Push & Pull (The Midwest Series Book 2)

by Brigham Vaughn

  It just irked Lowell that, no matter what he did, his parents never seemed impressed or interested in it. His father was disappointed that Lowell wasn’t going to go into the family business. But Lowell had been fascinated with the way the human mind worked for as long as he could remember. Maybe at first he’d picked psychology over psychiatry as a way to annoy his parents, but it had quickly developed into a genuine love of the subject. And when he’d realized he had an opportunity to counsel kids struggling with their sexual and gender identities, he’d known that was the right path to take.

  In the scheme of things, wasn’t Lowell’s future career going to do more to help society as a whole? Why couldn’t his family be proud of what he wanted to do?

  Doris cleared the salad plates and returned with the entrees. When she set the plate in front of Lowell, he frowned at it.

  “Uhh, what is this?”

  “Steak au poivre,” his mother said. “With sautéed green beans and roasted potatoes. May I ask what is so terrible about that?”

  “Yeah, I’d figured the steak part out,” Lowell poked at the steak and shuddered at the pink juices pooling under the slab of meat. “What I can’t figure out is why you’d serve it to me.”

  She gave him what he guessed was supposed to be an encouraging smile. “Sweetheart, just have a few bites.”

  “You know I don’t eat beef.”

  “I’d hoped you’d outgrown that ridiculous idea of not eating red meat. Especially with your condition. You need the iron to keep up your strength.”

  “I’m fine,” Lowell said through gritted teeth, his head beginning to pound. Brent’s brow furrowed and he shifted in his seat. “Never mind my health. We’re making Brent uncomfortable. Lay off. I’ll just eat the vegetables, I guess.”

  With his knife and fork, he slid the green beans and potatoes to the side, out of range of the pooling blood from the steak.

  “Oh, Lowell,” his mother said with a sigh.

  “So, Brent, do you have any plans to continue playing hockey?” Charles asked loudly. Brent looked relieved, and for once, Lowell was thankful for his father’s single-minded focus on sports.

  “Not professionally. I guess someday I might coach a local kid’s team or something. That might be fun. But I’ve pretty much hung up my skates.”

  “You never considered a professional career?”

  “With all due respect, sir, I don’t think I was ever that good. There were a few scouts sniffing around, but I wasn’t one of the guys they were that eager to recruit. Nathan and I talked about it, but we both decided to go other directions. A few of the guys on our team are giving it a go, and I hope they make it, but it’s a long shot that they’ll have a career in the NFL or get recruited by the CHL or one of the European teams. And even then, an injury can end a career in the blink of an eye.”

  Charles nodded. “You seem to be a pragmatist.”

  Brent paused. “To be honest, I saw a couple of guys get pretty messed up by concussions. It really shook me up.”

  “Brain injury because of repetitive trauma is becoming a real concern in hockey and football,” Charles agreed.

  “Exactly. I thought I might put my skills to better use improving the level of protection for the guys who are talented enough to make it as pros.”

  Lowell glanced over at him in surprise. He’d never thought Brent was dumb, but his thoughtless comments had made Lowell question that. This conversation was making Lowell stop and think. Maybe he’d underestimated Brent a little. Maybe the dumb jock persona had been a deflection. If he’d been putting it on for years, maybe he was finding it hard to shake.

  The conversation segued to reminiscing about the previous hockey season, and Lowell was relieved when the rest of the dinner passed without incident. Lowell devoured his vegetables and tried not to make faces at the now cold steak on his plate.

  After the main course plates were cleared away, Doris served dessert. He finished his slice of apple tart and ice cream with a pounding headache and a sense of relief.

  As quickly as possible, Lowell collected their tickets and made their excuses to leave. Brent didn’t seem in any hurry to linger either, although he thanked Lowell’s father profusely and tucked his business card into his wallet, promising to contact him soon. When the heavy wooden door closed behind them, Lowell took a deep, cleansing breath.

  “Will you drive?” He tossed the keys to Brent, who caught them mid-air. “Just head to the hotel. We’ll park there and take a Lyft to Boystown. I need a fucking drink.”

