Chapter 13Stiles
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
STILES
“Why is this place always packed on the night we’re supposed to sing?”
Mac’s grumpy observation makes me laugh. “Karma.”
The only reason he’s in a pissy mood is because West interrupted us, and he didn’t get his blow job. It was a disappointment to me as well. I finally worked up the nerve only to be cockblocked by a Bitch. Go figure.
“What do you want to sing?”
“Nothing?”
Brandt already put his request in to sing
“Great Balls of Fire” because, of course, he had. It was featured in Top Gun. He was obsessed with that movie.
“Fine, I’ll choose.” Running down the song list, I choose a classic that I know for a fact Mac loves. I’ve heard him sing it in the shower before. I fill out the song sheet and hand the request to the DJ. When I return to the table, it’s piled with greasy wings and the potato skins we ordered.
Mac’s gaze rests heavily on me, and every time I meet it, he blushes bright like his hair. Obviously, his mind is stuck on one thing. It’s all he can think about when he looks at me. His focus keeps my dick half-filled and every time I have to shift to find a comfortable position, I swear he knows what I’m doing and why.
In fact, I feel like everybody knows. Even though they have no clue. Like there’s a neon sign over my head that says ‘straight guy falling for his best friend’.
Maybe… Maybe I’m not so straight after all. West likes to joke around that there’s a little bit of gay inside every straight man, and I used to think it was bullshit. But now, maybe there’s some truth in that. Maybe it just takes the right guy to make you feel something. I'm sure it’s different for everyone, a different journey, but no matter what path you take to get there, in the end, we all end up at the same destination. Coming to terms with our sexuality.
It’s an eye-opening revelation that I’m still becoming comfortable with, and maybe I’m not really all that shocked that I fell for Mac. It’s always been there, my awareness of him, my appreciation of him, physically, and the way we connect. How he makes everything inside of me ease.
Mac is my person. Who knows why there are certain people we connect with on a soul-deep level. But Mac is that person for me. The fact that he happens to be a guy really shouldn’t matter. It doesn’t. What does matter is that he’s trying to sell me some load of horseshit that we’re still just friends and that nothing we’re doing will change that.
That’s not the Mac I know. I see what the string of failed relationships and one-night stands does to him. He’s lonely. Feels disconnected. Mac is the kind of guy that needs love. He’s hungry for it. Does he not want that from me? Because I think… I think I could give it to him. He’s the easiest person in the world to fall in love with. The hard part is in admitting it to the rest of the world.
What does that make me? Am I gay? Bisexual? Pansexual? Does it matter? Do I even have the right to call myself queer? I’ve known men who have struggled with being ostracized for years because of their sexuality, and here I am, falling for a guy seemingly overnight. Is it a slap in their faces?
I don’t know. I don’t have any answers for that. All I know is that the feelings Mac stirs in me every time he touches me, every time we kiss, every time he looks at me like he is right now, like he wants to get out of here and go find a quiet corner to be alone with me, doesn't feel like a choice. The feelings feel inevitable. Undeniable. Like I‘m a prisoner of my desire for him, and I have no choice but to act on it.
Nash slaps my arm. “Did you hear me?”
Shaking off my thoughts, I give him my full attention. “What?”
“I asked if you want to share nachos with me. Brewer won’t eat them.”
“Of course. I love nachos.”
Mac is watching me again. I feel like he’s undressing me with his eyes. His piercing blue stare burns through me, and I feel hot all over.
“So when are you moving back to your apartment?” Nash asks. “They’ve got to be rid of the fleas by now.”
“I don’t know. I can’t get a hold of my landlord.” Total lie, but what am I supposed to say? Mac and I still haven’t discussed me moving back to my apartment. We’ve just fallen into a routine of living together that feels so comfortable, neither of us are in a hurry to put an end to it. I guess if we address it, we have to voice our reasons why we feel so comfortable. Maybe he’s not ready for that.
Am I ready for that?
Mac saves me with his answer. “There’s so much to do there. We’re just going to wait until after the holidays and everything settles down. We’ve got to wash everything and clean every surface. It’s a whole job.”
“Yeah, that.” Sounds like a plausible lie.
“Well, if you need help cleaning up, you can always call us. And by us, I mean Mandy,” Nash teases.
Mandy laughs. “Of course, I’ll help. Just say the word.”
Jax leans forward, adding his grumpy take. “You’re not sick of each other yet?”
Sick of each other? Not even a little bit. “Not yet. With Mac around, I’m never late for anything anymore.” Mac laughs at the joke, but his foot finds mine under the table. At least, I think it’s his. I’m not going to duck under and look.
He pushes his chair back. “Going to hit the head. I’ll be back.”
The parting look he shoots me is an unmistakable invitation to join him.
“I’ll be right back.” Excusing myself from the table, I follow Mac into the bathroom, and as soon as the door shuts behind us, I crowd him against the counter. His back against the sink.
“What’s with the way you’ve been watching me all night?” I confront him. His blue stare drops to my mouth, telling me exactly why he’s been watching me. “That your way of telling me you want my mouth on you?”
Mac smirks. “I wondered when you would get the message.”
His warm breath puffs over my lips. I can taste it, and I want to swallow it along with his tongue. Dipping my head, I brush my lips over his, softly, testing to see how badly he wants my kiss. Mac attacks, crushing his mouth against mine, his hands wrapping around the back of my head to pull me closer. He pushes his tongue into my mouth and I swallow it greedily. It’s a lot like the kiss on the couch that first time, where I can’t get enough of him, and I don’t need air, and I don’t need to breathe, I just need more.
More Mac.
