Brave Boy (Perfect Boys Book 2)

by K. M. Neuhold

  We’re both quiet for a while, until I start to wonder if he hung up after he turned off the plug. I manage to gather the energy to reach for my phone with my clean hand, and find the call still connected.

  I want to say something to him, thank him for the best orgasm…well, orgasms, of my life. But my brain is too sluggish, and my body feels too heavy to say a word, so instead I just sigh happily into the phone, and a warm chuckle is the answer I get.

  “Thank you for tonight,” he says in nearly a whisper. “I’m sorry I’m not there to hold you right now, but it’s something to look forward to.”

  He’s said that several times tonight, leaving no room for me to question whether he’s interested in more than this. The question is, am I brave enough?

  I hold the phone against my chest, imagining he can hear my heartbeat, and then I press a kiss to the screen.

  “Night,” I whisper before hitting the button to end the call.

  Chapter 8

  Kiernan

  I’ve been half-hard all day, replaying last night over and over. As unbelievably erotic as the whole thing was, there’s one word I’ve been stuck on. Unicorn. What are the odds? He only said two words on the phone, so it was impossible to tell if it was Emerson, or if I just wanted it to be.

  The line at the coffee shop moves forward, and I absently follow it, still lost in the same thoughts I’ve been lost in all day. The biggest question is, if it is Emerson, does that change anything? The boy isn’t ready to share his identity, and I want to respect that. Which means I’m going to have to choose not to care whether it’s him or not. I’ll know the answer eventually. Whoever BraveBoy is, he’s mine now, and I’ll be as patient as I have to. He can have all the time he needs to become comfortable and ready to meet in person. Until then, I can think of a few more gifts he might like to receive.

  The line moves again, and it’s my turn to order. I request an iced coffee and move aside to wait for it to be ready. As soon as I’m out of the line, I notice the very man who’s been occupying my thoughts today. Emerson is at the back of the line, studying the menu hanging on the wall with a cute furrow between his eyebrows.

  “Having trouble deciding?” I ask, inadvertently startling a jump out of him.

  “T-t-trying to convince m-myself n-not to have caffeine this l-l-l-late in the day,” he confesses with a sweetly crooked smile. That’s possibly the greatest number of words he’s ever spoken to me in a row. And he’s not even blushing or trembling. Either I’ve lost my touch, or he’s decided he’s no longer terrified of me. Whatever has brought on this new bout of confidence, I’ll take it.

  “Mm, no, caffeine this late in the day isn’t ideal. It will keep you up all night. Why don’t you get a frappe with a lot of whipped cream and enjoy a nice sugar rush instead?” I suggest, in part curious about what his reaction will be to the hint of authority I infuse my voice with.

  His cheeks do pink this time, but it’s still very different from the nervous blush I’m used to seeing. Emerson licks his lips and gives a quick nod. “Okay,” he agrees, and I practically purr with satisfaction.

  With that decision made, he eyes the pastry case and his stomach growls loudly. Emerson laughs, putting a hand over his stomach and giving me a sheepish look.

  “Skipped lunch?” I guess.

  “The shop w-w-was b-busy.”

  I narrow my eyes at the pastry case in question. It’s past five o’clock, which means he didn’t have lunch, and he’s considering a blueberry muffin for his dinner. There’s no doubt in my mind that it will bother me all night if I let it stand.

  “Let me take you to dinner.”

  His eyes widen, and it looks like he holds his breath for several excruciating seconds while my own doubts fill my mind. If Emerson isn’t BraveBoy—and he very well may not be—am I betraying my boy?

  “As friends,” I tack on, both to reassure him and to ease my own sense of guilt.

  “Um…” He shoves his hand into his pocket like he’s reaching for his phone, and my heart beats faster. Maybe he has the urge to check in with someone? Perhaps a certain LonelyDaddy? He seems to think for a few seconds before finally giving another sharp nod. “Okay.”

