10. CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER TEN
TRAVIS
Despite being the only bar in town, Roddy’s is entirely empty other than me and the bartender, Roddy’s nephew Tate.
Guess it’s a bit too early for this town to start drinking.
I left the diner right after Brenden and his group did, before the dinner rush could hit.
As they left, Elise was thankfully discreet when she asked me if they’d be seeing me at the house tonight.
In my haste to end the conversation before any of the diner’s stragglers got curious about what was going on, though, I mumbled what I think was an affirmative.
So I’ll have to head over there later.
First, I’m meeting Connor for a beer.
I invited him out as an apology for snapping at him on the phone the other day over my produce order that I messed up.
I might be grumpy, but I try not to be a total asshole.
As I sip whatever IPA Tate poured me while I wait for Connor to arrive, my mind keeps drifting back to this morning.
More specifically, to how I woke up this morning.
In Brenden’s bed.
With my hard dick pressed right against his ass.
Despite how I’ve spent all day trying to lock that moment away in a vault and shove it toward the back of my mind.
.
.
well.
The lock must be faulty or something.
Luckily, before I get myself too worked up with the memory, the door opens, and Connor wanders in.
He quickly spots me on my stool at one of the high-top tables against the wall.
In the dimly lit room, he almost glows with his white T-shirt, blond hair, and pearly white smile as he heads my way.
He eyes my pint glass when I ask what I can grab for him.
“I’ll take whatever you’re having. Thanks.”
Tate is playing around on his phone as I approach the bar, so I have to clear my throat to get his attention.
He apologizes, but I wave him off.
When you only have two customers, you’re not just going to stand there staring at them the whole time.
I bring the beer back over to Connor, and he asks how I’ve been.
My answer doesn’t take long, since my life never seems to change.
Wake up, cook people food all day, clean up after them, go to sleep.
The only interesting thing happening to me right now is the one thing I can’t tell him about.
I’ve known Connor forever, and I’d trust him to keep Brenden’s absurd fake dating scheme a secret if I asked.
But explaining it would only tempt me to explain my very real feelings for Brenden.
And Connor, like everyone else except Brenden, doesn’t know I’m gay, so that would require a whole other conversation.
After my boring answer, I do the polite thing and ask how he’s been too, but I immediately regret it.
Everyone in town has heard about his divorce by now.
How Emma left him and their son because she wanted to go off and find herself.
Whatever the hell that means.
Other than cringing almost imperceptibly before telling me he’s doing fine, he seems to be taking this oddly in stride.
He talks about the farm for a while and mentions his son.
“How’s Mason handling everything?” I ask, though from my own experience of being a kid whose my mom left, I can pretty much already imagine.
He swipes at a bead of condensation on his glass before answering.
“He’s holding up. I mean, he’s been better, for sure. Emma and I tried to explain to him why it was best for us to separate, but he’s too young to truly understand the complexities of it. And even if he could understand why we got divorced, no kid deserves to be abandoned by their mom.”
“Yeah, that’s bullshit,” I say without thinking.
Then I apologize, because I didn’t know Emma well enough to judge her actions.
“No, it’s okay, it is bullshit,” Connor agrees.
“I get why she wasn’t happy. I really do. We’ve both spent our whole lives simply going along with what everyone expected of us. And those expectations can weigh you down after a while. If she wanted to leave me, she had every right to. But leaving her son?” He sighs, rapping his knuckles lightly on the table.
“It’s a little harder to forgive her for that.”
By the time we finish our beers, he’s told me more than I needed to know about how he and Emma stopped having sex two years before they split.
About how he wasn’t happy in the marriage anymore but didn’t think he could do anything about it.
He felt too guilty at the idea of asking Emma to leave her home—the farmhouse he built on the edge of the property at Shaw Family Farm and Orchards.
But he obviously couldn’t leave it either.
The farm isn’t just a job for him.
It’s his family’s legacy, something he always wanted to be a part of.
