10. Brooklyn
10
brOOKLYN
M y mind was still wrapped up in Gabe when I got to Adair Elementary. Both thinking about Gabe himself, and thinking about how much I was thinking about him. And how dangerous that was.
But the nice thing about working with kids was that I forgot about my own problems after five minutes with them. They were just so there , demanding my attention with nothing more than their presence, and I couldn’t worry about my own shit and pay attention to them at the same time.
It was delightfully head-clearing, and as we cleaned up the dirt from the terrariums we’d been making, I was struck by a pang of sadness. Even with the new funding for Human Nature, even if we found a long-term solution to keep the charity open, I wasn’t going to be around to help out at the school any longer.
Come January, I’d be God-knew-where, juggling a full teaching load of college courses by day and mining my dissertation for publishable articles by night. I needed to enjoy these last few months with the kids while I could.
Julian Jackson, the teacher volunteer who coordinated Human Nature’s programs at Adair Elementary, led us outside to do a sharing circle in a little glade behind the playground, and I told myself to just relax and soak this in. It was funny to remember how scared I’d been when I first started volunteering at schools. I’d never worked with kids before, but I wanted to get to know the people who were going to be helping me with data collection.
Over the past few years, I’d gotten to know so many kids and families, but I had to admit, Adair Elementary was my favorite spot. Maybe it was just that Summersea itself was so beautiful, or maybe it was how friendly Julian was, but hanging out here on Fridays had become my favorite part of the week. I was really going to miss this.
I envied Julian, that he got to work with kids all day and see what a difference he made in their lives. I envied Jeff, too, since he’d get to keep visiting here in the spring if he wanted. Though, to be fair, Jeff was so scattered that he spent a lot less time at any of our school sites, and a lot more time trying to catch up on overdue paperwork. The man was a brilliant scholar and a great mentor, but not the best office manager, that was for sure.
Something smelled amazing when I got home. I caught the scent as soon as I opened the stairwell door and walked down the hall to my apartment. Basil, oregano, olive oil, and garlic wafted out from my door and pulled me closer.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d done more cooking than making a packet of ramen or reheating half of a leftover burrito. I turned the key in the lock and opened the door, delightfully confused by the smells emanating from inside.
“You’re home!”
Gabe popped his head out of the kitchen when I stepped inside the apartment. He was wearing an apron—no idea where he’d found that—and had the sleeves of his shirt rolled up.
He looked fucking adorable, and when he turned around to walk back into the kitchen, I got another good view of his firm, rounded ass. Fuck, I could feel myself getting hard. Maybe I had an apron kink?
I dropped my bag on the ground and followed Gabe into the kitchen, sniffing the air in curiosity.
“It smells amazing in here. What are you making? And where did you even find all the food?”
Gabe grinned at me from his spot in front of the stove. “Just pasta. I checked the fridge, and it seemed like you were out of groceries, so I picked some up. Hope you don’t mind.”
“Not so much ‘out of’ groceries as ‘never had’ groceries. But mind? God, no. I can’t remember the last time I had a home-cooked meal.”
Gabe looked at me incredulously. “That’s depressing.”
“Do you cook a lot?” I peered into the saucepan he was stirring. Some kind of pasta sauce. I wasn’t sure what was in it, but it looked heavenly and smelled even better.
“Not as much as I’d like to, since I travel so much for work. But I try to do it whenever I’m home. It gets so depressing eating room service or mediocre food from chain restaurants when I’m on the road. Besides, I like trying recipes from different places around the world. The closest I can get to traveling there myself, for now.”
“You know, I’m beginning to see that there might be more advantages to marrying you than I previously acknowledged.”
“Aww, honey, you’re so sweet.” Gabe grinned. “You’re sure you don’t mind me messing up your kitchen?”
I rolled my eyes. “Please, this is the most action my kitchen’s ever seen. It’s probably thrilled. Be my guest. Besides, it’s your apartment too, now.”
