by Nicky James
“You shouldn’t stare at me like that,” I said, toying with him. “You’ll give me a complex. Make me think things that aren’t true.”
Instead of messing around like the old Beck might have, he slammed his hand on the stop button and grabbed the towel he’d hung over the bar. When the machine jolted to a stop, he glared venom.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” he snapped, mopping his face with exaggerated movements. “I’m not looking at you like anything. Fuck this. I’m done with this bullshit.” Then he stormed away without looking back.
I peered around at the few people whose attention he’d drawn before muttering under my breath, “Sensitive much?” and following after him.
…but not without recognizing that small flare of heat that ignited in my belly.
Pupils didn’t lie.
Chapter Eleven
Beckett
When you sleep, you give up control to your subconscious. Everything you work hard to keep boxed away surfaces and the truth comes out in the form of dreams. Even the truths you desperately want to hide from yourself. There are no secrets in sleep. There is only escape to freely explore what you won’t allow yourself to do in real life.
That was what it had been like sleeping beside Gray the past few weeks. Whenever I closed my eyes and sleep threatened to tug me under its veil, I was in that moment again. My senses came alive, and the line between reality and dreams blurred.
I could feel him, smell him, taste him, and hear him. And my subconscious mind took it one step further every time.
When I woke, it was always in a panic. Had I spoken my thoughts out loud? Did Gray bear witness to my dreams? Did he know? Was it written on my face? It was fucking me up. I no longer trusted my mind because it lied to me night after night.
Not once in all the years that we’d known each other had I thought of Gray in that way. I was comfortable with my sexuality and knew how I identified. There had never been a question. Not once had I paused and thought, “Could I be bisexual?”
Men had never called to me in that way. Until that fucked up night three weeks ago when I’d woken up doing things to Gray. Things I couldn’t forget no matter how hard I tried. Things that stirred my cock when I called them to mind.
For the first time in my life, I didn’t feel like I knew myself.
After I’d stormed out of the gym, my skin on fire—and not for the right reasons—I’d waited in the car for Gray to catch up. The horror of having been caught looking at him in that way made it hard to breathe. Since when did I check out my best friend? Since when was his half-naked, hard muscled body, unshaven face, and heated stare a turn on?
We’d eaten dinner in awkward silence, watched TV with a vast canyon separating us, and eventually, I’d announced my intention to go the bed.
For three days after my embarrassing midnight grind session, I’d stayed on the settee, unsure how I could crawl back in beside him after what I’d done. In the end, Gray had snapped and told me if I didn’t get the fuck over myself and share the bed with him, he was leaving.
Neither of us slept well anymore—and I suspected it was for entirely different reasons.
Gray had grown a sense of unease with the dark. He hadn’t come out and admitted it, but I read his body language loud and clear, noted each time he tensed or flinched, his constant fidgeting, and the way his breathing escalated as night settled in around us and the shadows grew deeper. Plus, his nightmares were getting worse.
God forbid we close the blinds.
And what was with his obsessive need to check the time? I now had a clock on my nightstand I didn’t buy.
Dark and nighttime meant something different for me. In the dark, my senses sharpened. I could measure the inches separating us without looking. Gray’s body heat broke the invisible barrier I kept between us and heated me from the inside out. The crisp scent of his body wash infused itself under my skin and weaved its way through my veins. He was all over me without touching me at all. No matter what I did, I couldn’t get the feel of him out of my mind.
The blinds were open tonight—as always—and the streetlights shone in. The room glowed with the silver light of the moon. When cars drove down the main strip, their headlight beams traveled across the ceiling and down the wall. Hypnotically, I watched the light show while taking silent inventory of everything Gray.
He rolled to his side, his back, his side again, then his stomach. Always unsettled. Always a tight ball of tension that was ready to explode without warning.
Something was wrong with him.
Neither of us spoke or admitted to being awake, but we weren’t fooling anyone. The strange, unbidden desires that crept in when I slept made me fear sharing a bed, but I didn’t want him to leave. So, I stayed awake as long as I could with a sick sense of worry that I might do something unspeakable should I allow sleep to find me.
The pair of us wore bruises under our eyes each day—a telltale sign of our troubled nights. We’d been short-tempered and on edge. Again, I was convinced it wasn’t for the same reason.
The hour was late. Two fifteen, according to my new digital clock glowing green in the room. Working to keep my breathing steady so Gray might believe I was asleep, I chased thoughts around my mind. As many times as I pulled them away from the toxic pool of memories, they couldn’t help but wander back.
My logical mind made excuses for my behavior. I’d been celibate for too long. My dick needed some action and was simply confused by the constant presence of Gray in my bed. That was all. That made sense. It wasn’t that I desired anything with him. I was just horny.
Gray startled, drawing my attention. He fisted the covers before thrashing to his side again. His anxiety was high. Again, I was struck with the impression that something was wrong.
More than once, when my head was clearer, I saw darkness behind his eyes. Unsettling darkness that prickled my skin. I needed to pay more attention. Stop focusing on ridiculous things like my out of control dick and questionable sexuality and start focusing on what was going on with my best friend.
