Chapter Eleven
Ulysses
Iwasn’t a huge Mexican food fan. Well, more like I didn’t frequent the restaurants.
As I was following Finn, though, my stomach rumbled.
Okay, so food would be a good idea. But not sex.
Answers first—bedtime activities later. He still hadn’t explained why he’d booted me.
Retribution for me having left? A way to protect himself?
Or truly a phone call he didn’t trust me not to listen in on.
Spring’s overheard rumor about the shelter had felt far-fetched.
And with boy scout Finn as a volunteer there, the whispered suggestions felt even more ridiculous.
But sometimes truth comes from the ludicrous.
Maybe Finn isn’t the boy scout you think he is.
Or maybe he’s not involved and had no idea about the nefarious activities.
Huh.
That notion was plausible.
He signaled a right turn into a strip mall, and I followed. Soon he pulled up before a fast-food joint with, yes, a Mexican-themed window display. We exited our vehicles at the same time and headed into the place.
“This is on me.” Finn grinned. “But I know Fifties was more expensive.”
I waved him off. I wasn’t keeping score. Whatever it took to get information.
I opted for a bowl of beef with rice, black beans, lettuce, chopped tomatoes, diced onions and corn with a dollop of sour cream on the top. I had no idea how Mexican the meal was, but it smelled amazing.
Finn chose basically the same things but in a wrap. He grinned as he entered a tip into the machine and tapped his card.
The server wished us well, which I could barely hear over the music playing. I didn’t recognize the tune, but that wasn’t surprising. My tastes ran to classic rock and classical concertos. Quite a contrast. Newer music didn’t tend to sway me. I wanted comfort—which I got from things from my past.
Nostalgic doesn’t suit you. You’re supposed to be up on the current trends. On the new. On the latest buzz.
That didn’t pull me in, though. So I’d leave those things to Spring and our freelancer, Tyler. He had an unpaid internship and was eyeing journalism as a career.
“Here okay?” Finn pointed to a corner table—as far away from the employee as possible.
“Sure.”
We placed our trays—holding our food and fountain drinks—on the table, and then we both removed our jackets.
As I sat, Finn chuckled. “Fall is definitely in the air.”
“You had pink cheeks when you were out with the dogs.” Heat rushed to my face. Not exactly subtle.
“Will that show up in the pictures, do you think? The fresh-faced firefighter with the pink cheeks?” He plopped onto the plastic chair and unwrapped his sandwich.
“Don’t you wash your hands?” I eyed him.
He rolled his eyes. “Sure. Whatever.” He got up and headed to the washroom.
Maybe that was out of line. He’s an adult.
If he wants dog guck on his food, that’s his issue, not mine.
Except…I didn’t want to watch him and think about dog guck.
I’d never had a pet growing up. That said, I didn’t mind dogs.
Tiffany, Healing Horses’ therapy dog visited the newspaper office once or twice a month when Rainbow Dixon visited her sister Spring.
I tried to remember where in the pecking order Rainbow fell, but I couldn’t. A middle child? As an only child, I couldn’t fathom seven siblings—let alone seven brothers or seven sisters.
“Happy now?” Finn sat back down.
At that moment, the sun angled in such a way as to hit his head. His red hair turned a burnished auburn with gold highlights while his dark-blue eyes appeared even more vivid. Objectively, the man was gorgeous. With the body to match the good looks.
I’d never been a guy who picked his partners based on looks. Well, perhaps in the early days. As time went on, though? More and more I wanted someone with personality. Intellect or street smarts were a bonus. Someone to carry on a conversation with.
Finn was all those things.
“So…the shelter—”
He waved me off. “Food first.”
I let out a sigh of frustration as he dug into his wrap.
With more force than necessary, I used my wooden fork to dig into my bowl.
I didn’t love wooden cutlery or paper straws.
I also didn’t want to leave a legacy of plastic everywhere.
Hell, even the bowl that my food was in was a strong paper-fiber product instead of plastic.
Only the lid was plastic. So hey, I’d done my part for the environment today.
“When do you go back to work?” I took a forkful of food and delicately put it in my mouth.
My dinner companion, on the other hand, was eating like he was starved, and food was dropping from the wrap onto the paper. He swallowed. “Tomorrow night. Then I work for three nights.”
“Then you’re off, right? Must be tough—switching from days to nights and back.”
“When I get the full three days off, it’s not so bad. I just stay up all day after my last night shift—that pretty much resets my internal clock.”
“Don’t shift workers have a higher rate of cardiovascular disease? Of cancer?”
“Yeah. Same with firefighters. I still wouldn’t want to be doing anything else. So, why journalism?” He took a huge bite. Unlike me, he hadn’t opted for onions.
Maybe he just doesn’t like them. So maybe I shouldn’t have picked them either.
Right.
Except this isn’t a date.
Or is it? He’d said the price of information was a meal and he considered meals as dates.
I was so confused.
He gestured for me to answer his question.
“That’s both complicated and simple. I believe in truth, and I believe the expression that sunlight is the best disinfectant. The more people know the truth, the less likely others are able to get away with crimes.”
