29 Cutter #2
He grins. “You don’t know the half of it. I don’t have to be present to make you feel good.”
And with that possibility swimming around my head, he says goodbye and slips out the door.
? ? ?
The rest of the day crawls by. Daryl stops by on his way to the club to visit for a few minutes and thankfully brings me a phone charger.
“Figured you’d need something to occupy yourself,” he reasons as he plugs it in and sets the phone on the rolling cart next to my bed. “I promise I won’t bother you with work.”
“Bother me with whatever you want,” I tell him. “I’m bored to death in here.”
“Look at this as a break from the grind. We’ll survive without you for however long it takes. And by the way, I want you to come stay with me for a few days when you get out.”
“What? No. I’ll be fine. Really.”
“Nonsense. You live on the third floor and you have no one to check on you.”
“And you have to work,” I insist.
“Yes, but my housekeeper is a killer cook. At least you won’t starve.”
“I’m sure she has better things to do than take care of your injured friend.”
“Rosa loves me. Any friend of mine is a friend of hers.”
From what I recall of Rosa from the days I couch-surfed at Daryl’s after he pulled me out of the gutter, she wasn’t exactly thrilled with me. Granted, circumstances are different now, but the last thing I want to do is intrude upon his lifestyle.
“I’ll be fine,” I assure him. “Though I would appreciate it if you’d go by my apartment and pick up some clothes for me. From what I understand, they had to cut mine off.”
“I can do that. I still have your spare key. And the offer still stands for you to stay at my place.”
“I appreciate it, but it’s all good.”
He doesn’t look happy, but he respects my decision. “I’ll come by with your clothes tomorrow and give you a ride home.”
“Thanks.”
The first thing I do after he leaves is grab my phone and check the contacts for Aubie’s number. It takes all my willpower not to text him, an impulse that grows stronger as the evening passes. I turn on the TV for background noise, but I can’t get his last words out of my mind.
“I don’t have to be present to make you feel good.”
I’ve never had phone sex. Never even considered it, even when all my jock friends were bragging about it in the locker room. Yeah, Amber and I would talk after road games, but that’s all it was. Talk. I wouldn’t know how to go about getting someone off on the phone.
But that doesn’t stop me from wondering with Aubie. Regardless, this is hardly the time or the place for it. To take my mind off that, I dive into some of my favorite Reddit threads until I finally fall asleep.
My doctor pronounces me fit to be discharged when he comes by during rounds the next morning.
Daryl arrives with my clothes and by noon I’m on my way home.
Getting up the stairs is an endeavor, and halfway up I’m rethinking Daryl’s offer, but I finally make it to my apartment and collapse on the couch.
I’ve got a remote control and the DoorDash app, so I should be good for a few days.
I’m dozing on the couch when a ping from my phone alerts me to a text message. When I see who it’s from, my heart skips.
SLUTPUPPY
Figured you’d be home by now. How are you feeling?
I chuckle at the name he chose for himself.
ME
Just dozing on the couch.
Feel like some company? I can bring takeout. I know this great Thai place.
Thai does sound good. I was just scrolling my phone for takeout options when I dozed off.
That sounds like the best offer I’ve had all day.
Text me your address. I’ll be there within an hour.
I send him the address and try to shut off the little voice in my head that demands to know what I’m doing. Is this what we are now?
I roll that thought around for a few minutes and realize I don’t have a problem with it. Yeah, he’s still the same flirty brat who gets off on attracting all the worst kinds of attention, but when I look past that, there’s a warm, caring, funny man who I realize I enjoy spending time with.
I can’t explain the chemistry between us, but I’m done denying it. No one has ever made me feel like he does. That’s a wormhole my mind has been lost in more and more lately. Giving in is more fun than fighting, and I haven’t had anything fun in my life for a long time.
I don’t realize an hour has passed until the knock on my apartment door pulls me out of my half-dozed state.
I push myself up off the couch with a grunt and shuffle across the room, angry at my own helplessness.
When I open the door, he’s standing there like a vision, a smile on his flawless face and a huge takeout bag and drink carrier balanced in his hands.
“Delivery for Cutter Knight?”
I step aside so he can enter, my stomach growling at the smells in his wake. “Jesus, did you buy the whole restaurant?”
Like I somehow knew he would, he makes himself right at home, sailing in and clearing the coffee table before pulling out and arranging steaming cartons of food.