  I can’t stop the smile from spreading across my face. “Great. Let’s go.” I tilt my head toward the door, unconcerned about my abandoned iced coffee as I lead Emerson out of the cafe, a gentle hand between his shoulder blades.

  My car is parked just down the block, and when we reach it, I open the passenger door for him and guide him inside.

  “W-where are we g-g-going?” he asks once I join him in the car.

  “Where would you like to go?” I’m more than happy to make a decision on the matter, but I’d rather know what he likes first.

  “N-N-Nothing with food I c-can’t pronounce,” he answers, wrinkling his nose and drawing a laugh from me.

  “How’s your Italian?” I tease.

  “Linguini, f-fettucine, s-s-ss-spaghetti,” he replies.

  “Perfection.” I grin and pull out of the parking spot, set on taking him to my favorite Italian bistro.

  Inside the restaurant, the hostess greets me with a familiar smile. “Your usual table?” she asks.

  I give Emerson a wry smile. “I come here a lot,” I explain needlessly. “My usual is fine,” I tell Maria, and she grabs a couple of menus and leads us to a nice little table right near the large window, looking out at the busy street. It’s perfect for people-watching when I come here alone to eat, which is often.

  I pull out his chair and then take my own seat, not bothering to look at the menu. Instead I study Emerson as he looks over the options, the furrow returning between his eyebrows. I’m half tempted to pull out my phone and send a message to BraveBoy, just to see if Emerson’s phone chimes, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I promised myself I’d give him time to come around on his own and tricking him into revealing the truth is the opposite of that.

  “Everything l-l-looks good. I c-can’t decide,” he says, lowering the menu and looking across the table at me.

  “Would you like me to order for you?”

  His lips twitch, and he bobs his head eagerly.

  The waiter appears, and I place my order for eggplant parmesan for myself and seafood linguini for Em as well as a bottle of wine.

  “Thank you,” he says softly after the waiter leaves.

  “It’s my pleasure. Tell me, Emerson, how was your day?”

  He seems to consider the question for a moment, taking a sip of his water and laying his napkin over his lap before answering. “L-l-ll-long.”

  I chuckle. “Mine as well. It’s lovely to share a dinner with good company after such a tedious day.”

  This time it’s Emerson who laughs, reaching for the glass of wine the waiter just returned to pour for each of us. “I’m n-not sure I q-qualify as good company.”

  “Why would you think that?” I take a sip from my own glass, patiently waiting while he appears to get his thoughts in order, a number of expressions flitting over his face before he shakes his head quickly. “Because you don’t talk much?” I guess, and he shrugs, letting me know that’s exactly what he meant by it. “Emerson, my dear boy, there are too many people in the world who talk a lot and don’t say a damn thing worth listening to. You make every word count.”

  His cheeks pink, and there’s no mistaking the pleased look that graces his face this time. “T-t-that’s a nice thing to s-s-ss-say.”

  “It’s true. Now, tell me what you’ve been reading lately.”

  The question seems to loosen him up, and he launches into telling me all about a sci-fi series that has captured his attention. We spend the rest of the meal discussing books and the terrible movies that have bastardized them. The longer the conversation goes on, the more relaxed Emerson appears to be, speaking for extended lengths of time and stuttering less. If I didn’t have a crush on him before this, the passionate way he discusses the twisted perception that Wuthering Heights is a love s
tory would certainly have done it for me.

  “Wow. Look at the time,” I note as we finish off our shared dessert of tiramisu.

  “Oh.” He blushes again, checking the time himself. Something that looks like guilt passes behind his eyes, and the wall that’s come down over the past couple of hours goes back up right before my eyes. “I c-can’t believe I talked s-s-s-so long.”

  “It was a lovely evening with a new friend,” I say, reaching for the bill at the same time Emerson slides his hand over to grab it. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “If it’s n-n-n-not a date, th-th-th-then I should p-p-pp-pay for myself.” He stammers out the argument, one hand clutched around the leather billfold. He’s nervous. A few hours just the two of us and I’m already starting to see the signs.