“Well, yeah, but I’m still kind of a guest. Just a long-term one.” Gabe gestured into the living room with a wooden spoon I hadn’t even known I owned. “That couch and I are going to get real friendly by the end of the year.”
“We should talk about that, actually.” I grabbed two beers from the fridge—those, at least, I had plenty of—and handed one to him. “Like, how this is going to work. Because I don’t want you to feel like that. Like a guest, I mean.”
“Yeah, but it is your apartment.”
“I know, and I’m not saying you should like, sleep in my bed or anything.” I did my best to hide a flush because of course, the thought had crossed my mind before I’d reminded myself I didn’t want that. “But I thought we could at least go and get an air mattress or something? You shouldn’t have to sleep on my couch this whole time. And we can even rotate who gets the bed and who gets the air mattress, if you want.”
Gabe waved away the suggestion. “No need. An air mattress is fine. For the next two months, at least, I’m still on this project with Lund and McCormick, so I’ll be gone every Monday morning through Thursday evening, mostly.”
“Oh, shit.” I blinked. “I hadn’t realized that. I mean, you said you traveled, but I guess I didn’t realize it was that regular?”
“Yep. It’s…not the greatest.”
“I guess that’s why you were willing to do this, huh? It really doesn’t make a difference to you, if you’re not even going to be here that much.”
“Ouch, man.” Gabe feigned a chest wound. “That hurts.”
I flushed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“Nah, you’re fine. I’m just kidding. I never really planned on getting married anyway, you know? Like, I am not joking when I tell you how shitty it is to watch my parents interact. It shouldn’t be legal for people who hate each other that much to cohabitate. I don’t ever want that. For myself or anyone else.”
“Well, of course not. But didn’t you tell me they got married before they really knew each other? Before they knew if they could get along?”
“Yeah, you could say that.” Gabe barked a laugh. “They got married when they found out my mom was pregnant. I think they’d known each other for all of three weeks at that point.”
“Right, so presumably, you would never do that. Get married to someone you don’t know, I mean.”
Gabe’s eyes sparkled. “Isn’t that what we just did?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yeah. I mean, I’m happy for other people who want marriage and make it work. But it’s just not something I pictured for myself. I can barely manage to stay interested enough to go on a second date with someone. Marriage…” He shuddered, then gave me a strange look. “What about you? You ever think of it, before now?”
“Getting married?”
He nodded. “I know you said you weren’t looking for a relationship now, but are you like, a pining secret romantic or something?”
“Ha, no. To put it mildly.”
“Sounds like there’s a story there.” Gabe raised his eyebrows as he took a sip of his beer. “What, you have a secret husband in your past? Two kids you’re paying child support for in Alabama? Spill.”
I burst out laughing. “God, no. Nothing that interesting.”
“But there’s something, isn’t there?” He narrowed his eyes. “I can tell. And you have to tell me. We’re married now, pumpkin. There are no secrets between us.”
“I don’t really like talking about it.” I sighed. “I swear, I’m not trying to be mysterious. It was just a mistake, nothing more. I met a guy, fell for him, thought he felt the same, and I was wrong.”
“Oh my God, did you propose to him? Or get left at the altar or something?”
“We didn’t quite get that far. Suffice it to say, I wanted things to go in that direction and he…didn’t.”
“That sucks. Was this a while ago, or more recent?”
“Oh, years ago. End of college.”
“Yikes.” Gabe grimaced. “But you’ve dated people since then, right?”
I laughed. “Define dating .”
“Whoa, that bad, huh?”
“I’ve gone out with people. Done stuff.” I could feel my cheeks turning red. Done stuff ? What the hell did that even mean? “But it just never seemed as important as my work. That’s what I need to focus on.”
“Sounds a little lonely.”
“No lonelier than you.” I laughed. “So no pity parties, thank you very much.”
Gabe gestured to the pot back on the stove. “Even if they come with pity spaghetti?”
