Chapter Twenty-Seven
Isley
It was two in the afternoon on Saturday and Isley had finished—hours ago—cleaning his apartment.
Now that Somme was gone, he had to make a concerted effort to remember to pick up after himself.
He’d stripped the bed and put on fresh sheets, just in case.
He’d scrubbed his bathroom and had baked two dozen cookies that he knew Laken had a liking for.
Having run out of things to do while he waited for Laken to text, he’d decided to do some yoga, hoping to bring some zen into his body and mind. He was desperate.
Zen. We don’t need Zen we need some—
If you say sex one more time, I swear I’m gonna find someone who can separate us permanently.
His animal had done nothing but harp on about the lack of sex, not seeming to understand it wasn’t him holding out, but Laken.
We are going at Laken’s pace. I wanted to date. We are dating! he ground out.
Isley thought it was sweet how the only thing they’d done since they’d started dating was kiss.
It had only been like two days. He groaned and pushed his body into eagle pose, breathing slowly, allowing his muscles to stretch.
Did it give him the zen? Did it, heck. His dick was hard-wired to all thoughts of doing more than kissing. God he wanted sex.
He was a lost cause when his animal laughed hysterically at his pathetic ass. Surely dating shouldn’t be this hard? It never had been before!
To get to his chiming phone, Isley fell out of eagle pose in his eagerness, reaching for it on his knees.
Laken: Will be with you in about twenty minutes, bring a bag of spare clothes to change into. You'll need wet wipes and lots of energy.
Isley: Don’t worry, I’ll bring all the energy ; )
Isley hit send then reread the message, smiling as he noted again the spare change of clothes and energy bit. Then stopped on the bit in the middle, brows arching.
“Wet wipes? Why the heck would I need those for a date?” Condoms and lube, yeah, he got those. Wet wipes were a little weird, weren't they? Sweaty activity—sex—wet wipes?
At the lack of time and still needing a shower and to pick two outfits, Isley focused on going in search of wet wipes, positive Somme had bought some.
Laken had been all business yesterday, then at clocking off time had suggested grabbing a bite to eat at Ren’s.
It wasn’t quite a date night place, with the work crowd filling most of the place at six pm.
It was noisy, making it hard to talk and listen, but it was fun with Laken being more animated than Isley had ever seen him.
He had talked about his brothers and some things they’d gotten up to as teenagers, leaving Isley with a newfound respect for Lane, who had to be a saint to have managed the eight teenage boys without going bald in the process.
There'd been no mention of what had happened with the blackmailer or if Oakland had actually discovered who it was. There’d been nothing in the press and no global email that he knew had been prepared.
As Isley hadn’t wanted to spoil the evening, he kept away from the subject.
If he was a little hurt that Laken hadn’t confided in him after everything, Isley told himself that it was Laken’s right.
He wasn’t fond of overly pushy people, even if it seemed his animal was indeed that.
They had driven in their respective cars, again not quite the dating thing, but it was Laken’s suggestion, so he went with it.
At the end of the evening, he had gotten a goodbye kiss that heated him up enough to power a building.
Heck, the heat left him with hot, vivid dreams that had him needing to jerk off, and he could have done with the wet wipes to clean up the mess.
Wet wipes! Sex? Isley shook his head. He had sex on the brain! Laken was a menace.
He chuckled, walking off to his bedroom, forgetting to tidy his mat away, his thoughts on finding something sexy to wear and having a quick shower.
Out of the shower, dripping water everywhere, he eyed the choices he’d laid out on the bed, wiping absently at his wet skin with the towel around his neck.
The clubbing outfit. A see-through top of black gossamer—something Wilder had talked him into—paired with black skinny jeans that showed off his ass, were a bit much for wearing in the daytime.
Laken really didn’t seem like the type to do the clubbing scene.
He discarded it. Running through options on what Laken might like to do? Energy related dates? Laken worked out, Isley did not. Laken wouldn’t take him to the gym would he? No.
Ten-pin bowling? Crazy golf? Isley didn’t think either were particularly taxing.
