I’m too drunk to drive. You can crash at my place if you want though.”

Shelly had stayed with the friend who lived within walking distance of plenty of times.

“Have fun!” I repeated her suggestion without the same tone she’d given me before turning on my heel and making my way toward the exit.

Ubers weren’t a thing in Pippen Creek, and I wasn’t about to ask around for someone else to drive my drunk wife home. She was an adult and could make her own decisions. Wasn’t my job to babysit, especially since attempting to do so would only end with us screaming at each other in public, which neither of us wanted.

Warm silence wrapped around me when the bar’s door shut behind me.

“Thank fuck,” I muttered and closed my eyes, breathing in the humid night air that hinted of campfires and grilling meat.

July was already half-over, but the night insects still made their music, reminding me of easier days and muggy evenings beneath the stars.

I tipped my gaze upward, scanning in the vastness of the sky above me.

Pippen Creek wasn’t a big enough town to illuminate the darkness and erase the millions of pinpricks of light twinkling down on us.

Jamie and I had attempted to count the stars when we’d gone camping on Coach Bernard’s land on Pippen Creek Pond he’d given us unlimited access to. We’d been sixteen and buzzed from sucking down strawberry wine. Shelly had already passed out in our tiny tent, and I’d drunk enough not to be overly concerned I sprawled close enough on the ground to my best friend that our shoulders pressed together. It’d been a dream come true but without the tongues and cum down each other’s throats I’d lusted for once upon a time.

Still fucking do , I admitted in the silence of my mind.

The following morning, I’d found myself plastered against Jamie and had hightailed it out of the tent. The other two camping trips after that one had been my idea. Because I’d wanted to experience that closeness again even though it made me feel like a perv, taking advantage for just a few seconds of what it was like to have my boner dig into Jamie’s hip.

“Fuck.” I rubbed a weary hand over my face and slowly exhaled.

I’d instigated another night by the shore of the small lake called a pond a mile northwest of town, but I wasn’t some horny kid who couldn’t control himself. Hell, my dick had been ignored long enough I wasn’t sure the damn thing still worked.

Jamie could suggest skinny-dipping and strip down like he preferred to do, and I doubted the sight of his tanned muscles would heat my blood.

Okay…maybe I was wrong there.

I rearranged my junk that had started to swell from the memories in my mind, and the simple touch through my jeans felt a little too damned good.

Huffing, I hoofed it to my car and locked myself inside. “Not cool,” I muttered, pressing against my dick that had decided to stiffen fully during the short walk. “Seriously?” I shot down at my groin, my voice annoyed as fuck even to my own ears.

Shaking my head, I pulled out of the parking lot and drove toward our quiet house.

I didn’t want to feed my imagination or my desire for Jamie, but goddamnit, it’d been months since my body had shown any interest in blowing a load.

Maybe that was what I needed. To bust a nut so I could sleep like the dead and get the real rest I was desperate for.

I might have driven a little faster than Chief Sutton Forester and his officers would have appreciated, but I was suddenly out of control, burdened by need that had to be met.

At least I managed to strip and crawl into bed, lube in hand and tissues beside me before grabbing hold of my throbbing length.

“Ah, fuck!” I jolted at the first stroke, hissing as I dragged my grip back up to tease the swollen head and leaking slit. Breathing heavy, I fucked into my palm and grasping fingers, hips thrusting, dragging my dick up and down through my wet fist.

Jesus, that feels so goddamned good.

I closed my eyes and gave into the fantasy I hated to remember had gotten me off the last couple of times Shelly had said we needed to have sex. It wasn’t her pussy I’d imagined shoving my dick into but a tight hole, furled and pink, with muscular globes bouncing from my thrusts. My fingertips would bruise with how hard I held him, desperate to drill deeper, burrow so far into him I would get lost and never have to leave.

Would he grunt from the force of my snapping hips? Arch his back and beg for more? Grasp at the sheets and whimper because I filled him so goddamned good, thrusting in and out of his hole?

“Fuck!”

Cum shot clear up to my chin, and I gasped, spine curling inward as pulses rocked my taint and spunk rushed up my shaft. Milky white ropes spurted in massive quantities over my stomach and pecs, dripping down my sides and puddling in my navel.

Fuck, I’d gone too long without release.

I collapsed back onto the mattress, boneless and heaving for breath like I’d hiked Mt. Washington, my extremities tingling.

But I didn’t stop stroking my sensitive shaft.

I still played out the fantasy, imagining Jamie hadn’t yet clenched his asshole around my cock, hadn’t emptied his own balls onto the bed beneath him. I set about to make fantasy Jamie groan my name while releasing.

Seconds later, I came again with an agonizing sweetness that overshadowed everything else.

Balls and head empty for the first time in too damn long, I finally slept through the night, guilt over what I’d done as silent as the grave.