Chapter 2
DOMINIC
“What did you just say to me?” I make myself bigger, shoulders squaring up. Old instinct. The kind that worked on every drunk idiot in college who wanted to start something. He doesn’t flinch.
“You heard me.” He leans against the sink with a half-smile on his face, calm as anything, like he’s waiting for a bus. Those pale eyes don’t leave mine.
“I’m not gay, dude.”
“So? I’m not offering you my hand in marriage.” He shrugs. “It’s just a blowjob. Looks like you need one.”
“Yeah, I think I’ll pass on that.”
“Alright.” He uncrosses his arms and straightens up. “Too bad. Would’ve loved to taste that big cock of yours.”
“You... what? So you’ve been looking?”
“Honestly, it was kinda hard not to notice.” His gaze drops for a fraction of a second, then snaps back up. “Real nice piece of equipment you’re packing there.”
How can this guy be so goddamn casual? Never in my twenty-eight years has a man propositioned me in a public restroom. Never. And I’ve been to a gay bar once with my college roommate.
I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Cheeks flushed, jaw tight. My dark hair is a mess from the drive, and I’ve got stubble that’s bordering on full-on beard.
I should be disgusted. Angry. I should deck him. I should knock that smug look right off his face. But I don’t. I stand there and take it. Just like I stood in my own doorway and watched my girlfriend get plowed by some other dude.
And the worst part is, a treacherous part of me is flattered. The part that’s been feeling small and emasculated for weeks is puffing its chest out because some guy in a gas station bathroom thinks I have a nice dick. It’s pathetic, really. Truly pathetic.
“Anyway,” he says, pushing himself off the sink. “Drive safe.”
He walks past me, and I get a whiff of him.
Something warm and masculine. Woodsy. Like pine and damp earth.
I don’t think it’s cologne. I think it’s just him.
For a fraction of a second, I have the insane urge to push him to his knees and take him up on that offer.
To feel a hot, wet mouth on my cock. To not think about anything else.
“How often do you do this?” The words are out before I can catch them.
He stops with his hand on the door and turns. “Do what?”
“Hit on guys in public restrooms.”
He grins. “Only the ones who are as handsome and hung as you.”
Jesus Christ. I roll my eyes, but I can’t keep the corner of my mouth from twitching. “You’ve got some nerve, man.”
“You have no idea.” He winks. “The name’s Ryan, by the way.”
“I didn’t ask for your name.”
“No,” he says, opening the door. “You didn’t. But you’re still standing here talking to me.”
And he’s right. I am.
He’s gone before I can think of a comeback. The door swings shut behind him, and the bathroom goes silent, save for the buzz of the fluorescent lights overhead.
I stand there for a long minute, staring at the door. What the hell just happened? Am I being punked? Is there a hidden camera somewhere? I look around the bathroom. Cracked tiles, a rusty drain, graffiti on the stall door. Nothing out of the ordinary.
My pulse is pounding hard enough that I can feel it in my throat.
I run some cold water, splash it on my face, and look at myself in the mirror.
I barely recognize the guy staring back.
Wild-eyed, cheeks still red. And there’s a bulge in my jeans I can’t seem to will away.
That’s the part that doesn’t make any fucking sense.
I’m straight. I know I am. I’ve only ever been with women. I love pussy. I love the smell of it, the taste of it, the feel of it. I love tits in my hands, hearing her moan when I’m deep inside her. There’s no doubt in my mind. I’ve never once thought about being with a guy.
So why am I standing here with a semi-chub in my jeans? Why did I imagine, even for a split second, taking him up on that offer?
It’s just been a long day, I tell myself. A long month, actually. I’m all pent up. I haven’t gotten laid in weeks, not since the breakup. I’m just reacting to any kind of attention. Some silver-eyed guy says something a little forward, and my dick gets confused. That’s all it is.
And he was a good-looking guy. Objectively.
I can admit that. Strong jaw, nice lips.
Thick arms, veins running down his forearms. The kind of build you don’t get without putting in serious time at a gym.
It’s not gay to notice these things. I can acknowledge another man is attractive without wanting to put my dick inside him. Right?
I square my shoulders. “Get a grip, Dominic,” I tell my reflection.
Later today, I’ll be in some new town, drinking a beer at a dive bar with neon signs in the window.
Shooting pool with some locals. I’ll find a nice girl with soft skin and a sweet smile.
I’ll take her back to my motel room, and I’ll fuck her until I forget all about my ex.
And this pit stop. And a guy named Ryan.
I take one last deep breath, pushing that woody scent out of my head, and head for the door.
He’s right there. Leaning against the wall outside with his arms crossed, one boot flat against the brick, squinting into the sun. He looks over at me, and those silver-blue eyes catch the light.
“Took you long enough,” he says.
“This is borderline harassment, you know that?”
“Excuse me? I’m just enjoying some fresh air before I get back on the road.”
“Next to a restroom. Don’t play dumb. You were waiting for me.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. Not everything is about you, man. I’m just stretching my legs. Last I checked, this is a public space.”
He’s so damn calm. It’s infuriating. I should walk away. Get in my car and go. Instead, for some reason, I hear myself say, “Where’s your car?”
He points with his chin toward the far end of the lot. “Black truck. Over there.” I follow his gaze. It’s a beast. A big, lifted F-250 with a silver stripe. Looks like it’s seen some serious miles.
“What about you?”
I nod toward my car. “The boring one.”
“Hey, boring gets you from A to B. Nothing wrong with that.” He pushes off the wall and walks toward the vending machines. “Want something? My treat.”
“I’m good.”
“You sure? You look like you could use a sugar rush.”
I watch him feed some money into the machine and punch a few buttons. I should go. I really, really should go. My car is right there. The open road is calling. What the fuck am I still doing here?
Ryan comes back with a Dr Pepper and a bag of peanut M&Ms. He cracks the soda and takes a long swallow. “So. Where are you headed?”
“Hey, um, how would that have even worked?”
“Sorry?”
“I mean, if I had said yes. In there. How would that have worked? That’s a public restroom. Anyone could’ve walked in.”
He stops mid-chew and looks at me. Then that smile creeps back across his face. “Well, for starters, that’s part of the fun.”
“Fun?”
“Oh, yeah.” He pops another M&M in his mouth. “And besides, I’m fast. Real fast. I could’ve already made you come twice by now. All that wasted time working up the nerve to say you want it.”
“Whoa. Pump the brakes, buddy. I never said I wanted it.”
“Yeah, but you’re not leaving, either. So what’s up? You told me you were taking a piss and getting back on the road. But here we are. Still talking.” He takes another sip. “So what do you want?”
He’s got me there. What the fuck do I want? I want to feel like a man again. I want to be desired. I want to forget everything that’s happened and feel something other than this gnawing emptiness in my gut.
Ryan shakes the last M&Ms into his mouth and crumples the bag in his fist. “You said no. Fine. I respect that. I would’ve loved to taste you, don’t get me wrong.
Absolutely would have loved to feel those nice big balls of yours slap against my chin.
Feel your cock throb as you shoot that hot load down my throat.
But hey. You’re not into it. That’s cool.
So either get in your car and drive away, or tell me what you do want.
Because right now, you’re giving me some seriously mixed signals, dude. ”
My dick is an iron bar in my jeans. There’s no denying it now. It’s pressing against the zipper, begging to be let out. All this talk, this… filth, is getting to me. And I hate it. I hate that he has this kind of power over me.
I scrape a hand over my face, the stubble scratching my palm.
“You better be as fast as you say you are.”