13. Chapter 13
Sam was ravenous. He decided he couldn’t wait for Frankie to get out of the shower, so he took a bite of his sandwich, washing it down with a sip of cold beer.
Leaning forward on his marble kitchen island, he eyed the box Frankie had brought—Papi’s things.
He took another bite, debating whether to open it.
A part of him wanted to, and another part wanted to wait.
He knew that if he opened that box, he would be immersed in his grandpa's past. And he didn’t want that.
He wanted to stay right fucking here in the present, with Frankie in his shower, in his house, the feel of his hot kisses, fingers, and tongue imprinted all over his body.
And Christ, that man could eat ass. He smirked, scrubbing a hand over his face, a warm glow emanating through his soul at the feel of Frankie’s expert tongue confidently sliding inside him and…
He shivered, pushing down his cock stand.
Frankie was here. For him. Demanding to see all of him.
Swallowing the bitter hoppy beer, he wiped his lips, deliberating the risks of that request. He could be himself, honest and open, totally exposed, the way Frankie wanted him to be. Or he could keep his armor on and…
His mind went blank.
And what?
Sam had every intention of letting his best friend do whatever the hell he wanted with his body today, tomorrow, and for the rest of time if Frankie wanted it.
So, what the fuck was the armor protecting him from?
His heart was lost a long time ago to Frankie Casavani.
There was no need for it anymore. He just spent the last few months feeling like utter, complete shit without him.
Sam rubbed his temple. Maybe it was time he accepted that this was it.
That Frankie would have his fun and fill, and ultimately move on, one day settling down with a woman and getting married, and that weekend he spent with his best friend, eating his ass and fucking him into oblivion, was merely a blip on the radar.
A headache began to press on the back of his eyes and he cleared his throat, refusing to anticipate the worst. The future had no business here. Because not too long ago, all Sam could imagine was this moment. Frankie kissing him, touching him, wanting him.
And it was here. Now.
The only option in his mind was to greet it with open arms, without armor, because he deserved a moment in the sunlight with the man that he knew he would love for the rest of his life. If this weekend was all Sam would get, then he wouldn’t spoil it by worrying about tomorrow.
If he was doomed to be like Papi, then so fucking be it. Because Heaven had arrived, and if he had to spend the rest of his life in Hell, at least he had this to hold on to.
He finished his sandwich and beer, washed his plate off in the kitchen sink, and heard Frankie pad barefoot into his kitchen.
Glancing over his shoulder, he stilled. Frankie was wearing slimming black sweatpants and a simple black T-shirt.
His skin glowed from the fresh shower and his hair was still damp, his chin and cheeks freshly shaved.
Why did he have to look so damned good?
Sam flipped off the faucet and decided it was time to boldly take what was offered, without regret. He rounded the corner of the island and Frankie smiled warmly at him, “Your house is fuckin’ nice—”
Sam, sucking in a nervous breath, invaded his space. Frankie didn’t back down. He simply tilted his chin up slightly, dark brown eyes sharpening.
“Can I kiss you?” he asked quietly.
Frankie’s breath whooshed out of him and he nodded, swallowing.
Sam captured his jaw with his fingers and guided him in for a slow, thorough kiss.
Frankie swayed against him, and he tongued the seam of his lips, forcing his best friend to open for him, and he did.
Sam stroked the inside of his mouth with his tongue, tasting him, savoring him like fine wine, and feeling the blood rush between his legs, thickening his cock.
Frankie instantly responded and kissed him back, a feeling Sam wasn’t used to yet.
He wrapped his fingers along his jaw, framing his face as they kissed and kissed. As if tomorrow didn’t exist. As if they stood alone in this moment forever. Because he didn’t want to think about the lonely existence he would have to face when Frankie left.
“Sam…” Frankie murmured against his lips, drawing back. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he rasped, kissing him again, and to his continued surprise, Frankie let him and then kissed him back.
“The last time you kissed me like this was at Papi’s service,” Frankie whispered against his lips, dark gaze searching his.
Sam shuddered, dropping his temple into his, pain rippling through his heart.
“You’re scared,” Frankie said knowingly.
He nodded, swallowing the ache that had built up in his throat.
“But you ain’t runnin’,” Frankie said with a slow smile. “You came for a kiss, instead.”
He sighed and felt Frankie frame his face with his hands, “Good. Keep comin’ to me, all right?”
His belly tightened, and unable to stop himself, he kissed Frankie again. Frankie opened his mouth this time and… devoured him. It was hot and carnal. Fiery and passionate.
Oh fuck.
