by Lane Hayes
Holy fuck. “No underwear?”
Ky shook his head. “Keep going.”
I obeyed, gingerly setting my hands low on his hips and pushing the denim over his fucking perfect ass. I may have whimpered. And if so, sue me. I hadn’t been with anyone quite this hot in a while. Ky was every fantasy man I’d ever secretly lusted over come to life. The sexy aloof guy behind a guitar…or a bass, the cool skater boy who was so far out of my league we might as well have been from different planets. My friends mistakenly assumed I had a thing for suave gentlemen who wore designer brands and took their yearly gay vacay in Mykonos with a dozen of their overly muscled besties. They were wrong. Ky was exactly my type. The bad boy with a hidden bi side who’d been around the block a few times.
I splayed my hands over his ass and gulped as I wrapped my fingers around his rigid pole. “Oh, wow. You’re big.”
“Unhg. Can you…move your hand? Yeah. Like that,” he groaned when I stroked him. “Let me touch you too.”
He grappled with my belt, grunting in frustration when he couldn’t get the leather through the narrow buckle fast enough. I let go of him to help and he went a little crazy. In a sexy as hell kind of way. He raked his nails down my sides and tongue-fucked my mouth until he had enough room to wiggle his fingers under my boxer briefs to grab my bare ass. My breath hitched. I didn’t know what I wanted more…his talented hands on me, his passionate kisses, or a little space so I could drop to my knees and suck him off.
Ky seemed to sense my indecision. He took over, switching places with me, so his back was to the wall. Then he gripped both of our cocks in one hand and slid a single digit along my crack, pulling me as close as physically possible while he licked and sucked at my lips in a frenzy.
I pumped my hips in time with the motion he set and tried to meet him thrust for thrust. It wasn’t easy. He moved like thunder around me, surrounding me, taking me over. The slide of his hand on my aching dick and his probing finger brushing against my entrance set me on fire. I writhed like a ho, desperate for more of everything.
“Mmm. More. Please,” I begged, sucking in a breath of air.
“Like this?”
Ky pushed his finger inside me and…bam! That was all it took. Cum shot between us, spurting on our shirts and over our fists. He held me close when I trembled, but he didn’t stop. He kissed me as he jacked us both. Just a couple of strokes and he was there too.
I didn’t let go right away. And neither did Ky. He kept his finger in my ass and moved his other hand to my hip as he rested his forehead on mine.
I waited until my pulse slowed to freak out.
“What did we just do?”
“That was called a hand job,” Ky replied, sucking my bottom lip, then smacking my ass. Hard.
“Ow.”
Ky released me, chuckling at the mess we’d made. “Wow. That’s a lot of jizz. Do me a favor. Wipe your hands on my T-shirt and pull it over my head.”
I furrowed my brow. “Why don’t you wipe your hands on it and then—”
“Do it before I really spank your ass,” he growled in a faux-stern tone.
I rolled my eyes but obeyed. And yes, maybe I leaned in a little too close. I had to feel his bare cock against mine once more before I tugged on the fabric, handed it over, and started the uncomfortable chore of reassembly…and reestablishing boundaries.
“Um, so…that didn’t happen, right?” I asked, staring at his tattooed chest.
Ky swiped at his spent penis, then tucked his dirty tee into his back pocket before zipping his jeans. “Okay.”
“Okay? That’s all you have to say? You just—we just…” I motioned between us dramatically. “You’re all over me.”
Ky grabbed my wrist and licked a swath across my palm. “And you fuckin’ love it.”
I tore my hand away and glowered before bending to pick up his jacket. “Here. It must have fallen when we—what do we do now? Nothing, right?”
He observed me thoughtfully for a long moment, then glanced down the narrow pathway toward the main street. “I’ll follow your lead.”
“So we’ll just act normal on Monday?”
“Sure.” His smile seemed forced but he held eye contact, which I took as a measure of sincerity.
“Okay. Then um…I’m gonna go home.”
