CHAPTER 11 Charlie
CHAPTER 11
Charlie
T uesday morning, I drag my thankfully no-longer-hungover ass to the office. I look at all the happy people around me and feel the same jealous pangs I’ve been feeling lately—except they don’t seem to hurt as much as they did last week.
I focus on getting my work done. I yell an appropriate amount at opposing counsel. I get my hair cut during lunch. Same as every week.
Lather, rinse, repeat.
It’s not all bad. Wednesday evening, I edit some footage Cam and I never posted about a fountain he built in his backyard and post it. And there’s something new: Rowan’s texts are the highlight of my week. Things escalate unexpectedly Thursday afternoon.
Menace
I went to the free clinic today. Here’s my STD screening.
He sends me a half-assed photo of a panel of common tests, all negative .
I’m overcome by a vision of licking his tattoos. I’m amazed that he’s so responsible—that’s usually my thing.
So, of course, I give him crap.
Charlie
And you’re sending me that because …
Menace
[Winky face emoji]
I’m thinking of your dick
Specifically, I’m thinking of your fat, hard, long dick in my mouth. I’m drooling. I want you.
Join me
Rub your dick
Make yourself come
Think about me blowing you
I did not intend to get hard at the office, but … it happens. Nogust has surely fucked here, and I wouldn’t put it past Aldanny, either.
Menace
Are you hard yet?
Charlie
You’re going to be the death of me
Menace
Or I’ll make you come alive
Do it
Close your door, daddy
Let me take care of you
I shut my door and lock it, then reach inside my suit pants to grip my aching cock, my back to the door.
Menace
Now that I think about it, maybe I’d just ride you.
“Goddammit,” I whisper as Rowan’s texts keep coming. I hastily undo my belt and slide my pants down.
Menace
You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Stretch me and lube up my hole so you slide right in. I’ll take your cock to the hilt. I’d be stroking my cock, and you’d be holding on to my hips, slamming me down on you hard.
I’m shuttling my hand up and down my cock. If I’m doing this in the office, I gotta be quick.
Now I get a voice message. I awkwardly click on it, and Rowan’s voice comes through my phone speaker. “I’m doing this hands-free, because now I’m jerking off to the idea of you, Daddy. I want your dick in my ass, and I want it now. Oh, god,” he moans loudly, “that gets me so hard.” There’s a gasp, and I hear Rowan coming.
“Shit,” I say under my breath, and then I listen to the message again.
My phone buzzes, and it’s a photo of Rowan’s chest with his come on it, glistening white.
I beat off even faster, desperate to reach that high. My pants slide lower down my thighs. I hear footsteps in the hallway, and Shelby buzzes someone over the PA system. Fuck, I need to come.
Menace
Either way, I want you all over me
I want you to make it so I don’t walk for a wee k
Gasping, I come into my hand, my balls drawn up tight, my release only taking the edge off the need I’ve felt the past few days.
I slump against the door.
What the hell did I just do? I’ve never done anything like this in the office. I’m always a professional, to the point where I sometimes show no emotion, no matter what.
Shit, I’d better put my dick away. I grab some Kleenex and wipe myself up as best as I can, tucking myself into my pants and tucking my shirt back in. Then, hoping my cheeks aren’t burning too much, I slip to the bathroom to wash my hands and clean up better.
When I return to my office, I have more texts from Rowan.
Menace
Daddy? You there?
Charlie?
Did I scare you away? You probably had to take a work call, huh?
It takes me a moment to look up my medical records, but I find them.
Charlie
I’m back. I needed a minute.
Here’s a screenshot of my STI results from my physical earlier this month. All neg. Have only been with one guy since then, and we always use protection.
Menace
Their loss.
Charlie
And you made me come just now.
Menace
My evil plan is working.
I wanna do it again many, many times.
The next morning, Rowan greets me with:
Menace
Where do you think we should go on our fifth date?
Charlie
Shouldn’t we have a first date first? And one that doesn’t involve a crime?
Menace
Are you asking me out? That’s so cute! I accept.
Texting with him is fun—and sometimes alarmingly hot—but I’m frustrated by its limitations. This isn’t the medium to find out what he loves and hates, and why. I want to know his history. I want to know everything.
