Chapter 15Stiles
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
STILES
That first sip of coffee in the morning hits just right, like a warm hug, or a fresh breath of air. I sip slowly, nestled into the couch, and watch Mac move around the apartment as he gets ready for his day. Watching him is my new favorite hobby. Not that he does anything fascinating, I just can’t take my eyes off of him. And that stupid haircut. He looks good in spite of it, though. He looks good in anything.
Mac grabs packages of bologna and cheese from the fridge, bread from the cupboard, and a frying pan. He frowns when he realizes he’s down to his last slice of bologna, shrugs, and grabs a hotdog from the fridge to substitute it. This is the kind of shit about him that fascinates me. If I ran out of bologna, I would just make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich or a grilled cheese.
Not Mac. He‘s set on meat, and he improvises with another variety. I assume he’s making two because one of them is for me, but if he thinks I’m going to eat that fried hotdog sandwich, he needs to think again.
Minutes later, he offers me the fried bologna sandwich, which also fascinates me because is it really a breakfast food? According to Mac, it is. Then he moves to the bathroom to brush his teeth, sandwich in hand. How can you brush your teeth while you’re still eating? It defeats the purpose. The man is an enigma, a total contradiction, and entertaining as hell.
“Don’t forget,” he calls out around a mouthful of toothpaste and hotdog. “We've got group this afternoon. Let's hit the gym first.”
Suddenly feeling lonely without his presence, I follow him to the bathroom. I close the lid on the toilet seat and cop a squat. He rinses out his mouth, takes the last bite of his sandwich, wipes his greasy fingers off on his shorts, even though there’s a working sink right in front of him, and starts to fluff his hair into a redneck wave of perfection.
The urge to fuck with him is too strong to deny.
“So, you finally gonna let me give you that blow job you’ve been begging for?”
McCormick freezes mid-stroke of the hairbrush and turns to me with his crestfallen face. “You really don’t remember? I mean, it’s okay if you don’t,” he assures me, never wanting to make me feel bad for forgetting. Just another reason he’s invaluable to me.
I fake my surprise. “You mean, I blew you and I can’t remember? Damn, I thought it would be so unforgettable that I would never forget.”
I swear to fuck, he looks like he’s going to cry, then unzips his shorts and whips his fat cock out, stroking it to make it hard for me. “Here, wrap your lips around this and see if it jogs your memory.”
I can’t hold it inside any longer. Laughter rumbles from my chest, deep and loud. “Gotcha.”
“You fucker. I should make you suck it as punishment.”
“Sucking your dick will never feel like a punishment.”
His entire expression changes. Mac bends over to place a kiss on my lips, soft and quick. “You’re forgiven. But just in case, I’m going to mark it on the calendar.”
He’s not even shitting me. He actually wanders into the kitchen, grabs a red pen from the junk drawer, and writes BJ on the calendar in the box dated two days ago. Then, he counts off on his fingers and draws a hotdog in the box dated three weeks ago.
“The anniversary of our first gay sex act. When was our first kiss?”
“You’re asking me?” I don’t know whether to laugh at him or help him try to figure it out, but my heart is melting into a puddle of motor oil because it’s the sweetest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. Mac wants to record all of our firsts like each one is a day he never wants to forget.
He must’ve figured it out because he draws a pair of lips in the box dated four weeks ago. Then frowns. “We don’t have a first date.”
Is he fucking serious? “What about the night at the tavern, when we figured it all out?”
“The night we met that chick? Fuck no. Just like I told you that night, I’m not sharing our firsts with her. We have to have our own date. Our own anniversary.”
“So, plan something.”
McCormick stares hard into my eyes. “I will,” he challenges, “for tonight.”
Just to tease him, I add, “Make sure it’s super romantic and sappy like first dates should be. I want the full experience.”
“The full McCormick?” He flips his red tail, making it swish over his shoulders. “You got it.”
God, I hate his fucking hair.
