Chapter Four
CHAPTER FOUR
“YO, T, YOU ‘bout ready to go, man?” Randy pounded his fist on Tate’s bedroom door.
Tate rolled over with a groan as the morning sun seared his eyeballs. Damn, the light hit right through his window at this time of year.
If Tate had thought his brother moving to his own trailer with Whitney two years ago would have given him more privacy and space, he’d have been dead wrong. The asshole still acted like he lived there, coming and going whenever he damn well pleased.
“Ma, why the hell do you let this loser in?” Tate shouted.
“She ain’t here, Sleeping Beauty.”
Right. Mondays, she got up at the ass crack of dawn to head out and blow whatever tips she’d earned over the weekend at the diner on the damn ponies.
“Give me five minutes. Meet you outside.” He rolled flat on his back, arms and legs starfished in the double bed he’d slept in since childhood.
“Your lazy ass better not still be in bed.”
“It’s not. I’m up. Give me five fucking minutes, Jesus.” The one time Randy was ready before him, he was acting like Tate lounged around all day, every day. They’d been working together for years, and ninety-nine times out of a hundred, Randy was the fuck-up. Of course, his brother had to be on top of his shit today when Tate had been balls-deep in Dream Liam and about to blow his load. Maybe it was a good thing Randy woke him before Dream Tate could bust a nut. With his luck, he’d have jizzed himself in his sleep like a damn horny teenager.
“Four minutes,” Randy grumbled. “And you’re buying coffee.”
He scrubbed a hand over his scruffy face. He always bought the damn coffee. For a dollar at the closest gas station, the crap shouldn’t even be called coffee. It was one drip away from sludge. But they rarely had any at home, and it had caffeine, so they bought some almost every day.
He lifted an arm and turned his head, taking a quick sniff. Not terrible or good, but nothing a little deodorant couldn’t cover. He hopped out of bed while stripping off his T-shirt. Shit, he must have been tired if he’d slept in the thing. Typically, he slept in as little as possible. Clothes bothered the hell out of him while he was trying to sleep. A red, grout-stained tee stuck out from his dresser drawer. Tate grabbed it and tugged it over his head. The stains didn’t matter, he’d earn a dozen more before lunch.
He changed his boxer briefs and then shrugged on a ratty pair of jeans. They were old, torn, and easy to work in. After taking a leak and a thirty-second tooth brushing, he was out the door and ready for the day.
“Nice hair,” Randy said with a snort as Tate jogged to his car.
“Shut the fuck up.” He really needed a haircut.
As he raked his fingers through it in a wasted attempt to tame the mess, a flash of someone else’s hands playing with the strands at the nape of his neck ran through his mind. Liam had soft hands, unlike Tate’s, which were beaten to hell but still strong. He’d wanted Liam to tug so he could feel the sting, but there hadn’t been time for that. They’d both been too focused on getting off.
And then Tate had been focused on getting the fuck out of there. Being with Liam was good. Too damn good. The kind of good that threatened everything in his carefully constructed life. He’d seen the question in the other man’s eyes. He’d been about to ask for a repeat, or a date, or even a phone number, and despite knowing it could never happen, Tate would have been tempted. He avoided that temptation at all costs because he knew himself, and one day, he’d give into the temptation and fuck up everything.
So, before he’d lost his brain to his cock, Tate had gotten the fuck out of there. Unfortunately, the last thing he’d seen before he’d turned tail and fled like a pussy was the disappointment and confusion on Liam’s gorgeous face. Those eyes were the color of warm honey. They’d haunted Tate’s dreams for the past few nights.
“Uh, we going, or you just gonna stare at the car?”
“We’re going. Unwad your fucking panties.” He unlocked the car and climbed into the driver’s seat, immediately rolling the window down. His car might be a heap of crap, but he’d die before letting Randy drive it. Not that he could drive it if he wanted to right now. He’d managed to get his license suspended after having five fender-benders in the past year. The man drove like a damn fool, yet somehow, he could drag race and win his lot fee in one night.
It didn’t make any sense. Then again, the shit Randy did rarely made sense.
Randy dropped into the passenger seat. He shifted Tate’s way and pulled a rumpled pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket. Tate raised an eyebrow as his brother took one out, stuck it between his lips, and then depressed the car’s lighter.
Shaking his head, Tate ripped the cigarette from his brother’s mouth and tossed it out the window.
“What the fuck?” Randy socked his arm.
“You know I hate you smoking in my car.”
“You smoke, jackass.” Randy whined as Tate rubbed his arm where his brother whacked him. “Probably more than me.” He started to take another cigarette out, but Tate’s raised eyebrow had him shoving it back into the pack.
