Chapter 11 #2
Wyatt gritted his teeth, putting his phone on silent.
He would not allow his night with John to be interrupted by them, especially after he had repeatedly told them to stop texting and calling.
He had nothing else to say or do when it came to his father.
His father hadn’t spoken to him since he left eight years ago.
Wyatt had called on his birthday and during the holidays, and the man never answered the phone or returned his calls.
So eventually he stopped trying. His father didn’t want anything to do with his gay son and made his disapproval loud and clear with his continued silence.
He climbed off the bike and took a long, deep breath, clearing his lungs and his mind of his father and his persistent aunts.
His phone vibrated again, and Wyatt let out a stream of curses, debating whether or not to block his aunts for the evening. But it wasn’t them, it was Jin.
Sent you the tickets via email. You'd better be there, cowboy! You have 2 tickets because I have every intention of meeting this mystery man you’ve been sneaking around with. Bring him, or don’t. Either way, you’re coming???
He smirked and texted his reply.
Thanks, I’ll be there. Wouldn’t miss it.
Good! Bringing him?!
Maybe.
Wyatt was pretty sure he would be breaking one of John’s rules by asking him to come to his friend's art show. Granted, they were breaking a rule tonight, too.
I’ll see you tomorrow night. Btw—it’s a dressy affair.
He hesitated. He had only one suit. And the one and only time he had worn it was for a funeral…
His chest tightened with grief and he pushed the phone back in his pocket, refusing to go there. Not tonight. It had already been a hard day. He didn’t want to think about his past or his family. All of that could wait.
Shoving his emotions down, he walked up the front porch steps to John’s house and pushed the doorbell button. He swallowed, raking his fingers through his hair and shifting back and forth. Before the low-level anxiety had time to work its way up to panic, the large, heavy wooden door opened.
John’s hair was damp and tousled from a shower, and he wore casual gray sweatpants and a form-fitting black T-shirt.
His beard was cleaned up around the edges, and he was barefoot.
Wyatt decided right then and there that he was madly in love with John’s beard and how it framed his face, seemingly blending from his jawline into his hair, with a sprinkle of gray.
John looked so fucking good it hurt to look at him.
After possibly the hardest shift of his career, all Wyatt wanted to do was go to him.
It was silly and terrifying. He needed John more than this man needed him, and he wasn’t sure if tonight was a good idea because of it.
The last couple of weeks of hot and heavy sex had rattled his comfortable little life.
The anticipation of waiting all week to taste him, along with the tease of being close to him at work but never getting to touch him, tormented him.
And when their one night of the week finally came, Wyatt was a wreck of pure need and they went at it like starving, desperate men.
And fuck, it was good. So damned good that Wyatt wasn’t sure if he could handle only once a week anymore. He needed more. More time, more nights, more everything.
Before John could even say a nervous greeting, his telling hand scrubbed the back of his neck, eyebrows raised with that adorable fucking half-hearted smile of his. Wyatt, nerves forgotten, stepped forward and kissed him urgently, putting everything he wanted to say into his kiss, instead.
John swayed against him, wrapping his arms around him, and they made out on his doorstep for the best minute of Wyatt’s night.
His mouth opened for him, giving Wyatt what he needed, and he took, gripping his sexy fucking bearded jaw, digging his fingers through the thick hair and sucking his tongue into his mouth.
John let out a delicious groaning sigh before he dragged them inside and closed the door firmly behind him.
Wyatt proceeded to push John against the door and ravish him some more, and the older man hummed.
He gripped his helmet, wanting to use both hands and escape into this moment.
But he knew that he couldn’t. He was in John’s home, and he was a respectful country boy, and he could resist the urge to devour this man in his own home, at least until after dinner.
He finally broke the kiss and straightened, reigning in his cockstand.
“Well, hello to you, too.” John smiled at him, flushed.
“Sorry,” he breathed, inhaling and exhaling steadily. “I needed…”
I needed you.
Just you.
The thought startled him, and Wyatt stepped back. John seemed to understand and reached for him, cupping his cheek, “That’s what this evening is for. Whatever you need.”
John kissed him this time. It was slow and tender, something they rarely, if ever, did. John was the first to pull back, something flickering in his gaze, but he concealed it just as quickly. “You okay?”