I rolled to my side and watched him pretend to sleep. He was on his back again, eyes pinched closed too tight, lips pressed firmly together, sweat sparkling in the moonlight across his forehead. His chest rose and fell as he made an effort to even his breathing. He was close enough, his fisted hand rested a hairsbreadth away from my own. Close enough to touch, but far enough it would take conscious effort. I didn’t move.
Gray was wound tighter and tighter with each passing day, and I didn’t know how I could help him if he didn’t talk to me. His sleep was severely compromised. When he did finally let go, he often whimpered with what I assumed was pain—something he ordinarily hid during the daylight hours—or he suffered nightmares from his accident. He would scream into the darkness, beg for someone to save him, and cry out that he couldn’t move.
I suspected PTSD, but I was no doctor.
When I was struck with an overwhelming urge to pull him into my arms and hold him, just so he’d uncoil his tense body, relax, and surrender to sleep, I flinched. Those weren’t normal friend feelings. Those were intimate. Warmth flooded my body and tingled in places I didn’t want to admit. My cock thickened. Unwilling to define what I was feeling, I stayed perfectly still, watched, and waited until Gray finally drifted off.
When I was certain he was out cold and not faking it, I slipped from bed, dressed, and escaped the apartment. Lying in bed with him only caused my mind to spin fables and create scenarios that didn’t exist in real life. Gave me urges I didn’t understand.
At least not with the Beck who I knew was straight.
The stairwell was dark. I didn’t turn on a light and blindly descended with one hand sliding along the wall as a guide. In the storage room, I flicked on the overhead fluorescents and found my antique clock that had nearly sailed across the living room earlier. Something had been shaken loose during Gray’s episode, and it was the perfect mindless task to keep me occupied.
I took it with me through the beaded curtain and into the gift shop where I had enough counter space to work. Under the counter, I found a towel and spread it over the surface to protect the fragile wood of the clock.
In the back room, I found my tools and a high-watt desk lamp so I could shine a spotlight on my work.
With everything gathered, I disassembled the clock, carefully setting each tiny mechanism aside to be cleaned and oiled before I put it back together. It was finely detailed, intricate work that required a sharp eye and a steady hand.
My antiques were precious, and I treated them all with care. Maybe I had hoarder tendencies, but I wasn’t a slob. Parting with my hard to find treasures was difficult. Parting with any possessions was difficult. Especially since I’d had so few growing up.
My parents were a combination of both gambling addicts and alcoholics. I was never certain which habit fueled which. Did they gamble because they drank too much to know better, or did they drink because gambling everything away depressed them?
Regardless, everything I’d owned, all the gifts I’d received, and any hard-earned bucks I’d spent on myself had always been confiscated and sold for cash. That cash was gambled away or used to buy booze. Nothing had been sacred. There had never been exceptions to the rules. The game system I’d received for my eleventh birthday lasted all of one week. My CDs, my Nike shoes, my books, my toys, even my dog. All of it. Possessions had fallen through my fingers like water.
When I’d moved out, the pride I took in owning something was fierce, and I never wanted to let go of the things I bought or worked hard to earn. So, yeah, my living space was cluttered, but the idea of selling anything was incomprehensible.
It was hours later as I was reassembling the clock that a muffled cry caught my attention. Standing motionless, I listened, tuning my ears into the stillness of the shop. Again, wordless cries slipped into the silence. They came from upstairs. From my bedroom directly over my head.
Glancing at the ceiling, I pictured Gray thrashing in a tangle of blankets, the immense sensation of being trapped robbing him of his senses. Flinching, nearly bolting into action and running to his side, I dropped my tools and straightened. My muscles stiffened as I listened for it to continue.
Nothing.
Empty air expanded and filled the room once again. Whatever he’d been suffering through had passed. If he’d woken up, he would know I was gone. Would he come find me?
With an ear cocked, I resumed my task. The sun was just cresting the horizon, burning away the chill of the night and raising a fog along the main street just outside the front window. It was going to be a long day. I hadn’t slept a wink.
With the clock successfully working again, I used a stepladder and mounted it on the wall behind the counter, safely out of Gray’s range of hearing. Noticing a thick layer of dust on the higher shelves beside me, I set to work cleaning.
That was where Maria found me when she let herself into the shop at just shy of eight in the morning.
“Is the Prime Minister coming?”
“Huh?” I glanced over my shoulder from high up on the ladder and peered down at the mounting pile of antiques on the counter that I’d moved aside. “Oh that. No, it was dusty. I’m cleaning.”
Maria scanned the pile and arched a drawn-on eyebrow. “It’s eight o’clock in the morning.”
“And I couldn’t sleep.”
I dropped my rag into the bucket of cleaner below. It hit with a splash, and I descended the ladder to collect a handful of items to return to the shelf. Deciding they too looked dusty, I picked up my rag and buffed them to a new shine.
Maria inspected me with her all-knowing gaze. Tactfully avoiding making eye contact, I climbed the ladder and arranged my prized collection of pinned arachnids so they stood on display from behind their glass frames. Kids loved them, especially the Goliath Bird-Eating Spider. He was creepy as fuck. The best part was when I showed a video of his kind in action during tours. Boys and girls alike grew quiet, and their eyes bulged in horror.