I carry the trash downstairs to the dumpster, and when I return, McCormick is in the bathroom. He’s got the door open, so I know he’s not taking a shit. It isn’t until I hear him humming the words to ‘I’m Too Sexy’ by Right Said Fred that I decide to peek in. I have to take a deep breath and hold it in my lungs so I don’t laugh and give myself away. He’s shaking his fine ass as he combs some kind of gel through his hair while checking himself out in the mirror.
Wait… “Motherfucker! Is that my toothbrush?” It is!
“Oh this?” He looks at it as if it’s nothing, and shrugs. “Saw this trick in a video online. This girl was using a toothbrush to polish the ends of her hair with leave-in conditioner to prevent split ends.”
“With my toothbrush?! Who the fuck are you?”
“Well, I’m not using mine,” he points out sensibly. “What's the big deal? You can swallow my load, but you can’t lick my hair?”
I’ve had it! Fucking had it up to my ears. His stupid fucking hair is coming off right now! He looks surprised when I lunge for him and pin him to the wall. I brace my thick forearm against his neck and hold him in place while I kick the cabinet open and reach for the clippers. McCormick freaks when he sees them, not that I give a fuck. I’m not letting up on his neck. Not for a second. He uses his prosthetic to kick me in the shin, and the carbon fiber feels like getting hit with a metal baseball bat. It takes me a moment to recover, which he uses to his advantage, pushing past me, and running out the door. Taking the clippers with me, because these fuckers run on batteries instead of a cord, I catch up with him in the living room and tackle his ass to the ground.
“Stay still,” I grunt, sitting on his chest.
“Don’t do it, Stiles. There’s no coming back from this. We’ll both regret it.”
“The only thing I regret is not doing it sooner!”
“You’re jealous because it looks good and yours won’t grow out fast enough.”
“That’s the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.” With a smirk, I taunt, ”Just so you know, this hurts me more than it hurts you.”
He tries to kick and squirm and buck me off, but I dig my heels into his sides, and squeeze my knees into his ribs. God himself couldn’t dislodge me until I get Mac’s head shaved.
The clippers come to life in my hand, and I waste no time shaving a stripe down the center of his head. It sounds like a swarm of bees, and I can tell from the look on Mac’s face that when I’m done, when I finally let him up, he’s going to kick my ass.
Whatever, it’s worth it. I can’t look at his stupid hair one more day. He went too far using my toothbrush, and now he’s paying for it.
When the last orange strand falls away, I smile gleefully, maybe a little maniacally. “All done. No more split ends.”
He’s breathing so hard that spittle flies from his mouth and lands on my neck. “Motherfucker. You jealous, petty, bitter motherfucker. I’m about to split your fucking ends! How could you do that?”
“It looked dumb. I did you a favor.”
“You did yourself a favor,” Mac spits angrily.
“Yeah, you looked ridiculous. I have to be seen with you. You know what they say about birds of a feather flock together?”
Mac looks affronted. “So your friendship is conditional? I have to look good to be seen with you?”
“No, I’m always your friend, I just hate your hair.”
“That’s what conditional means!”
His righteous indignation makes me laugh. “Look, I’m not gonna split hairs with you.”
“That’s it! You’re dead.”
Lightning quick, McCormick rolls me over and pins me beneath him, sitting on my stomach so that I can’t breathe. He rips the clippers from my hand and runs them through my dark hair, shaving my head down to the scalp. His blue eyes burn bright with revenge and when he finishes, he smiles much like I did. A little crazy, a little dangerous, and a lot satisfied.
“You know what? I think it might be an improvement.”
Asshole . I liked my hair just fine the way it was. After all, I wasn’t the one sporting a cut that fell out of style four decades ago.
Struggling to sit up, I push him off me and glare. “You happy now? We both look stupid as shit. Like we’re trying to get recruited by the skins or something.”
“I’ll tell people you gave me lice. No wait, it was fleas!”