“Me too.” He pulled his jacket on and adjusted his guitar case over his shoulder before reaching for my hand. He snickered when I swiped at him. “You’re a fuckin’ porcupine, Char.”
“Yeah, well, you’re a raccoon.”
“Why a raccoon? Why not a possum or a panda?” he asked, casting an amused look my way before heading to the street.
“I don’t know. It was the first varmint that popped into my head.”
“That’s not so bad. Raccoons are kinda cute.”
“True.”
“So you think I’m cute?” he teased.
“No!” I lied.
“It’s cool. Porcupines are cute too. They’re just prickly as fuck.”
“Like me?”
“Yeah, but I like you anyway,” Ky assured me, pausing before we reached the sidewalk in front of the club. “Hey…nothing changes, and no regrets. That’s what you want, right?”
I frowned. “Isn’t it what you want too?”
“Um, yeah. Sure.” His nose twitched as he stuffed his hands into his pockets. He looked like he wanted to add something more, but he didn’t know how to word it.
I waited for a long moment, then bit my bottom lip and nodded. “Right. Then we’ll go back to normal.”
3
Ky
Normal sucked. It was dull, predictable, and boring as hell. Every time I thought I wanted what everyone else had and then got it, I found myself drowning in a sea of vapid numbness. It happened to me in almost everything I thought would be the next great adventure. Like when I signed on with a high-level sponsor to compete as a professional skateboarder for the first time in a national tournament. I was so fucking excited. I figured I was a lucky bastard to stumble into a job doing something I could almost do with my eyes closed. Touring was great for six months, fine after a year, and soul-crushingly monotonous after three years. Worse…it sucked the fun out of boarding. That was hell to someone who’d literally slept with his skateboard as a kid. I put the bulk of my earnings away and lived frugally off the rest while I tried to get my feet under me and find something to spark a little joy.
I picked up the bass again after years of letting it collect dust in storage and played around with it until I finally felt the fog lift and a renewed sense of excitement build. I’d never been all that great of a musician. I played in a high school band with Tegan, and he was the first to tell anyone who asked that I sucked. But after eight years away from it, I wanted to prove I could do better. When Tegan and I met up at a mutual friend’s house party in Long Beach, I mentioned my renewed interest. Next thing I knew, we were jamming in a corner while our friends got high around us. And boom…I was hooked.
I thought maybe I’d learned a lesson about balance too. I wanted to hole up in my room and play until my fingers bled, but I made myself go to the skate park and meet up with old friends. I even got a job at a surf shop in Venice. I didn’t need the cash, but I needed options. Serial dating helped too. I had a couple of cool girlfriends. Like Lauren. But I was never really invested. I put as much effort into relationships as I did into sanding boards for customers. I knew what to say and how to do it, but I wasn’t an active participant.
My sister’s theory that I got off on beginnings but sucked at follow-through might be valid. I had a habit of walking away from achievements just to start over again. Relationships, jobs…you name it, I lacked a crucial component. The desire to stick around when things got rough.
But Zero felt different. I was invested, interested, and involved in every aspect of making the band a success. I worked on bass lines, recorded original music, and even penned lyrics every damn day. Long days in the studio, long nights playi
ng to hardcore fans in cramped clubs…bring it on. I felt more energized and in tune than I had in years. And I was too busy to dissect the past or worry about ghosts.
At least, that was the way it seemed…until Saturday night.
I fucked up. I shouldn’t have touched Charlie. Yes, I wanted him. Hell, I still did. But he wasn’t someone I could have a fling with and walk away from easily. He was complicated.
When he waltzed into the studio Monday with a list of to-dos, ranging from blood work to insurance forms, I had a feeling we weren’t going to slip into neutral easily. He was acting weird. Too nice, if you know what I mean. A polite Charlie set me on edge like nothing else. But he ignored me Tuesday and yeah…that was much worse. I would have paid good money for his wiseass commentary about the length of my hair or the holes in my Vans. Fuck, even a tight smile would have been better than his professional brush-off.
By Wednesday, everyone noticed something wasn’t right. Tension radiated from Charlie the second he walked into the studio. He gave his daily breakdown of upcoming events in a clipped, businesslike tone that was very…un-Charlie.
