Chapter Nine
CHAPTER NINE
WITH ONLY ONE day left on the studio’s tiling project, Tate could feel his chances to be with Liam slipping through his fingers. How many times over the past week had there been an opportunity to sneak into a corner and take a hit of Liam’s sweetness? How many evenings did he think about texting the man whose number he’d stolen off the work order? How many nights had he laid in his bed alone with his hard dick in his hand and Liam’s name on his lips?
All. Of. Them.
Countless times, he’d thought about driving back to the studio after dinner. His cock had been hard more often than not ever since he’d stumbled upon Liam dancing with a bunch of batty old ladies.
He needed his head examined because there’d been nothing sexy about that day, yet every time he pictured the joy on Liam’s face, he got horny as hell. The man in his element was the most beautiful thing Tate had ever seen.
He craved more of Liam’s kisses, fantasized about the way their dicks felt sliding against each other, and dreamed of what it would feel like to glide into his flawless ass.
There wasn’t anything he wanted more than skin on skin with Liam.
And what did he do about it?
Nothing.
Not a damn thing.
Tate did hookups. Quick and dirty hookups where he could bust a nut and get the hell out before any risk of discovery. Liam might have started that way, but he no longer looked at the dancer the same. If he touched Liam again, they’d be starting something. What? He had no fucking clue, but something more than a hookup.
The idea of being with Liam appealed to him on a level he’d never allowed himself to tap into. But it also terrified him to his very soul. Liam thought he understood the risk if Tate were outed, but he’d led a charmed life. He’d grown up in New York, where he’d never had to fear for his physical safety from the people who claimed to love him if they found out he preferred fucking men.
But by the end of the week, when he’d had to see Liam’s beautiful face every single day, Tate broke. If he didn’t get his hand on the man before night’s end, he’d fucking implode. He wanted Liam, but he didn’t want it to be the same quick orgasms against a bathroom wall. They should be able to take their time. He didn’t know how Liam’s nipples felt against his tongue or what his balls tasted like. He had no idea how tight Liam would squeeze him as he finger-fucked his ass—though he had a feeling it’d be damn fucking tight. Maybe they should hang out, too, before devouring each other or even after.
He could do that, right? Maybe share a meal or watch a movie?
It might be nice to hang out with someone besides his idiot friends. Someone like him. Someone who could show him how to just be.
Before he could talk himself out of it, he jogged out of his trailer and over to Randy’s. “Yo, Rand, you here?” he asked as he pounded on the door.
“What do you want, fucker?” came the reply.
Chuckling, he let himself in to find his brother sitting on the couch in a pair of cutoff jean shorts and nothing else. He had a beer in one hand and the remote in the other.
“Dude, you can’t even fucking button your jorts? You look like a goddamn slob. How does your wife not leave you?”
“They ain’t fucking jorts,” Randy said, flipping him off around the remote. “Soccer moms wear jorts.”
“Are they jean material?”
“Yes,” Randy grumbled.
“Are they shorts?”
“Fuck off.”
He laughed and plopped on the couch beside his brother, who had an old NASCAR race on the television screen. The couch had seen better days. Hell, their whole trailer had seen better days. Sun-bleached curtains covered the small window above the television. The couch was a freebie they found on a corner in front of someone’s house in the burbs. It had been nice when they found it a few years ago, but it now had a deep indent from Randy’s ass, always sitting in the same spot. The faint smell of cigarette smoke had been there for so long Tate barely noticed it anymore.
“Want a beer?” Randy asked without taking his eyes off the race.
“Nah. Got a question for you, though.”
“Shoot.”
The cars zoomed around the track with a loud whir that reverberated through the room.
“What do you do if you wanna do something nice for Whit?”
“What do you mean?”
“What do you mean, what do I mean? Like, I don’t know… if you want to make her feel good. Do something romantic or some shit.”
What the hell were these words coming out of his mouth? Thankfully, Randy seemed too caught up in the race to put his one brain cell toward noticing Tate had lost his mind.
