12. Chapter 12
Frankie heard two very distinct sounds—a yard blower and Phantom of the Opera.
He smirked, glancing at the side of the house and noting the open gate and freshly edged grass line littering the walkway.
Deciding that standing at the door knocking wouldn’t be heard over the noise, he set the box down on the porch, slung his overnight bag over his shoulder, and followed the grass-strewn pathway into the backyard.
Through his dark sunglasses, he caught sight of the person he had flown thousands of miles for.
Sammy’s graying, brown curly hair was an absolute disaster of sweat and grass.
His forearms were slick with moisture and sun-kissed from being outside all morning.
He wore a faded black T-shirt from an old vintage car shop where Frankie had worked a couple of years back.
Whiskers sprouted over his handsome square jawline and dimpled chin, and his hands were dirty from yardwork.
Sammy’s ass was squeezed into thin gray running shorts that cupped his toned, tight cheeks.
Frankie licked his lips, eyes riveted to Sammy’s body, pulse roaring in his ears like the damned blower.
Fuck, he looked hot.
Watching him, appreciating him, wasn’t anything Frankie had done before.
But after several months of radio silence, missing him like crazy, and then that phone call…
Something had shifted through him like sand over a tomb cracking open. Something hopeful. Maybe even a little dangerous. Because he was here, standing in Sammy’s backyard, hoping to hell he didn’t deny him again.
Sammy finally turned off the blower, setting it down on the grass as he reached over to the hose and leaned over, soaking the back of his neck and hair.
Water slid over his sweaty face, and Sammy smiled into the cool rushing water.
He fuckin’ smiled. Frankie’s heart skipped at how unguarded and natural it was.
He tossed the hose back into the grass, straightened, and… peeled off his wet shirt.
Blood rushed to his cock so unexpectedly that Frankie nearly stepped back.
Sammy’s skin glowed from the hard labor.
The tanned skin was tight over the hard contours of his muscles, and for some fuckin’ reason, all Frankie could stare at were his pecs.
They were lethal. All firm, rounded muscles with pink nipples that were drawn tight after that cold hose shower.
Frankie’s body was reacting as if this were a topless woman standing before him. And fuck…
He shifted again, almost tempted to push down his growing cock stand.
Deciding it was time to announce himself, Frankie leaned over to the outdoor speaker and flipped it off.
Sammy turned, surprised, his eyes widening at the sight of him and immediately wiping a self-conscious hand over his face and through his hair. Thick water droplets escaped his curly hair, tracing down his neck and shoulders. Frankie wanted to follow the water with his tongue.
He wanted to touch him, bad. And his fluttering heart was begging for it. Instead, he smiled, maintaining the distance. “I knocked, but with the blower and… is that Phantom of the Opera?”
Sammy blushed, smiling bashfully, looking adorable.
Fuck.
He bit back the urge to sigh, fingers nervously clasping his overnight bag in his hand.
“Musicals while doing yardwork is... different,” Frankie teased.
“Gay, you mean?” Sammy teased back.
“So gay. I loved the movie, though. Never seen the play.”
“It’s the movie soundtrack.”
“Even better. I always liked that ‘Music of the Night’ song. Fuckin’ sexy, if I do say so myself.”
“I was thinking of playing Moulin Rouge next.” Sammy side-eyed him. “Since when do you know musicals?”
“Well, other than when it sounds like that,” he said, making a show of looking impressed, then shrugged. “And you.”
Frankie shifted again, feeling like he was fuckin’ dancing under Sammy’s scrutinizing gaze. He cleared his throat, trying to play it cool. “I was always a bit envious of you and Papi takin’ a trip into the city and seein’ a play. Kinda always wanted to join you guys.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Dad would’ve had a field day with that. Any reason to give me shit. He’d definitely bring it up to his poker buddies, who I had to serve every fuckin’ night. It was my special kind of hell for him to ridicule me in front of his friends.”
Deep lines formed around Sammy’s mouth. “I hate that he did that to you.”
“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I hate it even more that I took it for so damn long.” He clenched his jaw and shook his head, refusing to dwell on someone who didn’t deserve a second more than the allotted time he got each week.
Sammy seemed to understand and smiled, water glistening over his broad shoulders. “How come you never let on that you liked musicals?”
“Aw, maybe ‘cause I liked seeing you get all silly about them and givin’ you a hard time, because that’s what friends do.”
Sammy chuckled. “I suppose we both had our secrets.”
They stared at one another and he waited, knowing he hadn’t made a mistake in coming here, because he wanted to be here, even if Sammy turned him away again.
