“Hey,” he said quietly, slipping past Emory into the bathroom.
The door closed between them and Emory’s stomach felt like there were butterflies trying to break out of his skin. He inhaled a nervous breath and closed his eyes, steadying himself before returning to the office and wondering if this was how normal people felt when on the precipice of knowingly and willingly breaking their own hearts.
Eight
Graham
Emory was seated at a cocktail table when Graham got to December’s. He loosened his tie as he closed the space between them, the thin and sharp lines of Emory’s back evident even under the shield of his suit coat.
“Did you come from work?” Graham asked, leaning down and breathing the question against Emory’s ear.
Emory rolled his head, pressing his cheek into Graham’s before turning to face him. “I came at work, if you must know.”
“Sounds like quite the day.” Graham climbed onto a high-backed chair across from Emory and studied the worried shadows that danced across his face. Somehow the carefree and sex-crazed fiend that had bent himself over Graham’s desk was gone and in his place was this somber and sullen husk of a man.
Emory rolled his eyes. “Can I get you a drink?”
“I’m fine. But you’ve got to tell me something, Emory, because you’re all over the place. You’re naked and writhing across my desk, then you’re gone, then you’re calling me making filthy promises, and now you look like I couldn’t get your clothes off with a crowbar. So, what gives?” Graham scratched the back of his neck and waited for Emory to explain.
“I’m a little out of my depth here.” Emory looked away and twisted his lips into a painful grimace.
“Hey now.” Graham reached out and rubbed the pad of his finger across Emory’s mouth. Almost reflexively, Emory’s lips puckered and kissed Graham’s rough skin. “So am I.”
“I’m horny.” Emory offered him a sardonic laugh.
“Even after the workplace orgasm?”
“Especially after that.” Emory grinned, but his lips tipped downward almost as quickly. “I don’t date people. I don’t really do repeats. And I especially don’t date people I want to do repeats with.”
“Alright,” Graham drawled, waiting for the pieces to connect.
“It gets lonely,” Emory said softly. “I don’t want to be lonely. I don’t even want to be in Edgewood, but I’m stuck here, and I hate it, and I can at least allow myself a little something while I endure my sentence.”
“Of course it’s lonely if you don’t let people get close to you.” Graham tried to not think of Calvin, but failed. He and Calvin had been close and he was lonely now, so maybe he wasn’t the best person to be giving advice. Emory looked up and raised a speculative eyebrow, silently calling Graham out on his hypocrisy.
“Hey,” Graham protested. “I tried to get close to you. Very close to you. You’re the one who called me off.”
“You’re welcome for that, by the way.”
Graham ran his tongue across the front of his teeth and nodded. “Thank you.”
Emory’s hand slid across the table and covered the top of Graham’s hand, giving him a reassuring pat.
“Look,” he said, waiting for Graham to look up. “I’ve never done this before, but I’m willing to see what happens. I don’t think it’s going to end well for me, but maybe I can find some peace in the for-now portion of it all.”
“I’m not trying to hurt anyone.”
“I know.” Emory patted his hand again before pulling away. “Collateral damage, I’m sure.”
“Why the change of heart?”
“Honestly?” Emory flicked his gaze up briefly, but returned his attention to the melting ice cubes in whatever he’d been drinking.
“Always.”
“I don’t know.” Emory shared a lopsided grin that made him look like a child, and Graham’s heart constricted. He had no right getting involved with someone like this. He was old and he was jaded and he’d absolutely ruin Emory.
“Yes, you do.”
Emory fisted his glass and raised it to his lips, pouring the remaining liquid down his throat in one long tip of the glass. He smacked his lips and dropped the glass back to the table.
“I’m empty inside.” Emory shrugged carelessly, his eyes glassy from alcohol.
“I’m not the person you need then,” Graham admitted.
Emory blinked at him, long and slow. “Maybe someone else is.”
Emory looked like he had someone in mind, but Graham wasn’t willing to ask about it, instead deciding to leave the ball in Emory’s court. “What then?”
“I dunno. You’re the expert.”
Graham snorted. “I’m hardly an expert.”
“You know better than me.”
“My ex would disagree.”
“Tell me about him?”
Graham exhaled, wanting anything in his mind besides Calvin, but he found it hard to tell Emory no.
“Let’s go for a walk.” He stood up and extended his hand. Emory slipped their palms together and slid off his chair. Graham loved that Emory was shorter than him. Loved the way Emory’s hair hovered over his head and smelled like fruit. It was different from what he knew, what he’d thought he wanted and would have for the rest of his life, but not bad. A new and unexpected sort of comfortable pleasure settled in his chest and he pulled Emory out of the bar and onto the sidewalk.
“Where are we walking to?”
“Don’t you ever just walk?” He looked down at Emory, who was looking at their feet.
Emory was silent. They turned the corner toward Edgewood Park.
“No,” he finally answered.
They walked in silence four more blocks until they reached the park. Emory scoffed and stopped short of the sand that surrounded the swings, looking up at Graham. “I already feel like a child without being at a playground.”