  “I invited you, and when I invite a friend out for a meal, I always pay,” I lie. Not that I wouldn’t if Barrett or Alden would allow such a thing. Whatever the cost of the meal, it’s inconsequential to me.

  Emerson gives me a skeptical look, staring me down defiantly until my cock starts to stir. Oh, he has a fiery side underneath all of the sugary sweetness. I do love that.

  “F-f-fine, but I’ll p-pay next t-time.”

  I smirk, knowing full well I’ll never allow that to happen. But we can cross that bridge when we get there. “Deal.”

  He releases his grip, and I slide my Black Card inside and hand it to the waiter as he passes.

  Once we’re all paid up, I stand and offer Emerson a hand to help him up as well.

  “I’d better get you home.”

  “B-back to my car,” he corrects.

  “You had three glasses of wine,” I say, leaving no room for argument with my tone. “I’ll have your car brought to your place.”

  I half expect another flash of defiance, but he doesn’t resist, simply lets me lead him back out to the car, leaning into my touch just the barest amount while we walk.

  Chapter 9

  Emerson

  I fidget in my seat as Kiernan pulls into the parking lot of my apartment complex. In spite of his use of the word friends at both the beginning and the end of the evening, the squirmy, guilty feeling in my stomach keeps telling me that this was suspiciously like a date. It’s not helping that he’s been acting incredibly weird since I told him where I live. He’s been gripping the steering wheel like his life depends on it and darting glances at me out of the corner of his eye the entire drive to my place.

  I clear my throat, trying to work out what I should say. Maybe I shouldn’t say anything? I could just get out of the car and sprint upstairs where I can crawl into bed and pretend this awkward, guilt-inducing evening didn’t happen. Except…it wasn’t all awkward, and that kind of makes it worse.

  The sound of my clearing throat seems to snap him out of whatever thoughts he’s been lost in since we left the restaurant. He turns his head, looking me up and down in a meaningful way.

  “Thank you for letting me feed you. Your growling stomach would’ve been on my mind the rest of the night otherwise.”

  Fuck if he isn’t sweet. It was only a simple meal, but I feel like I’ve had a taste of what it’d really be like to have the full attention of a Daddy. The way he was constantly keeping an eye out to make sure I was enjoying myself, choosing the perfect meal, pulling out my chair, insisting on paying…it was all so perfect. Of course that only adds to my guilt.

  “Thank you.” My fingers flex against the door handle while I try to work out what else to say, what else I should say.

  It looks like he’s considering the same question, an array of emotions passing over his face, his mouth opening and closing several times before he lets out a long breath and finally speaks again.

  “Go in and get some sleep,” Kiernan says in a gentle yet commanding voice, and I try to hide the shiver it sends down my spine. There’s something in the low timbre of his voice that itches at the back of my mind, but I can’t put a finger on what it is. Maybe it’s nothing more than the wine going to my head.

  “Night,” I say softly before slipping out of the car and heading straight for the door to the building. I can hear Kiernan’s car idling, waiting until I’m inside. I jog up the steps to my apartment and flick on the light as soon as I step inside.

  I kick off my shoes and go to the window, peeking out to see Kiernan’s car still sitting down there. It’s too far to see the man himself, but I wonder if he sees me because once I pull back the curtain, the car finally leaves. Was he waiting to make sure I got into my apartment okay? Another happy thrill goes through me at the idea, but it mixes with the guilt and makes my stomach churn.

  I pace around my living room for several minutes, trying to decide what to do, before I finally pull out my phone and send a text to Daddy.

  BraveBoy: I did something, and I’m afraid you’re going to be mad…

  The text doesn’t show as read right away, so I jump onto the M4M app to see if he’s active. There’s no green dot next to his name. He must be busy. I stare at my phone, simply waiting for a few minutes before deciding to get in the shower to take my mind off of worrying until he messages me back.