“I will be,” he replied thickly, smelling the food John had been cooking and suddenly realizing he hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast.
“I have dinner on the stove. Here, let me take this.” He took his helmet and placed it on the hallway table, which also had a fashionable shoe rack.
Without asking, Wyatt peeled off his black leather cowboy boots and set them beside John’s. He stared at the image of their shoes side by side and slowly looked away.
“I can give you a grand tour after dinner,” John said, already heading to the kitchen.
He followed him through the long hallway, into a sizeable living room, and then into the kitchen. It was an open-space design, with no walls blocking the view of the windows or of what was happening in the living room. It made the space feel cozier and more spacious.
“Your home is incredible,” Wyatt marveled, peeling off his jacket and setting it on the couch, noting the wall of records and books. The record player was on, and the crooning sounds of blues drifted through the house.
“Thanks,” John said with a hint of pride. “Designed a lot of it myself. With the help of the architect, of course. Walking into rooms all day long made me want something…” he trailed off, searching for the word.
“Freer.”
John shot him one of those kind, sexy smiles. “Exactly.”
Heart swooping, Wyatt nervously licked his lips and walked up to the marble granite island in his fancy kitchen. “What are you making?”
“Pasta. Pairs well with wine.” John turned, bottle of wine in hand, and poured Wyatt a full glass of red wine. “I’ve only seen you drink whiskey or beer.”
“I like wine,” he replied, taking a sip. “It’s good.”
“Good,” he said, the crinkles around his eyes drawing in Wyatt’s gaze. He loved those crinkles a little too much, wondering if they were possibly the handsomest part of John’s face, outside his lips… or eyes… or beard.
Stop, man.
You’re pining.
He took a long sip of his wine this time, hoping it would take the edge off his nerves. “I wanted to thank you for what you said today.”
John glanced up from the chopping board and nodded. “I meant every word.”
“I know.”
He tossed the veggies into the sauce, glancing over his shoulder. “I know you know.”
Wyatt stared, unable to look away, unable to speak.
It hadn’t been that long since their relationship became sexual, and yet, everything had changed.
Everything. And he wasn’t sure, in this moment, he would ever be the same again.
That he could ever look at another man the same way—see the same things that he saw with John.
Feeling bold, Wyatt walked around the island, deciding to let his body speak everything that was trapped in his heart, kicking and screaming to come out, and to let tonight be what they had agreed upon between them.
Physical. No attachment. But he feared he wouldn’t be able to resist the affectionate part.
He slid behind John as he stirred the pasta sauce over the stove and wrapped his arms around his waist, resting the side of his face into his shoulder.
They swayed, holding one another, listening to the blues guitar and piano in the background.
“Did you always want to be a doctor?” Wyatt asked, brushing his lips across his shoulder.
“I think I always gravitated toward helping people. But with different ages and phases, I would go back and forth.”
“With what?”
He shrugged, “Oh, you know, the normal stuff. Be a doctor or an astronaut. Police officer or professional baseball player. Firefighter or the world’s best guitar player since Stevie Ray Vaughan.”
Wyatt smiled, “Sensible choices.”
“Every last one of them,” John said without a hint of sarcasm. “But ultimately, I decided on medicine. I saw the power of it. My mom had breast cancer when I was a kid and managed to beat it. That stayed with me. Influenced me, I suppose.”
He nodded, releasing him, but not before sliding a hand over the shoulder that had once been frozen, locking John in and crippling him.
“How's your shoulder?” he asked, leaning backward across the marble island for his glass of wine.
“Good—really good, thanks to you.” John turned, his gaze falling to where Wyatt’s shirt rode up over his belt, exposing the skin and muscle of his stomach. His eyebrows lifted and he sighed, “You’re making me regret not having dinner ready before you got here.”
Wyatt settled, placing himself directly in front of him, stance widening and eyes teasing him as he sipped his wine. The need reflected in John’s expression was his, and his stomach fluttered.
John’s gaze traveled over his body slowly, and he shook his head, “I’ve never been one to have dessert first, but if you keep looking at me that way, I might have to.”
As if on cue, Wyatt’s stomach rumbled, and he chuckled, “Maybe next time, because I’m starving.”
John’s smile faltered, a vulnerability flashing across his face. “Do you want there to be a next time? Here?”
“Only if you want to.”
“That wasn’t the question.”