“First off, you know that shit’s not true. I smoke a fucking quarter of what you do. And two, I never smoke in my car.” He started the engine and pulled toward the park’s exit, honking at Letti as he passed her house. She waved from a lawn chair while drinking coffee straight out of the carafe and eating dry cereal from a box.
“Classy,” he shouted, earning a middle finger.
Randy chuckled and then fiddled with the radio. After he found his favorite rock station, he asked, “So, what’s up with you this morning? Shouldn’t you be all loose and relaxed from seeing your super-secret girlfriend this weekend?”
“The fuck are you talking about?” Tate navigated the car out of the trailer park and onto the highway.
“Please.” Randy rolled his eyes. “Like I don’t know. You think you’re so much smarter than the rest of us.”
Tate snorted. He took his eyes off the road to glare at his brother. “I am smarter than you. Way fucking smarter. Fat lotta good it does for me, though. Did you see where I woke up this morning? Alone in a double bed in our cracked Ma’s trailer I pay for because she can’t. I’m living the dream, brother.”
“Every couple of months, you head over to Tulsa to get you some city pussy. You hiding a rich bitch out there or something? I get being embarrassed by our shit and not wanting to bring her to the craphole we call home, but you don’t gotta be all sneaky about it.”
Heat prickled his skin. He laughed, but it sounded so fake that he couldn’t believe Randy didn’t question him. “Well, shit,” he said, clearing his throat. “Thought I had you fooled.” The lie soured in his mouth.
“She’s good, huh?” Randy asked, grinning like a loon. “Gotta be some prime pussy to drive your ass all the way to Tulsa.”
Tate’s stomach lurched. If Randy kept talking, he would vomit all over the steering wheel. “Yeah, real good pussy.”
“So, you like ‘em, classy, huh? And I guess your girl likes slummin’ it.” He elbowed Tate, chuckling.
Slumming it. Randy’s comment hit too close to home. Beyond his name and the fact that he sucked cock like a damn god, Tate knew squat about Liam. But his clothes had been nice, and he’d reeked of class, so the guy must have been slumming it last night.
For some reason, that twisted his insides to knots.
“Hey…” Randy elbowed him again. “Ain’t nothing to be embarrassed of. You like what you like. No need to hide it. You like classy pussy. You go and get you all the classy pussy you can handle.”
If he only knew.
“How’s Whit?” If this conversation dragged on any longer, he’d steer them into oncoming traffic.
Randy snorted. “Fuck if I know. Thought she was pissed at me, but you know what that crazy ass woman said yesterday?”
He took the bait. Thank God.
“What?” They passed the fairgrounds, and Tate shuddered. It was ten years since he witnessed a gay kid take a horrifying beating, and he still hadn’t been back. He begged off every year with some lame excuse Randy bought because he was too stupid to realize something was up.
“She told me she thinks we should have a fucking baby.” He snorted, shaking his head. “You believe that shit?”
He did believe it. He loved his sister-in-law, but Whitney was crazier than Randy, and together, they were a volcano of insanity. No one knew when they would erupt, but they were active and exploded frequently and without warning.
Tate zoned out as Randy rambled on about his dysfunctional marriage. Keeping up with their drama was a full-time job, and Tate didn’t need or want a second one. Randy could talk, and he did while they stopped for their crappy coffee, filled up on gas, and all the way to their job site. Finally, he shut the hell up when they parked.
“Okay…” Tate searched for his boss’s email explaining the details of the job estimate. Their boss was lazy as a damn slug and should have handled his own estimates, but he threw Tate an extra hundred bucks each time he handled an estimate that led to a job booking, so he sucked it up and did them. Maybe someday he’d be the one in charge, and he could forget about having to bow down to a boss who didn’t care about him.
“What do we got today?” Randy asked.
“We’re finishing the job at the McMillian’s ranch at ten, but first, we have an estimate for this new dance studio. They’re looking to have the locker rooms and bathrooms retiled. The business owner apparently has some pretty detailed ideas, so let’s go on in and see what’s up.”
“Oh, fuck no,” Randy said. “I ain’t goin’ in there. No fucking way.”
“What?” Tate glanced up from his phone to see Randy staring at the dance studio through the windshield, shaking his head. “What’s the problem?”
“Look.” Randy tipped his chin in the direction of the studio. The sign read Dance For All Studio. Through the windows, he made out the outline of a man walking through the lobby with a clipboard in his hand.
“I don’t get it. You got a problem with dancers?”
Randy snorted. “Some of ‘em, yeah. Look what’s in the damn window.”
It took a moment, but Tate finally found what had Randy freaking out. An icy wave washed over him, leaving him cold and empty. In the bottom left corner of the storefront windows gleamed a rainbow sticker with the words LGBTQIA+ Owned and Operated Business.
“You see it, right? You know what it means?”
Of course, I fucking know what it means.