  Chapter Ten

  May 28, 2013 – Chicago, Illinois

  Brent

  “... and like, they’re always doing shit like that,” Lowell said sharply, his drink sloshing as he gestured a little too vigorously with his martini glass. “Making me feel like shit for being myself. ‘Oh, we have no problem with you being gay, Lowell, but could you be a little less gay?’ Not that we don’t support you, but you don’t need to flaunt it.” He glowered at Brent. “It wasn’t my fault I couldn’t play sports. My mom was the one who insisted that I couldn’t. They fawn over guys like you, but I was never butch enough. I couldn’t win. You know what I mean?”

  “Yeah, sort of,” Brent said, taking a sip of his own drink. His friends’ parents were usually pretty nice to him, but an offer to help him get an internship an hour after they’d met? It totally blew his mind that Mr. Prescott would offer him an opportunity like that. He wasn’t complaining, of course, but it had really taken him by surprise. And they’d acted like Lowell either wasn’t there or was being a nuisance. And they kept hinting about some health issue Lowell had. That had been even weirder.

  “Um, you can tell me to fuck off if you want, but can I ask you a question?” Brent asked. Lowell raised one eyebrow in response, and Brent took that as a yes. “Are you sick or something? Your mom kept acting like you were, but ...”

  Lowell laughed. “Oh. That. Yeah, I’m anemic.”

  Brent—who had been expecting something a lot more exotic and serious—frowned at him. “That’s when you don’t have enough iron, right?”

  “More or less. I have a vitamin B12 deficiency, which causes the stupid anemia. Basically, I don’t have enough red blood cells to bring oxygen to my tissues. My body doesn’t absorb the vitamin B12 from food very well so I have to have regular blood tests and get B12 shots and take iron supplements. It’s annoying, but it’s seriously not that big of a deal. I have it under control, and I’m fine, but my mother insists on treating me like an invalid.” His tone was bitter, and Brent realized that even with a couple of drinks in him, he was more eloquent than most people were completely sober.

  “Oh, that sucks. So you’re tired all the time, right?”

  “Yeah. It can cause me to feel tired, become easily fatigued, and appear pale and chilled.” Now Lowell sounded like he was quoting from a textbook.

  Brent finally put the pieces together. “Oh, so that’s why your hands are cold all of the time.”

  “Yeah.” Lowell tossed back the rest of his drink. “I’m going to go dance. And this time, you’re coming with me.”

  “Umm,” Brent said as Lowell grabbed his hand. He didn’t think Lowell was going to take no for an answer about this. “Lemme finish my drink first.”

  He gulped down the remainder of it, wishing he was a hell of a lot drunker. At this point, he’d even take the damn Malört. The moment Brent was done chugging, Lowell took off for the dance floor, dragging him behind. This club was a lot bigger than the one they’d gone to the night before. The dance floor was dark and packed with bodies. They were guys dancing and kissing everywhere he looked. The majority of them were shirtless, and he tried not to stare as he looked them over. A club full of sweaty, sexy, half-naked men and he was in the middle of it. Being in a gay club was pretty fucking surreal. And incredibly arousing.

  Lost in thought, Brent crashed into Lowell’s back. For a moment, Brent’s body was plastered against Lowell’s from chest to thigh. Already tur
ned on by the sight of guys around him, Brent was half-hard. He drew in a sharp breath at the feel of his dick pressed against Lowell’s firm ass.

  His hands landed on Lowell’s hips, and for a brief moment, before Brent could recover and pull away, they were glued together. Surrounded by the press of other hot, hard bodies, a surge of arousal hit him so hard his mouth went dry. His dick twitched against Lowell’s ass, and he had to fight to keep from grinding against him. It would feel so good.

  Lowell threw him a suggestive smile over his shoulder. “Why, Brent Cameron, is that a hockey stick in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?” he shouted, but it was almost lost in the noise of the DJ’s music.

  “Sorry,” Brent muttered, leaning away from Lowell and letting his hands drop to his sides. His cheeks felt hot, and his whole body was flushed. “I didn’t mean ...”

  Lowell turned to face him and leaned in. “I’m just teasing you, sweets. Come on; this is your first night dancing in a gay club. I want you to have a good time.”

  A hot, blond guy to Brent’s left glanced over and smiled at him. “I bet I can help with that.”