“You’ve broken some big stories.” He grinned.
“You searched me.”
“Well, you knew that was going to happen eventually. So, did you do that shit they accused you of?”” Another bite. Accompanied by an arched eyebrow.
I eyed my food. I pushed it around with my fork.
“I’m not certain the truth matters. Because did I do what they said I did?
Yes. Do I regret the horrendous mistake?
Yes. Did I trust the wrong person? Also, yes.
But was I malicious or sloppy? No to either of those.
But apologies and explanations after the damage is done are always too late.
Retractions and mea culpas only go so far.
In my case, not far enough.” Bile rose in my throat.
Finn laid his hand on mine. “I’m sorry I brought it up.”
“It really is in the past. I’ve made a new life for myself in Mission City.” Liar. Fucking liar. You think about this every damn day. I tried to silence my inner voice. Now so wasn’t the time for regrets and recriminations. In the dead of night, when I was all alone, was when the demons could come.
Would come.
I again tried to decide if I was hungry enough to finish my meal.
He squeezed my hand before releasing it. “Ask your question.”
I met his gaze. “What do you know about the shelter?”
Finn eyed me as if trying to work out my intentions.
“That I’ve been volunteering there for years.
They’re good people. They submit their books for audits regularly.
They screen everyone who steps in the door.
Uh—” He scratched his nose. “Like other stuff too. They work with the city and the cops when there are abuse situations. They vet all potential adoptive homes.” He shrugged. “Everything’s aboveboard.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do know that.” He met my gaze with his penetrative stare. “What are you getting at?”
“Are you…have you heard anything about animals…disappearing?”
His brow knit. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. All the animals are chipped and tracked. The shelter staff know exactly how many dogs and cats they have at all times. No animals disappear.” He glared.
Maybe I was barking up the wrong tree. Maybe Spring had misunderstood. Maybe Finn was as clueless as he appeared to be. All three things could be true at the same time. “I’m just saying…if something nefarious was going on…who might be involved?”
He sighed. “No one. I would trust them all with my life. Hell, if I was in any way worried about the animals, you’d better believe I’d be the first to speak up.” He shoved the rest of his wrap into his mouth.
Clearly, this conversation was over.
The biggest dilemma journalists and police detectives faced was—keep pushing or back off?
After a long moment, I chose the second, at least for now. “I’m sure you’re right. Must’ve been mistaken.”
He swallowed then arched that damn perfect eyebrow again. “Mistaken about what, precisely?”
I waved him off. Then put my fork at the five o’clock position to indicate I was finished eating.
“You coming back to my place?” Finn quirked his eyebrow.
His question caught me off guard. “Huh?”
He leaned forward. “Sex? Do you want it? I mean, it’s been an entire twenty-four hours and—”
“Hell fucking yes.” No way was I passing up great sex.
“But you’re not staying the night.” He held my gaze.
“I can leave. When you kick me out.” Is this the right answer?
“And not before?”
I shook my head.
“Fine. You know the way?”
“I’ll follow you.”
“Right. Good.”
We rose, disposed of our recycling and trash, then made our way to our vehicles.
I’m happy to follow wherever he leads.
Right back into his bedroom.
Dusk was upon us by the time we got behind the bedroom door, and the light streaming in from the widows, with that last gasp of sun, showed off his sculptured muscles to perfection.
As he handed me the lube, he gave me a wicked grin. “I want to ride you.”
“Then you shall. But first—” I held up the bottle.
He lay on his back and gave me the most tantalizing view of his hole.
My cock, already very much interested, leaked a drop of precum. As I coated my fingers, he moved his cock and balls out of the way.
His cock curled happily toward his belly—clearly on board with tonight’s adventures. When I brushed his prostate, a bead of precum formed on the tip.
I licked it off.
His hips flexed.
I tut-tutted.
He whimpered.
Within a minute, I was sheathed and lying on my back.
After straddling my thighs, he lowered himself onto me. He was all tight heat and big grins.
From there, we did what came naturally. He sank down. I thrust up. He rode me hard. I struggled to keep up. We both knew what we were doing, and when I grasped his cock, he moaned. I jerked him to the rhythm of thrusts, and we tried to stave off our orgasms.
And also to see who could make the other come first—like this was a contest of wills or something.
“Goddamnit, Ulysses. Fucking come already.” Mirth danced in his eyes.
“You first, Finnegan.” I rotated my wrist slightly to give more friction to his cock.
“Jesus. I—” His rhythm faltered as he came. He spurted cum everywhere even as he spasmed around me. “Holy fuck. Holy fuck. Holy…” His eyes drifted shut.
“No, look at me.” I squeezed his softening dick. “I want to see you.”
His eyes flew open as his mouth made a silent o.
“Yeah. That.” I thrust up into him twice more, then held myself steady as my own release thundered through me.
I resisted the urge to close my eyes as I held his gaze.
This. This is what you do to me. I’d had sex plenty of times since coming out of the closet in my first year of university.
Plenty of guys and plenty of good times.
None compared to the gloriousness of this man.
And that scared me more than anything else in the world.