He took over most of the responsibilities of running it from his dad, letting his parents basically retire early, although they still help out.
So he was stuck between a rock and a hard place.
“Honestly, it was sort of a relief when she told me she wanted out,” he admits.
“And that makes me feel like shit.”
“You shouldn’t,” I assure him.
“You didn’t do anything wrong. You were willing to stick it out while she wasn’t.”
“Yeah, but now everyone in town thinks she’s the villain who broke my heart, when really, we were both looking for exit strategies. And in a way, now I’m free too.”
I offer to grab us another round, needing to step away for a moment, because I’m not the best at emotional crap like this.
I’m better at solving problems with clear solutions, not at having to navigate how someone feels.
That’s probably one of the reasons I’ve been okay with resigning myself to hookups outside of town, rather than trying to actually date anyone.
I consider Connor a simple guy (like me) and a pretty open person (unlike me), but our friendship’s always been surface level.
I guess I didn’t realize how much more he kept inside him.
“I didn’t mean to unload all this on you,” he says when I come back and hand him his beer.
“It’s fine,” I tell him.
“Sorry, I’m not the greatest sounding board though. I don’t really know what to say.”
“You don’t need to say anything. I guess I just needed to get this stuff off my chest.”
We’re quiet for a minute, each sipping our beers, but it’s not uncomfortable.
I’m cool with not talking.
Except I find my mind drifting back to Brenden, and for fuck’s sake, I need to stop going there.
He knows I’m gay now, but that doesn’t change anything, does it?
I still don’t date.
I can’t just grab him and say, Hey, now that you know I like dick, you wanna let me on yours?
Because that’s obviously a terrible idea that could ruin our friendship.
Because May trusts me not to hurt her dad.
And I don’t want to hurt him.
Because if I fucked him, even one time, I’m pretty sure I’d never get over it.
I’d never stop wanting more.
“Can I tell you one more thing?” Connor asks, and I nod, grateful for the reprieve from my own thoughts.
“I think... I mean, I know that I... I’ve always been curious.”
“About what?”
“Men.”
A swig of beer goes down the wrong way, and I start coughing.
“Excuse me?”
He shrugs.
“I’ve been pretty sure since I was younger that I swing both ways. But I sort of held myself back, because of growing up on the farm and doing all the typical masculine stuff, you know? People assumed I was one way, and I didn’t do anything to let them think otherwise. As a teen, I was just getting brave enough to maybe explore it, but then Emma and I got together, and there was no reason for me to think about it anymore. It didn’t matter.”
I realize I must be gaping at him when he frowns.
“Shit, sorry,” he says.
“You probably don’t wanna hear about this.”
“It’s okay,” I tell him quickly.
Because even if I normally stay pretty closed off to people, he just had the guts to come out to me, and I don’t want to make him regret it.
“No judgement here, I swear. Definitely didn’t see that one coming, that’s all.”
“I’m betting nobody will. If I decide to tell anyone else, that is.”
“Do you think you’re going to?”
He shrugs again.
“We’ll see. It’s not like dating is the first thing on my mind right now. I need to make sure Mason is okay, and there’s always the farm keeping me busy. But I can’t say I haven’t thought about the possibility of seeing if my attraction to men could amount to more. Now that I’m free to do... whatever.”
“You don’t have to make a big announcement, you know. If you meet someone and you want to see where things go, then you could just go for it. Let everyone else figure it out on their own.”
He nods, but he has no idea how hypocritical it is for me to give him advice on coming out.
Our situations are a bit different though.
It’s not the whole town I’m afraid to come out to—I don’t give a crap what they think.
It’s my own damn father I’m worried about.
For Connor, I imagine the issue is that this town has seen him for so long as Emma’s husband and Mason’s dad.
He’s right that everyone assumes things about him, and who knows how people would react if he went out and shattered those assumptions?
It wouldn’t be another celebration like with Andrew in high school.
This would just confuse everyone.