“Mom gave you my address, didn’t she?” Sammy asked, walking to the patio table, grabbing a hand towel, and drying his face.
“Yeah, and I brought Papi’s box. The one you left at my place.”
“Hand delivery?” he asked, eyebrows raised.
“Yeah,” he said, tossing his bag into his other hand. “I didn’t think you’d mind.”
Sammy nodded slowly, reaching for the slick glass of ice water on the table next to the speaker, taking a long drink. Everything he did was naturally masculine and sexy.
“You know how much I like surprises,” Sammy said coolly.
Too coolly.
Unfazed, Frankie’s smile widened. “C’mon, Sammy. Admit it—I’m the best kind of surprise.”
Sammy could never resist when he was being charming—except maybe today. Their light banter vanished in a split second. His bright green eyes scanned over him without a trace of emotion. “You’re here because I called.”
He tilted his chin, “Maybe.”
“I shouldn’t have called you. It was a mistake.”
The sting was fast and biting, and he tried to ignore it.
“But you did,” he replied, holding back his frustration at the wall Sammy had just thrown up between them.
Frankie hated the fortified barrier that kept Sammy from him at arm's length. All he wanted to do was climb over it and get to the man behind—the real one who called him in a moment of vulnerability, who flirted with him on Fourth of July, who kissed him at Papi’s service.
Not this guarded, cagey version, who pretended he didn’t want him.
Because that was what this was. An act—a fuckin’ show to push him away.
“You didn’t need to come here. I’m fine, Frankie,” Sammy bit out.
“I know,” he replied smoothly. “You’re always good, aren’t ya? Until you’re not, and that’s why you got me. That’s how it’s always been.”
“Not anymore.”
“Really?” He strolled over to the patio table and dropped his bag onto it, sliding off his sunglasses so Sammy would see he wasn’t backing down. Not now, not ever again. He was going to fight for him and do whatever it took to break through that wall. “So… you’d be fine if I just left?”
Sammy’s jaw twitched beneath his whiskered cheeks.
He nodded, watching the wall waver but not weaken.
“What if I told you that I’m not just here to deliver Papi’s stuff or check in on you? What if I told you that I’m here for something you promised me…?”
Sammy swallowed, eyes sliding to his lips, his naked chest heaving a deep breath.
“You promised you’d wait for me. That’d you’d be at my house after the fight…” Frankie rounded the table, closing the space between them. “Instead, I was greeted by a dark fuckin’ house and an empty fuckin’ bed.”
Sammy’s gaze dropped, hands fisting and unclenching at his sides.
He had thought long and hard about what he should say and do if Sammy attempted to freeze him out again.
Instead of playing nice or walking on eggshells, he had decided he’d treat him like one of his women—the ones who liked to be chased, challenged, and railed all night long.
The ones that taunted him and teased him.
Because that was what Sammy was doing, whether he realized that or not.
Sammy had led him on, flirted and sucked his cock, and told him he wanted him.
He could feel the taut line of desire between them, pulling him in like a magnet, weighted and heavy, and so damned real that he could wrap his hand around it and tug.
Except he didn’t want to tug Sammy to him.
It was time he went to him and took what Sammy was willing to give, even if it was crumbs.
Fuckin’ dog scraps.
It didn’t matter.
If Sammy endured 15 years with a hard-on for Frankie, he could endure it, too, until his best friend realized that they needed each other.
The only thing that scared him was that he needed Sammy more than Sammy needed him.
So, when Sammy called him in crisis, called him, he bought the plane ticket for the next day.
That’s why he was here.
For the first time in nearly a year, Sammy had needed him.
And fuck, it felt different than before. Everything felt different—he felt different. He was awake and aware and so fuckin’ aroused.
Frankie invaded his best friend's space, grasping him roughly and feeling the wet curls at the base of his neck, forcing him to look at him and digging his fingers into the tight muscle.
Sammy’s chin shot up defiantly.
“You owe me,” Frankie drawled.
“I don’t owe you shit.”
He smiled darkly, biting his lower lip, inching closer. The heat of their bodies was close but still not touching. “You started this.”
Sammy snorted, “What are you? Ten?”
“You drive me fuckin’ crazy sometimes…” He raked his fingers through the thick curls and heard the hard rush of breath from Sammy’s parted lips.
The wall trembled.
He bit back the triumphant smile. “You never had a big mouth until you kissed me, and now—you’re fightin’ and flirtin’ and drivin’ me fuckin’ wild… baby.”