  Before Brent knew what was happening, Lowell turned him to face the stranger and pressed himself against Brent’s back. Brent closed his eyes and enjoyed the feeling of being sandwiched between the hot, hard body in front of him and Lowell’s narrower but still strong frame behind.

  “I’m Adam.”

  “Brent,” he shouted back as Adam pulled him closer.

  He could feel the outline of Adam’s dick through his jeans, pressed up tight against his own, and he groaned. His head fell back, landing on Lowell’s shoulder. Lowell’s breath gusted against the side of Brent’s neck, stirring the tiny hairs there and sending a shudder down his spine. Brent closed his eyes and swayed against him, following the rhythm of his hips. Fingers slid underneath his shirt, cool against his overheated skin. He gulped and felt his cock rise as Lowell played with his nipples, turning them hard and sensitive. All they were doing was dancing. No one was naked. And yet he’d never been so turned on in his life.

  A gust of Lowell’s breath against his cheek made him instinctively turn his head for a kiss. Lowell deftly avoided it, and Brent’s lips brushed his cheek instead.

  “Have fun,” Lowell purred in his ear and pulled away.

  Head feeling fuzzy from the drink and arousal, he was slow to respond. “Wait, I ...”

  Lowell disappeared into the crowd with a wink and a waggle of fingers before Brent could stop him.

  Adam wrapped his hands around Brent’s hips and pulled him closer. Brent turned back to face him.

  “Forget him,” Adam shouted.

  “What?” Brent asked.

  “Forget your friend.”

  Adam ground his hard dick against Brent’s and coaxed him to move again. Adam didn’t dance as fluidly as Lowell had, but he was better than Brent. Brent felt anxious and a little awkward as he tried to get used to dancing with a guy. He’d only danced with girls before tonight.

  Adam grabbed the back of Brent’s head and pulled him in for a kiss. His mouth was hot and hungry, demanding Brent’s attention. Physically, it felt great. His head didn’t seem to be quite on board though. He tried to focus on the thrill of making out with a guy in a crowded club, out in the open for the first time.

  They danced for several more songs until Brent was sweaty and so aroused he ached. But a part of him felt anxious and uncomfortable. And he didn’t know why.

  “You wanna get out of here?” Adam asked at the end of the next song. “My apartment’s pretty close. I’m just a few blocks off Halsted. We could walk there.”

  “I ...” Brent hesitated. He was tempted, but he wasn’t sure how he felt about hooking up with some guy he’d never actually had a conversation with. “Yeah, I don’t think so. Sorry,” he offered lamely.

  Adam shrugged. “Hey, whatever, man.” He gave Brent a lopsided smile and melted into the crowd, disappearing into the sea of guys.

  Brent sighed and turned away, pushing through the crowd until he reached the bar.

  “Shot of Jack and a water please,” he told the bartender.

  “Sure thing.”

  Brent fiddled with a discarded cocktail napkin while he waited for the guy to come back with his drinks. He’d just slid a tip across the bar when Lowell appeared by his side.

  “Having fun?” Brent asked.

  Even in the club lights, Brent could see that Lowell’s cheeks were flushed, and his hair was damp around the hairline. Brent downed the shot of Jack, then picked up the sweating bottle of cool water.

  “You bet I am. What about you? You seemed to be hitting it off with that guy.”

  “Yeah, he was all right. Blonds aren’t really my thing.” That was true. Alex—the first guy he’d ever hooked up with, Nathan, and Micah all had dark hair. But that wasn’t the biggest issue. It was Adam being a stranger. Brent guzzled half the contents of the water bottle and offered the remainder to Lowell. “You want some?”

  “Already got some.” Lowell grinned and winked as he took the bottle from Brent’s hand. Brent was pretty sure he wasn’t talking about water. “Thanks for the water though.”

  Brent leaned against the edge of the bar as he watched Lowell’s throat work. He was still a little turned on from dancing with Adam, and he momentarily regretted turning him down.

  Lowell offered him the remainder of the water, but Brent shook his head. “You can finish it if you want.”

  When Lowell was done, he re-capped the empty bottle and slid it across the bar. “Do you want to stick around for a while or head back to the hotel?” he asked.

  “Hotel’s fine with me,” Brent said. “But if you want to stay longer, we can.”