People in Mayweather like things to be how they expect them to be.
“But it’s probably pointless to even be thinking about this,” he says glumly.
“It’s not like there’s a huge pool of queer men in town for me to potentially date.” His eyes grow unfocused for a few seconds, like he’s thinking about something (maybe someone?
) and not sharing.
Then he shakes his head as if clearing it.
“I finally have the chance to explore my options, but there aren’t many options here.”
I’m here , I have the sudden urge to blurt out.
I’m here and I’m queer.
I don’t say that though.
Of course not.
It’s not like I actually want Connor to consider me as an option.
He’s hot, in that all-American, jacked-from-physical-labor kind of way, but he’s not my type.
It might help him to know, though, that there are more queer men around here than he thinks.
But I can’t do it.
All I do is take a long gulp of my beer, draining the glass, to swallow the words down.
Guess I’m more a product of this town than I’d like to admit.
I’m good with things not changing.
I’m good with easy and uncomplicated.
This is why there’s no point in letting myself entertain the idea of telling Brenden how I feel.
I’m not going to come out to my dad, and I can’t ask Brenden to be with me and hide it.
Maybe if I’m being honest with myself, it’s more than just the fear of coming out or the fear of hurting Brenden and May that’s holding me back.
Being with Brenden would mean being with him.
Letting someone truly in.
Not being alone.
And being alone is all I’ve known how to do for the last ten years.
I’m used to it.
I’m used to quietly pining for Brenden and not having him.
If by some miracle I actually got him, I’m not sure I’d know what to do with myself.
Some people are simply built to be alone.
I didn’t sign up for this kind of torture.
Well, maybe I did, but I don’t deserve it.
Despite my faults, I like to think I’m a decent person.
All I wanted to do was help Brenden out.
I never expected that agreeing to be his fake boyfriend would wind me up here.
Facing my second night in a row of sharing a bed with him, hoping I don’t pop a boner like the first time.
He looks unnecessarily adorable right now, in his pajama pants that hang low on his hips and are probably super soft.
Not that I’ll be finding out.
“You can put your clothes away in the dresser if you want,” he says, gesturing to the duffle bag I’m holding.
“I’ll make some room.”
“No, don’t go through the trouble,” I tell him.
“I’ll keep this out of the way.” Crossing to the corner of the room by the ensuite, I set my bag on the floor and give it a little shove with my foot to tuck it away as much as possible.
“Is that okay?”
I packed some clothes and toiletries before coming here and kept the bag in my truck.
Then I snuck back out to grab it after Elise and Grant went to bed.
Having my clothes here will help sell us as a couple, plus if I’m going to keep spending the night, I need deodorant and my own shampoo and all that shit.
Brenden’s shampoo is fruity.
And while it works for him, I’d rather not be walking around smelling like a strawberry or whatever.
“Yeah, it’s fine there,” he says.
“I don’t mind making room for you though.”
Of course he doesn’t.
That’s just how he is.
But my clothes aren’t that important to me.
“Nah, don’t worry. I’m gonna change and brush my teeth, and then we can...”
He looks both nervous and amused as I trail off.
I have no idea how to finish that sentence.
And then we can what ?
Get in bed with each other.
That’s the only thing left for us to do in this room.
So I squat down and rifle through my bag until I find what I need, then slip into the bathroom to do my business and try to get my head clear.
Sleeping in sweatpants sucks, but as I tug the pair over my thighs, I remind myself that this provides an extra layer of protection in case my dick decides to misbehave again.
Not that it’s going to.
Absolutely not.
I will have my body under control tonight.
With that likely false sense of confidence, I exit the bathroom to find Brenden sitting on top of the covers on his bed, back propped against a couple pillows, with one knee pulled up toward his chest.
He actually looks a lot more relaxed now than he did last night.
I don’t know if it’s because we’ve already made it through one night doing this, or because he’s made it through his first full day of the grandparents’ visit.