  The hot spray of the water feels like heaven on my tired body. It really was a long, exhausting day. I had a big shipment of books today, and a popular author just released a new book in their bestselling series, which meant the store was slammed.

  I suds up my body with a vanilla scented bar of soap, trying hard not to think about how sweet Kiernan was tonight and how much easier it was to talk to him than it usually is. It was easier to talk to him because sex with Daddy last night gave me heaps of new confidence. We might not have been in the same room, but we had sex…and then I betrayed him by letting Kiernan take me out for dinner.

  My eyes burn with unshed tears, shame clogging my throat as I hurry through the rest of my shower. By the time I get out, my phone is blinking with a new message. My hand trembles as I reach for it, the other clutching the towel I have wrapped around my waist.

  Daddy: Tell Daddy and I’ll decide if I’m mad.

  BraveBoy: There’s this man, a friend of a friend really, he’s a Daddy too…

  Daddy: What happened?

  BraveBoy: Nothing. He just took me to dinner.

  It sounds so innocent when I write it out like that. Maybe I need to give him more context, like the crush I’ve had for months or how nice it was to let Kiernan take care of me tonight.

  Little dots pop up to show he’s typing before disappearing again. This happens several times while my stomach twists itself in knots. Is he so mad he doesn’t even know what to say? Is he trying to decide how to tell me we shouldn’t talk anymore?

  I clutch my phone close, wandering into my bedroom and dropping my damp towel next to the bed before climbing in and pulling my blanket up over my head. There’s a sense of safety in my makeshift blanket fort. I pull my knees up to my chest and stare intently at my phone until a message finally appears, sending my heart into a wild flail. I clench my eyes closed before reading it, telling myself that whatever he said, it’s not the end of the world.

  Kiernan

  As soon as Emerson told me his address, any doubt I had that he and BraveBoy were one and the same was completely obliterated. How I managed to hold it together in that moment is a mystery to me. And now, here he is, guiltily confessing to going to dinner with me.

  My hands tremble as I clumsily type a reply—Sweetheart, it’s me. My finger hovers over the Send button, but I pause. Is this the right way to go? I don’t want to be dishonest with him, but maybe the anonymity is what he needs right now in order to explore and learn about himself?

  I stroke my fingers thoughtfully through my beard, considering how to handle this. I type and delete several more responses, not entirely confident in any of them. I’m not used to lacking confidence. I can’t say I enjoy the feeling. The real question is, what’s best for Emerson? It’s my job to know that, but I have to admit to myself that in this instance, I don’t. The best
I can do is to ask.

  Daddy: I’m not mad.

  Daddy: I need you to help me understand what you need. If this man is the reason you want to learn more about the lifestyle, then maybe it would be best if you spoke to him. If you’re more comfortable with messaging, then maybe reach out through the app or with a text to discuss things with him?

  BraveBoy: I’m not ready. And…I like you. I want to get to know you more. I know it’s only texting, but I feel a connection when we talk. You’re helping me become more confident. I don’t want to give you up.

  Daddy: You won’t have to give me up; I can promise you that.

  I bounce my knee and return to thought. If he’s not ready to pursue a relationship outside of texting, but he feels that he wants me…needs me…then maybe the right thing to do is to let things play out. If the best Daddy I can be to him right now is LonelyDaddy, then I can be that.

  Daddy: Here’s what we’re going to do. Nothing changes until you’re ready for it to change. We can keep talking and having virtual dates if you still want them, but I need you to promise me something.

  BraveBoy: Yes.

  I chuckle at his eagerness, ready to make a promise before he even knows what I’ll ask. Such a good boy.

  Daddy: Promise me you’ll let yourself be open to getting to know your friend. If something develops organically, it’s okay. Trust me.

  BraveBoy: I do trust you. I promise.

  BraveBoy: I have a question though.

  Daddy: Yes?

  BraveBoy: Can we still have sex?

  I laugh again. He may come across as shy and blushing, but Emerson is a dirty boy inside. I love knowing that secret about him. I love that he’s saved that for me.