Then I shake my head. No, this menace isn’t the one for me.
He’s cute and fun and wild, but I have a plan. How am I going to achieve my goals if I let myself get derailed by the first guy who comes along who’s out of the ordinary? I should tell him to cool it, but I can’t seem to get myself to.
So I leave him on read for the rest of the day. I need to get my work done.
I have a standing date tonight.
I park in front of Tristan’s 1920s California Mission–style home in the Santa Barbara hills on Friday evening. The house is classic. Elegant. Perfect. Like him.
While I like my house—or rather, its potential—this one’s a dream home. White stucco walls, red tile roof, heavy wrought iron accents. Magenta bougainvillea climbing up the side, and a view down to the ocean. The ideal place to have friends over for brunch, if we could entertain friends together. But because Tristan’s in the closet, so am I, when I’m with him—even though I told my parents I was gay when I was thirteen.
I’ve been here a hundred times. Maybe more. Tonight feels weird, though. I’m sitting in my car with the radio turned off, willing myself to walk inside. My heart’s beating faster than usual, and my stomach feels queasy. What’s wrong with me?
Get out of the car, Charlie .
Tristan opens the door just a moment or two after I knock.
He’s a few inches taller than me, and as usual, he’s dressed nicely. Tonight he’s wearing flat-front dark gray pants and a pale blue shirt with a subtle white stripe. His dark hair is longer than mine but not long, and artful stubble shades his chiseled jaw.
Every other time I’ve been here, he’s ushered me inside immediately, since he’s nervous about his neighbors seeing us, but tonight he greets me with a big kiss at the door, both hands clasping me behind the neck.
What the hell?
“Hey,” I say when we separate, resisting the urge to wipe my lips.
“Come on in, babe.” Tristan glances behind me and gasps. “Oh my god, what happened to your car?”
I whip my head around, but I don’t see anything amiss. “What’s wrong with it?”
“It’s dirty.”
“Ha. I haven’t gotten it cleaned since I went to Mammoth. Too busy.”
Tristan raises an eyebrow. “That’s not like you. But I guess we all change and grow.” He takes a step back and lets me inside, one arm going around my waist to tug me to him.
For once, I’m not liking the feeling of being smaller than my partner. I close my eyes, trying to get my head in the game. Me coming here is our routine. Something delicious is in the oven. Tristan’s always been a good cook. And he usually feeds me before we fuck.
“What’s up with the …” I wave my hand at the door. “You don’t care about old Miss Sadie across the street anymore?”
He lets me go and walks over to his bar cart full of crystal stemware. “I don’t. Champagne? Or wine? Your usual red?”
“Sure.” Why is my chest tight? I sit down in my regular spot on the couch.
Tristan pours me a glass of pinot noir—Fitzpatrick, a local winery run by a friend of his—and hands it to me, then pours a glass for himself. He settles into the leather armchair next to me. As usual.
We do this. We hang out, eat, and bang, and then I leave.
“How was Mammoth?” he asks, and I’m grateful to him for interrupting my thoughts.
“Good.” I’m super chatty tonight. But there’s a weird pain in the back of my throat.
“That’s great,” he says. “It’s tough to get away this time of year. Finals are going to start soon, and I’ll have grades to turn in.” He smiles. “But winter break is a compensation.”
“Must be nice to have so much time off.”
Tristan nods. “I do enjoy it.” He sips his wine, then sets the glass down on a coaster on the coffee table. “I made lasagna. It’s a new recipe, but it sounded good. I’ve been feeling really optimistic lately. Wanting to try new things.”
“It smells delicious.”
I look around at the modern art on the walls. The kitchen table where he’s bent me over and fucked me. The hallway to his bedroom that I know all too well.
We chat a little more, and he offers to refill my glass. I accept, although I shouldn’t. We move to his dining room table, and he serves the lasagna, which is delicious, and the longer I stay here, the wronger it feels.
Rowan has no claim on me .
I’m not dating him, no matter what he says in his texts. I told him about Tristan. And it’s normal for me to pick guys up at One, my usual club, a few times a month.
But I feel like I’m betraying Rowan.
I shove the thought to the side. I’m allowed to fuck whoever.
