So, instead, they hadn’t said a word, just made sure they were showered, removing all evidence of what had happened. Lincoln had slid his fingers through Ethan’s hair, helping him wash it, then had done the same with Holland with Ethan’s help, touching fingers as they made sure she was completely clean. It had felt right. As if it were what should be happening.
But it wasn’t. Not really, or at least not yet. Not when he knew that as soon as they talked about it, they’d likely do their best to forget it. Or they wouldn’t, and then it would be a mistake. Ethan had been drunk, that had to be it. Because in the entire time that they had been friends, Lincoln had never once thought this would happen between them.
And he hated himself for what he might have done. For what he could have broken by giving in to his desires. Because while he wanted more, he had risked everything, and now he didn’t have the alcohol in his system to use as an excuse anymore.
Last night, Lincoln had pulled away after Ethan had kissed him softly and then Holland before saying it was time for bed.
They had listened, and somehow, the three of them had ended up in separate places. Maybe there had been some unspoken agreement that they’d all been aware of where if they started doing anything more than they had, there would be no going back. They couldn’t call it just a drunken mistake.
At least, that’s what was on Lincoln’s mind.
And so, Holland was currently sleeping in the guest room, Ethan had passed out on his bed, and Lincoln was naked on the couch.
He groaned, trying to keep quiet as he ran his hand over his face, pressing his feet onto the floor. Even the sensation of the carpet fibers against his skin hurt, and he knew he had drunk far too much the night before.
When his body pained him to the point where even his skin hurt? That’s when he knew he’d put his body and soul through the ringer and had lost his equilibrium.
And on the heels of that thought, he quickly shoved his clothes back on, picking them out of the jumble on the floor. He did his best not to linger too long over Ethan’s or Holland’s clothing, tried not to remember exactly what had happened—even though the memories would be the only thing left once this was over.
Instead of dwelling, he slid his feet into his shoes, looked around for his keys and phone, and put them into his pocket.
He would leave. Without talking to them. At least, for now.
Because he didn’t want them to say that everything was great, that it was fun for a night, but that was the end of it.
And he didn’t know what he wanted to say. Because he had already bared himself, and it had taken far too much alcohol for even that to happen. He honestly couldn’t bear anything else right now. So, he slid out of the house, got into his car, and crept out like it had been a mistake. And maybe it was. But it had been the most beautiful, precious, and seductive mistake of his life.
Even though he was afraid that he had ruined everything.
He didn’t know how he would face Ethan again. But he would have to. Holland, too. Because she was special. So damn special. Just like Ethan.
And he knew that he was likely going to lose them. Because that’s what he did. Every time. He didn’t have serious relationships. He didn’t hold onto those he cared about. Because they did things like move across the damn country where they forgot about you. Like his parents had.
Ethan and Holland must have still been sleeping because he didn’t even get a text by the time he got home. Or an angry phone call for sneaking out as quietly as he had.
He groaned and then headed up to his apartment, the one that he had scrimped and saved for because he’d always wanted to live in a downtown city, even if he could see the mountains in the distance. That way, he could get a little bit of both—urban and nature. And he was close enough to all his friends who lived in the suburbs and even some that lived in the mountains that he could always visit other places.
He locked the door behind him and then went in search of coffee. And aspirin. Anything that could help the throbbing in his head go away. Not that he thought anything could really help right then.
No, it would take time, energy, and probably a lot of caffeine.
He looked over at his studio area, at the canvas that he had covered, and figured maybe he would work today.
Perhaps he’d be able to get something more on that canvas now that he knew what Ethan tasted like. What Holland tasted like. He didn’t have to wonder anymore.
And he’d try not to think about the fact that he had a hundred other worries on his mind now.
But that was probably asking too much.
He chugged a cup of coffee, nearly scalding his throat in the process, and then poured himself another mug before going to his studio area and sitting down on his stool.
He couldn’t sit for too long on it since it really wasn’t great for his back, but he had painted his first painting while sitting on it, so he had pulled it out of storage and brought it into his studio, thinking maybe it’d help him recreate something. Perhaps if he used all the power and superstition at hand, he’d be able to figure out how to get through this painter’s block.
And it wasn’t even just that this was for a commission. He couldn’t even think of art right now. And he hated that. It had always come so easily to him, even when it was hard. Even when he was having trouble, he always knew that he could rely on something within him to get the job done.
But it had been weeks now, and he couldn’t even hold a paintbrush without going blank.
Something was wrong with him, and he hated himself for it.
But now, work was work, and just because he was an artist didn’t mean he could flake out. He wasn’t a stereotype. So, he picked up the paintbrush, looked down at it, and wondered what came next.
He knew he had that art show to prepare for, knew he needed to add more to his portfolio.
But he couldn’t think of anything.
And that scared him.
There was something wrong with him, and now he knew it couldn’t be Ethan.
No, this was all him. And he had to figure it out.
But first, more coffee.
He was just getting up off the stool after setting down his paintbrush so he could distract himself again, when he heard the key in the front door turn, and someone walk through.