Goddammit, why did he have to be the one assigned to this job?
“I know what it means, Randy.”
“It means this place is owned by a fag,” he plowed on as though Tate hadn’t spoken.
“It’s owned by someone who wants to pay us money. Get the fuck over it.”
“Ain’t going in there.” Randy was still shaking his head. You’d think Tate had asked him to climb in a coffin and shut the lid.
Tate clenched his teeth so hard his jaw spasmed. “You know it can’t rub off on you, right?” He turned to face his ignorant brother. “You’re not gonna walk in there wanting pussy and come out with a thing for dick because you spent ten minutes measuring the guy’s bathroom for tiles.”
“Ain’t worth the risk, T. I ain’t doin’ it.”
“For fuck’s sake.” Tate shoved his door open, stepped out of the car, and tromped toward the dance studio’s entrance.
Don’t let them see your legs wobble.
His insides churned like the wall of a hurricane, fierce and destructive. He clenched his fists at his side to keep his hands from trembling.
Don’t vomit.
A door slammed behind him, and Randy called, “Fine. But I’m not shaking his hand. Got it?”
Tate plowed on toward the door. He wrenched it open too hard, making the overhead bells smack against the glass with a harsh clatter. “Shit, sorry,” he mumbled.
The man with the clipboard whirled around at the same time Randy came through the door, looking as excited as he’d be if he’d been there for a colonoscopy.
Tate froze. His blood stopped pumping, and his lungs seized. Alarm bells blared in his brain louder than a parade of firetruck sirens.
No.
This cannot be happening.
Liam met his gaze, and his expression went from neutral to surprised to excited in the blink of an eye. “Oh, my God,” he whispered, leaving his mouth dangling.
“Uh…” Leave it to Randy to capture the moment with eloquent words.
Liam crossed the room with a smile stretching the lips that had wrapped around his cock and made him come harder than ever before. “I can’t believe it’s y—”
Fuck .
He worked to keep his face blank despite the riot in his chest. “Mr. Brady? William Brady?”
“Wha… uh, yeah?” Liam shook his head as he wrinkled his nose. “But it’s Liam, reme—”
Tate thrust his right hand out. “Good morning, Mr. Brady. I’m with Expert Flooring and Tile. Thanks for meeting with us this morning.”
His heart hammered so loud it threatened to drown out Liam’s response. As he waited for Liam to shake his hand, he speared him with the most imploring look he could muster. His entire life came down to this one moment. Liam could either make or break him—literally. If Liam outed him, Randy would tear him in two, brothers or not.
A fucking dance teacher, of course. It jived perfectly with everything he’d learned about the man on Saturday.
“Uh, sure.” Liam pressed his lips together as he assessed Tate. Finally, after Tate’s arm started to cramp, Liam grasped his hand. “Thanks for coming.”
Randy’s eyes bugged out as their hands met.
Tate cleared his throat, drawing Liam’s attention away from his idiot brother. “I’m Tate, and this is Randy. If you can show us the space and tell us your vision, we’ll get started on measurements and get you a quote so we can get out of your hair.”
A flash of sadness crossed Liam’s face, but he cleared it before saying, “Sure, follow me.”
Nothing remained of the open, hungry man Tate had met— touched, tasted —Saturday night. He kept his face neutral as he walked them toward the first locker room area.
His nerves hadn’t eased even though it seemed, for now, Liam wouldn’t spill his secret. Keeping his eyes off Liam’s ass as he followed him through the studio proved a near-impossible task. Could his damn shorts be any tighter or shorter? And that shirt? For fuck’s sake, the workout tank might as well have been painted on his sleek body.
The definition in those arms…
Tate couldn't help but wonder how it’d feel to run his tongue over the satiny skin housing those muscles.
A sharp elbow to his side had him stumbling. “What the fuck?” he mouthed to Randy.
Randy jerked his head in Liam’s direction before rubbing his hands together as though cleaning them. “Wash your hands,” he mouthed without making a sound.
For fuck’s sake.
He flipped Randy off.
Wash his hands? This was his older brother. The person he’d grown up with his entire life. The person he was closest to despite how often Randy pissed him off. And the person who couldn’t shake a gay man’s hand and worried Tate should wash his hands after touching Liam.
This was his life.
Was it any wonder he lived in the deepest, darkest closet?
“Hey, Rand, I think I left my tape measure in the car. Could you grab it for me?”
Randy frowned. The outline of the tape measure was obvious as hell in Tate’s back pocket. “I think it’s right th—”
“In the trunk? Yeah, I think so.” He slapped Randy’s shoulder—hard. “Thanks, man.”
Randy’s eyes narrowed, then popped wide. A grin crossed his face. “Oh, shit, yeah, you’re right. It is in the trunk. I’ll just, uh, go get it,” he said as he walked backward toward the door. Before leaving, the idiot turned. “Thanks, bro.”
