Chapter Twelve
Wes
Gina and I gave up on having kids when the effort started to break us both down, and not just physically.
But riding with Adam and Troy in my car is what I imagine it’s like to have toddlers.
The sexy and in-command men who cornered me in a closet and guided me into jerking them off have turned into, well…
“Punch buggy!” Adam slugs Troy from his spot in the back seat when we pass someone driving a vintage yellow VW Beetle.
Troy turns around and growls, “Just for that? Wait until it’s your turn to bottom again. I’ll tear your asshole’s asshole a new asshole.”
So, they’re lewd toddlers. Still.
The wild part? I’m trying like hell not to laugh at them. I can’t count how many times during the drive from their apartment I’ve nearly cracked.
The crinkle of a wrapper raises my hackles, though. “Hey. Whatever that is, save it for after you’re out of my car.”
“But I’m hungry.” Without even looking, Troy’s garbled complaint tells me the ship has sailed, and whatever he unwrapped is already in his mouth.
“Fuck. Just…please try not to drop crumbs.”
He waves a dismissive hand. “That’s what vacuums are for.”
Okay, no. “Look, asshole. I am about five minutes away from being homeless. I’m paying a mortgage on a house I don’t even get to live in. So fuck you and your damn granola bar.”
My hands tighten on the steering wheel. When I open my mouth next, the anger that flies out shocks even me. “This car may be ancient and rusty, but it’s the one thing I have that’s mine. It is all I have. So if you drop crumbs, you’d better fucking pick them up.”
Silence. Stopping at the red light nearest to the Premiere’s main entrance, I rub my gritty eyes.
“Something wrong, Kitten?” Troy turns to look at me, and his expression fucks me up, because all of a sudden he seems so earnest and sincere. Even as he finishes chewing the bite in his mouth and swallows.
Too bad neither of them can actually fix any of my problems.
Would I ask them for help if I thought they could?
That thought creates a fizzy sensation inside me that I can’t afford to feel. I can’t lean on people or hope for help. It only makes things shittier when people disappear and let you down. That goes double for two young men who are at best passing through my life, leaving chaos in their wake.
Troy bought you a smoothie when you weren’t able to get one for yourself.
I still don’t know for sure how he knew about that. I’ve tried not to dwell. That fizzy sensation is addictive and dangerous. It’s worse than hope. If I didn’t know better I’d be tempted to call it something like affection.
It’s best if I keep myself officially closed off to all floaty, hopeful, fizzy feelings. To all sensations having to do with two men in their early twenties, for God’s sake, who alternate between acting as if they’re older and wiser than me and acting as if they’re children.
Never actually wanted kids, anyway.
Except Troy is still looking at me as the light turns green, and it feels rude not to answer. “The two of you are so fucking immature; I’m trying to figure out how I keep letting you both have your way with me.”
Out of the corner of my eye, Troy’s smile is impossibly bright. “I’ll address the second thing first.” He does something akin to jazz hands. Spirit fingers? “You’ve got a secret desire to be dominated, and we’ve got magic hands.”
A secret desire to…
My stomach flips.
Oh. No. No, no, no. I most certainly do not.
Do I?
Chills race up my spine. “I don’t even know where to begin unpacking that statement.”
As if he senses it’s a new hot spot, Adam reaches from the back seat and tickles the hair at the base of my skull.
“The other thing is on account of our fucked-up childhoods,” he says.
“Troy grew up with an abusive and homophobic piece of shit, and I grew up in organized crime…with an abusive and homophobic piece of shit.”
“Jesus,” I breathe. My eyelids suddenly weigh an awful lot.
Now I feel like an asshole. Nobody knows better than I do about shitty childhoods, and mine wasn’t nearly as bad as what these two probably dealt with.
“Tell us about your childhood, Westy.” Troy nudges my side.
“For the last fucking time, it’s Wes.”
“Or Kitten,” Adam supplies.
The Premiere’s employee lot is always full of cars.
For obvious reasons, the hotel prefers to reserve most of the parking areas for paying guests.
Still, they really need to expand enough to cover their staffing needs.
Currently we’re short on housekeepers and kitchen staff, yet I’m still having to park in the grass way in the back because there’s nothing else open at this time of day.
When I’m finally in what can only be loosely called a parking space, I turn off the car and face them both. “My childhood was nothing special.”
“Hey. We’re trying to get to know you, Kitten. It’s what you do on dates.” Troy bats his eyelashes. They’re shorter and lighter than Adam’s, but still nice, I guess. Curly, if you’re into that sort of thing.
Stop pretending you aren’t.
“You can’t call a fifteen-minute car ride where the two of you spent most of it acting like unruly children a date.”
“He’s right.” Adam nods. “We should all go out to a movie sometime.”
Troy perks up. “There’s an old horror film coming to that taphouse theater in the north end. The one where an old house is haunted by the ghosts of murdered children. What are you into, Kitten?”
The thing is, I’d actually planned on seeing that one. But…
“I’m sorry.” I twist farther around in the seat.
“When did this change from you guys humiliating me via orgasm to the three of us dating? You both sound ridiculous. For at least a little while, I’m still married.
I’m nearly twice your age. Let’s not forget you’re both regularly fucking other people.
You rode with me back to the hotel because you’re on the way to fuck someone else right now . ”
I wince at the volume of my voice. Glancing around, I’m grateful to see the rest of the lot appears to be empty right now. There’s a flash of alarm when I think I hear footsteps, but it must be paranoia because I don’t see anyone.
Good. The last thing I need is someone who works under me hearing my unhinged rant about dating two sex workers.
As I exit the car and speed-walk toward the door, Adam and Troy’s footsteps hustle behind me. It’s a good thing I’ve got longer legs, although possibly not enough. They’re getting closer.
“Is that a deal-breaker for you, Kitten?” Troy asks. “Because it’s something we can have a conversation about.”
“Yeah, when we’re getting to know each other,” Adam adds.
“For God’s sake, both of you, stop. Stop with the teasing and the taunting and the trying to get to know me. I spent a decade and a half in a marriage with someone who actively hated me almost as much as I hated myself and I cannot handle?—”
Something lurches in my chest. The second I realize I’ve strayed into actual getting-to-know-you territory, I snap my mouth shut.
“Don’t you remember the conversation we had back at our place? What I hear you saying is you need to have fun as much as we do, Westy.” Troy’s obviously trying to get a rise out of me. I refuse to take their bait again.
When I glance back over my shoulder, though, he looks achingly sincere. I try to shake off the unsettling wobble in my center as I turn back toward the hotel.
“Troy’s right, Kitten,” Adam adds. “Maybe you even need it more than?—”
Someone grunts. The footsteps behind me stop.
It takes me a second to notice. I’m too busy speed-walking away from them. When I turn around, Troy is laid out flat on the ground. Adam is down too, but he’s groaning and trying to push himself off the pavement.
When I hurry over to see if they’re okay, there’s a shuffling noise behind me. I look over my shoulder in time to see a gloved fist coming at my face.
It’s the last thing I see before things go dark.