He growled low, pissed off.
Damien sauntered in like he hadn’t a care in the world, as if he owned the place.
“Oh, good, you’re home. You weren’t home yesterday when I came by to check on you, and I was worried. I mean, why didn’t you leave a note or something?” Damien came forward, took the coffee cup from Lincoln’s hand, and drained the last dregs of the brew.
“Ugh, you need more sugar in this. Though it’s not great for your teeth or your body, but maybe it’ll get that scowl off your face.”
“What the hell are you doing here, Damien?” Lincoln asked, trying to keep his temper in check. He didn’t want to take out his frustrations on Damien, but right then, he really didn’t have a good reason not to.
“I’m your agent. I’m here to help. Clearly, you need it. Is this what you’ve been working on?” Damien asked, trying to maneuver around Lincoln so he could see. “There’s barely anything on this canvas. Is this another project? What’s wrong, buttercup?” Damien asked.
And that was it.
Everything that had been simmering just beneath the surface slid into Lincoln, and he snapped. He was done. So done with this. “Okay, you know the rule. You don’t look at my work until I’m ready.”
“I’m your agent, buddy. Plus, we’re friends. We know each other.” And given the way that he emphasized the word know, Lincoln knew exactly what Damien was referring to. Lincoln knew he never should have slept with him. But there had been attraction at one point. They had been close, and it had seemed like the right thing to do at the time. And he had been younger then. Stupid.
Well, he wasn’t going to make any more stupid decisions. After all, he’
d made possibly the worst one ever the night before.
“No, no. We’re not doing this. I told you, you aren’t allowed to look at my work until I’m ready. And you’re not supposed to use the key just to come in. Were you seriously in my apartment last night when I wasn’t here?” he asked, the rest of Damien’s words finally penetrating his haze or irritation.
“I was checking on you. You’re my best client. And my friend. You know I just want what’s best for you.” Damien moved as if to touch him, and Lincoln swept his arm out, gripping Lincoln’s wrist.
“Don’t touch me.”
Damien looked pointedly at where Lincoln’s hand clamped around his wrist.
“I do believe you’re the one touching me.”
Lincoln let him go as if he’d been burned and growled. “Get out.”
“My, aren’t you in a bad mood?”
“Shut the fuck up, Damien. What is wrong with you? Why are you acting like this?”
“I could ask you the same question. As I said, I’m just here to check up on you. And yet you’re acting as if I’m Satan.”
“Give me my key back,” Lincoln said quickly, holding out his hand. “You can knock like everybody else. I don’t know why I gave you a key to begin with.”
“Because I’m your agent.”
“You keep saying that, but do you have keys for all of your clients?”
“Of course, not. You’re special. We’re special.”
“No. We aren’t. And I’m tired of this. Just give me my key, or I’m going to change the locks. Because this is ridiculous. You don’t appreciate or respect boundaries, and you never give me my privacy.”
“I’m worried about you. You’re not producing. What’s wrong? Is it Ethan? Talk to me. You know I’m always here for you.”
But Lincoln didn’t hear anything anymore. He was done. He should have done this a long time ago. Should have put up his own walls, laid down some laws. But he had been complacent in protecting himself from those who slithered between the cracks of his foundation and never let go. This was his own damn fault.
“Give me my key, now. You don’t get to come into my home without knocking. You don’t get to barge into my life as if you own it. You help me sell my art. That’s it. And if you don’t listen to me, then you’re not the agent I need you to be, and I will find someone else.”
Damien’s eyes narrowed into slits, and his jaw tensed. Now he looked like the man Lincoln had known before. The shark who could get anything done.
But instead of focusing on the job, all his anger was directed at Lincoln. Great job.
“I made you. I’m just trying to help, Lincoln. But all you do is push me away. If you keep doing that, no one will be around to help you when you need it. So, you better think about that.”
Damien slid his hand into his pocket and pulled out his keys, slowly taking Lincoln’s off the ring.
“Now, I’m going to forget you talked about meeting any other agents, and we’re going to talk this out later. Clearly, you need more coffee. Or maybe you just need to get laid. Regardless, I don’t really give a shit right now, you’ll apologize later. But first, know this... You have that commission coming up. And I will fight for you to get more time if that’s what you need. Because that’s what I do. I do so much for you that you don’t even understand. Yes, you’re the artist. But I’m the one who sells you. Never forget that. Never forget where you came from.” Damien pushed past him, shoving his shoulder into Lincoln’s before he walked out, but Lincoln didn’t budge. He was so fucking tired.
When Damien slammed the door behind him as he stormed out, Lincoln sighed and then went to turn the lock. Soon as he did, though, someone rang the doorbell. He jumped, the shit scared out of him.
He looked through the peephole, ready to scream if it was Damien, but then he sighed.
He opened the door.
“Hey there, little cousin,” he said, holding out his arms.
Madison slid into his hold and sighed against his chest.
“I saw Damien stomping past me, but he didn’t even notice me. He never does. You guys get in a fight?” she asked, leaning back to stare at his face. “And, dear God, are you okay? Looks like you didn’t get any sleep.”
