by V. L. Locey
“Wow,” I murmured when Maggie rolled up between Bran’s truck and a white Beemer then let the van stall.
“Pretty, huh?” she said, unbuckling her belt then sliding to the ground with fluid grace, her bright pink and yellow caftan flowing around her.
“Man, I guess.” I exited the van. Bumping the door shut with my hip, my gaze glued to the small little house and garage surrounded with some of the most beautiful landscaping I’d ever seen. Man obviously had a thing for log homes and offices and really who could blame him? You’d think the thick trees that shaded the log home would be a detriment to plants, low sun and that, but Bran had chosen wisely. There was a porch that ran the length of the home, flower boxes along the rails overflowing with ivy and impatiens. Split-rail fences marked the property boundary.
Music played around the rear of the house, and that was where Maggie headed with her dish of brownies. I fell in behind her, checking out the woods and the flowerbeds and the red gravel walk. Had Bran done all of this himself? Probably. We rounded the back of the house and were greeted by four pug dogs leaping and yapping. Maggie lifted her brownies over her head.
“Pongo! Penny! Oh for goodness sake, they have no manners. Prissy, Peter, stop jumping on people,” a middle-aged blonde-haired woman shouted. She hustled over and began shooing the dogs away from us. “They’re terrible little shits, but I do love them.” She smiled up at me, her eyes soft blue and merry. Then I saw what looked to be recognition although I had never seen her before. “You must be Nathan. Yes, you would be. Bran has been chattering about you non-stop. I’m his aunt June and that man over there talking sports with someone lawyerly looking is my husband, Morton, but you two have already met.”
“Yeah, we have,” I replied softly, hoping to slip away to find Bran but he was nowhere to be seen.
“Maggie, are these those funny brownies?” June asked, taking the dish from Maggie as the dogs leaped and danced in circles around our feet.
“Funny brownies? I don’t have a clue what you mean,” Maggie replied then gave me a wink.
“My husband is a judge,” June said, peeling back the saran wrap on the dish in her hand and stealing a small chocolate square. “I’ll test them out to make sure they’re not duds. Morton! Maggie and Nathan are here. Where’s Bran?”
The judge turned from the guy he’d been talking with and his gaze dropped on me like a hammer. I nodded at the man. He nodded back, took a sip of his drink, and slid a hand into the front pocket of his golfing shorts. Ugly things they were, green with yellow stripes, but they matched his green polo shirt.
“Bran? Where is Bran?” June shouted around her mouthful of brownie. “Oh! He’s inside making food. Go on in. Maggie, come with me. Morton! Find a chair for Maggie. Move dogs. Oh hell, Pongo, no! Do not shit there. Ack! Morton, fetch a shovel before someone steps in dog shit!”
And the judge went off to find a shovel and clean up dog shit. Wow. I now had a totally different view of the Honorable Judge Cavanaugh. One that didn’t make me quite so queasy with apprehension. I carried my bag of chips into the house. It was cozy. The living room recessed a few steps. Lots of dark greens and blues, masculine colors. I left the sliding door open as I’d found it and began peeking into rooms. One was a small office, the other a huge bathroom with a massive shower. Totally built with two men in mind. The master bedroom door was cracked but I didn’t peek inside. Finally, I found the kitchen. Several people were packed in here, laughing and talking until I walked in. Then all chit-chat died off. Bran was at the stove stirring something and glanced back when the room fell into silence.
“Hey,” I said and gave the room my winningest smile. “Where do I put my dish to pass?” I held up the bag of sour cream and onion chips. Everyone chuckled politely.
“I’ll take them out to the food table,” a young brunette woman in shorts and a tank top said, giving me a warm look as she led a man outside after taking the chips. The others also filtered out, leaving me and Bran alone in the homey kitchen.
“I didn’t mean to chase them off, your friends,” I said, motioning to the doorway.
“No, you didn’t they’re just…it’s been a weird sort of day.” He turned off the heat under the pot and walked around an island that held a shiny sink. “I told my aunt and uncle about us, of course, and June has been pushing your name into everyone’s ears. She means well but most of these people were friends or associates of Jim’s, lawyers and such, so now they’re eyeballing me and you and…it’s just been weird. I’m glad you’re here though.”
