8. Chapter 8 #5
Deciding to be courageous for five fucking seconds, he leaned forward tentatively. Sammy watched, stiffening, but he didn’t move away. Heart beating like he had just stepped into the arena, he hesitated against Sammy’s wet lips, his eyes open, waiting, watching.
Sammy’s lips were soft and so fucking sweet.
Finely coarse stubble grazed his skin, which Frankie wasn’t used to, but he didn’t mind.
In fact, he sort of liked it. The kiss was soft, agonizingly so.
Sammy sucked in a tremulous breath. They had just sucked each other’s dicks, and yet this—this moment right here—was vulnerable. Raw and exposing.
Frankie deepened the kiss, wanting to explore, to take his time.
Sammy wasn’t returning the kiss, as though waiting for him to run again.
And maybe he should. Sex was one thing, intimacy was another.
And this delicate thing growing between them felt tender and small and on the verge of something more.
Something… incredible.
“Sam,” Frankie heard himself rasp out, and Sam gasped against his lips and finally opened his mouth to return the kiss, but the sound of a loud engine roared behind them, and they both jumped back.
Frankie tucked his cock away and sat back, his mind going haywire. Before he could process any of it, he heard a truck pulling up in his driveway.
“Shit,” he turned to glance out of the car and saw it was Ryan’s truck.
He looked at Sammy and saw nothing but thoroughly tousled sex hair and red-rimmed lips from the brutal dick pounding he just took.
Sammy tucked himself away and he saw something shift in his expression. Frankie realized it was his mask. The one Sammy wore for everyone else. The smart-mouthed, stone-faced man who took shit from no one. Gone was Sam, the version of him that let Frankie explore him with a soft, tentative kiss.
Frankie glanced quickly behind him, noting that the angle of Ryan's truck prevented him from seeing into the car. He reached across the cab, smoothing Sammy’s hair back and needing… more. The neediness surprised him, because never in his whole fucking life had he felt needy for anything or anyone.
Sammy shot him a surprised look and shook his head.
His rejection stung, and for the first time, anger washed over him. “This conversation ain’t done.”
“It’s a short conversation, Frankie.”
He stared at him, at the hard, armored mask.
“Just admit you’re bi,” Sam said coldly. “Because straight men don’t suck cock.”
His heart dropped into his stomach like a stone.
“Or kiss their best friends,” Frankie added in a whispered rush, needing to penetrate the armor—this asshole version of the man he didn’t want.
Sammy stilled, hand on the door handle. He snapped his sunglasses back on and, without another word, pushed open the car door and got out.
Frankie shook his head, trying to tamp down his frustration, inhaling their scents, and his belly swooped. He quickly climbed out of the car, slamming the door and scrubbing a hand over his face, hoping like hell he didn’t look like he just had the best blow job of his life.
He watched Ryan descend from his black truck, beaming like a puppy at the sight of him. The anger softened at the sight of his friend and fighter, and Frankie hugged him.
Frankie ruffled Ryan’s short dark hair. “What are you doin’, man? Hand deliverin’ everyone their tickets?”
Ryan flushed, his youthful face pinched in a cringe. “I needed somethin’ to do. I couldn’t just sit at the gym or at my house. You know how it is.”
That he did.
Ryan glanced over as Sammy rounded the car toward him, and he grinned once more, launching himself onto him for a hug. “Sammy?!”
“Good to see you, man.”
“You too,” Ryan patted his shoulders, marveling at him. “Since when did you gain ten pounds of muscle, bro?”
“Since I moved to LA,” Sammy replied coolly.
Ryan whistled, “Looks good on you, man.”
“Thanks.”
“I’ll have to tell Caz you’re comin’ tonight. You’re comin’, right? You have to!”
Frankie stiffened at the name. Caz ‘the Brawler’ Chapel was another fighter who was friends with Ryan and had been coming to their gym recently.
Frankie had been training them both a bit, and Caz had been receptive, if not downright eager to learn.
But Caz was a big shot and already had an elite team of trainers behind him.
He was fighting in Vegas next month, working his way up to a title fight.
And… Caz Chapel was one of the only openly gay fighters in the UFC.
His fingers curled into his fist at his side.
Sammy nodded, “Yeah. I would love to. My flight doesn’t leave until tomorrow.”
He sucked in a breath as unexpected emotion swelled in his chest. Tomorrow? Of course, he thought. Sammy’s life wasn’t here anymore.
“Here.” Ryan dragged an extra ticket out of his back pocket and handed it to Sammy. “Hopefully you brought a suit. You’re in with my posse tonight, Sammy.”
The two men talked briefly, but Frankie heard none of it, too distracted at the thought of Sammy leaving. Ryan agreed to drive Sammy back to his hotel, and Frankie waved them off, trying his fuckin’ best to look excited for Ryan, despite the fist in his heart.
Tonight would be the last time he would see Sammy for God knows how long.
And for the first time, he was more angry than scared about it.