“I thought I’d take a bucket and go through the Red Room after this. Maybe change it up today. I don’t know. There isn’t anything on the agenda.”
“Oh! Speaking of which.” Maria rooted through her handbag and came up with a recent edition of an oddities magazine we both subscribed to. “Did you get your copy yet?”
“No. Anything good?” I joined her at the counter as she licked a finger and flipped a few pages.
“Yes. And it gave me the best idea for a theme for the Red Room. Check this out.” She flipped the magazine around so it faced me and jammed a finger over a picture. It was a strange contraption with something that looked phallic on the end.
“Oh my God. Is that—”
“A steam-powered vibrator from the Victorian era.”
“It looks terrifying.”
“Yeah, no way in hell I’d be sticking that thing anywhere near my va-jay-jay, but fucking cool as shit, right? So I was thinking, we should do an adults-only event. Maybe a monthly evening thing. With wine and cheese, you know? Advertise around town for people to come take a tour of the ancient world of sex toys.”
“We’d need a liquor license.”
“So get one. I’m serious. This would rake in a whole new crowd. I got to looking stuff up, and there are a ridiculous number of truly fucked up things out there in the sex department.”
I scanned the write up beside the vibrator and chuckled. “This is brilliant. I can see it now. Between show nights, we could maybe section off an area behind a black curtain and keep these pieces on display. Like they used to do with porn rooms in the old video rental shops. What else did you find?”
Thrilled that I was going along with her idea, Maria whipped her phone from her purse. She took a minute to uncover something and flipped it over, handing it to me. “Scan through those. I found a few vendors, and the prices are decent. Anal plugs are the easiest to find. Some go back thousands of years.”
I scrolled the page she’d brought up. It was some ancient Chinese sex toys page she’d saved. “A torture dildo saddle? For real?”
“Yup, apparently used as punishment if you were found to be unfaithful to your husband.”
“Okay, these penis cages look terrifying. You couldn’t pay me to stick my dick in there. It’d get stuck.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure Mr. Brags-a-lot. Cuz you’re so big.”
“Damn right, I am.” I wiggled my brows and grabbed my crotch for show.
“Wait until you see the Demon Destroyers.”
“The what?”
She made a motion that I should keep scrolling. The Demon Destroyers looked like they were crafted from brass. They were oddly shaped penises with holes near the testicles. Apparently, the Chinese would hang them on their doors to ward off demons. Demons didn’t like male genitalia it seemed, so they stayed away.
“These are insane.” A porcelain penis ring caught my eye. It had been painted with blue flowers around the circumference with a girth that seemed… generous. “Used by nobility to delay ejaculation,” I read out loud. “Since the noble empires had so many women to please. Must be nice. I’d be happy with one woman to please right now.”
Maria laughed, taking her phone back. “I told you having Gray live with you would put a strain on your sex life.”
Yeah, she had no idea. It had messed with my system so badly I was questioning who I was.
I fumbled a few more items, loading my arms and returning them to the shelf I’d cleaned. When I climbed back down the ladder, I rapped my knuckles on the counter. “So, do you still talk to Nora?”
“Nova?”
“Oh… yeah, her.”
Maria smirked as she shed her coat and rounded the counter to hang it on a hook I’d installed for her. “I do. Why?”
I chewed on the idea for a minute before blurting, “She still single?”
“Why?” She crossed her arms and tilted her head to the side, her dreads falling over her
shoulder. She wore a black sports bra under a netted see-through shirt today. “Thought she freaked you out.”
“I wasn’t freaked out. I was… edgy around her.”
“Beck?”
“A little nervous, but it wasn’t that bad. It was her braces. I’d never dated anyone who—”
“Beck?” That time she drew my name out.
“Okay, fine. I may have feared for my dick. But we can avoid oral. I need to get laid, and she was easy. Help a guy out. Gray being in my bed is fucking with my head.”
Maria flinched, and I snapped my mouth shut. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing. It means nothing. Can you work your magic?”
Her eyes narrowed, and I couldn’t hold her scrutinizing gaze any longer. I shoved around her, calling over my shoulder, “You know what, never mind.”
“Beck,” she called after me. I didn’t stop. “Fine, I’ll text her. Get your ass back here.”
“No.”
“What happened, Beck?” Her lilt had that all-knowing quality that told me she’d already read my mind. She was too insightful.
She followed me into the Red Room and blocked my path when I tried to dodge her again. “Nothing happened.”
“Bullshit.”
“Nothing. Happened!” I reiterated with emphasis.
She searched my face, pursing her painted lips to one side. “Did he hit on you?”
My skin flared and itched. “No.”
The other way around, but it was unintentional. I kept my mouth shut.
“Did he admit how he feels about you? Because it’s obvious to anyone looking in. Seriously, I don’t know how you didn’t know it.”
“He doesn’t—”
Movement at the room’s entrance caught my eye, and when I glanced over, Gray’s solid frame took up most of the doorway. With his features firm, he glared directly at me.