“Wow, that’s quite the hello,” I said then awkwardly chortled. “I can leave if it makes things less weird.”
“No, no, you do not leave,” he stated adamantly as he stepped in front of me. “This party is for you and them to meet. If they don’t like it they can go home.”
I held out my hand. He gave it a long, studious appraisal before clasping it. “If I kissed you right now would that freak people out?”
“It might freak me out but go for it,” he whispered.
I tugged him closer and tasted his lips, just a quick peck and lick, but it helped ease the lines around his beautiful eyes.
“Taste like spaghetti sauce,” I whispered, taking one final fast taste before he grew too anxious and pulled back.
“Meatballs. I think everything is ready. I hope you came hungry.”
“I did.”
“Good.” He released my hand and we toted out the first of many pans of food.
After my plate was full, I pulled a plastic Adirondack chair to the tree line and planted my ass in it. From back here I could eat in peace and hopefully avoid the curious stares of Jim’s old friends. And Bran’s uncle. His aunt was beyond cool, singing along to some old song about paving paradise and parking lots that Maggie had belted out during the dessert round. The brownies were becoming more and more suspect. The judge ate three. I hoped he got stoned off his ass. That would be funny. Bran kept looking at me as he moved through his guests. I smiled but remained on the periphery of things. He finally broke free and came over to where I was seated with Pongo at my feet. Dog liked bits of meatball.
“I’m sorry,” Bran opened with as he dropped down into a crouch beside my chair. “This is not the party I should have introduced you at. I just…”
I wiped my fingers on my shorts and pushed them into his hair. His sad gaze met mine. “It’s a fine party. I’m just happy here observing and feeding Pongo.”
“That’s Penny.”
“Oh, well, whichever pug it is we’re cool here.” He went to one knee. I leaned to the side and kissed him right on the temple, my hand still in his hair, my plate on my lap. His eyes fluttered a bit so I left my lips there and whispered soft things into his skin. Sinful things about naughty things that we’d shared over our first week of dating. “When they go home we should go hide in a shed like we did on Wednesday. Remember? We made out in the supply shed?”
“I remember,” he shakily replied.
My fingers carded through his hair, my lips moved down to his cheek. I had plans to grab a fistful of soft, dark hair and turn his face to mine. To lick a path to his mouth then go deep until he was whimpering and close to blowing a nut just like we’d done in the supply shed. The theft of my plate by a pug dog blew all that hot sexy stuff to hell.
A cold meatball rolled off my plate to my thigh then hit the grass. Penny streaked off, paper plate in her mouth, and the other dogs raced after her even though the booty was now resting between my feet.
“What a little shit,” I snickered against Bran’s ear and released his hair. June and Morton were chasing pug dogs while giggling like loons. Maggie had switched to a new song that had a lot of goo goo g’joobs in it. She sang and danced. Bran handed me a napkin and pulled me to my feet, his hand resting in mine.
We hung out by the trees, his fingers meshed with mine, as madness reigned. Then, in a move that shocked me to hell, he pulled me away from the sidelines and to a tall black man in shorts a
nd a T-shirt.
“Kyle, this is Nate. We’re…dating,” Bran announced over the shrill giggles of his aunt and uncle as they played catch the pug dog.
“Nice to meet you, Nate,” Kyle said and I took his offered hand with my free one. Bran smiled at me and took me to someone else, and someone else until I’d been introduced to all of his old friends. His grip tightened and he pulled me over to the picnic table where his uncle was trying to fork a hot dog.
“Uncle Mort, you remember Nate?” Bran said with real conviction, his fingers tightening on mine.
The judge glanced at me. “Of course. He’s been in front of me twice now. Three times if you count today. Motherfucker!” His hot dog rolled to the edge of the platter then to the grass. A pug dog leaped on it. June slid on the grass and fell on her ass. Maggie laughed so hard she tumbled to the lawn as well and the two women laid there in hysterics. “I think someone spiked the punch.”
“We don’t even have punch, Mort,” Bran reminded his uncle. Mort held up his fork and pointed it at Bran.