“I don’t know. Sometimes, if I feel up to it, I’ll pick her up a lotto ticket on the weekend.”
He blinked. “Seriously?”
“What? She likes ’em.”
“A lotto ticket. That’s what you do when you wanna impress your wife? You buy her a fucking dollar lotto ticket? Can you please turn the fucking volume down? I can’t hear myself think.”
“Hey, fuck you, Mega Millions costs two bucks,” Randy yelled, but he hit the mute button.
“You’re useless,” Tate said as Whitney walked out of their bedroom.
“Hey, T, what’s up?”
“What’s this bullshit about anyway?” Randy asked.
“Hey, hon,” Tate called to his sister-in-law. Still, as pretty as she’d been in high school, Whitney wore a flowy skirt and crop top showing off her flat midriff. Her looks mattered above all to her, and most of her paychecks from the salon where she worked went toward her appearance.
“What are you guys talking about?” She went into the kitchen and pulled a pan from the sink. After a quick inspection, she placed it on the stove. “Anyone want a grilled cheese?”
“I do, babe,” Randy said as Tate declined. “Listen to this shit, Whit. Tate came over to ask what I do when I wanna do some nice shit for you.”
Her laughter sounded more like a cackle. “This oughta be good. What’d you tell him?”
“Told him I give you my dick. Ain’t nothing nicer, right, baby?”
Whitney snorted. “And you wonder why I call you a dumbass.”
“You know what, forget it.” It’d been a stupid idea anyway.
“No, wait.” Whitney stood at the counter, buttering a slice of white bread. “You talking about a date or something?”
Forget a stupid idea, this was a terrible idea. What had he been thinking? He should scrap this whole thing. But he knew Whitney. That woman was like a dog with a bone. Now that she’d gotten involved, she wouldn’t let up until she had all the details.
“Yeah, maybe. Something like that.” He shrugged.
“Wait, this about your piece in Tulsa?” Randy asked after taking a swig from his beer. “Shit, I thought you were just getting your dick wet. You wanna take this bitch out on a date?”
“Randy, could you maybe try not calling all women bitches? It’s offensive,” Whitney said, shaking her head. She dropped two buttered slices into the pan and began to layer the cheese on top. “I think it’s sweet, T.”
“It’s not… I don’t know. You know what, never mind. It’s stupid.”
“It is stupid. Why the fuck would you go to all that trouble when you already got her willing to fuck you?”
Whitney glared at her stupid husband. “How about a picnic?” she said, shifting her gaze to Tate.
“A picnic?”
“Oh God.” Randy rolled his eyes. “You and your fucking picnics.”
Shrugging, Whitney topped off her sandwiches with a final piece of bread. “It’s nice. You get to eat but have more privacy than a restaurant. You can take your time, be outside, and it shows effort.” She shot a glare Randy’s way. “Women like effort.”
“Yeah, well, men like pussy, babe.”
Tate had been lying about his sexuality for so long that he’d gotten used to hearing them talk about him with women. Obviously, he’d never corrected them, but it hadn’t ever bothered him. It was just another layer of protection for himself.
But hearing them assume Liam was a woman soured his stomach. Liam didn’t deserve to be lied about as his dirty little secret, and that’s exactly what he’d be, what he already was by getting involved with Tate.
And yet he found himself saying, “A picnic, huh?”
“Yep.” Whitney stood with her hip propped against the counter and a spatula in her hand.
He could arrange a picnic. What did he need, a blanket, some snacks, and a good spot?
Easy. He already knew the perfect place and had a feeling Liam would love it.
Excitement bubbled in his veins, but he tempered his expression. The last thing he wanted was more questions. “Thanks, Whit,” he said as he hopped up and walked into the kitchen, kissing his sister-in-law on the cheek.
“Hey,” Randy called out. “What about me? I helped. Where’s the love, man?”
Tate flipped him off.
“Oh yeah, what’d you suggest, Rand?” Whitney asked, rolling her eyes. “You tell him to buy a lotto ticket?”
