Chapter 8
Trevor
Well, I sure didn’t anticipate that.
“Okay,” I say, tone even. “If you’re expecting me to be ashamed—”
“No,” Isaac replies quickly, his eyes widening. “That’s not why I brought it up. I just… I couldn’t keep it a secret.”
I take in Isaac’s expression and body language. The jittery fingers he can’t keep still. The way his eyes keep dropping from my face to the table. The flush riding his cheekbones.
“Do you feel guilty for watching it?” I ask.
He puffs out a small breath. “Not exactly. You wouldn’t put it out there if you didn’t expect people to watch.”
“That’s true. How’d you know it was me?”
“Really?” he asks, a little of his fire returning. He waves toward my hands. “The tattoos were a dead giveaway. But, uh…I recognized your voice before that.”
I lean back in my seat with a hum. “You liked it.”
His eyes flare wide. “My God, could you be more full of yourself right now?”
My lips twitch as Isaac does his best to look put-out. His smile betrays him. Isaac begins unwrapping his sandwich, visibly calmer than he was before. Like a weight has been shed. I do the same as his eyes flick occasionally back up to mine.
“Would you have told me?” he asks before taking a bite of his food.
“Of course. I was waiting to see…”
“To see what?”
“Whether or not I had a chance with you,” I admit. “I would have said something before we became intimate.”
Isaac’s blush returns, even as he focuses on eating his chicken salad sandwich. My own is roast beef.
“I’m glad you found out,” I tell him truthfully. “So we can talk about it openly.”
He nods slowly. “How often do you make the videos?”
“Several times a week. Sometimes daily.”
“That’s a lot of jerking off,” Isaac mutters.
I huff a laugh. “Does it bother you?”
“No,” he says softly. “Maybe it should, but…no.”
Tightness I didn’t even realize I was holding eases inside my chest, allowing me to take in a full breath. “You don’t mind that people watch me or…you like that people watch me?”
“Jesus,” Isaac mutters under his breath. “This is so not first-date conversation material.”
“Maybe not,” I agree. “But I don’t think there’s any going back now.”
Isaac glances around the shop before answering. A couple students just walked in, but they’re far enough away not to hear our conversation. “I like that people watch you, okay? I think it’s hot as fuck. Knowing they get off on you but will never really…have you? I…”
Isaac cuts off, possibly realizing how much he’s giving away.
“You want to be the one to have me, Red?”
He sucks in a breath, buying time by taking a big bite of his sandwich. I wait him out, pleased beyond measure that Isaac hasn’t walked right out the door. No, he showed up today knowing exactly what he’d be getting into, and he stayed.
Finally, Isaac wipes his hand on a napkin and sits back in his chair. His blue eyes watch me closely, his skin fair beneath the waves of red breaking over his brow. He looks both delicate and strong as steel, a combination that had me hooked from near the moment we first met.
“What do you want from me?” Isaac asks.
“I want to know you.”
“Not just fuck me?”
I shake my head in a jerk.
“And if that’s all I want from you?” he asks.
I let out a slow breath. “I’m not interested in being your toy, Isaac. That’s all I am to a lot of people. And I don’t mind that. But with you?” I shake my head again. “That wouldn’t work with you.”
His chest rises and falls. “So you’d be mine. Not theirs.”
“I’ve never been theirs.”
“But they want you.”
I shrug. “Some, maybe. Sure. Some just want the fantasy. They don’t know who I am.”
“I do.”
“You do,” I agree. “Do you still want me?”
“Fuck,” he mutters, leaning forward. He plants his elbows on the table. “I get to watch any video I want. You don’t hide anything from me.”
It sounds as if he’s laying out terms. I nod easily.
“You don’t date other people,” he goes on. “They don’t get that from you.”
“Red,” I say slowly. “You’ve been my sole focus since the moment you barged into my life with one pant leg wet and fire spitting from your eyes. You want to collar me? You go right ahead. I’m not answering to anyone else.”
“Jesus,” he hisses, color high on his cheeks. He looks glorious, lit from within. “How fucking wide is it? I need to prepare.”
A smile stretches across my face as I understand what he’s asking. I pull his hand into my own, my thumb and forefinger curving by memory. I shape Isaac’s to match.
His voice comes out at nearly a whisper. “Fucking hell, Trevor. You top?”
I can’t help but chuckle. “And here I was thinking we’d kiss long before having this conversation.”
“Knowing compatibility is important,” Isaac counters, staring at where our hands are locked.
I give him a squeeze, waiting until he meets my eye. “You promise me a kiss, and I’ll promise to fuck you so good you forget what your legs are for.”