“That’s it!” I dive at him, and we start rolling, the buzzing clippers still vibrating against the floor. Mac grunts when I land my knee on his thigh, and I cry out like a baby when he drives his heel into my gut.
“You done?” He wheezes, struggling to catch his breath.
“Are you?”
“Yeah.” I roll to my feet and help him up. “Let’s go work out some of this aggression in the gym.”
“Or,” he brushes off his pants, “we could work it off in bed.”
His waggling eyebrows and overdramatic leer are anything but sexy, considering his shaved head. It makes his bushy orange eyebrows that much more prominent. Laughter cracks from my chest like a gunshot. “You’re a fucking mess.”
He looks thrilled. “Am I your mess?”
My heart squeezes. “Hell yeah. All mine.”
I know we’re gonna catch shit for our hair, but I can’t avoid the guys for long. They’ll come knocking. Literally.
West is first. He laughs out loud, drawing everyone’s attention the moment we step into the classroom.
“You look like a bunch of new recruits at basic training.”
Followed by Rhett. “Aw, so cute. Matching haircuts. Did you match your underwear too?”
Then Jax. “Every time I see you, you two just get dumber looking.”
Mandy stays quiet, but his big shoulders shake with silent laughter.
Nash tries to be kinder. “I want to ask, I really do, but I’m afraid to ask.”
Brandt smiles kindly but then ruins it by breaking out in laughter. “Anything is better than that mullet.”
When Riggs enters the classroom, he does a double take on his way to his seat. “Do I wanna know?” I shake my head. “Didn’t think so.”
Pharo graces us with his presence today. A rare sighting lately as he’s been gone more and more. He contains his laughter, but grins and winks. “Listen, next time, go on down to the barbershop. It’ll cost you a few bucks, but it’s worth it, I promise.”
It seems like that’s the end of it, everyone gave their two cents, but no. It never is with these guys. Every time West looks over at us, he starts laughing again, setting off a contagious wave of hilarity throughout the group. I run a hand over my fuzzy head, feeling self-conscious.
“Does it really look that bad?” I ask McCormick in a side whisper.
He scoffs. “Shit, they’re jealous. They’ve probably got weird shaped heads and can’t pull this off like we can.”
Of course, he would say that. You can’t get Mac down. He sees the bright side of every situation. And he always thinks he’s the best-looking guy in the room.
You know what? Fuck it. He is.
It’s not just his face, it’s his confidence. His personality shines brighter than his hair. I shoot him a grateful look.
This big, bald orange motherfucker is all mine.
“All right, listen up,” Riggs barks. “It’s the holidays, and people do a lot of asking around the holidays. Only two of you fuckers have an actual job, the rest of you just fudge it. So I know you’ve got plenty of time on your hands to volunteer. No excuses. Margaret Anne is looking for volunteers to help out with the Christmas party. She needs someone to play Santa. Linda, who runs the gift shop, needs a volunteer to cover two of her shifts while she’s visiting family for the holidays.
Mac raises his hand. “I’ll do it.”
”Seriously?” I ask. What does he want with the gift shop?
“Hell yeah. I’ve got ideas for new merch. By the time she comes back, she won’t even recognize that place.”
Jesus. Is it possible to get kicked out of a volunteer organization? Because if so, his name is on the shortlist. Or, it’s about to be.
“I’ll pass your name along,” Riggs insists. “Nash is looking for volunteers to help with his Helping Homeowners initiative. He’d like to gift a couple of homeowners in need with some home renovation projects for the holiday. If you can read a tape measure and operate a saw without cutting off your hand, please get with him after the group.”
Brandt and West give Nash a nod, and I guess they’re offering to help out. Mandy elbows Nash and I guess he’s in on it too.
My heart squeezes again, and I get choked up, just like when Mac asked me if he was mine. This community is truly special and I’m grateful to be a part of it. Sure, they may laugh at my hair or rib each other. That’s what brothers do. But when the chips are down, we step up and help. Make sure we have each other‘s backs. No man left behind.
