Chapter 7
Kellen
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuckety fuck.
That cute guy on YouTube made cooking look so easy. All I had to do was boil the water, add the pasta noodles, cook the sauce and—
The front door flew open.
Marco stood in the doorway flapping his hand. “What happened?”
“Is there a right way to answer that?”
He appeared to consider. “Let’s just get it sorted.
I hate to leave the door open in this cold weather, but you really need to get the smoke and smell out.
Or at least as much as you can.” He hustled into the bedroom and was back less than a minute later with a sweater.
“Put this on. Grab a tea towel and try to start moving the smoky air out.” He looked at my clearly crestfallen expression.
“I’m sure the smoke smell will clear out of the house in the next couple of hours.
And your dad can repaint that wall.” He gazed at the fire damage. “I thought the color was pretty awful—”
“Puke green?”
He nodded. “So maybe suggest something in a nice neutral? Or something to match the forest?” He tossed me a tea towel and headed over to the wood stove to figure out how much damage I’d actually caused.
An hour later, we sat down to some KD. Pasta I probably could’ve cooked myself. But no, I had to try to go fancy.
The smell had mostly dissipated.
With the fire roaring, the room temperature was a step above frigid.
And my belly was full of good food. Well, even I knew Kraft Dinner wasn’t the healthiest of meals—but it tasted delicious.
As Marco washed the dishes—which I totally should’ve been doing, given the mess I made—I sighed.
“I heard that.”
“You were meant to.”
He put the last pot on the drying rack, hung the tea towel on a peg, and made his way over to me. “What’s up? Why don’t we sit on the couch? If we’re closer to the fire, then we won’t need as much wood.”
That felt entirely too logical.
We moved to the couch.
I plopped onto one end.
He sat in the middle. “Okay, why the sigh?”
“My dad hates me.” I picked at a loose thread on the not-so-comfortable couch. Much better as a bed, but we’d put the bed away. “Do you think the power will come back soon?” Because I so didn’t want to follow-up with my first sentence—
“I’m sure he doesn’t.” Marco turned to face me.
Our gazes met.
“Oh, I’m quite certain he does.” I held in the tears of frustration. I hated that when I got mad or tired or frustrated, I cried. I almost never shed tears when I was actually sad.
Marco winced. “Uh…look. My reaction was knee-jerk. You have to admit your…skills are…” He winced again.
Then brightened. “But your transcription was perfect, and the graphing is working. Proving my hypothesis.” He held my gaze with those fathomless dark-brown eyes. “Don’t you ever want to get a job?”
I’d admitted earlier to not having ever worked. “Sure. But the only things I’m good at are coordinating my belt with my shoes and giving blow jobs. There’s not a big market going for those things right now.”
He shook his head. Almost as if trying to shake an image away. He cleared his throat. “Well, I suppose that depends on your point of view…”
I pouted. “I’ve known you for more than twenty-four hours, and you haven’t asked me for a blow job. I think that’s a record for me. And it’s not a record I wanted.”
His eyes went as wide as saucers. He opened his mouth as if to speak. Then closed it. Then opened it again.
He reminded me of that poor rainbow trout I’d caught. “I’m happy to let that record fall. Like, now, if you want.”
“What…?” He cleared his throat. “Uh…what are you talking about?”
I didn’t believe for even a fraction of a second that he was that na?ve or clueless. “I want to show off my skills.”
“By giving me a blow job?” His voice went a little squeaky on that.
“Well, yes. Because I’ve seen your boots—and they’re fucking ugly. Not even Gucci could coordinate with that. So, a blow job it’ll have to be.”
His eyes widened even more than he rubbed his forehead. “You don’t even know if I’m gay.”
I nodded. “You’re right. I don’t know if you’re gay, bi, bicurious, or straight. I mean, blow jobs from guys might not be your thing. But seriously, what guy doesn’t love being blown?”
He blinked. “Look, you put too much emphasis on pleasing others. You’re always trying to impress your dad. And even giving blow jobs to make people like you is something you need to work on changing. You’re a smart guy. Have you ever thought about what you want?”
I held his gaze. “Sometimes.”
“Great.” He appeared genuinely enthused as he grinned.
My will faltered.
“Come on. Tell me. I promise I won’t laugh. What would, in this moment, make you happy?”
I pursed my lips in a pout. “It’s not that I think you would laugh—it’s just that you’ve already said I can’t blow you.”
“On that note, I think it’s time for bed.”
I didn’t argue. The daylight was gone, which meant it was past four.
I wasn’t tired, but I hadn’t actually done anything remarkable today.
Well, except for trying to burn the cabin down and getting a sliver when I tried to chop wood.
Not exactly my best day. But not my worst either—I’d had fun.
When Marco let down his guard a bit, he’d made me smile.
Plus, I’d transcribed his numbers properly. That made me super happy. “So what about you? If you could have anything you want—like right now—what would make you happy?”
“For your father’s company to stop polluting the waterway near a small town. He doesn’t know that I know, obviously. I’m hoping my research here—on his turf—will convince him I’m serious about the ecological damage he’s causing.”
My breath caught. This guy was so damn earnest. And about the same age as me.
Here I was, staying out all night partying and crashing Lambos, while he was trying to save the world one waterway at a time.
“Okay, so is there anything else? Because I can try to influence my father, but that’s unlikely. ”
“Well…” He bit his lower lip. “Maybe the blow job I turned down earlier?”
This time, I blinked. “So you are into guys.” I tried to keep the smugness out of my voice.
“I think you could say…bicurious? I mean, on a few of those arctic trips, I fooled around with some guys—nothing serious.”
“As in…” I gestured for him to continue because I wanted to know exactly how much of a virgin we were talking—if at all.
“Hand jobs…blow jobs…frotting…” He sort of shrugged. “That kind of stuff.”
“That’s…something.” I considered. “And women?”
“Hand jobs…blow jobs…frotting…” Again, with the sort of shrug.
I licked my lips. “This is going to be fun. Of course, it’ll be more fun if we’re naked.”
His eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “You do realize just how cold this room is?”
I held my arms toward the roaring fire. “We’ve got enough wood—even after my disaster.”
“That’s true.” He tapped my thigh.
I stilled because, aside from when he was pulling the sliver out of my shin, this was the first time we’d touched.
He squeezed my thigh. “Okay. You do all the washroom stuff you’ve got to do. I’ll stoke the fire and open the bed.”
“We could open the bed together.” Because I didn’t want to be seen as anything less than competent.
“We could.” He rose and held out his hand to me.
I grasped it, and let him pull me up.
He pulled me right into his arms.
Then, without any apparent thought, wrapped his arms around my neck and pressed our lips together.
And, until that moment, I’d thought sex—in whatever form it took—was just a way to blow off steam. A little blow job so he might sleep better. A hand job so I felt a little less lonely.
No, not that. This was so much more.
I opened my mouth to welcome his tongue inside.
He gripped my cheeks as he explored the recesses of my mouth with that very talented tongue. He downplayed his experience…or he’s a fast learner.
I wrapped my arms around him, lowered my hands to his ass, and squeezed—pressing him against me. Our erect cocks brushed. My body tightened. I reached for the hem of his sweater.
He stilled my hands. “Bed first. I’m practical that way.”
I chuckled. “That’s fair.”
We stepped back and pulled the sofa bed out, then set about organizing the sheets, blankets, and quilt. “Okay, I’ll be back soon.” I pumped some water into the bucket and headed for the bathroom. Within ten minutes we were both under the blankets with our teeth brush.
Oh, and totally naked.
I pulled him close. Just before our lips touched, I whispered, “This is going to be so much fun.”
Then I kissed him.