Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
ROD
Wyl grabbed the steak platter from the refrigerator. “Let’s go to the patio.” He motioned for me to follow. “I lit the grill before you arrived, so it’s warmed up and ready.”
Damn weak knees. This guy did things to me.
With his hand on the sliding glass door handle, Wyl paused. “Your foot spasm again?”
“Not this time.” I shook my head. “My knees decided not to work right.” I hoped my blush wasn’t obvious.
The door slid open, and Wyl stepped out, grinning. He waited for me to walk through before sliding it closed. “Anything I can do?”
“I’ll be fine.” If you’ll stop grinning at me, offering to help me, and being all kinds of sexy!
“Lean on me if needed,” Wyl offered his elbow, still holding the platter of steaks.
“Thanks, but I’m okay.” The last thing I need to do is to touch you.
The patio included a U-shaped stone island equipped much like an outdoor kitchen. The U included a built-in gas grill. Wyl opened the lid, reached for the grill brush, and gave the grate a final scrub. “You grill much?”
“Sometimes, but I’m sure you’re much more experienced.” I stood ten feet away with my arms wrapped across my stomach. My decision to allow my attraction to run free, tied me in knots. I questioned the decision.
“The only grilling going on in the Marines is from the drill sergeant.” Wyl tossed the steaks on the grill with tongs. The moist meat sizzled against the hot grates, and soon, the smoke and grilled beef scent filled the air.
“I love the aroma of grilling steaks.” The domestic scene Wyl and I shared made me realize how much I enjoyed this.
My Jekyll side wanted to be with Wyl. My Hyde side wanted to…
well…hide. But hide from what? My own feelings for Wyl?
Why hide from those since I let it happen?
Hide from Wyl? No way. Keep things hidden from the college? Yeah…from Stella.
Wyl snapped the grilling tongs for my attention. “Are you okay, or did you transport to Mars or something.”
“Mars?” I chuckled. “I’m fine. Just thinking.”
“Well, stop thinking and come over by the grill.” He beckoned with a side-jerk of his head. “I promise I won’t bite.”
I tensed. He wants me next to him. Being near Wyl would only make me want him more. “I’m fine. I don’t want to crowd you or make you uncomfortable.” I don’t want to touch you because touching you makes me crazy.
Wyl gave me an eye. “Come over here.” He reached out a hand and flapped his fingers in invitation.
I hesitated. Did giving in to my feelings lead us to real problems?
The biggest hurdle was having a relationship with a student.
But damn, this guy did it for me. I couldn’t stop my attraction to him.
Fuck it! “Okay.” I stepped forward and took his hand.
He tugged me to him, and I glanced at his face.
The butterflies returned before our hands parted.
As our eyes met, something flashed across Wyl’s face before his attention shifted to the steaks.
I shoved my hands in my pockets and inspected the steaks.
“Like what you see?” Wyl glanced at me.
Do I ever! I cleared my throat and focused on the grill. “Those are t-bones, aren’t they?” The aroma made my mouth water.
“Porterhouse. How do you like yours?”
Wyl raised one eyebrow in anticipation of my answer.
Given his ease at the grill and knowledge of the cuts of meat, I figured him to be a rare to medium-rare guy.
Since we established a history of ribbing each other, I aimed for a bit of fun.
I blurted out with as much confidence as possible, “Well done. The more done, the better. No pink. Next stop…beef jerky!” Glancing at Wyl’s face, I couldn’t contain my laughter at his expression of horror.
“What’s so funny?” Wyl groused, sporting a deep frown.
I spoke through my waning laughter. “I figured you for a rare steak guy,” I elbowed Wyl. “To be honest, I prefer medium rare to rare, myself. My friends say I eat my steaks still mooing.”
The frown vanished, and his face lit up. “Okay, smart ass…you got me. And what an interesting way to describe how I like my steaks cooked. Still mooing works for me.” Wyl pointed to the patio doors with his tongs. “Would you step into the kitchen and bring the platter from the counter?”
As I turned, I glanced down. A telltale bulge in Wyl’s jeans caught my eye.
Did I imagine things? Perhaps he wanted more from our friendship.
I hurried inside, adjusting myself to hide my excitement before picking up the platter.
Tonight, in bed, I would need playtime with my only sex partner for the last decade, my trusty right hand.
I stepped back out to the patio and handed Wyl the platter.
“Thanks, Roddy.”
I stared at Wyl, open-mouthed. How did he learn my nickname?
Seeing the shock on my face, Wyl cleared his throat. “Sorry. I hope I didn’t offend you by calling you Roddy.”
My open mouth morphed into a grin. “No, the name is fine. Nobody calls me Roddy but my sister Jean and now you. I like the way you say it.” My nickname in Wyl’s husky voice—music to my ears. And the teeth of commitment buried deeper in my brain.