A brotherhood of broken men, but we help repair each other’s cracks and breaks. We put together the broken pieces and make each other whole again. My eyes betray me and start to mist, and I stretch out the neck of my shirt to wipe them dry.
“Are you tearing up over volunteering?” Jax asks from my left. “Nobody’s fucking making you do anything.”
He’s such a grumpy fucker. I hope somebody pulls that stick out of his ass someday, so he can find his smile again.
“It’s the hair,” West jokes. “I’d cry too, if I looked like him.”
Whatever. They can tease me all they want. They do it because they love me.
When the meeting comes to a close, Nash jumps to his feet. “Who's hungry for some chicken wings?”
Mac answers for the both of us. “Not us. I got a hot date.”
Rhett snorts. “With your remote control and your right hand?”
“Nah,” Mac laughs, “a real one this time. I’ll let you know how it goes.”
“I won’t hold my breath,” Rhett laughs.
“Are we stopping here cause you need to grab something on the way to our date?”
Mac pulls the truck into a parking spot in front of the big box building supply store.
His huge grin shows off white teeth against an orange beard. “No, this is our date.”
“Seriously?” I couldn’t be more surprised if a purple gorilla tapped on my window.
“Yeah, why? Is this not romantic enough? Cause if you wanted something fancy…”
“No!” I'm quick to reassure him. “This is perfect. Nothing says romance like ropes and chains.” I hop out of the truck and meet him at the tailgate. “You’re speaking my love language.”
“Right?! Who wants to get dressed up in clothes that make you sweat and choke you to eat at some fancy restaurant? The Tavern sells the best burger in town.”
I bump his fist with mine. “One hundred percent.”
“And look,” he points to the front of the store, “they’ve got a hotdog cart. Dinner with no dress code.”
Laughing, I add, “They used to have a churro vendor that would drive by. Too bad he’s not here or we could have dessert too.”
We approach the hotdog cart and Mac orders a dog with the works, while I take mine with chili and onions. But then, I hesitate before taking a bite. This is a date. Is he going to kiss me with chili onion breath? I pat my pockets and frown. No gum.
Fuck it, I’m hungry. He’ll just have to wait until we get home to kiss me.
Mac takes his first bite. “It’d be better if it were boiled instead of grilled, but it’s not bad.”
I will never understand his obsession with boiled hotdogs. Why would you want to soak all the taste out of the meat?
Just another phenomenon on a long list that makes him an oddball. I guess we're the odd couple.
We carry the hotdogs inside and I grab a shopping cart. You never know what you might find or what you might need until you see it.
“While we’re here, we should grab some gift certificates to donate to Nash’s Helping Homeowners initiative for Christmas.”
Mac’s face lights up. “That’s a great idea! Very humanitarian.”
“I think the word is philanthropic.”
He looks confused. “Nah, pretty sure its humanitarian.”
Whatever. “Let's head down the hardware aisle. I want to check out the door knobs. We can replace the broken one on the hall closet.”
“Perfect. It’s only been broken for a year,” he laughs.
As we make our way through the aisles, we take turns throwing things in the cart—Plumbers putty, a multi-tool with a camouflage handle, synthetic rope, a new funnel to change the oil in our bikes and trucks, and a box of garbage bags.
“I'm telling you,” Mac insists, “this is the best date I’ve ever been on. The last real date I went on was with Gina, that girl I dated last year. We went to some fancy Italian place in Asheville.”
“I love some pasta. Italian sounds good.”
“They didn’t have pasta. They had micro food. It didn’t even fill the plate. I left hungry and drove through a burger place. It really pissed her off. What about you? What’s the last date you went on?”
I try to think back through the last few months. This is the kind of shit that’s hard for me to remember. Minute details that don’t matter in the grand scheme of life. “I think it was with the chick who gave me fleas. We went to see a movie before we hooked up for the first time.”
