Wilder, Winona - Choosing Love [Coming Out 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour ManLove)

by Winona Wilder

  “Can I have my keys?”

  “Fine. But I’m coming by your place tomorrow, so don’t be getting hammered.” He hesitated in handing back the keys, somehow knowing Cal was going to do something stupid. If it were up to him, he’d go along with him, rent a movie, and get a takeout pizza—but he had to deal with Steph once and for all. Cal grabbed the keys and, without a good-bye, he sped out of the parking lot, leaving Waylon feeling amiss.

  He raked both hands through his hair and felt tempted to slam his fist into something. Stalking back to the building, he had to find his girlfriend.

  Steph stood outside the gym with a small group of mutual friends. It was a common hangout area. As soon as she noticed him walking towards her, she broke free of the crowd and dashed toward him. She grabbed the front of his shirt, putting on her sweetest face. The girl was anything but sugar and spice, so he didn’t buy the act. “Waylon, I’m so sorry for what happened at lunch. I feel horrible.”

  “You should.”

  Her hand traveled lower until she had his belt in her fist, ensuring she had his undivided attention. Considering he stood at least a foot taller and was twice as broad, it would be a futile attempt if he decided to walk away from her.

  “I’ve talked with my friend Macy. She’s totally on board with doubling—you and me, and her and Cal. I want to make it up to him, and you.”

  What could he say? Maybe getting his friend laid was the one thing Cal needed most. It would be an excuse to get him out of his apartment where he’d be wallowing, feeling sorry for himself. A twenty-two-year-old man should be living it up on a Friday night.

  “Which one’s Macy?”

  Steph grinned, knowing she had him where she wanted. “The dark-haired one standing beside Tyler.” They both looked to the girl in question. She was definitely hot, with a nice rack and cute face. He wasn’t sure what Cal’s type was, since he never talked about girls, but that chick would be any man’s type.

  “I’m guessing you have this all planned out, right?”

  “Tonight at nine. That new club downtown is opening, and Macy managed to get four tickets.”

  “Assuming I get him to agree to this, we’ll pick you girls up at your place.”

  “Excellent.” She reached up on her tiptoes for a kiss. Despite his urge to pull away, there was an audience to appease, so he locked lips with her for moment.

  * * * *

  The club was dark, with colored beams highlighting the dance floor in the distance. Glitz and glam with a collective energy that pulled you in. Cal couldn’t believe he agreed to come along, but he felt the need to prove his hetero status, and saying no to Waylon wasn’t easy. The man was a god, and his smile could melt Cal on the spot.

  “There’s a booth,” Macy said, pulling him along behind her by the hand. It would be good to be seen with a hot girl like Macy, even if nothing could ever come from it. Waylon and Stephanie followed close behind.

  “This is fun!” said Stephanie, cuddling up to Waylon once they were seated. He wore a long sleeved blue shirt, slightly unbuttoned, and his usual body-hugging Levi’s. With his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his muscled forearms were something to look at—firm and powerful, an expensive silver watch hanging loosely from his wrist. Waylon’s family had money. His dad was a cattle rancher and paid for most of his living costs while in college.

  Once they all had their second round of drinks, everyone loosened up a bit. Even with Macy hanging off his neck, Cal could only focus on the man across from him. Every time Stephanie made a move, he cringed, reminded of what he could never have.

  “So how long have you been friends with Waylon?” asked Macy, playing with the buttons on his shirt.

  “A long time.” He shifted out of her reach and stood at the end of booth. “I’m grabbing another drink. I’ll be back.”

  Cal weaved in and out of the many patrons of the club. Glitter and sweaty flesh stared back at him from every angle. Once at the bar, he ordered three shots, hoping it would be enough to numb him. Fuck, he was in love with his best friend and had to carry on this charade, which wasn’t fair to anyone. He hated himself, hated the world, hated God for making him what he was. Cal downed each shot in succession, feeling the burn all the way down his throat to his stomach. Numerous lust-filled eyes focused on him, sizing him up as a potential bedmate. The new club was worse than a cattle auction, but as the alcohol leached into his brain, everything looked brighter. A surge of excitement jolted through him a while later, and he wanted to become one with the party around him, revel in his numbed state.

