Chapter Five #3
“I’ll let you know about the bonfire,” Damon said. “But in the meantime, I’ll be tending the garden. Thinking about clearing some more land, maybe put in an orchard. It won’t be ready right away, maybe not even for a few years, but eventually, we’ll have fruit.”
An orchard. Xander shaded his eyes and looked the way Damon was pointing, far in the distance. Yeah, he could see apple trees there. “Can you text me a list of vegetables that you’ll be ready to harvest for the restaurant opening?” Xander asked. “I’m going to spend the time in recipe development.”
“Yeah, sure. And I almost forgot.” Damon dug in his back pocket and pulled out his wallet.
Handed a plastic card to Xander. When he took it, it was still warm from his body.
Xander curled his fingers around it, the edges biting into his palm.
“That’s a debit card to the bank account I’ve set up for the restaurant.
Feel free to charge any purchases to the account. There’s plenty of money in it.”
Xander remembered Bastian Aquino demanding a receipt for some strawberries he’d been asked to pick up at the farm stand. He remembered his honesty over the dollar amount being questioned without one. And here Damon was, just handing him the key to a whole bank account.
This must be what being trusted felt like.
The next day, Damon felt stupid that he hadn’t invited Xander to see what a day in the garden was like. He didn’t need his help, but he’d discovered that even though it had taken months to get used to the silence, it only took a few evenings and a day together to remember how much it sucked.
It took him the entire morning to go through the garden, checking plants, pulling encroaching weeds, spraying everything with his homemade bug repellent that he’d invented after too many evenings scouring the internet for something non-chemical and organic.
Then Damon looked over at the big pile of wood and garbage that he and Xander had spent the last day dragging out of the barrel house.
Really, he needed another day to sort through it, and get the bonfire ready.
He didn’t want to wait another day, but there was no point of having the fire if he couldn’t do it properly.
Also, the forecast called for some rain tonight, and if he tarped the pile, the surrounding ground would be damp enough that the burning restriction for the county would probably lift.
He worked the rest of the afternoon, sweating through his shirt and sorting out the garbage he’d have to take to the dump.
By five, he was halfway through, and felt good about confirming the bonfire tomorrow night.
Maybe he should even get marshmallows and graham crackers at the store, make it a s’mores party.
Grabbing his phone from his counter, he shed his filthy clothes right into the washing machine and texted Xander on the way to a much-needed shower.
He typed in: Bonfire + s’mores tomorrow night? and hit the send button.
It was a difficult decision between a cold shower and a hot one, but the boiling temps, barely counteracted by the old air conditioner in this house, made the decision for him.
He’d soothe his aching muscles by swallowing a few painkillers with dinner.
There was a time when he’d have wanted to drink a beer or two or six to drown out the pain.
And that had always been the problem with him and alcohol.
There was no safe middle ground of a handful of beers.
There was only no beer or a whole six-pack and then whatever other booze he could scrounge up in the house.
Cold water sluiced over his overheated skin and he leaned back against the tile wall and tried to think of nothing, because the alternative was thinking of Xander, and Damon knew he’d already crossed too many lines thinking of Xander.
He didn’t need to cross this one. But he couldn’t seem to stop his own hand, as it drifted down his chest, his stomach and settled low at his groin, wrapping around his half-hard cock.
The water was cool and refreshing and his dick hadn’t seemed to get the memo that he wasn’t supposed to be thinking about this.
He’d tried thinking of Rachel. He’d tried thinking of other women.
The hot checker at the grocery store who always gave him appreciative looks whenever he bought food.
But none of them did it for him anymore.
His body knew what he wanted, and it wasn’t so much a shock that it was a man, as it was a surprise that it was Xander.
Since realizing and acknowledging he was bisexual in junior high, he’d never gotten a chance to try anything with a guy.
Rachel had asked him once how he could even know, if he’d never even kissed a guy.
He’d asked her how she knew she liked guys before she’d kissed him, when they were fourteen and snuck into one of the big winery parties his family threw.
She’d responded that she’d just known, and before he could even point out the double standard, she’d laughed, a little self-consciously and pointed it out herself.
That was the first and only conversation they’d ever had about it, but when she’d left him, she’d told him that someday he’d meet someone who wouldn’t mind wrestling with his demons.
The someone had reminded him that now that he and Rachel were over, and when he finally got clean, there was always the chance that when he found himself attracted to someone again, that person wouldn’t necessarily be a woman.
And now it had happened, and it was definitely not a woman.
Damon gave his cock a half-hearted tug. His body was definitely all-in, interest piqued like it hadn’t in years, but his mind was still freaking out.
Not over the fact that Xander was a man, though that was a little intimidating considering how little experience he had, but over the chance that he could fuck it all up again.
Rachel had been bad enough, and she’d gotten away before he’d truly been able to ruin her life.
But what if he ruined Xander’s? He wanted Xander to be part of his personal life, but he was already part of his professional one.
What if he couldn’t keep it together? What if the Barrel House pushed him back into old and destructive habits?
Damon still wasn’t certain he trusted himself.
He definitely didn’t trust himself enough to drag someone else into his hot mess.
The problem was his body was hearing, but not really listening, to the arguments his brain kept setting out.
It knew exactly what it wanted—a firm mouth, stubble scraping against his cheek as they kissed; a muscular shoulder he could brace his hands against. But mostly he wanted those scarred, talented hands, so delicate but so tough, wrapped around his cock right now.
Damon had a lot of self-control these days. He’d spent years developing and cultivating it. Which was the only reason he’d managed to keep his thoughts of Xander PG-rated until now. But after spending some quality time with the man, his control washed away like a dirt road in a flash flood.
He tipped his face back, felt the water wash over him in a cool rush, and stroked himself with certainty this time. An embarrassingly short time later, he was watching the result wash down the drain.
“Damn,” Damon said to himself.
A quick wash later, he got out of the shower, wrapped a towel around his waist, and because he apparently couldn’t help himself at all, checked his phone.
There was already a text from Xander. Three texts from Xander, in fact.
Damon groaned out loud. He was so fucked. Especially if Xander was as drawn to Damon as Damon was to him.
We’re on.
S’mores sound really good. I’ll bring homemade marshmallows.
Don’t argue. They’re so much better than the ones at the store. Will prove it tomorrow night.
Damon wasn’t going to argue, and if he had, he only intended to put up a token protest. He was more than ready to let Xander prove the marshmallows, and just about anything else, tomorrow night.