The heat rises from zero to sixty in point-two seconds and my hard cock pushes against his. I could fuck him right now if we weren’t in this bathroom. Actually, maybe I could?—
The door swings open, and I push him away faster than we came together. It’s Pharo. He looks at us as if he can see right through us, as if he knows every secret in my head and my heart. His golden eyes narrow shrewdly.
Mac ducks down, looking into my mouth. “Yeah, it’s definitely a cavity. You need to have that checked with your dentist.” He straightens. “I’ll make an appointment for you.”
Pharo disappears into the stall, and I smack my hand against Mac's chest. “Close fucking call,” I whisper.
“Too close,” he agrees.
Just to make it seem like I have a reason to be here, I wash my hands at the sink, and Mac follows my lead, but we make sure to clear out of the bathroom before Pharo finishes. I don’t need those knowing eyes looking through my soul again.
When we return to our seats, the nachos are sitting in front of me and I dig in. Down the table, West and Brandt are arguing over whether or not to sing another song. Mandy and Rhett are debating what sauce they want on their wings. And Jax's eyes are on Pharo as he returns from the bathroom. Jax looks like he’s waiting for every step Pharo takes to be his last, as if he could wish it into existence. He always looks like that when he looks at Pharo. Whatever went down between them years ago, when Jax was under his command, must’ve been a real shit show because it’s lingered after all these years.
Fucking McCormick, with the way he’s staring at me as I eat this nacho, trying to catch all the stretched gooey cheese with my tongue. I’m ready to announce we’re getting the fuck out of here right now when the DJ calls us up.
He follows me up on stage, and when the introduction starts to play, our table erupts in laughter.
I guess it’s a little funny to see two big scarred guys like me and Mac impersonating Dolly Parton, but “Islands in the Stream” felt appropriate. That’s what we are, no one in between. Our feelings can’t be wrong. Tonight I just want to sail away with him, to another world. Where we rely on each other. Just like we always have. My ride or die. My partner in crime and in karaoke. The man I fall asleep beside every night and wake up next to each morning. The man whose dick I can’t wait to get my mouth on as soon as I find an excuse to get the fuck out of here.
Of course, the guys howl and throw chips at us as we butcher the lyrics. Like they can do better. I call bullshit.
But the bigger commotion, bigger than being off-tune or tone-deaf, is when a man from the bar walks over to our table and asks Tex to dance. The little blond eagerly jumps from his seat to join the guy on the dance floor. He loves to dance and show off. Loves being the center of attention. I guess anyone that pretty deserves to be.
But it doesn’t sit well with Mandy.
Even from my position on the stage, I can see the murderous intent in his eyes. His wounded pride and jealousy screams like a bullhorn.
After coming to terms with the way I feel about Mac, if I saw him dance with another guy, I would lose my ever-loving shit. I would lose it all over the place and all over the guy. How Mandy can sit there and pretend like it doesn’t bother him baffles me.
Tex twirls and two-steps in his cowboy boots across the scuffed wooden floor, and I know every stomp of his heels is felt in Mandy’s battered heart, evidenced by the pain in his dark eyes. I hate that he’s hurting, that he’s longing for someone he feels he doesn’t deserve and can’t have. I can tell Tex is interested in him, and if he would just believe in himself and give love a chance, he might just find it.
Then again, that’s pretty funny coming from someone who’s afraid to reach for the same thing in front of the eyes of his friends.
Mandy and I both need to be taught the same lesson. We both need to grow a pair.
The song can’t end fast enough, and when it finally does, we rush to our seats and finish off the last of the nachos, now cold and soggy.
“Congratulations,” Rhett teases, reaching for the last nacho. “You sing as bad as you knit.”
“You’re hilarious. Looking,” I add with a cough. “Who’s up next?”
Jax, who’s been steadily knocking back drinks all night long as he glares at Pharo, tips his chair back, looking glassy-eyed and unstable as he wobbles to his feet. “I’m next.”
Leaning into Mandy, whose gaze is focused on Tex as he reclaims his seat, I whisper, “Why don’t you ask him to dance?”
He snorts. “In what world would a guy like him want to dance with me?”
“Well, besides your fantasy world, this one. He wouldn’t say no to you if you asked him.”
“Yeah, because he’s a sweetheart, and we’re friends. He wouldn’t want to embarrass me, which is the same reason I won’t ask him. I don’t want to embarrass him either.”
His words make me feel angry and on edge, and I have to fight the urge to shake him until his teeth rattle. “One of these days, Mandy, I hope you wake up and realize what you’re worth before everything good in your life is gone.”
He’s about to respond, but the most unholy sound filters through the mic and scratches the eardrums of every available patron in the bar.
Jax is singing, or trying to sing, “I Want It That Way” by the Backstreet Boys. He must be drunk off his ass or he would never admit to knowing every word by heart, which he clearly does because he’s not even looking at the lyrics on the screen. Probably too far gone to even read them.
“Jesus Christ,” Pharo groans. “You’ve got to be fucking shitting me. Somebody go save his dumb ass.”
When nobody moves to intervene, Pharo scrapes his chair back loudly and rushes to the stage, pulling the plug out of the wall connected to Jax’s mic.
“The fuck, man?” Jax asks defensively, looking like he’s ready to throw down.
Pharo stands his ground, crossing his arms over his considerably wide chest. “It’s like listening to a sick and injured cat struggling to escape from a wet burlap sack. You fucking suck. And you’re welcome, I did you a favor. I did all of us a favor.”
I kick Mac under the table and nod toward the exit. “Time to go.” The excuse I’ve been looking for to bail all night long just presented itself in stunning clarity.