Chapter 21Stiles
CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE
STILES
“Hey, homeowner,” West grins. “Give us a tour of the house.”
One by one, they drop their bags on the kitchen counter and spread out, sort of giving themselves a tour. I trail behind the group with a running commentary.
“We just painted, so keep your hands off the walls. That’s the hall bathroom if anyone needs to use it.”
They duck their heads into McCormick’s office, and the extra bedroom, which is being used for storage right now. Mac walks out of our bedroom, now fully dressed, and shuts the door behind him. But Rhett opens it and pops his head in.
”What’s with you two sharing a bed? I guess it made sense when you shared a one-bedroom apartment, but you have three rooms now, and two aren’t being used.”
“What I want to know,” Brandt adds, “is what’s with the Sesame Street picture on the wall in the living room?”
Fucking nosy Bitches. “It’s an inside joke.”
“Well, I don’t get it,” Brandt says, shaking his head.
“Hence, the inside part.” I shut our bedroom door again before anyone else can poke their heads in and ask more questions.
Nash pops the top on his can of soda. “So, let me get this straight. You bought a home together, sleep in the same bed, and basically, the only time you’re not together is the handful of hours each week Stiles goes to work. Am I missing something?” he asks, popping his brows.
“Sounds pretty gay to me,” West agrees, reaching for a soda from the fridge.
They’re just teasing, but they won’t let it go until they get some kind of reaction that satisfies them. “Look, just because two guys happen to be close doesn’t mean they’re…”
“For fuck’s sake!” Mac closes the distance between us, grabs my shirt, and hauls me up against his chest. He shoves his tongue in my mouth, holding the back of my head prisoner so I can’t escape his kiss. He makes it good, too. Not immediately pulling away.
When we separate, you can hear a pin drop. Not one word is spoken, and every Bitch is wearing an identical expression.
Shock and awe.
Nash is the first to speak. “Look, I was just fucking with you. You don’t have to go to extremes.”
Jax looks disgusted. “Look, I came here to eat. Don’t go ruining my appetite just to spite me.”
Riggs holds out his hand and Rhett grumbles before slapping a twenty dollar bill in his palm. “Told you,” Riggs smirks.
West frowns, looking confused. “What in the ever-loving-fuck is going on here?”
“We’re not acting or pretending,” Mac insists. “Stiles, what were we doing when they barged in here a minute ago without knocking?”
My face warms. Does he really want me to tell them what we were doing? “Uh, we were…”
“We were fucking,” Mac finishes. “He had me bent over the counter right there.” He points to where Mandy is standing.
Brandt reaches under the kitchen sink, grabs a spray bottle of disinfectant, and sprays the counter down. “Seriously, you fuckheads, we’re about to prepare food in here.”
“What the fuck ever,” West bitches, rolling his eyes. He wanders out of the kitchen and into the living room where he confiscates my recliner.
Everyone has pretty much the same reaction. Underwhelmed.
“Wait,” I call. “Nobody cares? That’s it? Mac and I are fucking and it’s no big deal?” I built this shit up in my head for months, making a mountain out of a molehill for nothing.
“So the fuck what?” West asks. “Was it a big deal when I kissed Brandt in group? Was it a big deal when we found out Rhett and Riggs had some secret past history? Nobody seemed to care when Brewer and Nash hooked up either. Why do we have to make a big deal about you two?”
“Because we’re not gay!” Mac shouts.
“I told you,” West smirks. “Everyone's a little bit gay. Congratulations for figuring it out.”
Mac turns to me, but I don’t have words. I don’t know what to say to him. Our friends, the people who matter most to us in this world, didn’t bat an eye about the two of us falling in love. We’re just McCormick and Stiles, Bitches with Stitches. Retired vets. Just two typical guys they’ve known for years. If only everything in life could be this easy.
“Here.” Nash hands Mac a wrapped gift. “Housewarming gift from the Bitches.”
In addition to all the food they brought, we received other gifts, like a bottle of wine, a caddy that holds our remote controls, and a brand new welcome mat for the front door. Mac tears the paper open, and his entire face lights up with joy.
“A thousand and one ways to cook hot dogs! Look, Stiles, they got me a hotdog cookbook!”
I bust out laughing because, how can I not? It’s the perfect gift for him. “Great, maybe you can figure out another way to cook them besides boiling them.”
“There’s no better way,” he insists. “Wait till you guys see our spare fridge in the garage! It’s filled with two cases of hotdogs.” Mac sets the cookbook down on the counter in the kitchen and then reaches into the drawer to grab a pair of metal tongs.
“You gonna grill them this time?” Mandy asks, eyeing the tongs.
McCormick frowns. He slides the tongs down the back of his shirt. “Grill them?” he asks, sounding confused. “My back itches. This thing makes a great back scratcher.”
Mandy snatches it from his hand. “Give me that. I’ll grill the damn things myself.”
“Okay, but what I really want to know,” Nash asks, “is what’s with this inflatable unicorn in the living room?”
“It’s our mascot.”
Jax shakes his head. “How did no one figure out you two were gay? It’s so fucking obvious.”
“Hey, check out this tree.” Brandt touches the ornaments, decorating our Christmas tree. “A motorcycle, an American flag, Army boots and a rifle, a hot dog, of course,” he laughs. “Where’d you get this one?” He inspects a round white ornament with the BALLS logo.