“…dinner at seven p.m. sharp this Saturday with Sandstone. They’ve been to a few of your shows, they know your music, and they’re excited to meet you. In my opinion, they’re the best fit for Zero. Don’t be late. It’s not a dressy occasion, but you’ll want to wear something nice.”
I waited for a sly dig at my shoes. A snide but playful, “Yes, I’m talking to you, Ky. Splurge on a new pair of sneakers.” Or some kind of harmless semi-flirtatious taunt designed to get under my skin. I stared at him intently, willing him to look my way, but he kept on talking, looking at anyone but me.
“Don’t worry, we’ll be there and we’ll be on our best behavior,” Justin assured him. He strummed a couple of chords on his acoustic guitar, then flattened his right hand over the strings with a mischievous grin. “But only if you tell us who pissed in your Cheerios.”
Charlie frowned. Any other day I would have razzed him about considering Botox to get rid of the two lines creating an eleven smack in the middle of his brow. Then he’d respond with a fiery reminder that he was only twenty-five fucking years old before adding that he had an appointment next week. Under the silly jabs, I had a feeling he always knew I was kidding. Just like I knew he’d never had a single Botox injection…yet. It was silly, meaningless banter, but I missed it. I tried to think of something less personal but still slightly offensive to make him laugh and came up empty.
I stared at Charlie’s profile, willing him to look my way and read my mind and...tell me what to do.
“No one. I’m fine,” he replied.
“Dude, you’re not fine. You have a stick up your ass and as your boss…” Justin waggled his eyebrows playfully and continued. “I want to know what’s up.”
“Look who’s talking.” Charlie crossed his arms and leveled him with a piercing look. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you’ve been on your feet all afternoon. A fairly good indication you’ve had something up your ass recently.”
The guys busted up laughing when Justin’s wide smile took over his face. “You might be right. And you might also want to try it yourself. Get laid, Char. Maybe sex doesn’t cure everything, but it helps.”
“Thank you for those charming words of wisdom. I’ll be sure to update my Grindr account tonight,” Charlie said sarcastically.
Justin shrugged. “Couldn’t hurt.”
I lowered my head and pretended to study my strings as I gritted my teeth unhappily. The mere idea of some creepy stranger’s hands on Charlie made me sick to my stomach. And that was weird. I shouldn’t have had that kind of visceral reaction. He wasn’t my boyfriend. I’d never even had a boyfriend. I’d had a couple of male lovers, but that was about curiosity and horniness more than anything real. A few grope sessions, hand jobs, and blowjobs were no big deal. But Saturday night felt like a big deal.
I couldn’t stop thinking about Charlie. The way he smelled, tasted, and how perfect he felt in my arms. I wanted that night all over again. I just didn’t know how to get there from here without rocking the boat.
Thankfully, the guys were oblivious.
“If you must know, our friend Nelson from Sound Cloud left another review from the show last weekend,” Charlie said.
Tegan sighed from behind his drum kit. “You can’t let that shit bug you, Char.”
“You’re right. Let’s just see what Sandstone has to say. I think they’re the real deal. Hopefully we’ll get the contract signed soon and get into their studio to record your album before the holidays. I’m off. See you boys later.”
He was gone before anyone could reply. As soon as the door closed, all eyes were on me.
“What’d you do?”
“Me?” I pointed at my chest in disbelief. “Why do you think I did something?”
Justin shrugged. “ ’Cuz he’s not looking at you. Sure sign he’s pissed. Fix it before he blows up.”
I frowned and pulled my cell out when it buzzed in my pocket. Three missed calls from Karly. “I gotta take this and Ollie is on his way over. Let’s take a break.”
When the guys nodded in agreement I stepped outside before pushing Call. “Hey Kar, what’s up?”
“It’s Dad again,” she blurted.
“I’m doing okay. How about you?” I snarked. “What happened to basic pleasantries before dropping bombs, Sis?”