“Hmm. That might depend on the quality of the spaghetti.”
“My pity spaghetti is excellent. Top-notch. My brother Aiden would tell you I make the best pity spaghetti this side of the Mississippi.”
I snorted. “How is your brother, by the way? Everything okay with him and his ex?”
“As okay as it can be.” Gabe sighed. “I think he’s at least starting to get over Paolo. The real test will be whether he can keep himself from falling for the next asshole he meets.”
“That’s his type, then? Assholes?”
“Figuratively and literally.” Gabe grinned. “I think he just wants the fantasy, you know? Romance, and getting swept off his feet, and finding a fairy-tale happy ending.”
“I mean, it’s a nice idea—”
“But not one that exists in reality,” Gabe finished. “Sounds like past-you would have gotten along with him pretty well, though.”
“Maybe.” I rolled my eyes. “Past-me was kind of an idiot.”
“Eh, past-you sounds cute. Though future-you’s not that bad either. Current-you, I mean.”
He blushed and turned back to the pasta sauce. There it was again. The Gabriel Hastings Almost Flirt (patent pending). And what the hell was I supposed to do about it?
Part of me wanted to call him on it. Ask him what he thought he was doing. But then what? Did I tell him to stop? Was that what I wanted? That was what I was supposed to want. But supposed to want wasn’t wanted , I supposed.
If only he weren’t so fucking cute, making me try a taste of the pasta sauce off the end of his wooden spoon, or insisting that we sit and eat at my dining table with real plates like civilized people instead of my usual move of eating hunched over my laptop, flipping between 15 different open tabs. Or bending over to put things in the trash after dinner in a way that he had to know accentuated his ass.
It was almost like he wanted me to look. Wanted me to notice him. Wanted me to take him up on some silent offer, the terms of which were fuzzy but the intent of which was crystal clear. And God knew I wanted to.
It all came to a head in the worst possible way later that night. I’d walked out of the bathroom after brushing my teeth, passing by the couch and letting Gabe know it was open before heading into my bedroom. And when I’d turned around to close my door, I saw him stand up, pull his shirt off over his head, and stretch, making the muscles in his back and shoulders ripple.
He had to know I could see him. The bedroom door was right behind the couch and he clearly hadn’t heard me close it yet. But he didn’t turn around, didn’t say anything. He just bent down and picked up his phone, scrolling through something on the screen as he stood there shirtless.
I couldn’t stop my eyes from roving over his form. His muscular shoulders, his back tapering down to a slim V, the divots at the bottom right above his ass. God, I remembered cupping that ass as we’d groped at each other on his hotel bed a week ago. As I recalled, it had felt perfect.
When Gabe undid his khakis, I sucked in a breath involuntarily, then froze, hoping he hadn’t heard. He pushed the fabric down, revealing navy blue boxer-briefs that clung to his ass, making my hands jealous, itching to do the same. He had the most perfect bubble butt and he was just standing there, mostly naked, his back to me like he was begging me to watch.
Then he bent over again, and I stopped breathing entirely. It looked like he was pulling off his socks. Why not sit down to do that? Why bend over and shove his ass up in the air unless he was trying to taunt me through the open door?
Before I could stop myself, my hand drifted to my cock, now rock hard and straining against my pants. I stroked it through the fabric, aching with desire. I was desperate to feel him underneath me again.
What the hell was Gabe doing? Not just right now, with this unintentional striptease, but ever since I’d met him? Just waltzing into my apartment and my life like he owned the goddamn place. It confused the hell out of me, because the longer I watched him, the more convinced I became that he did.
Before I’d made sense of the situation, Gabe stood up, turned around, and looked right at me. I froze as his eyes met mine, a blue so intense it might as well have been electric. I couldn’t tear my gaze away.
Then I remembered where my hand was. That did the trick. I felt my face turn bright red and I closed the door quickly, turning and leaning against it like I needed it to hold me up.