“I like movies. Although I’d rather watch them at home in my underwear.”
Of course, he would. Curled up in my lap with his blanket. “So do I, but that was a foreign film. The whole thing was subtitled.”
“You had to read the movie? Fuck that.”
“I told her I forgot my glasses at home, and that the light from the screen was burning my eyes and I had to keep them closed.”
His bright bushy brows draw together. “But you don’t wear glasses.”
“Exactly.”
McCormick laughs and claps me on the back. “Well played.”
I notice we’re drawing looks from several people we pass, and I don’t know if it’s his leg or our hair. Probably the hair. Two big scarred guys with identical shaved heads would probably make people look twice. And then it’s me doing the double take. I spot Bruce, my fellow ALR brethren with the big mouth. That’s the exact moment Mac realizes I have a spot of chili stuck in my mustache and wipes it away with his finger before sucking his finger clean.
Fucking fuck of all motherfucking fuckers.
Of course, he saw. Of course, he’s approaching us now with a smirk on his face. And of course, he’s going to say something to prove he’s a fucking asshole. Not that I needed further evidence.
“Well, well well,” he saunters over, “if it isn’t Frick and Frack, wiping each other’s mouths, and probably wiping each other’s asses.”
Fuck. The thing about McCormick is, when you push him, he pushes back. Doubles down. Balls to the wall. This is going to get ugly. Uglier than Mac’s mullet.
Mac turns to me with a grin. “How does your ass feel, dumplin’? Did I wipe it good enough? Because if you’ve got a dingleberry or two left behind, I can get it with my tongue. Make sure it’s real clean.” Then he slurps his tongue and my face turns redder than his beard.
And as much as I want to make it clear he’s kidding, even though it’s obvious he’s kidding, I can’t leave my boy hanging. “They’ve got a bathroom in the back if you want to check.”
Bruce snorts, then narrows his beady little black eyes. “You two are so fucking gay. Just admit it already.”
“I think we just did, Bruce.” McCormick claps his shoulder a little too hard, but his overblown grin dares him to take it as an insult. Bruce shakes his head and wanders off.
“Well, that was super gay,” Mac bitches.
Feeling brave on the tail end of his declaration, probably because it didn’t completely blow up in my face, I defend, “Who cares if it’s gay? I’m not afraid to admit you make my dick hard.”
McCormick scoffs. “Oh yeah? Who are you gonna admit it to?”
“Whoever.”
“You’re gonna tell the Bitches?”
“Well, maybe not them… just yet.”
“You’re gonna tell the ALR?”
“Hell no, although Bruce sure is.”
McCormick crosses his arms over his chest and smirks like he’s got me pinned between a rock and a hard place. “Well I know everybody you know, and that’s about everyone. So who you gonna tell?”
“I’m not afraid to admit it to you and myself.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I realize how inadequate they sound. I'm working up to it. I just need more time.
“Well that’s real ballsy of you, Stiles. You might as well be running out of the closet with flares in both hands.”
“I was never in the closet! This is all brand new. I’ll get there. Eventually.”
Just like Bruce did, McCormick shakes his head and wanders off, and I have to move my ass into high gear to catch up with him. “You pissed at me?”
He stops and turns to me, his fingers catching me under the chin. “No. I’m not pissed at you. I’m pissed at Bruce because he can’t let us manage our own relationship in our own time. I’m pissed because he makes it sound like it’s something I have to defend or deny. You’re right,” he sighs, “we’ll get there, eventually. There’s no rush. Let’s get the fuck out of here and go home and suck each other off.”
Fuck yes.
We check out, McCormick’s treat since he asked me out, and on our way to the truck, the churro guy drives by and pulls up to a stop in front of the store.
“Dessert!” Mac cheers.
I let my fingers brush against his and he curls his pinky around mine. “Best date ever.”
Mac chuckles. “Not yet, but it’s about to be. After the sucking.”