Time ticked on as Isley picked and discarded outfits, getting stressed and sweaty as he slipped in and out of clothes, throwing them all on a growing pile.
He got so worked up, he considered he might need another shower by the time he’d chosen something to wear and something to change into.
Maybe I should just text him and ask?
One look at his watch and he gave a grunt of distress at how he’d run out of time.
He didn’t want to make a fool of himself.
In the end, he opted for wide leg jeans with a turn up and a sky-blue, long-sleeved T-shirt and a cream vest. In his bag with the wet wipes, he put a pair of brown fitted slacks and a cream knit sweater, along with lube, condoms and fresh underwear.
It covered all the bases, smart and casual.
He couldn’t see Laken taking him back to his parent’s house for sex on a Saturday afternoon.
They could possibly be going to a hotel.
Which was nice, but if that was the case, why would Laken opt for that when Isley had a perfectly good bed?
Will you just stop with the guessing game, you’re giving me a headache.
I’m just considering options. I need to make sure I won’t embarrass Laken. He was slipping on brown and cream vans, huffing at his animal, when his phone chimed.
Laken: Downstairs in the car.
Isley: On my way.
Pulse using a skipping rope, Isley grabbed his bag after slipping on a brown leather bomber jacket that was one of Somme’s he had as a teenager and had outgrown.
Outside on the street, the wintery wind whipped at his hair as he dashed between two parked cars to get to Laken’s car, which was idling in the car lot designated for his building.
“Hey,” Isley murmured, climbing into the warmth.
Shivering as he shut the door, he inhaled Laken’s masculine, musky aftershave.
He plonked the bag at his feet, reaching for his seat belt when Laken hauled him over the console in a sexy move that made his pulse continue to hustle a new step with the skipping rope.
Lips touching, his chilly and Laken’s warm and cookie sweet, Isley groaned in appreciation.
The kiss was gentle, coaxing and so damn sexy, Isley’s toes curled at the slow exploration of his mouth.
It was as if Laken was going to be quizzed, and he wanted to get all the right answers.
As quick as it started, it stopped, leaving them both breathless and flushed.
“Hello sugar pie,” Laken murmured, easing him back into his seat, reaching across to grab the seatbelt and click it in place, knuckles brushing over his lower abdomen. It quivered under the layers of fabric, and Isley’s lower body got a nice energy boost.
Dark, fathomless eyes crinkled at the corners as that slow, drool worthy, sexy grin appeared. Isley released a shuddery breath, the whole of him overheating.
“I bet that smile could heat a small nation,” he said without thinking, blushing at the burst of sudden laughter that filled the car with its cheerful sound.
To distract from how his dick was hard enough to bust through the zipper, Isley asked, “Where are we headed? Couldn’t work out what the wet wipes were for.” Unless it was sex.
He giggled at Laken’s laughter turning into a cough that came out more choked.
He shook his head like he was undecided.
After came a rolling of those wide shoulders in a denim jacket that fitted the broadness perfectly, as if he was readying for a fight.
It left Isley intrigued when Laken drove them out of the car lot and headed left into town.
“Is what we’re doing a fun thing?” Naked fun? He kept that to himself, despite it being what he hoped for, his eyes never leaving Laken, taking in his profile. The jacket matched the denim jeans that hugged his thighs lovingly and made Isley send a silent thank you to whoever invented denim.
“Not sure fun is the right word,” Laken muttered more to himself, intriguing Isley further. Because if he wasn’t mistaken, he could hear the nerves in Laken’s voice.
“What is the right word?” Isley asked, not holding back a cheeky grin.
“Madness,” Laken said fatalistically.
“Oh… that sounds intriguing. Not sure I’ve had a madness date before.”
Laken threw him a look he couldn’t interpret. “Always gotta be a first.”
He seemed less inclined to say more, leaving Isley to watch for street signs to see if that would give him a clue as silence lapsed between them. It wasn’t strained, so Isley didn’t fill it.
