Chapter 12
Avery
Brandon’s email was the last notification I expected to receive after taking an unnecessarily long cold shower the second I got back home.
I’d planned on wiping the memories, along with my shame, down the drain and punishing myself in the process. An appropriate response to my otherwise failed attempts at whatever the fuck happened back at Brandon’s house and the inevitable fallout because of it.
Freezing myself to death was on the dramatic side of things, more than I cared to admit, but it had done the job in forcing everything but the need to get warmer from my mind by the time I shut the water off and wrapped myself up in a towel.
I’d made the mistake of checking my phone once I’d stumbled back into my bedroom again, discovering an email waiting for me, and soon realizing how easy it was to unravel all of the hard work I’d done in locking up those goddamn memories and throwing the key away in the process.
Or so I thought.
Attached to the email were a couple of pictures, the message with it reading: “The black Bel Air needs an entire new exhaust system. Here is the quote. Can order and have parts in by Monday.”
And that was it.
Collapsing down onto my bed with only the towel to keep me from completely soaking my bedsheets, I stared up at the ceiling and wondered where the fuck I was supposed to go from here.
It shouldn’t be that much of a shock that Brandon was still willing to work on these cars.
His integrity to finishing up a project showed significantly in how he led all aspects of his life.
Half-assed was not in his forte, and neither was abandoning something halfway through after committing to it in the first place.
His message wasn’t a good sign. The clipped tone and the professionalism that had none of the friendliness like the emails he’d sent me before this were telling. He was uncomfortable with me.
“Fuck.” Gritting the word through my clenched teeth, I fisted my hands into the wet lengths of my hair and tugged on them hard enough at the roots to hurt.
How could I come back from this?
Realistically, approaching him at his business would do fuck all in terms of soothing the tension between us. It wouldn’t look like me coming to him as a friend, concerned about our relationship after a major fuck up on my part.
What it would come across looking like was me cornering him and pressuring him into forgiving me for my crude-ass behavior.
How the hell was I supposed to explain myself anyway?
Me, a straight man, humping my gay best friend like a fucking dog.
But oh god, the way he moaned. Those soft, breathy sounds that whispered over my skin and tickled my shoulder while I had my face buried in his neck. I’d never felt another cock rubbing against mine in my entire life, but in that moment, it’d felt fucking fantastic.
The hard ridges of him lined up with my own, grinding together while each thrust of my hips into his brought on that building sensation at the base of my spine.
What would’ve happened if a different scenario went down?
If Brandon had woken up and instead of being freaked out and pushing me away, he’d been surprised but delighted to continue.
It isn’t until I feel my balls squeeze that I realize I’d somehow snuck my hand under my towel and fisted my already hard cock. Squeezing around it, I shifted my hand up from the base, moving to circle around my leaking tip and back down to spread it along the length of me.
Imagining one of Brandon’s calloused fingers coming up to grab at my hair and force me down into a kiss had me closing my eyes to picture it, my hand tightening. Our tangled tongues coming together to taste the inside of each other like we were memorizing the details.
I’d never thought about kissing Brandon before this. Hell, it’d never crossed my mind to get so close to him that our bodies brushed together, let alone grinding against him intentionally until we were both popping boners.
His hitched breath had done me in, gotten me curious into exploring an unknown territory that I’d otherwise left unclaimed until that very moment. Hell, I never thought that there was anything to explore.
I’d been as straight as the day was long for my entire life with nothing to tell me otherwise.
So what the fuck was changing?
Loneliness?
Nostalgia?
Whatever it was, it wasn’t making the ache in my balls any less painful.
Rolling over onto my stomach, I kept an arm against the mattress for balance while propping my hips up from it. With my hand still fisted tightly around my cock, I reared back and then snapped forward, fucking myself into my hand and imagining a tight hole instead.
Getting past that first ring of muscles, I buried myself deep down inside, my eyes sliding shut while I recalled those breathy moans. He’d sound like that with his head pressed down into the mattress, my fingers tangled in his hair while I held him there and fucked him nice and raw.
His hole would take me greedily. He’d beg me to come inside him.
My back stiffened, that familiar tingling at the base of my spine coming on hard.
With a groan, I exploded in my hand. Cum spat out from my slit, coating my fingers and sheets in a complete mess that had me collapsing face first against my bed. I laid there for what felt like ages, until my spend began to dry and my breath was no longer coming in quick bursts.
I cracked my eyes open, and then reality slammed into me.
Peeling my hand off of my softening dick, I held it up while rolling to the side, surveying the absolute mess I left behind. I’d never come so much in my life.
Being turned on and ignoring it was one thing, but giving in and touching myself?
Fuck. I needed a damn shrink.
Cleaning up my bed while balling up and tossing my old sheets like a humiliated teenager down the laundry chute, I dreaded the sound of my phone going off by the time I stepped back into my room.
There was an innate possibility that, given the dread filling my stomach with unease while I retrieved my phone from where I’d tossed it after stripping my bed, the person on the other end of that line was about to deliver me with some horrible news.
Call it superstition or intuition, however it mattered. I never tended to question those things that had been gifted to me by my mother.
“This is Avery McAllister,” I greeted, settling back down onto my bed.
“Avery, it’s Ted Evans.”
Jesus fuck.
Of all things.
“You hear back from that other law office?”
He sighed into the phone. “I did. Got the documents in my inbox this morning. They look legit. I’m getting them authenticated in the meantime, but I wanted to call you and let you know.”
Pinching the bridge of my nose was only doing so much for my oncoming headache. Despite Brandon’s attempts at helping me circumvent a migraine, it seemed that my stress levels were determined to give me one anyway.
“What does she want?” I asked.
“A meeting.”
“With me?”
“Yes. I imagine to discuss terms, but probably, more informally, to meet you.”
That had to be some kind of shakedown tactic.
Why else would a random Russian model be interested in meeting her dead husband’s adult child?
She’d had no interest before this, let alone enough to invite me into some kind of relationship with her before my father had passed.
While I wasn’t sure on the exact timeline on when they’d gotten married before my father’s passing, the fact that I’d never heard of her to begin with was telling.
Either he’d neglected to let me meet her for a specific reason, or she simply had expressed to him in wanting to keep distance between us. Fine by me, except now that this was a matter of my father’s wealthy estate, suddenly the introductions were integral.
“And if I have no interest in that?” I asked.
“Unfortunately, I do need you down here during the discussion. Since she’s contesting your father’s will, I need all parties present.”
I sighed. “When and where?”
“I’m setting up a meeting the day after tomorrow.
If you can get down here early, we can go over what you’re willing to bring to the table in terms of negotiating if it comes down to that.
She may simply ask for money and be done with it.
But until that happens, I want us both to be prepared for the worst.”
A smart move, even if it was rather unfortunate timing.
Still, it would give me a much-needed distraction from the rest of the problems in my life.
“All right, I’ll be there.”
“Excellent,” Ted said. “I’ll see you then.”
I tossed my phone away from me, and my world tilted backward until I was flat against the mattress.
I prayed that this woman was only after the money. That I could handle.
Anything else and I’d blow a gasket.