Mac joins him at the tree. “Picked that up from the gift shop when I volunteered to take over that girl’s shift.” Mac carefully removes our newest ornament and holds it out for Brandt. “Check out this one.”
It’s a sticky note, like the colorful ones that decorate every surface of our house to remind me of shit. It says, “Don’t forget it’s Christmas.”
“That’s perfect for Stiles,” Brandt agrees. “Hey, we need ornaments like these,” he tells West.
Eventually, the party moves out back once the grill is lit. “Is that an ammo shed,” West asks.
“Damn, right it is,” I boast.
West slides the metal door open to reveal a four by four foot shed stocked with homemade ammunition and fireworks. There’s enough explosives to detonate our entire neighborhood.
“Homemade Molotov cocktails? Get the fuck out of here. Brandt,” he calls, “how come our ammo shed doesn’t have Molotov cocktails?”
Brandt rolls his eyes. “Because you would blow off your other leg. You’re dangerous and foolish.” Then he adds on, because he’s Brandt, and he has to, “The enemy’s dangerous, but right now you’re worse. Dangerous and foolish.”
“Fuck. You had to stir him up,” I complain. “Now he’ll be quoting Top Gun all night long.”
“Cut him off,” West insists. “No more beer for him.”
Everything devolves from there. Jax and Rhett get hold of the fireworks and shoot off Roman candles. Nash gallops around the yard on Josh, my unicorn mascot. Brandt and West get into a sword fight with raw hotdogs. And every time Mac steals a kiss from me when he thinks no one is looking, the guys sing “I’m Coming Out” by Diana Ross.
It’s a good thing we don’t have neighbors close by because, after this, they would hate us.
If only the ALR shindig was going as smoothly as our housewarming had. The clubhouse is packed with American Legion Riders to celebrate the Christmas toy drive. Many of these people worked tirelessly to collect toys and donations for needy kids. There’s a potluck buffet, door prizes, a garage band some of the vets put together, and when it’s all over, the collective donations will be distributed amongst local charities for needy kids.
Unfortunately, not everyone can behave themselves. Bruce showed up glassy-eyed and unstable on his feet, and he’s only been drinking more since he arrived.
“I bet ten bucks he gets in a fight today.”
“Oh yeah,” Mac nods, stroking his beard. “He’s gonna get his ass kicked today.”
“And Barbie.” I tilt my head in her direction. “The fuck is she wearing?” She thought it would be cute to come dressed as an elf.
Mac follows my line of sight. “I guess she missed the memo that this party wasn’t being held at a strip club. These baked beans taste like shit,” he gripes as he shovels another spoonful into his mouth.
“Then, why are you still eating them?” Honestly, I think he would eat cardboard if it had barbecue sauce on it.
“Because I don’t wanna go home hungry.” He eyes my plate of leftover baked beans. “You gonna eat that?”
I slide the plate in his direction. “Be my guest.”
The emcee calls out the ticket number sitting next to Mac’s plate. “Hell, yeah! I won.”
The door prize that he won is a black T-shirt that says, “I make this bike look good,” with a stick figure of a man on a motorcycle. I’m sure it’ll be his new favorite shirt.
Bruce stumbles into me, pushing me further into the table, and when I turn around to glare at him, he looks surprised to see me and plops his ass down beside me.
Fucking swell.
“Well, well. If it isn’t the Home Improvement Homos. How’s it hanging, boys?” His words are slurred, and his breath smells like a distillery.
“Lower than yours,” Mac snipes.
The joke sails right over Bruce’s drunk head. But he’s lucid enough to realize he’s been insulted somehow.
He narrows his beady little eyes. “Bunch of fucking queers.”
“Yeah, you’re right, Bruce. We’re totally gay for each other,” Mac laughs. “Ain’t that right, Stiles?”
I’ve had enough of the bullshit lies and sneaking around. If this dumb motherfucker can’t handle the truth, it’s his problem, not ours. “That’s right, Mac.” Leaning across the table, I plant a quick kiss on his lips. Most everyone laughs or cheers and claps, and most of them probably think it’s a joke. Some might take us seriously and either care or not. Either way, I’m done renting headspace over it.
Bruce glares, spits a disgusting wad onto the floor, and takes off. Mac is grinning, and I can’t help but join him.
“Were you trying to goad him into a fight so you could win twenty bucks?”
“Hey,” he shrugs, “a win is a win.”
Fuck these people and this place. I just want to be alone with him. “Let’s get out of here. We can go for a ride.”
Without another word, Mac pushes to his feet, grabs our empty plates, tosses them in the trash, and heads for the door. We straddle our bikes and take off down Highway Nine, heading for my spot. Our spot. The mile marker comes into view and we pull off the highway onto the little dirt road that leads to the clearing overlooking the mountains.
Taking a seat on the large flat rocks, I remove my sunglasses and clip them onto the neckline of my shirt.
“Been a long time since we’ve been out here.”
“Lots happened since then,” Mac says, removing his sunglasses as well.
I meet his bright blue eyes. “Do you regret any of it?”
Mac grins. ”Which part? Falling in love with you? Buying a home with you? Giving up on women for the rest of our lives? Or are you asking if I regret those baked beans I just ate? Cause I definitely might.”
Fucking jackass. “All of it? Any of it? Besides the baked beans, because that’s a given.” He’s definitely not bottoming for me tonight.
“The only thing I regret…” Mac pauses mid-sentence to take my lips in a mind-melting kiss that makes my dick half-hard. “Is waiting four years to get my shit together and make my move.”