Chapter 11
Brendan
Now
After a couple of hours at the bar I feel pretty good about the way the night’s going.
We’ve cleared the air, and I’m enjoying just talking to Kyle.
The conversation is flowing and, if I ignore the designer clothes, I can see the old Davies is still there.
It’s a shame he ended up married to an uppity prick, but he got a kid out of it, so that’s something.
Kyle begins to tell me about how he doesn’t make time to see his siblings—siblings he was once close to.
But, as much as I try to focus on the conversation, I keep getting lost in my own thoughts.
Seeing that photo of Lucinda, who is the spitting image of Kyle, has got me feeling sentimental about that short time we lived together with Ethan and Tiffany.
Kyle might be complaining about being a parent to a teenager, but he must be a great dad—I saw first-hand how good he was with Ethan as a baby. Truth is, I would’ve loved to raise a—
No. It’s stupid to let old regrets resurface.
My eyes drift over Kyle’s face as he continues to talk. Denying the urge to reach out and touch him, to caress his cheek and feel the texture of his beard, is becoming increasingly difficult to deny. I restrain my hands by holding tightly onto my empty beer mug.
My gaze travels further down to his hands resting on the table.
I always liked his long, elegant fingers.
My thoughts tumble back in time, memories from the past materialising before me…
I’m seated between Kyle’s legs, feet planted on the bed and spread open, my back leaning against his chest. He’s got one hand possessively around my throat while his fingers fuck languidly in and out of me, teasing that spot.
I tilt my head back to be thoroughly kissed, deep and wet, moaning into his mouth as the pleasure begins to crest.
Heat blooms low and blood rushes to my cock as my face flushes hot with the headiness of arousal.
“Bren? Are you even listening? You can’t be pissed from a few beers. Have you become a lightweight in your old age?” Kyle laughs, blue eyes sparkling.
I blink, adjusting myself under the table. “Probably am a lightweight,” I say, afraid my voice will give away the truth. “Sure as shit don’t drink like I did back in the day.”
Kyle’s only had two beers, but he’s definitely got a buzz going because of his meds. I’ve only had four myself, but it feels more like six. Being around Kyle is intoxicating.
I should’ve stayed sober.
“Hey Bren, you see those two hyper-masc straight bros playing pool over there?” Kyle tilts his head towards a couple of guys on the other side of the bar.
“What about ‘em?” I ask, turning to look.
“They think they’re hot shit. They keep announcing which ball they’re about to sink, then miss the shot.
I don’t suppose you can still play. We’ve got a pool table at home, and I must admit, I’m still good.
You wanna see if we can hustle them?” Kyle smiles, excited, and it reminds me of the first time we shoplifted together.
“You serious? I haven’t pulled shit like that in years,” I say, getting completely sucked in by Kyle’s eagerness. “So how we doin’ this, Davies?”
Kyle giggles, like actually giggles. “I think we should play on the table next to them and act like two flamboyant queens who have no fucking clue. I consider it my duty as a gay man to destroy stereotypes, and this should do it. You up for that, Young?”
Being called Young for the first time in six years almost sobers me up. “Fuck yeah, I’m up for it. I’m gonna give you an Oscar-worthy performance, so keep your shit together.”
At the pool table, Kyle gets into character straight away by stripping off his jacket and dramatically grabbing a cue stick. He looks me up and down before announcing loudly, “Baby, wait to you see how good I’ve gotten with my stick.”
If I wasn’t salivating at Kyle’s body, I would be laughing my ass off and blow the hustle before we even begin. I can see his hard nipples and every ridge of his abs, and it’s fucking hot.
Grabbing a cue stick for myself, I move behind Kyle and announce just as loudly, “Babe, wait ‘til you see how I handle these balls.” I slap Kyle on the ass—which I try not to enjoy too much—before racking up the balls. The two fuckwits are already laughing at us, and I smile at how easy this is going to be. Kyle is still giggling at getting his ass slapped and I can’t help but wonder how much of this is really an act.
We start playing—if that’s what you’d call it—holding the cue incorrectly, pretending we don’t understand the rules, and sometimes missing the white ball. I hear a few mumbled homophobic comments.
Kyle finally sinks his first ball, and we celebrate by bumping our hips together. I add, “Bitch, you slay,” and Kyle nearly loses it, turning away to hide his grin.
Next, he pretends to break a nail, and I swoop in to kiss it better, my mind immediately imagining sucking his finger into my mouth.