Either way, relaxed is a good look on him.
Of course, he has no idea about the precarious position I found us in this morning.
About my little—well, not so little —issue.
And I’m sure as hell not about to tell him.
When I join him on the bed, he adjusts his position so that he’s still propped up, but leaning on his side to face me, his knee now pointed my way.
He gives me a soft smile.
“Have I thanked you yet today?”
“For what?”
“Everything.”
Giving him a smile of my own, I say, “You probably have.”
“Good for me then,” he replies with a little giggle.
I’d love to bottle up that sound and keep it forever.
To have it for those nights alone in my apartment when the silence starts to sound too oppressive.
It’s not often that happens.
Built to be alone, remember?
But occasionally, I do get sick of my own company.
Those are usually the nights when I drive out of town looking for a hookup, but just hearing Brenden’s laughter and getting to think about him could possibly be even better.
Realizing he’s watching me with intrigue now, I adjust my weight nervously.
I don’t even want to know what my face must have been doing just then.
“What would you want in a boyfriend?” I ask, shifting the focus onto him.
He scrunches his face in confusion.
“What do you mean?”
I think the meaning is obvious.
But I’m only asking to get a better idea of how I should play this role for him, so I tell him as much.
“Help me learn what you look for in a guy. What’s important to you in a relationship? That way I can make sure to be that in front of May’s grandparents.”
His expression shifts to deep appreciation, and I don’t know what to do with that.
So I squirm some more as I wait for him to consider his answer.
Maybe this was a stupid question.
It doesn’t matter, really, what he wants out of a relationship, because we’re not actually dating.
I’m sure I can continue to fake it just fine without this intimate knowledge.
Then he says, “The biggest thing for me is just having someone I know I can depend on.”
And now I want to wrap him in a hug.
“I’ve done everything by myself for so long,” he adds.
“And I know I can handle it, but it would be nice if there was someone else I could lean on when things are hard.”
I resist going in for the hug, because that would be weird, but I do inch out my hand and place it over his knee.
“That makes sense.”
He laughs humorlessly.
“Does it? Or does it make me sound weak?”
“No,” I say adamantly, giving him a squeeze.
“You’re the furthest thing from weak. I’m sure most people would like to have what you’re describing.”
“You do everything on your own too, though. And you don’t seem like you need anyone else.”
No, I don’t think I need anyone.
But like he said, the idea of having someone else to lean on sometimes does sound kind of nice.
If it was the right someone.
“I do have my dad,” I say, which is true, for the most part.
“Yeah.” He sighs.
“I don’t have family like that.”
I could remind him he has May, but I understand that’s not what he means.
Almost without my permission, my thumb starts rubbing his knee over the thin material of his pajama pants.
I was right—they are soft.
And it might be my imagination, but it feels like he shifts just the tiniest bit closer to me as his eyes peer down at where I’m touching him.
“You have me,” I tell him.
Because even though that sounds like an embarrassingly cheesy line from a romance movie, I mean it.
And it’s important he knows it.
The achingly appreciative look is back on his face as he raises his eyes to meet mine.
“I know I do, and I’m so grateful for that.”
“I know you are.”
“You have me too, you know,” he says quietly.
“I know you don’t need me for anything, but... if you did, I’d be there.”
Fuck.
Why does it feel so good to hear him say that?
Since I’m not good at handling emotions, I awkwardly mumble my thanks.
Then I ask what else he wants in a boyfriend, in the hopes of steering the conversation back to less vulnerable territory.
Less vulnerable for me, at least.
And maybe he senses my need for levity, because he says, “Rock hard abs and at least eight inches.” Then the little fucker winks at me.
I can’t help it, I burst out laughing.
He’s never said something that obscene to me before.
Luckily, the shock of it made it funny, rather than a turn on.
As I calm down, I tell him, “While I may be able to provide that, I don’t think it’s something I can display in front of Elise and Grant.”
His blue eyes flash darker for a second, and I replay my own words.