Shit. Gabe had to have seen that, right? How could he not have noticed that I’d been standing there, stroking myself as I watched him?
Even if he did want me to look, I felt like a major creep. Not once acknowledging that I was there, giving him a warning about my presence.
And how could I be sure that he had wanted me to watch? That was a bit presumptuous. Maybe he truly had forgotten I could see him. This was his first day in my apartment, so it wasn’t like I could expect him to have the layout memorized.
I waited for the sound of footsteps, for Gabe to march over and knock on the door, demand that we talk about it. Demand that I explain just what the hell I thought I was doing. But there were none.
I couldn’t decide what that meant. Had he really not noticed? Or did he just not care? How could you be indifferent to the idea of someone jerking off to you in your underwear?
The worst part was, despite all this embarrassment, I was still rock hard. And my hand had never stopped palming my shaft, not even for a second.
Goddammit, I wanted him. I wanted the Gabe who’d kissed me in the bar the first night we met. The Gabe who’d boldly invited me back to his hotel room. Who told me he wanted me to be insatiable.
I was insatiable for him. I couldn’t get enough, and now, safe behind closed doors, I couldn’t stop myself from unzipping my fly and pulling my cock out so I could stroke it freely. I didn’t know what he wanted, but I knew I wanted him, and I let my thoughts drift to the man on the other side of the door.
I wanted to run my hands all over his body, squeeze that delectable, round ass, own his mouth, and show him what it felt like to get a blow job from someone with as much practice at it as I had. I could just picture him in my arms again, letting me make him scream.
Maybe he’d come into my room tonight, saying he was cold on the couch. Crawl under the covers, let me hold him, stroke him, kiss his neck. Let me trace every inch of his skin with my tongue. Kiss his most sensitive places—his Adam’s apple, his stomach, his inner thighs, and what lay between them.
He’d let me show him how good I could make him feel, be the gay guru he’d joked about, be better than he had ever dreamed. I’d be the first man to make him come. He’d whimper and moan, breathing fast, and gasp that he wanted me inside him. No condom in this fantasy. Gabe would open himself up, desperate for me to fuck him. And I would.
I pumped myself faster now, precum leaking from my tip. I used it to slick my shaft. I imagined my cock plunging into him, making him groan with pleasure, whine my name, beg to be taken harder. I stroked my length the way I saw myself stroking him, bringing him to orgasm with my fingers and my cock, pumping into him and around him at the same time, drowning him in ecstasy.
My balls tightened—I was on the edge. I allowed myself to see Gabe come in my hands, call out my name, eyes rolling back in his head as he begged me to come inside him. His whole body would tense as he came, constricting my cock deep in his ass, and I’d thrust into him with urgency, giving him what he asked for, sinking my cock into him as he shivered with pleasure.
I came, fast and hard, shooting into my hand and onto the floor at my feet. My heart was pounding, and I had to stand there for a minute in silence, collecting myself, before I could pad over to my nightstand and grab a tissue to wipe up the mess.
I knew I was breaking my own rule. I wasn’t supposed to be thinking about Gabe that way, whether he wanted me to or not. I knew better than to get involved with him, no matter how fucking cute he was. No matter how tempting.
I had to push him out of my head, had to find a way to live with him that didn’t make me want to jerk off all the time. I had my dissertation to finish, jobs to apply to, a whole life to concentrate on that didn’t involve wanting to fuck my new roommate-slash-husband. I had to concentrate.
And I did, for a while. Even as I lay in bed, I forced myself to run through the citations I planned on using when I rewrote the lit review chapter in my next dissertation draft. It was boring enough that I was on the edge of sleep quickly.
But you can’t fall asleep while maintaining control. To sleep, you have to let go, let yourself be pulled under. To sleep, you have to accept that you are no longer in charge.
And as I slipped into unconsciousness, the images I saw had nothing to do with dissertation chapters, or job applications, or even volunteering with Human Nature. It was Gabe that I saw.
Gabe, and nothing else.