“You always help me boost my ego, you know?”
“Oh, shush. I’m worried about you.”
“Apparently, a lot of people are.”
“Damien doesn’t worry about you. He worries about his bottom line and his ego.”
“Please, tell me how you really feel about him.”
“I will later, but we have lunch with my parents today. You should probably go shower and get ready. Did you forget?”
“Shit. I really don’t want to go to lunch with your parents,” Lincoln said truthfully.
Madison snorted and went to her tiptoes to pat his cheek. “You know I don’t want to have lunch with them either. But they’re just going to get worse if we don’t placate them with this. And the fact that you’re coming with me so I’m not all alone with them tells me you’re my favorite cousin.”
“I am your only cousin.”
“Well, that is true. I can’t help it that our fathers are brothers and decided to only have one child each. We’re all alone in the vastness of our present state of being marriage-less and child-less. Our clan is going to die out with us.” She put her hand to her heart, and Lincoln rolled his eyes.
He loved Madison. They had grown up like siblings, and he would call her his sister, but it just pissed off her parents more when he did. And even if he didn’t really give a shit about what her parents thought of him, he did care about how they treated her.
Madison had never been good enough in their eyes, never pretty enough, never skinny enough. Had never dated the right guys. Or gotten the right job. Was never the perfect daughter they wanted.
And they made sure she knew that.
Lincoln wanted to beat the shit out of them, but apparently, that was frowned upon and probably a felony besides. Maybe a misdemeanor if he did it lightly.
Lincoln had really good parents. They’d loved him and took care of him until he turned eighteen. And then Dad had gotten a job out in Seattle, and they had moved. Lincoln wanted to stay in Boulder and go to school, so they had left him behind.
He had visited for every holiday but had stayed in Boulder with the Montgomerys during the summer so he could take summer courses and try to get through college a little easier and quicker.
His parents never visited.
It was like as soon as they found Seattle, they found their new home.
And while he understood, it still hurt.
Lincoln had a feeling it had to do more with his father’s brother, Madison’s family, rather than Lincoln himself, though.
Because if you visited Boulder, you had to visit Madison’s parents. And that was something no one really wanted to do.
So, Lincoln went out and visited Washington often. Ethan even came with a few times.
His parents were amazing. They had paid for his schooling, and they talked at least twice a week. And with the invention of FaceTime and Skype, they saw each other through a screen regularly. They even took a vacation to Canada a couple of years ago as a family.
He loved his parents.
He just wished they were closer.
But his life was here, and theirs was in Washington, and in this new age of technology and travel, sometimes, you didn’t get to live near your family. Oftentimes, you didn’t have to. However, he did have family here. Madison. And her parents.
“I’ll be quick,” Lincoln rumbled. He leaned down and kissed the top of her head, and she grinned up at him. She was beautiful. All curves and wide eyes and a warmth that just radiated out of her.
He wanted her to be happy, but he knew she would never get that unless she got out from under her parents’ thumb.
It just wasn’t easy when her parents were the people they were. They sucked others in and never let go.
And t
hey seriously didn’t like Lincoln or the way he lived his life.
But…whatever.
“Maybe we can just play hooky?” Madison asked quickly.
Lincoln shook his head.
“No, we can’t. Because then they’ll take it out on you later. So, we’ll have lunch, I will listen to your father explain to me that being an artist is me ruining my life. And about how I should’ve become a banker like him.”
“Yes, because with the economy the way it is, his job is so secure.” Madison rolled her eyes.
“Hey, don’t say that to him. He will go on his whole rant about the market and people stealing his money and all that crap.”
“Well, yes. And the fact that you’re a painter who pays for his own medical insurance, and I’m a small business owner who doesn’t have the man as my boss to help pay for my insurance or anything just means that we’re totally breaking the rules.”
She twisted her hair around her finger, and Lincoln narrowed his eyes.
“Did you add pink stripes to your hair?” he asked, aghast, though only partly since it looked great, and he loved his cousin.
She blushed, then grinned.
“Maybe.”
“Your mother is going to kill you.” Lincoln grinned. “I love it.”
“Well, I did it for me, mostly. I’ve always wanted to, and hey, the look is in. I fit in rather than standing out.”
“Yes, just like me with my tattoos.”
“Well, I have as much ink as you. I just hide it better.”
“If your parents ever find out about that, they’re going to try and beat you or something.”
“Well, maybe. But, again, whatever. Let’s just try to make peace.”
“Fine. But if they call my being bisexual a lifestyle again, I may actually punch them.”
“You wouldn’t hit them. But you would stomp off and get all growly, and then I’d have to follow you as my mother used that tone on me.”
Lincoln hated the tone. The one where his aunt’s Southern roots really came out. It wasn’t that she said anything bad. In fact, it was all compliments, at least on the outside. But Madison’s “little shop,” and the dress that fit her “despite her curves,” and all that crap that she always said just needled at him over and over again. But the tone was sweet, even though it killed.
Sated in Ink Page 7