  By the time he made it back to their booth, half an hour later, he had difficulty walking, having rode the wave of bodies back to his seat. He didn’t enter the booth beside Macy, but pulled up a metal chair and sat at the end of the table.

  “Where’ve you been?” Waylon leaned over the table, assessing him, no doubt knowing exactly how wasted he was. The concern on his face wrinkled the corners of his eyes.

  “Bar.”

  Macy looked a tad flush herself. She slipped out of the booth and straddled Cal’s lap. He hugged her around the waist, peering to the side to gauge Waylon’s reaction. Why did he assume his friend would be jealous? He was his friend, and he’d set him up with Macy in the first place. The only person suffering was Cal. Despite the lack of desire he felt for the woman clutching to him, he pulled her closer and kissed her. Her lips were soft and tasted of liquor. This was what everyone wanted, wasn’t it?

  When she started pulling at his shirt, sending a couple buttons skittering away, he checked out his friend one last time. Stephanie had followed Macy’s lead and was busily groping and necking Waylon. It was the sign he needed to truly let loose. He stopped holding back, closed his eyes, and allowed his date to have her way with him. Her soft lips peppered kissed down his neck to his chest, and her hands massaged his tense muscles. Maybe he could pretend it was Waylon, or even that hot history teacher, that was touching him.

  As the alcohol pulled him deeper into oblivion, the weight on his lap lifted. He opened his eyes only to meet the angry glare of Waylon. “You’re drunk.”

  “And?”

  “I’m taking you home—you don’t know what you’re doing.”

  “The fuck I don’t!” Cal stood, nearly as tall as Waylon, and pulled the girl against the hardness of his body. He grinned menacingly as he planted a kiss on her neck while eyeing Waylon. “My date ain’t complaining.”

  Waylon pulled Macy, or whatever her name was, out of his arms and gave him a shove towards the exit. He stumbled, too sloshed to maintain balance. The whole world spun, lights zinging past his vision, along with nameless faces. Every eye judged him. Accusing fingers pointed, and worst of all—Waylon hated him.

  Too many hands tried to help him to his feet. Anger, bitterness, and jealousy leaked from every pore, and as he stood he pulled back and punched Waylon in the gut. His friend groaned, quickly righted himself, and wrapped a heavily muscled arm around his neck as he escorted him to the side exit that led to the alleyway. Could things get any worse? He’d probably alienated Waylon as a friend. Who else in the world did he have now?

  The next thing he knew, the sharp evening chill pulled him to the present. The metal door boomed shut, and he was alone in the dark alley with a very pissed Waylon.

  “What the fuck’s wrong with you? You’re better than this!”

  “Is it a crime to get drunk in a bar now?” He nearly lost balance and Waylon’s hands were quick to reach out and steady him. “Get your hands off me!” Every touch from his friend reminded him of what he could never have and the kind of freak he was for craving his best friend in carnal ways.

  “What’s your problem?” Waylon pushed him against the brick wall of the club.

  “You! You’re my fucking problem!” Cal forced all his weight into pushing his friend backwards, which was a foolish move considering how solid he stood. It was like pushing against an oak tree. Waylon laughed, which only ignited Cal’s anger. He s
wung and missed, and swung again. Slightly bent over to maintain balance, Waylon grabbed the back hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head, hockey style.

  Cal struggled to free himself of the material, tossing it to the ground. “Hit me! Come on, hit me!” He raised his fists, ready to fight a superior opponent and not giving a shit that he’d lose. Today everything came to a head. The alcohol only acted as a catalyst for him to vent all the years of pent-up emotions he held back. He hated Waylon because he loved him—and couldn’t.

  “I’m not going to hit you, Cal.”

  “Say my name! It’s Calvin, the gayest fucking name in the world.”

  “Stop it,” warned Waylon. “You’re too drunk to think straight.”

  This time when he swung, he managed to land a solid blow to Waylon’s jaw. His friend bulldozed him into the brick wall, one hand around the offending wrist, the other around his neck. “I told you to cut it out,” he growled.