“Come on,” Graham coaxed. He toed off his dress shoes and socks, leaving them on the grass and stepping into the sand. It was still warm, on account of the humid days Edgewood had been experiencing.
“You can’t be serious.”
Graham shrugged out of his coat and tossed it over his shoes, crooking a finger toward Emory while he walked backward toward the swing set.
“Come on, Emory.”
Emory sighed and bent over, removing his shoes and socks before stepping into the sand. “This is ridiculous.”
Graham patted one of the black plastic swings and Emory reluctantly plopped down onto it. His knees were bent at a sharp angle, and he curled his fingers around the chains that connected to the frame. Graham grabbed the chains and pulled back. Emory made a sputtering sound as Graham let go and the swing flew forward. It returned swiftly, and Graham pressed his palms against Emory’s shoulders, pushing him forward again. It took a few repeats for Emory to relax, but Graham felt it when he did. The softening of the muscles in Emory’s back, the relaxed curves of his shoulders and neck. He leaned into the momentum, finally straightening his legs and kicking them back.
“You need to learn to find happiness in the little things,” Graham told him.
“Is this a little thing?” Emory’s voice faded in and out as he swung closer and farther from where Graham stood.
“You tell me.”
Emory twisted his arms, holding the chains so the underside of his arms faced outward and when he reached the height of his ascent, he jumped, long limbs flailing through the air before he landed with a graceful whoosh in the sand. He turned and faced Graham, bowing dramatically. He held his arms out at his sides, the first sincere smile on his face that Graham had ever seen.
“Come here,” Graham rasped, pushing past the swing and closing the space between them. The warm sand sifted through his toes and he reached for Emory, yanking him closer.
“The little things,” Emory whispered, and Graham swallowed his agreement, pressing their mouths together and licking against the seam of Emory’s lips. He kissed hi
m slowly and easily, nothing like the urgent pairing from the week before. Emory moaned against him, fisting Graham’s shirt in his hands and aligning their hips with a needy grunt. Graham broke the kiss, and Emory exhaled, pushing his forehead against Graham’s chest.
“That wasn’t a little thing,” he whispered.
“No?” Graham smoothed Emory’s hair toward the back of his head, and they stood frozen like that in the middle of the playground, cocks twitching and rubbing between their bodies until both of their erections softened.
Emory’s breath was coming in harsh exhales, his shoulders heaving under Graham’s hands. He took a step back and braced his hands on his hips, shaking his head and looking off toward the horizon.
“No,” he affirmed.
Graham held his hand out, and Emory reached toward him, their fingertips grazing. Emory looked up, a pained look on his face.
“I need to tell you something.”
Graham’s gut tensed and he pulled his lips between his teeth, letting them go with a soft pop. “Alright.”
“You’re not the only person I’m dating.”
“For never having done it before, you sure know how to make up for lost time.” Graham bit the tip of his tongue to stop from saying something he’d regret.
“I met you both close to the same time. I like you both.” Emory shrugged, taking his hand out of Graham’s reach. He folded his arms over his chest defensively and looked up at Graham, his blue eyes dark against the moonlight. “For different reasons.”
“What do you like about me?” Graham asked, stepping backward and collapsing onto the swing Emory had occupied.
“I like the way you’re sad.” Emory uncrossed his arms and approached, taking the swing beside Graham.
“I don’t think that’s a compliment.”
“It is,” Emory disagreed. “You love so much.”
Graham pushed off with his feet, swinging backward and putting space between them. He passed Emory on the upswing, before quickly floating back past him.
“Whoever he is will be the death of you,” Emory continued.
“Unless you make me forget him,” Graham reminded him of his earlier words.
Emory started to swing, counter to the motion Graham was making.
After a silent agreement, Graham asked, “What do you like about the other guy you’re seeing?”
“Do you really want to have this conversation?” A small laugh danced across the humid air and landed in Graham’s ears.
“Why not?” It wasn’t like Graham had anything to lose by knowing what he was up against, and if Emory truly believed that things between them would end so poorly, Graham didn’t see the harm in knowing what the man Emory had waiting in the wings would be like for him.
“He’s bold,” Emory answered, swinging higher. “Unashamed of the way he wants me.”
“And you find that attractive?”
Emory looked over his shoulder as he passed Graham on a backswing. “Wouldn’t you?”
Graham nodded. Who wouldn’t want that?
“He knows who I am and he doesn’t care,” Emory added, dragging his feet through the sand and coming to a stop.
“And who are you?” Graham questioned, expecting a theoretical answer about Emory’s perceived self. Instead, Emory snorted and pointed toward the wooden sign at the entrance of the park.
“I don’t know what that means.” Graham slowed until he and Emory were both still, toes buried in the sand.
Emory turned and looked at him, a forced smile on his lips.
“I’m an Edgewood.”
“Sorry, what?” Graham sputtered.
Emory stuck his hand out to the side. “Emory Edgewood. Nice to formally meet you.”
In shock, Graham threaded their hands, then pulled Emory’s hand to his mouth, dragging his lips across the top of his knuckles.
“Emory Edgewood,” he repeated.
“The one and only.”
“Why would that make a difference to anyone?”