Wyl winked and smiled. “The nickname fits.”
The combination of Wyl’s seductive grey-green eyes and his sexy smile sent sensations to my groin, and my knees weakened again. A fat lot of good my morning running routine is doing. I suppose my knees haven’t liked the exercise. I reached for the island to steady myself.
“Are you okay?” Wyl grabbed my arm.
“I’m fine, thanks. The grilling aromas make me hungry.”
Wyl released his grasp. “Should I carry you into the kitchen, old man?” He grinned.
I rolled my eyes. “Light-headed for a second, but I’m okay now.”
Wyl plattered the steaks and turned off the grill. “I need to feed you. C’mon.”
I trailed Wyl into the house, trying but failing to avoid looking at his ass. I slid the door closed and followed him into the kitchen.
Wyl set two plates on the breakfast bar and pointed to a drawer.
“How about grabbing forks and steak knives for us?” He took the salad from the refrigerator and set the container on the bar.
Salad dressing bottles clinked together as he took them out.
“Any salad dressing you prefer?” He held out the bottles for me.
I shook my head. “No bottled dressing for me, thanks. Too much fat and salt. The lemon I brought is my healthy alternative.”
“Oh yes…the lemon.” Wyl grabbed the lemon from the refrigerator and tossed it to me.
I flinched at the toss and missed the catch. I remained hopeless at catching things, a checkmark in the he’s a dork column. The lemon thumped to the floor and rolled. “Shit. My hand-eye coordination is lousy.” I leaned down to pick up the yellow citrus.
Wyl leaned down, too, and our heads collided.
I backed up against the island and laughed, rubbing my noggin. “Sorry.”
“My fault.” Wyl laughed with me and reached down to pick up the lemon. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
Wyl reached for my hand, placed the lemon in my palm, and curled my fingers over the fruit. “I’ll use this approach from now on.”
“I like this better than catching.” I realized what I said and how the words may sound. Not that I didn’t enjoy his touch. I hoped he enjoyed it as much as me. “I mean…”
“I do, too.” Wyl released my hand and stepped back. “My fault for the lousy throw.”
“But…what I said…”
“Look, we’re friends, right? If you don’t want me touching you, tell me. Otherwise, I like rubbing your shoulder or grabbing your hand as a friend. No hidden meaning.”
After rinsing and drying the lemon, I peered at Wyl. “I don’t mind the touch. Many people think touching a gay man will turn them gay or something. I don’t want you to think I’m coming on to you.” I held out my hand.
Wyl grabbed my hand and tugged me closer. “You’re intelligent, witty, and fun to be around. You don’t care about my darker skin, long braid, or Apache heritage. I’m relaxed and happy around you.”
“Why would your skin, hair, or genes make any difference?”
Wyl let go and twisted around from side to side, glancing behind him. “I can’t see the label, but I think these are Wranglers.”
After I laid the lemon on the breakfast bar, I punched Wyl’s shoulder. “Shut up. Not that kind of jeans.”
“Roddy, it’s like when people shun you being gay. A segment of the population resents anyone who is different, and skin color is a trigger. They call me Indian, injun, or spic if they think I’m Hispanic. I don’t make friends because people think I'm something I'm not.”
“But…you are a clean-cut Marine.”
“People only see the skin color and the braid. They make assumptions”
I huff. “That’s not fair.”
“People beating you up because you’re gay isn’t fair either.”
“You're right, but I like your braid and never thought about your skin color or heritage.”
“Rod, from the day we met, you treated me with respect. You opened yourself to me and invited me in. When I asked you to be my friend, you didn’t hesitate.
I wish all people came across as genuine as you.
So, let’s accept each other as friends and stop worrying about who is touching or a hidden meaning in something we do.
My fellow Marines never shied from grabbing a hug, massaging a shoulder, or pinching a butt. Why should we be?”
I nodded. “Okay.” I reached up and squeezed Wyl’s shoulder. “Thanks.”
Wyl smiled. “Okay, friend. Wine or beer?”
“Wine. Something red and dry.”
“How about a Zin?”
“Zinfandel is one of my favorites,” I said. “Excellent choice.”
Wyl selected a bottle from the rack. “This Old Vine Zinfandel is from a California winery my parents visited. It’s one of the best and is now aged.”
“I never expected to meet anyone in Blackfield as urbane as you.” I placed a hand on his arm. “I worried about making you uncomfortable because I hesitate to make friends, too.”
Wyl chuffed out a breath. “Uncomfortable is sticking your arm inside a cow to help birth a calf. Uncomfortable is size twelve feet in size eleven boots. You do not make me uncomfortable.” He grabbed my arm and pulled me over to a stool at the breakfast bar.
“Now sit, and let’s enjoy these still-mooing steaks. ”