He blows out a breath. “Library Guy, you’re just full of surprises.”
I bark a laugh that has Isaac grinning in response. He glances around the shop again, not in a worried way, like he’s concerned about being caught holding hands with another man. Simply as if he’s trying to realign himself with reality.
I understand how he feels.
Part of me was certain Isaac and I wouldn’t have the chance to start before ending. Not everyone is okay with the idea of their partner being public in such an…intimate way. And Isaac struck me as the jealous type, based on the night at the bar.
The fact that he’s only jealous of where my affections lie?
I couldn’t have asked for a better outcome.
“Tell me something honest,” Isaac says, his hands slipping from mine as he sits back in his seat.
“Something honest?”
He nods.
Does he mean from the heart?
I let my gaze drift over his face. The sharp cheekbones and freckles bridging across his nose like a trail I want to follow.
The curl of his hair over the tip of his ear, the red seeming too impossible a color to be real.
The hollow at the dip of his throat, where the vibrations of his voice would tickle my lips.
“They say peace is quiet, but I don’t think that’s true.
It’s a roar. A battle cry. Peace comes in the consummation of all we fight for.
I would burn to find a moment of peace with you. ”
Isaac lets loose a breath. “What’s your last name?”
“Slade. Why?”
“I think I should know the name of the man I’m dating.”
My smile breaks free again. “Is that right?”
Isaac holds out his hand. “I look forward to knowing you, Trevor Slade.”
Clasping my hand with his feels like more than agreement. It’s a match, struck and lit.
“How soon do you have to go?” Isaac asks, the warmth of his palm leaving mine. “Do you have classes today? Work?”
“Little of both,” I tell him. “But I have a few more minutes before I should leave.”
He nods, licking his lips. When he grabs his trash and stands, I follow.
Isaac walks a short ways down the sidewalk, not saying a word before he steps into the wide entrance of a parking garage. There’s a slight echo to our steps until he stops and turns my way.
“I’m sorry it’s here,” he says, almost breathless, “but I’m not waiting for tomorrow.”
I don’t have time to ask any follow-ups before Isaac’s hand is curling around the back of my neck and tugging. I willingly follow his draw, and the moment Isaac’s lips fit against my own, I swear I can feel it. The burst of energy and fire.
One of my hands cradles his back as the other catches against the concrete wall, slowing our momentum as Isaac tugs me in closer. Our lips part for only a second as he bumps into the surface, and then he’s on me again.
It’s nothing short of what I expected. Hot and biting and unapologetically demanding. And when I don’t fight it? When I force Isaac’s mouth open and slide my tongue against his? I could live on the sound that tears out of his throat.
Isaac wrenches his mouth away when tires screech somewhere inside the parking garage. He inhales great big lungfuls of air, his red locks falling disheveled over his forehead, his mouth so tempting it’s difficult to stay away.
His ragged sentiment mirrors my own. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. I knew you’d be trouble.”
“What gave me away?” I ask, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
Isaac follows the movement before his gaze slips back up to mine. “The turtlenecks.”
I bark a laugh, and Isaac smiles smugly. He takes a moment to set himself to rights, tugging his light jacket into place and running fingers through his hair.
Finally, he blows out a breath. “Can I just…try something? Before you go?”
Curious, I nod, and Isaac steps forward. He wraps both hands around my bicep, his fingertips not meeting.
“Jesus,” he murmurs.
“It gets bigger,” I whisper.
Isaac snorts when I flex the muscle, his hands lingering for a moment before they fall away. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Bright and early. Do I have your number?”
He startles before chuckling and pulling his phone free. “Uh, no. That was Lumi’s.”
I hum, inputting my digits into Isaac’s phone when he hands it my way. “And did she like the video?”
Isaac accepts his phone, cheeks red as he saves my contact. “Far too much.”
“It doesn’t bother you?” I check. “You said before she was off-limits.”
My phone chimes before Isaac slips his own away. His exhale is measured. “Because Lumi and Todd are my family. I don’t want you looking at them the way you look at me.”
Isaac’s breath hitches when I clasp my hand against the side of his neck, thumb raising his chin. “How could I see them when you are the sun?”
“Jesus, Trevor. Are you always going to be like this?”
“Do you want me to be?”
He doesn’t give me a no, his eyes pinging between my own. “Please don’t make me regret this.”
The words don’t sound like a threat. They sound like a plea.
I kiss Isaac’s cheek. One and then the other. His skin is hot beneath my lips, a stark contrast to the chill in the air. When I press my lips to his, his hand fists in my sweater.
“One day soon,” I tell him, “I’ll have tasted every freckle on your skin. I’ll ask you then if I’ve given you any reason to regret putting your trust in me.”