“I didn’t know what you like, so I got a little of everything.
If we don’t eat it now, you’ll have leftovers.
” He looks around. “Where are your plates?”
I make a move toward the kitchen and he points to the couch. “Sit. I’m perfectly capable of navigating your apartment.”
And to prove it, he heads for the kitchen while I sink back onto the couch and watch him opening and closing cabinet doors until he finds the right one. Not that there’s a lot of choice. It’s a small apartment.
He comes back balancing two plates, forks, spoons, and paper towels, finding room on the table for them before plopping down on the floor opposite me.
“I got us each a large Thai tea,” he says, pulling the two drinks out of the carrier. “Not sure if you like it–”
“I love Thai tea.” I assure him, taking the offered cup from him.
“Hopefully the milk is still sitting on top. It got a little jostled in the car.”
He opens the cartons and sticks spoons in each before passing them to me. I realize I’m starving and decide to sample a little of everything, loading up my plate. I notice he sticks to small portions of a couple of dishes like a normal human.
“Sorry,” I mumble as I dig in. “It feels like I haven’t eaten in days.”
“Then it’s a good thing I brought plenty.”
For a few minutes the only sound in the room is our chewing as I take the edge off my hunger. The food is delicious, just the right mixture of savory and spice. While I’m not an expert in Thai cooking, I know it didn’t come from any restaurant I’ve been to in the city.
“Where did you get this?”
He grins. “Ordinarily I’d play coy and pretend like it’s a secret, but seeing as how you’re a recovering knifing victim, I’ll go easy on you.
” I roll my eyes. “It’s a little mom and pop place near the Bluffs called Laughing Crane.
It’s even better when you eat in. The restaurant is tiny, but you almost feel like you need a passport to enter. ”
“You say that as though you’ve been there.”
“The restaurant?”
“No, Thailand.”
He looks pensive. “Not yet, but it’s on my list. I visited Europe a couple of times when I was younger, but I’ve never made it to Asia.”
“Why not?” Surely it isn’t an issue of money, since he is a Gauthier. I would think traveling would fit right into his carefree lifestyle.
“Haven’t found anyone I want to share it with.”
And there’s that vulnerability again.
An awkward silence follows until he turns to the TV and asks, “What are you watching?” So much for that line of conversation. I don’t know why I’m disappointed. Did I think I somehow mattered that much?
“It’s a show about two nature photographers who travel around in a van shooting wildlife.”
He sets his fork down and regards me curiously. “I can see you doing something like that.”
“Me?” I snort. “Not hardly. I’m doing good to take pictures with my phone.”
“Forget the photographer part. I could see you traveling around in a van without any ties. Like a vision quest.”
My smile fades. “There’s nothing idealistic about having no ties.
I spent five years living like a vagabond.
Couch-surfing, sleeping in the street, bouncing from job to job.
” Which often included getting my face smashed in for drinking money.
I shake my head as if I can dislodge the memory.
“I like a warm bed in my own room.” Then, almost to myself, I add, “And I’d prefer someone to share it with. ”
Figures he heard that last part. “I’m sure you’d have no problem finding someone to share your bed. I mean, take a look in the mirror. You’re like sex on a stick.”
I feel myself blush and opt to ignore that last comment. “Not a one-night-stand kind of guy.”
Which begs the question, what am I doing with Aubie?
Though technically, it’s been more than one night.
Am I hoping for something more, and am I crazy for even considering it?
After all, this is Aubie Gauthier we’re talking about.
The poster boy for the quick hookup. He probably gets an allergic reaction to commitment.
And then he can surprise me.
“In an ideal world, I would second that.”
I have to consciously remind myself to shut my gaping mouth. “You?”
“Like I said, in an ideal world. Problem is, that’s not where I live.”
“You can visit,” I offer, wondering what the hell I’m doing.
He smirks. “Are you looking to make an honest man of me?” He lets me sputter and stammer for a minute before putting me out of my misery. “Don’t worry, Cutter. That ship has already sailed.”
There it is again. The way he says my name. Tiny sparks of desire shoot straight to my cock and I have trouble keeping that from registering on my face. I obviously do a poor job of it.
He shifts to his knees and crawls slowly around the coffee table, every move reminding me of why he chose his stage name. There’s a feline quality to his grace that I’m aware of with every inch of my dick.