Tate shut his eyes.
“Smooth.” Liam leaned against the locker room door, folding his arms across his smooth chest. “Let me guess, he’s relieved to get the hell out of here so he doesn’t catch the gay.” He fluttered his hands up by his head.
Sick as he felt, Tate couldn’t help but snort a laugh. “Something like that.”
Liam grunted. “Lovely. Who doesn’t love a little homophobia first thing in the morning?”
“Listen, Lux… Liam, I, uh…”
“So, I take it you’re not out.”
Tate pressed his lips together. Not out. Those words made it sound so simple when the reality was much more complicated.
“Okay.” Liam pushed off the wall. “I get it.” He walked like a panther, with smooth, shifting muscles and animal heat. Without a flicker of unease or nerves, he stepped into Tate’s personal space. They were practically chest to chest.
Tate stiffened. His heart rate skyrocketed, and he flicked a reflexive glance out the window. Randy stood at the car, smoking and staring into the distance, facing away from the studio.
“Hey.”
He looked back at Liam. The man stood too close. He was too hot, too sexy, too everything . Tate’s dick thickened.
Shit.
He thought of the dead possum he’d seen outside his trailer last night. It’d smelled of rot and had maggots crawling all over it.
Even that wasn’t enough to keep his cock from getting excited. Liam stood too damn close.
“Hey,” Liam said again. “You’re really freaked out.”
Scowling, Tate shook his head. “I’m not. I’m good.”
The studio owner frowned. “I won’t out you, Tate. I would never out you or anyone.”
He met Liam’s gaze, and the empathy reflected on him had him swallowing a hard lump in his throat. “This town…”
A sad smile crossed Liam’s face. “I know.”
“No, you don’t. My boss told me you had just moved here. This town is not friendly to people like… us, say us … you.” He couldn’t even claim his sexuality in front of another gay man.
“I’m not scared.” Liam straightened to his full height, maybe five inches shorter than Tate.
If he only knew. This wasn’t a place where someone would spray paint a few slurs on his studio windows. In this town, someone would jump him out back and leave him broken and bleeding in the dirt. “Maybe you should be. If you’re gonna do this…” he said, waving a hand around the studio, “… you need to be aware of what could happen.”
Liam gave him another of those sad smiles. “And by this , you mean something so obviously gay, like being a guy opening a dance studio?”
Tate shut his mouth.
Sadness entered Liam’s eyes. “Tate, I came out when I was twelve. I’m twenty-five now. I have a lot of experience doing this . You don’t need to worry about me. I can handle myself.”
Frustration clawed at him. Couldn’t Liam understand the severity of the situation? Didn’t he get Tate was trying to protect him? “You don’t understand—”
“I understand more than you think, Tate.” Liam stepped back. “Now, Randy just tossed his cancer stick on the ground, so I assume he’s on his way back in. Your secret is safe with me. Always. From here on out, you’re nothing more than a guy coming to retile my very outdated locker rooms.”
The words should have sent relief coursing through him. Why did they bring an odd sense of disappointment? Maybe he should have grabbed some breakfast to go with his coffee.
He cleared his throat. “Thanks… Luxe.”
A look of surprise crossed Liam’s face, but it disappeared the second Randy walked back in. “Uh, sorry, Tate. Not sure what’s going on, but I didn’t see the hammer, er, tape measure in the trunk.”
Liam snorted.
Christ, Randy was a fuck-up.
“Thanks for looking, Randy.” He dug into his back pocket. “Sorry, looks like I sent you out there for nothing. I had it all along.”
“Well, huh, funny how that worked out.”
Liam pressed his lips together as though trying not to laugh. Or maybe sneer.
Randy hovered by the door, eyeing Liam like he had the plague. Tate rolled his eyes.
“C’mon,” Liam said, waving for them to follow. “I’ll take you to the locker room.”
Tate fell in step behind him. Randy could tag along if he wanted, and if he didn’t? No skin off Tate’s back.
“Oh, and straight boy?” Liam whirled around with a fancy ballet spin, spearing Randy with a flirty look. “Two things. First, you can come closer. I promise you all this fabulousness is not contagious.” He struck a pose, and Randy’s eyes practically fell out of his head.
Tate grinned. The man had balls along with all his elegance.
“And two, you’re not my type. I prefer my men strong and sexy.” With that, he turned and walked, no strutted, into the locker room, leaving Tate and Randy to trail behind him.
Randy stood at the door, mouth hanging open. “Did he just say I’m not sexy?”
Tate burst out laughing. His admiration for Liam grew tenfold. He was brave, fiery, and proud in a way Tate could never be.
But would all that bravery serve him well or get him hurt?