  “Fuck you!”

  Waylon shifted his hand from Cal’s neck to his jaw, holding firm, and leaned in close. His entire body pressed against his now, strong and solid. No witnesses occupied the dark, empty alley. It was just the two of them. Two ill-fated friends. The last thing in the world Cal expected was for Waylon to lean in and kiss him on the lips, which he did, boldly. The wild mix of adrenaline and testosterone quickly morphed into a lust Cal had never known. Was he too drunk to know what was happening? Did Waylon really just kiss him?

  Too scared to try and find out the truth, but even more afraid to deny his urges and not accept the advance, Cal kissed him back. Waylon’s mouth was exactly how he’d imagined, and he had played the scene over and over in his head over the years. His lips were thick and firm, and he dominated his mouth with hunger and passion. Cal sucked on Waylon’s tongue, thrusting his pelvis forward to grind against his friend’s body. He was too scared to open his eyes. Maybe he’d be back in the club and discover he was wasted and still kissing Macy. How could this be real? Was Waylon testing him? Did he fail by willingly kissing back? He supposed he could blame it on the booze. But when Waylon’s strong hand reached around to squeeze his jean clad ass, his doubts began to fizzle away.

  Chapter Three

  Waylon tried to rein in the beast within him, but once he had let it out he couldn’t control it. Cal was the sexiest man alive, and damn he loved him. All he ever thought or cared about was Cal. Denying his true feelings all these years had been torture. He had built a carefully constructed image to keep his family and friends in the dark to his true nature. Waylon was the college football hero with the hottest girlfriend. His body was solid muscle and intimidating. No one would dare question his sexuality. But in the span of a few seconds he threw away all his guards and gave into his desire—Calvin Waters.

  Standing there sweat glistened and shirtless, his dirty blond hair in disarray, his lips swollen from too much drinking—how could he be expected to hold back?

  When Cal had willingly accepted Macy, Waylon knew he should be happy for his friend. The whole plan was to get him laid. But the possessive instincts that erupted inside him were shocking. He needed to separate the two lovers before things got out of hand, not because Cal was drunk, but because Waylon couldn’t stand seeing him with anyone but himself. Their fight had been a dance of raw passion and energy, both letting go years of pent-up feelings in a sudden burst of energy. Watching his usually shy, laid-back friend erupt in a savage burst of violent passion only forced his own deep seated feelings to the surface.

  He finally managed to pull back from their kiss, which took a Herculean effort considering the younger man rubbed his steely erection against his hip. “I’m sorry.”

  “But you didn’t drink, did you?” Cal asked, slightly breathless. No, Waylon stayed sober to be the designated driver. There was no excuse for his actions.

  “No.”

  They stayed close, both lacking the right words in the awkward moment. Did he just ruin their friendship forever? Cal was drunk and couldn’t be blamed, but Waylon knew full well what he did. While part of him regretted his actions, a stronger part felt relieved, like the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders. He pulled slightly away, giving himself enough room to look at the length of Cal’s partially nude body. He already had a one-way trip to hell, so why not go all the way? Waylon placed his hand over his friend’s hard pec, squeezing slightly, enjoying the feel of his goose-bumped flesh and pebbled nipple. As he explored his lean, ripped torso, Cal never pulled away.

  “Does Stephanie know?”

  He assumed he meant his sexuality. “No.” He reached his waistband, his fingers curling around Cal’s belt. “Tell me to stop.”

  “What if I don’t want you to?”

  “You’re drunk.” He should stop before his friend really hated him in the morning.

  “True. That doesn’t mean I don’t know what I want.”

  Cal licked his lips. His slight stubble and shadows highlighting the sharp planes of his face made him look irresistible. Waylon wanted to kiss him again, but held back. “But you’re not gay.”

  Cal flinched at the sound of the word, and then he shrugged. “How do you know?”

  “Don’t tempt me. Like I told you earlier, anyone would be a fool not to want you.”