“Yes, we do. It’s over there by the Winnebago.” And with that, the judge made his way to Maggie’s van and wasn’t heard from for the rest of the evening.
“Are all your parties this wild? As a man working on cleaning himself up I have to say I find the level of brownie giddiness appalling.” I tugged Bran into my side and kissed his scruffy cheek.
He sniggered and turned to kiss me back right there in his yard as the first round of firecrackers went off somewhere to our left. It was barely dark yet. I led Bran to the back steps and we sat there, hip to hip, as the night grew darker and louder. The dogs hid inside. June and Maggie followed them into the house and crashed on the couch. After an hour or so of sparklers and assorted noise, the rest of the guests left one or two at a time until it was just me and Bran with the quiet yard to ourselves.
“Last year I went to the Chiefs game. They do this huge fireworks display after the game. I’d slogged back quite a few beers that night, like, nothing crazy but five or six during the ball game. Went out to the parking lot and fell into some chick’s car. She took me home…” I kind of let the story die because it was just another tale of bad choices.
“And this summer you’re sitting here with me staring at the stars and wondering why in hell you’re dating such an old, boring man,” Bran said, his try at levity falling flat.
“I think I’d rather be here.” I slid my arm around his waist and turned into him, our mouths meeting gently. The kiss was hot and wet. “Want to go inside?”
“No. I just…no, I can’t. My aunt’s in there, and she might hear us,” he blurted out then got to his feet. There was no light out here aside from the dim yellow bug light by the sliding doors so reading his expression was impossible.
“Okay, it’s cool, I get that,” I said then stood. “Take me home would you? My ride is kind of sleeping off a brownie high.”
“Sure yes, of course.”
We rode to my place, a cloud of unease filling the cab of the Apache. Bran parked in my guest slot next to my recently returned car. I patted the fender of my Mustang then turned to Bran at my left. The parking lights were bright and a thousand moths beat themselves against the globes.
“Thanks for the ride home. I’m doing Pony stuff tomorrow and then my class and group so I won’t see you until the following day. I had fun tonight.” That was a lie but it wasn’t his fault. “Great food and the floor show rocked.” He nodded, looked at me, glanced down, nodded again, coughed, and shifted from one foot to the other four times. “Something you want to say?”
Probably he’d come to the realization that I did not fit into his life, his home, his family or his friends and was trying to come up with a nice way to—
“Can I come up?”
The surprise question dulled me for a moment. But just for a moment. “Sure, any time.” Bran set his shoulders and walked into my building, leaving me to catch up. Once in the elevator, I studied his profile. He was still very resigned, chin up and eyes on the red numerals above the door.
“Here we are,” he announced then stepped out into the corridor as if his ass were on fire. “Down here.”
“Yeah, I know where I live,” I said then chuckled. “Do you have to piss or something?” I asked, jogging to catch up with him. He shook his head, his eyes on my door. “Oh, right, it’s the meatballs working their way through your intestines. Totally been there.” I stepped in front of him and unlocked my door, throwing it open and entering my dark apartment. “Once I ate this bean dip at a party…not sure what party or where but that shit went through me like Grant went through Richmond.” I snorted as the door shut. “I like that saying. Barney dropped that the other day when he was talking with Mrs. Prendergast about pumpkin vines and how the blight has raced through his—”
Bran grabbed my shoulders and shoved me against the door. I gasped in shock. His mouth covered mine and he lapped at my lips, groaning softly, his hands rucking up my shirt to get him access to my sides and chest. I kissed him back, roughly, as he seemed to be needing that. He moaned when I spun us around and pressed my body tight to his. His head rolled back to the door, striking it with a soft thud as I sucked on his tongue. His fingers plucked at my nipples. I ground my cock into his hip, my dick growing hard in a hurry.
“Fuck me,” he panted when he broke apart for shirt removal.
I stalled mid-strip. My shirt pulled up to my chin, my eyes searching his face but unable to see much in the gloom. I hit the light switch by the door and a small wall lamp flared to life. We both grimaced and squinted at the brightness. When my eyes had adjusted, I let go of my shirt and took his face between my hands. His gaze rested on my chin.