  “I got what I came for. Let me grab my jacket from coat check, and we can head out.”

  Lowell turned to face the door. Brent followed him to the exit, wondering exactly what Lowell had come for and how he’d gotten it.

  “Why’d you bring a jacket anyway?” Brent asked as they waited for the clerk to retrieve it. “It’s summer.”

  “Chicago is pretty all over the place with weather this time of year,” Lowell said. “Sure, it feels like summer, but it’ll turn rainy or windy at the drop of a hat. I’m always cold from the anemia so I like to have one on hand. Besides, it looks great with this outfit.”

  Brent snorted.

  “Shush. You know I’m right.”

  ***

  They didn’t speak much on the ride back to the hotel. Brent had no idea what to say to Lowell. He felt weird and flushed from the dancing, and in the confines of the Lyft car, he could smell Lowell’s cologne and the faintly musky scent of sweat and sex.

  Lowell was sprawled in the seat, his long legs encroaching on Brent’s space. His knee kept brushing Brent’s, and Brent felt a strange jittery flush go through him every time it happened.

  He couldn’t stop thinking about the club. About what Lowell had done. Had he sucked a guy off? Fucked him? Gotten fucked? Something Brent couldn’t even imagine? The images whirled through his head, and on top of the drinks and the dance with the guy—what was his name? Adam?—Brent’s cock remained half hard.

  When the Lyft car pulled up to the hotel, Brent got out and had to discreetly adjust his dick. Lowell practically danced through the doors, and Brent didn’t know whether to shake his head or smile at the fact that getting drunk made Lowell more graceful and dramatic, not less.

  Lowell hummed to himself in the elevator. Sweat had made his dark hair curl a little at the temples, and his cheeks were flushed pink. He’d rolled up the sleeves of the once-crisp button-down shirt, and his jacket was slung over his arm. Even though he was tired and disheveled, he looked like he should be posing for a magazine.

  Brent, once again, wondered what the hell he’d done at the club. And a little voice in the back of his head wondered why Lowell hadn’t done it with him.

  Lowell disappeared into the bathroom the moment they were in the r
oom. Brent kicked off his shoes and stripped out of his wrinkled shirt but left on the undershirt and jeans.

  He was rummaging in his suitcase when Lowell came out. They stared at each other for a long minute, and before Brent knew what was happening, Lowell’s mouth was on his. Lowell teased his tongue against the seam of Brent’s mouth. Brent let out a little sound of surprise, but he kissed Lowell back, sliding a hand into his soft hair as he opened to him. Lowell’s mouth was minty, like he’d just brushed his teeth, and it was so good.

  Oh, this is such a bad idea. But when Lowell explored the waistband of his jeans with cool fingers, he groaned rather than stopped him. Lowell tugged at his undershirt to free it. They pulled apart long enough for Lowell to remove the shirt, only breaking eye contact when the piece of clothing obscured his vision.

  Brent felt like he couldn’t quite pull in a deep breath.

  Fuck, what are we doing? he thought wildly, but his cock was hard as Lowell pulled their lower bodies tightly together. Lowell leaned in. He bit at Brent’s neck and tongued his collarbone, sending a shudder through Brent’s body that went all the way to his toes and back up again. Lowell licked and tasted the skin there as he worked at the button on Brent’s jeans. Brent wanted to help him, but all he could do was hang on to Lowell’s hips to keep his balance.

  The drinks weren’t helping, but Brent was pretty sure the weird, lightheaded feeling he had was mostly because of Lowell. Kissing Lowell didn’t feel wrong the way it had with Adam. Maybe he and Lowell weren’t close, but he knew Lowell on some level, and it allowed him to relax in a way he hadn’t been able to with some stranger at a club.

  Brent groaned when Lowell got his pants unbuttoned and unzipped. Lowell reached in and rubbed Brent’s cock through the soft, stretchy fabric of his underwear, teasing his thumb across the ridge of the head.

  “Oh, fuck,” Brent said with a desperate little whimper.

  Lowell dropped to his knees, then yanked Brent’s jeans and boxer briefs over his hips. His mouth was wet and hot as he licked at the crease of Brent’s thigh, swirling his tongue along the muscles and up to his hipbone.