Emory pulled his hand back and folded it against his other hand, tucking them safely in his lap. He looked terribly small like that, with his shoulders turned inward like he was trying to shield himself from an unseen force.
“People are more interested in what I can do for them than anything else,” Emory admitted. He looked at Graham and blinked slowly, as if his admission was the most matter-of-fact thing in the world.
“That’s not right.”
“I know,” Emory scoffed and stood up, shoving his hands into his pockets.
“I don’t want anything from you.” Graham stood, too, and wrapped his fingers around Emory’s slender biceps. He squeezed in what he hoped was an assuring manner.
“Don’t you, though?” Emory looked sad, a delicate smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He looked down and Graham tipped his finger under Emory’s chin, pushing his face toward the night sky.
“I do,” Graham agreed, leaning in and kissing the frown right off of Emory’s mouth.
Nine
Emory
Emory dragged his finger across the underside of his jaw, the skin tender and enflamed from the scratch of Graham’s scruffy face. He winced, closing his eyes and repeating the motion until his cock hardened.
It was morning now, time to get up and ready for work. The sun was peeking through the window of his bedroom and he sighed, forcing himself out of bed. He shuffled into the bathroom, showering and washing himself, then drying and dressing in a pale gray suit. His cock never went soft, instead retaining enough blood to create a visible bulge between his legs.
The night before with Graham had gone better than he’d expected. Not that he had a basis for comparison, but as far as real first dates went, that wasn’t a bad one. The two of them had kissed for almost an hour, toes buried in the sand with the dim light of the street lamps above them. It had been magical somehow, and painful, even though Graham had obviously done his best to remember he was kissing Emory and not whoever had come before him.
The changes in Graham’s motions were subtle, but Emory had noticed them. Graham would hold him too hard, or nip against his lips with too much force, then he’d still and draw back, returning to a more familiar and affectionate kiss. Emory hadn’t minded the aggression, though; it reminded him of Calvin’s pursuit, a rough and needy plea for Emory’s attention.
He picked up his wallet and phone, wondering for the briefest moment what it would be like to have them both at the same time, not separately. His cock responded, the bulge between his legs becoming more noticeable. Emory jogged downstairs, tiptoeing past his father’s open office.
“Emory,” his father called.
“Fuck.” He looked at his watch, a vintage Rolex that his grandfather had passed down to him, and dropped down onto his heels. He poked his head around the corner. “What?”
“Are you still speaking to me as though you were raised with no manners or respect?” His father was sitting behind his large mahogany desk, terry cloth robe wrapped around his slender shoulders and reading glasses pushed down on his nose.
“I’m going to be late for the job you shoehorned me into if you don’t hurry up and tell me what you want.”
Emory’s erection was gone.
“I had an appointment with my physician yesterday. He thinks it’s best that we sit down and talk about some things.”
“I really don’t have anything to say to you, or about you.”
“Goddammit, Emory.” His father banged his fist against the table and stood up. “This isn’t about you. This is about our family. The Edgewood name.”
“I hate the family name,” Emory seethed. “I don’t want any part of it, and you know that.”
“Be that as it may, you will still have obligations.” His father sat down and scooted his chair back in.
“My only obligations will be to sell off this godforsaken house and move back east again,” he reminded his father. “I don’t want to be here. Mom hasn’t been back in years.
It’s just you, rotting away with the Edgewood name over the front gate.”
“There’s so much you don’t understand.” His father sighed.
“I understand you drove my mother away. That you were so terrible to her, she’d take being away from me to get away from you.”
His father opened his mouth to protest and Emory held a hand up to silence him. “Don’t deny it. She told me. The day she left. ‘Your father says I can’t see you anymore.’ She didn’t even cry. She was just gone. Because of you. And I was so jealous of her. She was finally free of you and the fucking burden of this name you’re so proud of.”
Emory let out a disgusted noise and glared at his father, whose shoulders had turned inward slightly, but not enough to look like he was cowering. He looked old, and frail, and weak.
“Like I said, I’m going to be late to work.”
Emory turned on his heel and marched down the hallway, attempting to slam the large front door behind him. The door closed quietly and that displeased him, so he stomped the entire way across the driveway until he reached the garages. He turned his car on and peeled out, kicking up rocks and asphalt behind him as he sped down the long driveway and toward the office.
He was in a foul mood when he got to his desk, and even worse when he found there was no fresh coffee in the kitchen. He braced himself on the counter and dropped his head down, inhaling and holding his breath. He counted to ten before he exhaled, and repeated, repeated, repeated, until his heart rate returned to something manageable.
A hand at the small of his back startled him and he jumped, smacking his head into whoever had approached him.
“Whoa there,” Calvin’s voice was quiet in his ear.
Emory puffed out a breath and stilled, Calvin’s hand still warm against his back.
“Are you all right? I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“You didn’t,” Emory quickly corrected. “I mean you did, but it’s fine. I’m fine. There’s no coffee.”
Calvin looked over his shoulder at the counter and took a step closer, his chest pressing against Emory’s back. “There’s not. Though I’ve never seen someone so distraught over it before.”
Secrets in Edgewood: The Complete Series Page 55