  “Do you?” His voice was deep and throaty, making Waylon’s cock even harder. Rather than answer the man, he grabbed Cal’s hand and cupped it against the dominant bulge in his jeans.

  “What does that tell you?” His eyes lolled back in his head as Cal kneaded his cock. His friend’s hot breath against the side of his neck sent shivers skittering through his body.

  “So, you’re bi?”

  He shook his head. “I’ve never liked girls. I’m just good at hiding it. How I’ve held back this long when you’re so fucking fine, I’ll never know.” His words appeared to undo Cal at the same time as Waylon. He couldn’t hold back any longer. Shoving Cal against the bricks, he crushed his mouth to his in a brutal, masculine kiss. He loved the strength and sturdiness of the male body, unlike the fragile feminine form. Cal combed his hands through Waylon’s hair, pulling his head closer. With his arms free, Waylon spared no time in unbuckling his friend’s belt and unzipping his pants. His balls ached with the need for release, for a release he craved since he first set eyes on the hunk that now melted against his mouth.

  Waylon pulled out Cal’s erection. “Oh, fuck!” Cal muttered against Waylon’s lips. It pleased him to know his touch excited his friend. He wrapped his hand around his length and broke their kiss to peer down between them.

  “You look full grown to me,” he said with a grin. Cal’s cock was thick and ready. Nothing to laugh at.

  “Nobody can make me hard like you can.” He reached down to help Waylon pump his shaft. His pre-cum coated Waylon’s fingers, and he had the urge to lick it off with his tongue. “I want to touch you, too.”

  Waylon moved fast, unbuckling his own pants, desperate to feel his fantasy man touch him skin to skin. How many nights had he dreamt of this? All the years wasted that they could have shared together, but there was no way of knowing until now. Once free of the restricting confines of his boxers, their dicks slapped against each other. Cal dropped down to a crouch and swallowed Waylon’s erection before he could blink.

  “Shit!” He braced both hands on the brick wall as his friend, now lover, sucked his cock like a pro. It seemed he knew exactly how to pleasure him, the perfect amount of pressure and suction to drive him over the edge. Waylon’s balls pulled tight against his body as he braced for release. Watching Cal’s beautiful head bobbing back and forth beneath him was the perfect ammunition to bring off the orgasm of the century.

  Just before he reached his peak, the boom of the metal emergency door opening brought Cal jumping to his feet. They both tucked themselves in their pants and put distance between them.

  Macy and Stephanie spilled out into the alley, their heels clicking on the asphalt. “What did you do to him?” Macy s
quealed as she raked her eyes up and down a partially nude Cal.

  “Nothing. Just a little disagreement,” Waylon reassured. “Everything’s fine now.” He shifted his gaze from each woman and back to Cal.

  “Should we leave?” asked Steph with an air of disappointment in her voice.

  “Maybe I should drive Cal home—”

  Cal cut him off. “No. I’ll walk. The fresh air will do me good.”

  “You’re not walking home alone in your condition.” Waylon grabbed Cal’s arm as he walked away, but his friend shrugged him off and disappeared down the alley, becoming consumed by darkness. He desperately wanted to follow, not just to finish what they started, but to nurture the germinated seed of acceptance between them. Their relationship was fragile and could go either way, and Waylon still wasn’t sure if Cal’s advance was real or booze-induced.

  * * * *

  Nearly two weeks passed, and neither of them said a word to each other. It was crazy considering there hadn’t been a day they hadn’t shared since becoming friends years ago. Cal never felt so alone and confused in his life. It was better when he lived in denial. At least then he had his best friend.

  Cal assumed Waylon regretted what had happened between them. Although Cal had been hammered, he remembered every erotic and beautiful detail of that night. How could something so good, be so bad? It was one thing to lust over a man, but it was another to actually suck a man’s dick. Now he was well and truly gay, and he felt smaller than a piece of shit. He was going to hell in a handbasket, just as his stepfather guaranteed him when he had kicked him out of the house.

  American History class was brutal because he had to see Waylon sitting three aisles over from him. He was also looking sexier than sin and never made eye contact. Cal wondered if he told his jock friends about his gay ex-friend.