His eyes slip closed, his breath stuttering. “I think you were born in the wrong era, Trevor.”
“No. I’m right where I want to be.”
Isaac relaxes his grip on my sweater, his hand smoothing over the fabric as if in apology. He gives me a small push, opening his eyes at last. “I’ll see you later.”
“Mhm.”
After a second in which neither of us moves, Isaac laughs and shoves me further away. “You go. I need a second.”
I glance pointedly downward, eyes raking over Isaac’s jeans. “Did you already forget what your legs are for? I haven’t even done the good stuff yet.”
“Get out of here, you asshole. And stop smiling like that. For fuck’s sake, you don’t have to look so pleased. And there you go. Yep. Bye. You dick.”
I chuckle to myself as Isaac continues muttering, the heat of his touch like a phantom pressed against me. When I pull my phone free, I find his text waiting: a simple “It’s me.” I save the contact as “Red,” my smile aching my cheeks.
No, I don’t plan on giving Isaac a single regret when it comes to him and me.
By the time I get home after my final class for the day, my uncle already has dinner on the stove. “Dumpling soup?” I ask.
He lets out an amused huff, sparing me a glance as I set my things down on the table. “Should have been a chef with a nose like that.”
“Noses don’t make the food.”
“Oh, good Lord. Stop being pedantic for the fun of it and grab the bowls.”
Chuckling, I do as he asks, setting the bowls on the counter beside him. “Be right back.”
As the soup cools enough to eat, I head down the hall to clean up. After washing my hands, I sort through the videos on my phone, looking for one in particular. Finding it, I attach it to a text and send it to Isaac.
Me: In case you were wondering what I meant by unconventional athletics.
The still of the video shows a white athletic sock resting innocently on my bed. Of course, there’s nothing innocent about that sock by the end of the video.
Not expecting an immediate reply, I slip my phone away and head back to the kitchen.
“How was your day?” my uncle asks, waving for me to take a seat. He already filled my bowl for me, steam wafting up from the chicken-and-dumpling soup inside.
“Good,” I answer, sitting opposite him. My lips quirk as I remember Isaac’s flushed face in the shade of the parking garage. “Got myself a boyfriend.”
My uncle coughs, taking the time to clear his throat before responding. “Do I know him?”
“Not yet. Name’s Isaac.”
“Is he in one of your classes?”
“No. I met him at the library.”
A proud smile lifts my uncle’s cheek. “So he’s a brainy type, like you.”
When I only hum, my uncle reaches across the table to smack my shoulder.
“None of that, peque. Look at all you’ve accomplished.”
My uncle never went to college himself. When it comes to academics, he’s been my biggest cheerleader. My only, really. I just wish he didn’t think his lack of a degree put him on a fundamentally different level than me, when we’re so very much the same.
But Rafael Slade is a stubbornly determined man when it comes to what he thinks is right. It’s the very reason he fought so hard to take me in when my mother passed. He knew it’s what she would have wanted, despite the many hoops he had to jump through to prove he was up to the task.
My uncle has worked hard to ensure I’d have the best chances in life. Ones he was never given.
“He likes literature,” I tell him, doing what I can to repay his faith in me. Giving my uncle space in my world, always. “Emerson and Thoreau. Probably a whole bunch of authors I’ve never even heard of before.”
My uncle snorts, knowing how much of a reader I am.
“He has red hair. Bright red, not just a hint of it in the sunlight. And he’s fierce. You’ll like him.”
“Sounds like it,” my uncle agrees. “Can he cook?”
“Not sure.”
“Well, bring him by. We’ll find out.”
“Raf,” I caution.
He humphs. “It’s not a test. I just think if the boy can’t cook, he ought to learn, is all.”
“Uh-huh. You’ll be nice.”
“Of course. Does he have any tattoos?”
As I fill my uncle in, my phone chimes in my pocket. I leave it for later, only pulling out the device once I’m downstairs getting ready to disinfect the empty tattoo shop.
Isaac’s reply to my video has a smile tugging at my lips.
Red: I think I could get into football if that’s what happens in the locker room.
Red: Thanks for texting, Bruiser.
I type back.
Me: Bruiser?
Red: Your dick, Trevor. You can’t tell me that thing won’t leave an impression.
Me: It doesn’t have to.
Red: Oh, no, no. You made me a promise. I, for one, can’t wait to find out just how long I’ll feel you after.
Me: I’ll do my best.
Red: You better.
My phone continues to chime as I deep clean the tattoo artists’ stalls and the front of the shop. I can’t remember the last time I smiled throughout my entire shift.