When they parked in a busy car lot outside a warehouse just on the outskirts of Hazardville, in a busy industrial area, Isley glanced at the large non-descript building, a frown tugging at his brows.
He glanced at Laken who got out of the car and went to the trunk, retrieving a bag similar in size to Isley’s.
For a moment, the man dressed in denim, with a swagger any cowboy would be proud of, was Isley’s only focus.
There was a plain black T-shirt underneath the jacket that stretched to fit the wide expanse of chest, and Isley’s fingers curled at the thoughts of getting to touch it without clothes on.
Isley got out when Laken came round to his door, anticipation growing. The windows of the warehouse were all blackout, and he strained to hear but didn’t make out any discernible noise, giving no clue as to what was inside the building.
“Gonna tell me what we’re doing here?”
Another car pulled up, and people piled out while Laken reached for Isley’s hand, interlinking their fingers.
Isley lost his train of thought at the unexpected PDA.
He stared at their joined hands like he’d never seen them before, then up at Laken wearing a sappy grin when Laken blushed.
Like a full on, creeping up the neck, blush.
“What? It’s just hand holding,” he stated gruffly.
Excited chatter came from the group moving closer, but Isley didn’t take his eyes off a fidgeting Laken. Finding this nervousness endearing, he was just so cute, though he’d never say so.
“Stop staring at me like that if you want to have this date,” Laken grumbled, tagging Isley along with him towards the big double doors. When those in front got there ahead of them, the door opened and out came a cloud of colored air.
Isley quickened his step to get to the door, his mind disbelieving when he considered all the possibilities. Energy and wet wipes.
A change of clothes, energy and wet wipes!
Oh Gods. Now it made a lot more sense as they stepped through the open door, into a small entranceway, painted black but covered in fine particles of multicolored paint.
The vibe was dynamic. Those behind the counter wore cheerful grins as they explained what to expect. The people who came in before them walked off to a door marked ‘changing room’.
A sign at the back of the check in area read: Dancing in the dark. Allow your soul to paint the air any color you want.
Excitement buzzed through Isley like an electrical shock and got him dragging Laken to the counter. Bouncing in his Vans, he watched the packets being laid out, and he could see headphones, glow sticks, packets of powered paint, and locker keys.
“Oh my god, I can’t believe we’re doing this,” he jabbered enthusiastically.
A big guy with several interesting piercings motioned to them. “First timer, huh?”
“Yep,”
“Did you purchase tickets online?”
“I did,” Laken replied in a strangled voice.
Laken gave his name, and the big guy grabbed two stuffed packs and handed them over.
“The changing area is through there. You can leave your things in the lockers, keys are in the packets. Headphones are bluetoothed to the sound system, the controls for sound are on the side. It’s dark in there, despite all the glo sticks and colored paint, be aware of those around you when dancing.
We don’t want any injuries. All paint powders are safe to use.
If you use the drums, all we ask is don’t use all the powdered paint in one go.
The billowing powder can be too much if you inhale a lot of it.
We have one rule; no shifting, it’s too dangerous.
” Thick, bushy eyebrows rose, the one with a gold hoop glinting in the overhead lights. “Questions?”
Isley shook his head, eager to get inside and dance.
“Drums? Paint?” Laken questioned in alarm. “I thought this was a silent disco.”
“Yep,”—the guy winked—“everyone loves them.”
Laken made a noise that didn’t deter Isley in the slightest.
“This is going to be epic,” he assured Laken, tugging him in the direction of the changing rooms, albeit with more effort with Laken dragging his feet.
“I’ve always wanted to try a disco like this.
I love that you wanted to give me this. We get to be wild in the dark, it’s gonna be mega!
” He beamed at the silent, grumpy eyed man clinging onto his hand far too tightly, like it was a life raft, looking paler than when they first entered.
“If you say so,” Laken muttered dejectedly.
Isley restrained himself from letting out an amused chuckle and nudged him with his shoulder. “You’re gonna love this,” he promised, knowing this was nothing like what he’d expected from Laken, and though he seemed reluctant, he was here and that was what counted.