Frankie’s hand slid downward, capturing his ass, palming it, and giving it a hard squeeze. “Fuck, baby. If I weren’t starving, I’d get on my knees right now and make you feed me.”
Frankie grinned mischievously, pinching his ass so hard that he yelped. He slid away from him, striding into the kitchen and opening the fridge as if he had been here a thousand times before, and grabbed a beer. He clocked the sandwich on the counter and shot Sam another smile, “This for me?”
“Yeah,” he replied, taking a seat on a barstool at the island counter, legs a shaking mess beneath him.
“Thanks.”
He set the plate down across from him, cracking open the can of beer and taking a long drink. “Like I was sayin’,” Frankie said, taking a bite of the sandwich. He chewed, smiling. “You got a nice fuckin’ house, Sam. I like it. And that tub! Fuck, that thing's bigger than my garage.”
He chuckled, relaxing.
“You want a beer?” Frankie asked.
“Yeah, sure. Shouldn’t I be hosting?”
Frankie snorted, retrieving another cold beer from the fridge, cracking it, and handing it to him. He took another bite of his sandwich, watching Sam take a sip of his beer. They seemed unable to look anywhere else but at each other.
“How long have you been here?” Frankie asked, gesturing to the house.
“About six months. Stayed at a few hotels for a while.”
“Hotels? Shit, why?”
Because I wasn’t sure if I was going to come crawling back to you.
That felt a little too exposing, so instead he said, “Picky with the housing market. Couldn’t find what I wanted.”
“Lookin’ for one with a dope-ass tub with jacuzzi jets?”
He smirked, “I can give you a demonstration in it later, if you’d like.”
Frankie’s eyes darkened, licking the beer off his lower lip. “Yeah, I bet you would.”
It still felt incredibly odd and exciting to have Frankie flirting back with him. His cheeks warmed, pulse skipping.
“You’re blushin’, Sammy.”
“Yeah, well, I never thought in a million years you’d actually flirt with me.”
Frankie tilted his head and nodded. “Yeah, me neither. I kinda like it, though.”
His stupid heart swooped as he watched Frankie pick up his plate and rinse it off in the sink.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“The dishes? I came here to take care of you. Dishes included.”
“Take care of me?”
Frankie, so sure of himself, so confident, smiled and nodded toward the hallway. “Gonna show me the rest of the house?”
He led Frankie through the house, showing him his office, stuffed with boxes of books he had yet to unpack because he hadn’t bought the shelves he wanted for it. Next was the guest room.
Frankie arched an eyebrow, scanning the room. “Kinda tiny.”
“It’s a guest room.”
Frankie hummed. “Where’s your room?”
Sam, noticing the heat brewing in his best friend’s gaze, motioned down the hallway. Frankie snatched his bag up from the guest bedroom and marched down the hallway, strolling into Sam’s room.
“Nice,” Frankie said, impressed. “Suits you.”
Sam heard his bag being set down before he followed him in, heart thudding.
He hesitated at the threshold, anxious about seeing Frankie in his bedroom, knowing he would never be able to erase that image from his mind.
He gritted his teeth, forced his feet to move, and entered.
Frankie was at his dresser, looking at the framed photos there.
Pictures of Papi and him, of his childhood, and…
Frankie picked up one of the pictures. “I fuckin’ love this photo.”
It was after Frankie’s MMA debut. He was a sweaty, bruised mess, kissing the side of Sam’s face, grinning excitedly and holding him close, looking victorious. Papi had captured the magical moment between best friends.
Frankie set it down and picked up the next one—all three of them this time—at Sam’s graduation. Sam in the middle, beaming, holding his degree like a little kid holding his soccer trophy, surrounded by the two most important men in his life, smiling proudly at the photographer.
Frankie chuckled, “You’re fucking adorable when you smile like that. All dimple chin and sunshine.”
Sam stilled, the tempo of his heart beating a little too quickly. “I don’t think anyone's ever called me adorable.”
Frankie smirked, gaze heated yet playful. “How about sexy then?”
“Dressed in a cap and gown?”
“More like the cap and that smile. You need to smile like that more often, Dr. Samuels.”
“That was my delusionally-happy-to-be-done-with-med-school smile.”
Frankie nodded thoughtfully. “So, what other ways can I make you delusionally fuckin’ happy, Sammy?”
He felt the butterflies in his stomach jolt at Frankie’s seductive tone.
“I—I could think of a few things.”
Frankie cocked his chin at him, “You nervous?”
“Abso-fucking-lutely.”
“Why? It’s only me.”
“It’s because it’s you.”