Tristan’s been silent for a few minutes, eating, but now he looks up at me. “I’ve decided to come out,” he says in a rush. “Times are changing. It’s been long enough. And I’m not sure who I’ve been kidding, anyway.”
It’s not like Tristan to blurt, and I almost choke on my wine. “Wow, that’s great,” I say sincerely. “I’m happy for you. How can I support you?”
He gives me an uncharacteristically tentative smile. “If you … if you wanted to go on a date with me sometime, I’d like that. A real date. Out in public. Actually, there’s this faculty event at work coming up. I’d like you to come.”
I should be happy. This is what I’ve wanted for five years. Instead, my stomach feels like it’s weighed down with lead, and I’m tempted to turn and run.
A step toward another one of my dreams coming true … but it’s all wrong. Now that he’s willing to … Why couldn’t he have decided this two weeks ago?
Shit .
“Thanks,” I say. I open my mouth to continue, but nothing comes out.
“What?” Tristan asks. “I thought you’d be proud of me.”
“I am proud of you.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “It’s just … god, we need to talk.”
He tilts his head and blinks, then lets out a breath. “Okay.” He draws out the syllables.
“I met someone.”
“ Met someone, or met someone ?”
“The latter. He’s … ”
Tristan takes a careful sip of his wine. “Okay,” he repeats. “What does that have to do with my coming-out party?”
“You and I have always been free to get together with other people, but … but I can’t … He’s not …” I take a deep breath and try again. “This guy is all wrong for me.”
He smirks. “All wrong for you?”
My lips pinch together in a tight smile. “So wrong. You’re … perfect.” I throw up my hands. “He’s … not.”
“And yet you want him and not me.” It’s not a question. I can’t read his expression, either. Is he pissed? I’ve sometimes thought, perhaps arrogantly, that Tris was more into me than I was into him. But he doesn’t seem upset. He’s reacting like a rational adult.
Something about that strikes me as wrong—but it’s likely just my ego talking.
“I don’t know what the hell I want,” I say. “All I know is that he’s completely messed up my life, and I can’t seem to get him out of my system.” I take a deep breath. “We aren’t like that, you and I, but I felt like I needed to tell you about him. And I … I should go.”
I still can’t read Tristan.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. I stand, and he does, too, coming around next to me.
Tristan leans forward to kiss me, and I take a step back. He frowns. “No goodbye kiss?”
I shake my head.
He pokes his tongue into his cheek. “You do have it bad.”
My cheeks burn. “Maybe so. What’s really bad is that I barely know him.”
Tristan’s a good, honest guy. He’s perfect on paper, and he’s perfect in real life.
He’s just not the one for me.
Tristan huffs and looks at the ceiling. “Yeah. I tell you I’m ready to come out and take you somewhere in public, and you tell me you’re not interested anymore. Figures my timing would be this off.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say.” My brain cycles through things like we can still be friends or I’ll call you when this doesn’t work out , but I’m not that flavor of asshole.
“There’s not much more to say.” Now he sounds bitter and deflated. Shit. Tristan is a nice guy. I didn’t mean to hurt him.
But I’m making the right choice, for reasons I’m starting to unpack. I’ve been pretending for five years that I wanted Tristan to come out. If only he was available , I’d tell myself— that’s what’s stopping us from taking our relationship further .
And it was never true. In some ways, Tristan’s closet was my closet, too. I’ve been able to live in it, knowing I didn’t have to give myself to anyone as long as Tris wasn’t out.
This is the first time in my life I’ve wanted to consider exploring things with just one man. And it figures that he’s a barely solvent, college-age criminal with daddy issues.
His ass is great, though. So, one thing on my list?
His ass is the least of the reasons I’m fascinated by him.
“Would you go to the party anyway?” Tristan asks. “As a colleague? I could use a wingman. It’s on a weeknight, a Monday, so I know I’m asking a lot of you, but … I guess I consider you a friend, still, even if we’re not, you know, fucking anymore.”
I look into Tristan’s gentle brown eyes. Here he is being all brave and vulnerable, and I just ruined his party. “Sure, Tris. I’ll go with you. Text me the details.”
“I will. Bye, Charlie.”
I drive the hour and a half home and don’t even realize I never turned the radio back on until I pull into my own garage.