Shit.
Am I flirting?
Quickly, I move past the talk about dicks and add, “So how about something that helps me illustrate to them how much I care about you? As your fake boyfriend, I mean.”
“Let’s see...” He twists the extra material of his pillowcase between his fingers.
“Is it super self-centered if I say I want a boyfriend who totally adores me?”
I adore you.
“Not at all,” I reply, holding in my first thought.
“You deserve that.”
“It’s just that I’ve always put all my focus on being a good dad for May. So if I’m going to give someone else part of my focus, I want to know that it’s worth it. I need to know that they really want to be around.” He nudges the back of my hand with his knuckle, and I realize I haven’t taken it off his knee yet, so I reluctantly do that.
“But don’t worry, Elise and Grant don’t seem suspicious about us. I think they’ll buy this thing without you having to pretend to fawn over me. In fact, you doing that would probably be hilarious and just blow our cover, because fawning doesn’t fit your whole Grumptopus vibe at all.”
I pretend to be offended, though he’s not exactly wrong.
“Hey, I could fawn.”
He gives me a look like he’s fighting to keep a straight face, and then he laughs.
“Sure. Right. I totally buy that.”
“I could,” I argue.
Because now, inexplicably, I feel the need to prove it to him.
To prove I could be the kind of boyfriend he wants.
And actually, I’m pretty sure I fawn over him all the time in my head.
It’s just the doing it openly part that would likely be hard for me.
“Hmm,” he says, tapping his finger against his chin, like maybe he’s trying to picture it.
Which, yes, I imagine isn’t easy.
Then he gets an evil glint in his eyes and says, “All right, so I expect a flash mob.”
“A what now?” I say.
Even though I do know what flash mobs are.
Ridiculous, publicly humiliating spectacles.
He nods enthusiastically.
“Yup. That’s the level of fawning and adoring I’m talking about. I want a guy to be so into me that he needs to make sure everyone else knows it too.”
I honestly can’t tell how much he’s fucking with me.
Like I know he’s joking around, but is there a part of him that really might want something like that?
Maybe not a flash mob, necessarily, but big romantic gestures?
While I don’t know if I’d be capable of giving that to him, I meant it when I said he deserves it.
And that’s just another reason I need to keep my feelings for him to myself.
He deserves so much more than me.
“Okay,” I say, resorting to my old buddy sarcasm.
“One flash mob coming up.”
“Good.”
“What else are you looking for?”
He slides down a bit so he’s closer to lying than sitting now, his cheek smushed adorably into his pillow.
“Why don’t you tell me what you want in a boyfriend?”
Bright blue eyes, endless smiles, and an obnoxious coffee addiction.
That’s my immediate thought.
But since I can’t say it, and I honestly don’t even know how else to answer, I fake a yawn and tell him, “We should probably get some sleep.”
He gives me an assessing look, and I pray that he hasn’t magically developed mindreading powers in the last thirty seconds.
Then he smiles and agrees.
As he gets out of bed to hit the light switch, I fold down the covers so we can get under them, and I say another prayer that I don’t wake up with morning wood again.
At least he didn’t kiss me this time, so I should be fine.
I know I’m the one who asked him about kissing and agreed we could do it in front of Elise and Grant to sell this relationship, but after that first kiss, I realized it’s a terrible idea.
For me, at least.
I’m still willing to do it when we need to.
I refuse to let him down.
But I’m honestly not sure how much of it I’ll be able to take without going crazy.
Just that small taste I got last night was enough to make my desire for him—the desire that I’ve been able to tamp down for so long—come burning furiously up to the surface.
“Are you comfortable?” he whispers sweetly after he’s settled in.
We’re both sticking as far as possible to our own sides of the bed, but I can still feel his heat.
Or maybe I’m only imagining it because I want to feel it.
Either way, this isn’t helping in my fight to keep my body under control.
“Yeah,” I lie.
“I’m good.”