Kyle whispers in my ear, his warm breath fanning down my neck.
“Baby, you’re so sweet. I’m gonna look after you so good tonight.
” I’m about to tell him that the guys can't hear him when his huge hand lands on my ass and gives it a quick squeeze.
Fuck! We’re taking this way too far. I’m about to tell Kyle to dial it down when he steps in close behind me, under the ruse of fixing my technique.
The heat of his body pressing to the curve of my back almost makes me groan.
His hands settle over mine to demonstrate correct hand placement and I forget why we are even doing this.
Kyle’s cock is semi-hard against my ass, and my eyes fall closed as memories of being fucked within an inch of my life resurface.
Kyle whispers again, his lips grazing my earlobe, and goosebumps rise across my flushed skin. “Bren, you’re amazing. They’re totally buying this. Let’s make our move.”
He steps back and faces the two guys, leaving me feeling lost and dazed. Jesus, what the fuck am I playing at? This is dangerous and so fucking stupid! I try to refocus on the hustle.
“Hey boys, you wanna play two against two?” Kyle asks, placing a hand on his hip. “We’ve been practising, and I bet we could kick your asses.”
The two guys look at each other like they’ve hit bank. The blonde one nudges his mate, who says, “You wanna put your money where your mouth is?”
Kyle turns to me. “Baby, can we? Please baby, I have the perfect way to celebrate when we win.” Kyle licks over his top lip slowly and I suppress a laugh. Witnessing Kyle radiate femme bottom energy is something I never thought I’d see.
“Babe, I’ve only got a hundred on me,” I say, getting back into character. “How much do you have?” I try to look as innocent as possible.
“I’ve got a hundred too.” Kyle turns to face the two guys, pouting. “Is that enough? Two hundred?”
The two men smirk at each other, then agree to the terms. Four hundred dollars is placed down on the table. We win the toss and elect to break.
Kyle keeps the act up, even as he sinks three balls in succession before he encounters a difficult shot and misses.
The blonde guy goes next and still seems confident—he sinks one ball—but then sinks one of ours by mistake.
I’m a little nervous, but I sink two more balls before the brunette has his turn and sinks none.
The two guys glance nervously at each other.
Kyle winks at me, drops the facade, sinks our last ball, then calls the pocket on the 8-ball, sinking that too, with a shot that impresses even me. I quickly grab the four hundred bucks off the table before the men protest.
Kyle holds out his hand to the blonde guy and says, “Good game,” with a cocky grin on his face.
I turn to the brunette, speaking in my regular baritone voice. “Thanks for the game boys.”
“What the fuck’s going on here?” Blondie yells, stepping into Kyle’s personal space. “Did you fucking hustle us?” Blondie gives Kyle a little shove in the chest, so I step between them, protecting Kyle.
“Back the fuck up,” I warn. “You lost in a fair game so don’t be a fuckin’ little bitch about it.”
Kyle steps up beside me, already pulling his jacket on, and I nudge him in the direction of the door. While I wouldn’t mind getting into it, with a record like mine I can’t afford to. We head towards the door.
“Are you two even fucking faggots?” Blondie yells across the bar, everyone turning to stare.
Kyle turns, chest puffed out and ready for a fight. “Hell yeah we are, and we’re fucking proud of it too. And don’t even think about messing with two fags from the Pines, cos we’ll bury your motherfucking asses.”
“Jesus Kyle, let’s get outta here.” I grab him by the back of his jacket and drag him outside before it ends in a brawl.
Once we know we’re not being followed, we start to laugh.
I feel fucking high. I feel young!
My mind is firing fast and my body tingles with excitement. We reach my Ute, and I lean against the driver’s side door, lighting up a cigarette. Pulling two hundred bucks from my pocket, I hold it out to Kyle.
“You keep it Bren. That was the most fun I’ve had in years.”
I step forward and slip it into his jacket pocket. “You earned it, so take it.” Without thinking, I pass the cigarette to Kyle as if all those lost years never existed.
It has a sobering effect.
Kyle’s expression turns serious as his lips wrap around the filter.
There’s yearning in his blue eyes and I can’t look away, mesmerised by his pupils dilating, his eyes turning almost black with desire.
I dare not look down, but I’m certain he’s hard for me.
My body aches to lean against him, to feel his warmth and his strength.
Something was unlocked when he draped himself over my back during the game.
If I wasn’t married, how easy it would be to fall back into his arms.
This was a mistake. A huge fucking mistake.