Chapter 34 Will
Will
“Are you sure he said Thursday?”
We’re sitting on the uncomfortable goddamn sofa. This weekend we went to Target and bought a bunch of throw pillows to see if that would help. It didn’t. The damn pillows keep sliding down, and now we’ve got to compete with them for space on the narrow bench seat.
“Yeah, Mattie. He definitely said Thursday, and no, he didn’t say what time.” It’s the fourth time he’s asked me, hence my confidence that I can answer his next question without him having to ask it.
“But he did say he’d come back.”
“Yeah. I asked him directly. He said he had a thing on Friday and Saturday, but he’d come back next week on Thursday.”
“Did he say what the thing was?”
“No,” I say again.
It’s only Monday. It’s going to be a long-ass week if he keeps this up.
He turns his face and pretends to watch TV.
His cheek is dimpled, but it’s his fake dimple.
It’s the one that dips in when he purposefully twists his mouth into a smile, not the one that happens when he’s happy.
That one is deeper. He reaches up and scrubs his hand through the mop of hair on the top of his head.
It puts his curls square in the category of chaos.
I watch his chest rise and fall for a while, and then I notice his jaw clenching.
“Mattie, come here.”
He does. He moves quickly as if maybe he was waiting for me to tell him to do it.
The weight of his bulk hits me first. He leans into me heavily and nuzzles his head into my shoulder.
His scent hits me second. We hit the gym together earlier, and we both had a shower while we were there.
He smells clean and fresh. I get a subtle hint of cedarwood and juniper berry, but mostly, I get a hard hit of home. A hard hit of things that are safe.
Fuck.
It feels good.
It makes me relax and tighten the arm I have around him, and then it makes me think of things that are unsafe.
Things that are unpredictable and unknown.
Trouble being the very definition of all of those things.
He’s a force. An unstoppable force. It would be hard not to think of him.
It was hard not to think of him after the first time, but the second time?
Jesus. He nearly blew up this whole building.
It’s the first time I’ve had sex that’s given me flashbacks.
In the past, when someone’s blown my hair back, I’ve thought about it afterward.
I’ve actively thought about it. I’ve remembered what happened and pictured it.
Not so with Trouble. With him, I see what happened.
It flashes before my eyes like I’m watching a movie.
Sometimes it happens in slow motion. Sometimes it’s the same moment on repeat.
The first flash I got was when Mat and I were on our knees at his feet in the living room.
I was drunk with lust. Seriously, drunk.
Not safe to operate heavy machinery drunk.
The room felt blurry and hot, and when I saw his hard-on, I felt strange.
I definitely had a little pit in my stomach.
I felt unsure, and yeah, I’ll admit I felt weird about it.
I had a moment of trepidation, where it felt like I was standing—or kneeling, as it was—on an edge.
I felt like I was far out on the edge of a pier jutting out over dark and choppy deep water.
It made me feel like I wasn’t sure who I was or what I was doing.
It was quick, the whole thing probably only lasted a second or two, but for those couple of seconds, time seemed to stretch out.
I looked at Mattie then. Our eyes met, and wide, wild swirls of cognac told me he felt the same way. That was all it took, a quick look from him, and like that, I knew exactly where I was and what I was doing.
The second Trouble’s dick broke free of its covers, the feeling of uncertainty was nothing more than a ghost. A phantom.
An apparition that no longer felt real. His cock was so heavy it bounced around a couple of times before it settled into position when he set it free.
Thick veins pulsed under his skin, mesmerizing me.
By the time he offered it to us, my mouth had pooled with saliva.
I wanted it.
I still want it.
Mat breathes heavily, jolting me back to the present. He’s more chill than earlier, but I can tell he’s still wound a little tighter than I consider ideal.
“How was work?” I ask to distract him.
“Ugh.”
“You know you don’t have to tough it out, don’t you? You don’t have to stay just because it pays well.”
We’re both in finance. I love it. Mat doesn’t.
I often get the feeling that the reason he studied business was because I did—though if you were to ask him about it, he’d deny it with precisely the same vehemence the two of us deny the fact that our goddamn sofa is uncomfortable when people who aren’t us point it out.
“Ugh,” he says again. “What about the five-year plan?”
“We’re way ahead of it, and the plan doesn’t matter for shit if you aren’t happy. Why don’t you start nosing around, start thinking about it and seeing what’s out there.”
“Maybe, okay? I’ll think about it.”
“That’s good enough for me.”
“What’s happening with your promotion?”
I love the way he says “your promotion” like it’s already mine.
I’ve corrected him a bunch of times about it, but each time he just says “your” harder.
That’s Mattie for you. When we were younger, I used to think he did things like that to make me feel better about myself.
To boost my confidence. It took me a long time, but eventually, it dawned on me: he does it because he truly believes it.
“I should hear any day now, but I’m feeling pretty good about it.”
“You’ll get it,” he says like he’s an absolute authority on the intricate runnings of my company, complex recruitment procedures, and life in general.
I lie back in bed and try to ignore the uncomfortable tightness in my chest. I’m questioning my decision to send the clip I just sent to Mat.
He hasn’t sent me one since we ran into Trouble for the second time.
I’m not even all that sure why I sent it.
It’s hot, but it’s not that hot. None of the guys look at all like Trouble, and none of them make the kinds of sounds he makes.
I toss and turn and watch it again. I stroke halfheartedly, ears cocked for sound.