“Look at me,” I said firmly. He did, and I found tons of warring emotions in those blue-gray eyes of his. “Okay, so I’m like standing out in left field with a golf club instead of a mitt here. Talk to me.”
He slid his hands around my sides. His fingers were rough and warm. “I just want you.”
“Uh-huh, since when? A couple of days ago, you weren’t ready to go to first base and now you want me to fuck you? What’s this all about?” I tipped his head up just an inch as his sight had flitted from mine again. “Look at me and tell me what’s going on.”
“Don’t you want to fuck me?”
“Of course I do but this isn’t you. Tell me what’s happened.” I pressed a kiss to his nose. The rigidity in his jaw and shoulders disappeared and he sagged into me.
“I shouldn’t have invited Jim’s friends. I thought they were mine too but…they’re not. I heard them comparing you to him…”
“Yeah, well that’s kind of natural, right?” I held his face in my hands, our gazes touching, his long lashes working to clear away any shimmer of tears that appeared. God, he was really upset. “We all do that. Friends go out with some joker and we comment about it.”
“Yes but…” He sighed so forlornly my heart ached. The man was trying so hard to live again. “I’m not inviting them out again. They’re too judgmental.”
“More judgmental than the judge, who, I would like to point out, is sleeping off a brownie high in the back of a ’69 VW van that reeks of reefer.” I cracked a smile hoping he would as well. He did, a flimsy one but a smile nonetheless. “Your family is wild.”
“They’re not usually like that. I told them to try to be less rigid,” he whispered, a softness settling around his mouth now. “I didn’t tell them to eat pot brownies and lead a sing-along of old Rush songs.”
I laughed then kissed him gently. “It’s okay. All of it. Your friends will adjust to me. They’ll compare me and Jim, find me lacking, and then they’ll adjust. Don’t come to my bed as a way to show them something. I want you in my bed because you want me, not to prove to people that you’ve moved on.”
“I’m sorry. I do want you.”
“Yeah, I can tell.” I rolled my hips into his pelvis. The long ridge of his cock bumped mine. We both inhaled on a raspy groan
of pleasure. “You still want to be in my bed? Or you want to go home? I’m okay with either.” I kissed the corner of his mouth then along his jaw to his neck as he mulled over what to say.
“I want to be in your bed,” he replied hotly, his hands sliding down my back to my ass. I nibbled at his ear then stepped away, offering him my hand. He took it, and I led him to my bedroom and turned on the light. It wasn’t much to see: a bed, a dresser, and a closet door. Ugly curtains that came with the place hung on the windows. I turned to look at Bran. He smiled at me—a real sincere smile—and that loosened the bands of worry around my chest a little. “I really do want this.”
“Me too.” I worked on unbuttoning his short-sleeved shirt.
He pulled my tank over my head, and his pupils blew out as his gaze moved over my chest. “God, so much ink.” His fingertips came up to the first of many tats, this one on my right shoulder, a dark tribal design. He traced the round design, his fingers slowly moving over the dragon chasing its own tail. “This is beautiful.”
“Thanks. You got any ink?” I asked, letting my hands dangle by my sides so he could enjoy the body art he seemed so hot for.
“No, I’m not a fan of needles,” he murmured, totally engrossed with the exploration of all the black ink on my chest and ribs. I raised my arm so he could touch the black raven inked over my ribs. “Everything is so bold, so black. Why no colors?”
“One has color,” I reminded him as he ran both hands over my belly, his palms flat to my abdomen and the owl covering my lower belly, its wings spread wide, claws extended as if ready to grab its prey. He bent down to taste the owl, his lips touching my belly sent warm waves of pleasure through me.
“Mm, the flower.” He kissed the owl’s beak and each wing. My dick was now throbbing. I eased him upward, my hands cupping his face, and kissed him back onto the bed. He went down first. I followed, covering him with my body. My mouth found his. I went deep, licking at his teeth and rubbing my tongue over his. He writhed and wriggled, his body throwing out heat like a pizza oven. I kept kissing him, long and hard, until he was panting and pleading. Then I unzipped his pants. My mouth moved over his jaw to his neck as I slid my hand into his underwear. “Oh…sweet…yes.”