Tate snorted a laugh as Randy’s face screwed up, and he muttered something unintelligible under his breath.
“Hey,” Whitney called out as Tate reached the door. “You’re a good man, Tate. She’s a lucky lady.”
He nodded, then jogged back to his place as her sweet words ate a hole in his heart. A good man wouldn’t lie about the very foundation of who he was. A good man wouldn’t hide Liam in the shadows and pretend he was someone he wasn’t. No, he wasn’t a good man, but maybe he could make up for some of his shortcomings by doing something nice for Liam.
Liam, now, there was a good man.
About an hour before sunset, he drove out of Swan Trailer Park and started the short trip to Liam’s place. With each passing second, the brick in his stomach grew heavier.
What the hell was he doing? Liam would probably laugh in his face. He’d never so much as taken someone to a movie, and now he was planning picnics?
Fuck, this was a terrible idea.
He turned right onto Main Street, where Liam leased his studio and apartment.
How had he gotten here so fast? When had he ever driven through town without hitting a red light?
Tonight, of course.
The building grew closer and closer as his heart beat faster and faster.
“I can’t do this,” he muttered, flicking on his blinker. He could swing a U-turn and be back on his way home in seconds.
He glanced in his rear-view mirror and prepared to shift lanes as movement fifty feet up on his right caught his eye.
Liam.
He’d know that smooth, cat-like walk anywhere.
Instead of turning around, his car seemed to move of its own volition, slowing next to his obsession as he strolled down the road. Liam jumped, and then his eyes widened when he saw who sat behind the wheel of the car, lowering the passenger window.
“Tate,” he said, his voice ripe with surprise. He glanced around as though worried someone might catch them. It drove a spear of guilt straight through Tate’s stomach. “What are you doing here?”
As usual, Liam looked effortlessly stylish in pale yellow shorts and a short-sleeved white polo. He was fresh, happy, and mouthwatering. On the other hand, Tate wore his usual ratty jeans and plain shirt. “I was coming to see you, actually.”
“Oh.” Liam leaned his forearms on the open window. “Are you sure this is wise? You stopping me like this?” Concern marred his voice.
“Probably not. Maybe you should get in the car before someone spots us. I’ll drive us somewhere else.”
Surprise lit his face. “Really? You and me?”
Tate nodded. Beautiful as the man was, he was never more stunning than when he smiled.
“Where are we going?”
Nerves fluttered in his stomach as he realized he was about to ask a man on a date for the first time. Christ, his insides shook like a teenage boy asking his crush to prom. “I was thinking a picnic. There’s someplace I wanna show you.”
Liam probably wouldn’t have looked so shocked if Tate had run him over with his car instead of stopping to talk to him. But the surprise didn’t last long. The most radiant smile lit up his entire face. “Really?” he squealed. “A picnic?”
The excitement must have been contagious because Tate found himself grinning back. “Yep.”
“Oh my God, yay. Yes, I love picnics.” He glanced down at himself. I was just on my way to grab some dinner. Am I okay like this, or should I change?”
“You’re perfect.” So fucking perfect.
“Sweet talker.” Liam opened the door and climbed into Tate’s car. If the old fast-food wrappers crunching under his feet bothered him, he didn’t mention it. Instead, he clapped his hands. “I am so excited. I haven’t been on a picnic in years.”
Thank you, Whit. He’d be sure to send some flowers to his sister-in-law. Better than a damn lottery ticket.
“So where exactly are we going? Wait, no, don’t tell me. I want to be surprised.”
“It’s nowhere fancy,” Tate said with a grunt. Shit, now he’d be second-guessing his location choice the whole ride. Why the hell did people do this dating shit? It was way too stressful.
“I don’t want fancy,” Liam said with a shrug. “I just want you.”
Well, shit. Tate swallowed a lump of emotion he’d never tell anyone about. Why did that simple statement make him feel as though someone flipped him inside out?