She let out a short laugh. “I’m sorry, but he’s sick and according to Mona it’s serious. She wants to see us.”
Silence.
I let it grow and speak for me when my throat closed. I swallowed hard and tried to tune in when she started talking again. Something about a hospital stay. I focused on a ripple in the clear blue water of the pool and followed the horizon to the LA cityscape in the distance. Fuck, I felt like running again. Far away.
“I don’t know.”
Karly waited a beat before replying. “I understand. But will you talk to Mona?”
I sighed heavily and turned toward the house just as Oliver came barreling outside with his helmet on and his board tucked under his arm. “Yeah, but I’m not promising anything, Kar.”
“Okay. I’ll tell her it’s okay to call you. Or better yet…text you.”
I disconnected the call and smiled when Oliver greeted me with a bro-style fist bump and a high five. He giggled at our routine before turning to wave at Charlie who was standing by the window. I tried to catch his eye, but he ignored me. Of course. So I focused on his little brother.
Oliver was never going to be an amazing skateboarder. He was overly cautious by nature. And while his “look five times, analyze, then maybe leap” attitude might keep him from serious injury, it wouldn’t allow him any real freedom on a board. But he’d definitely improved to the point that we needed a little more real estate to practice. We started doing warm-up runs around Justin and Gray’s yard before riding to the small park at the end of their street.
We did the same thing every time. I’d crouch low on my board as I rode the steep driveway; then I’d dismount with a trick to make him laugh. Sometimes I’d grab the nose of my board and hang in the air for a few seconds before hopping back on. Today I did a half-turn that made him howl with glee as he skipped down the driveway to catch up with me.
“Dude! That was so cool!”
Oh yeah, and much to Charlie’s chagrin, he’d started calling me “dude.”
“Thanks. That’s called an ollie, by the way. Well, it’s an ollie with a turn, but same idea. They must have named it after you,” I joked. “Or maybe you invented it.”
He beamed at me and swiped his nose with his sleeve. “That’s funny. I can’t do that.”
“You can if you practice. It’s the gateway trick every boarder learns before they advance to harder stuff. Here’s how it works. You pop your back foot off the tail and slide your other foot to the front…and jump. Like this.”
I demonstrated a few times and ended the last on
e with a one-handed handstand ’cause I knew he’d be impressed. The easy laughter of an uncomplicated nine-year-old kid did wonders for my fragile state of mind.
“Whoa! Awesome, dude!”
“Thanks,” I chuckled before pointing at his shoes. “Tie your laces, bud.”
Oliver flopped onto the curb and hiked his knee up. “These shoes are dumb. I should get slip-ons like you. Gray has your shoes too. My dad doesn’t have ’em. He gets Nikes ’cause he likes to run. His shoelaces don’t come untied all the time, though.”
“You gotta double-knot ’em.” I sat beside him on the curb and picked up his foot. “Like this.”
“Thanks,” he said, resting his elbows on his knees. “How’d you learn all those tricks? Did your dad teach you?”
So much for uncomplicated company, I mused, shooting a sharp sideways glance at my mini me.
I shook my head. “No. My dad didn’t like skateboards.”
“Why not?” Oliver asked, wrinkling his nose in confusion. “Did he think they were too dangerous?”
“No. He just didn’t like anything unless it was his idea. He played volleyball in school.”
“Oh. Didn’t you like volleyball?”
“Not really. I was too short,” I huffed.
“You? You’re tall!”
“Now I am. But I didn’t grow until I was a teenager. I was a wimpy kid…super skinny and small for my age. But I was pretty coordinated. We lived near the park in Venice. I remember seeing the older kids do tricks and thinking I wanted to do that too. I asked my mom for a skateboard for my birthday when I was really young…maybe five years old, and I just took off. I fu—I loved that board. I’d walk to the park every day and hang out with the older kids and just…soak it in.”
“When you were five?” he asked incredulously. “Weren’t your parents worried about you?”
“No. My mom was sick a lot, and my dad wasn’t around much. I was kind of a street kid. But I lived by the beach, so I was a beach street kid. Different breed altogether.”