I can hear Mat in his room. I hear a dull thud followed by three or four more.
It doesn’t sound like he’s in bed, though I’m pretty sure he was when I sent him the clip.
I watch it again and come before it ends. It’s one of those orgasms that feels like a release but not a relief.
“Of course you’re coming out, Will,” says Gould, talking so loudly I’m pretty sure everyone around me can hear what he’s saying even though we’re on the phone. “You just got a huge promotion, and you know I’m not letting your head hit the pillow tonight without buying you a drink.”
I know Gould, and I know when I'm beaten, so I agree to meet him after work. Mat texts a little later to say the plan’s blowing up and everyone will be there.
Not gonna lie. The first person who comes to mind under the banner of “everyone” has a mane of long, glossy black hair and a personal affinity for causing trouble.
“William Oliver Jackson!” bellows Gould from across the room. “You did it, bud!”
Gould and my mother are the only people alive who can get away with William Oliver-ing me. I don’t care for it when either of them does it, but in my mother’s case, I tend to give her some leeway since she made me and all that.
I take a long swig of my drink, and as the first bitter sip hits my throat, I start feeling better.
Fuck it.
Gould’s right. I did do it.
I’m the youngest person at my level by almost ten years. I deserve to let my hair down a little.
It turns out Gould’s invited his Carmel gang to celebrate with me instead of the water polo guys. The fact I’ve never met them before and don’t know them for shit means less than nothing to him. It’s classic Gould.
“Will!” he bellows, crashing through a group of people to get to me.
He slams into me for a hug that’s so hard it almost makes me lose my footing.
He drags me back to where he was standing before and introduces me to his friends.
“Luke, Jessie, and Izzy,” he says, pointing to each one in turn, “this is Will.”
“The Will?” asks Luke, as though such a thing pushes the boundary of what’s possible.
He’s a big, buff blond guy with a massive smile plastered on his face.
He seems like the kind of guy who doesn’t have the first clue how to hide his feelings, and right now, he’s happy.
He’s so happy, he looks almost delirious to meet me.
“Dude, I feel like I know you. Gouldie talks about you all the time. Congrats on the promotion, man.”
He high-fives and fist-bumps me, and I get the feeling he’d like to come in for a hug, but he’s trying to hold himself back.
His partner, Jessie, stands at his side and shakes his head, trying not to laugh at how overexcited Luke is.
I’ve seen him before. He’s the guy in the video Mat made me watch over and over.
The resemblance to Trouble is jarring, made all the more so by how different they are.
Jessie’s taller and oozes masculinity, whereas Trouble sees the line between masculinity and femininity and gives it the finger.
Mat calls my name. I hear his voice over the din of the bar.
I turn and search the crowd for his face.
When I find it, he has a hand raised, waving at me.
His face is open, and both cheeks are dimpled as hard and deep as possible for those particular cheeks to dimple.
His eyes are steady. He’s happy for me. Pleased but not surprised.
When we make eye contact, the expression on his face changes.
It’s a subtle change: smile lines fade, lips harden for a second.
If I didn’t know the feeling, I probably wouldn’t have recognized it.
He’s looking at me with satisfaction that borders on smugness.
A subtle hint of I told you so and a knowing smile that softens his eyes.
It’s pride. And more than a hint of it. A lot more.
It’s a full complement of pride…and something else.
Pride, and he’s mine.
It throws me. I’m hit with a quick flurry that feels almost like nerves.
The way he’s looking at me isn’t inappropriate or even unexpected, so I’m not sure why I’m having this reaction.
Maybe it’s because it’s something I’ve never noticed about him before, and I know him so well that it’s rare for me to learn things about him that I don’t already know.
Correction: it was rare before we got into Trouble.
After being introduced and getting a drink, I watch Mat scan the room.
I know what he’s looking for. Or should I say who.
Someone smaller than us but insanely defined.
Someone with long shiny hair and abs that clench so hard they feel like a washboard when you run your hand down them.
A person who dances on the line that separates masculinity and femininity as if he was born to do it.
As if it’s the rhythm his heart beats to.
As if it’s the language his soul speaks.
Not gonna lie. I’ve looked around for him more than once too.
“Are we waiting for anyone?” Mat asks Gould hopefully.
Gould doesn’t answer. He’s too busy buying us all another round.
When it becomes clear Trouble’s not coming, I relax and start pounding back drinks. I get a nice little buzz going. I feel warm and fuzzy inside, and after a while, I get to that point where you couldn’t convince me the world isn’t a beautiful place even if you spent the rest of time trying.
It’s a great night. Gould’s friends are great. Everything’s great. Jessie has a dark sense of humor, and Luke and Mat hit it off right away. Izzy is nice too. She’s an interior designer and keeps us riveted with riotous stories about the completely unreasonable demands her clients make.
“Let’s get another round,” I say to Mat with a notable slur.
He slings a hefty arm over my shoulder and leans in close. “Trouble’s headed our way tomorrow, Will. I need you on your A-game.”
I smile and nod. Mat leaves his hand on my shoulder.
It’s nothing unusual. This kind of thing happens all the time.
It’s just that his arm feels heavier and hotter than usual, and it makes me think about how it felt when I kissed him the second time we found Trouble.
His lips were on me hard and fast. His body was big and solid against mine.
It felt so familiar to be close to him, but at the same time, it felt like the newest thing that’s ever happened to me. I was breathless in seconds.
Come to think of it, I’m a little breathless now too.