Knowing Me, Knowing You

by Renae Kaye

  I shot up and away from him and spun around to glare. I pointed a finger accusingly in his direction. “I was enjoying what I was doing.”

  He raised his hands in a surrender motion. “So was I. I was enjoying what you were doing to me. I was also enjoying what I was doing to you. Can we continue please?”

  I grabbed the two hands he was holding up and pushed them above his head. It extended his body and opened his pits. It was so sexy and erotic that I just had to kiss him and hold down his elbows so he couldn’t distract me from the task. I slung a leg over his body and perched on his stomach. Ambrose wasn’t able to use his leg, so that was the only position I could think of to make penetration happen.

  “I don’t think we can continue with the foreplay bit,” I panted. “I think we need to move this show along.”

  He nodded, and I carefully ran my fingers down the insides of his arms, brushing the hair under his arms and continuing down.

  It was then that I saw it.

  It was tiny—a new tattoo on his side, over his ribs and hidden by his arm. I didn’t know why I hadn’t noticed it before, but I stopped and stared at it and placed my fingers on the design.

  “This one’s new too,” I whispered. It seemed like a whispering moment.

  Ambrose had stilled, and all expression disappeared from his face. “Yes.”

  “When did you get this?”

  “Two months ago.”

  Only two inches high and rather intricate in its details, a red football rested against a stack of books. The books were shaded, very faintly, each in a different color, to make a rainbow. There were no titles on the spines, just the shading to show pages and slight creases in the spines. Ambrose didn’t read books. And why did he shade them in rainbow colors?

  “It’s you and me,” he confessed quietly. “A reminder to me. A reminder of you. Of friendship. But mostly that differences are okay.”

  “You tattooed me on your body?” I wasn’t going to cry. I wasn’t.

  “Yeah. Even if you never talked to me again, you’ve been in my life forever, Shane. You were a friend and playmate growing up. You were a big brother, counselor, and coconspirator. You were the person who was there cheering me on, no matter what. You tutored me, rebuked me, and most importantly, fed me.”

  I laughed like he meant me to. “You were there for me too,” I said.

  But Ambrose shook his head. “No. Not like you were there for me. Nothing like that. Do you know I wouldn’t be playing AFL if it weren’t for you?”

  That wasn’t true, and I immediately corrected him. “Don’t be stupid. You have the talent. You did that all by yourself.”

  Again he shook his head. “No. AFL is much more than talent. You have to play the game, but you also have to be mentally fit. You have to know the other team. You have to get in their mind space and keep your own. You have to have the ability to get up every morning, no matter what happened the previous day, and do your training. You were the one who helped with all of that. You were the one during my childhood who egged me on, who praised me when I needed it and I knew I could come home to every night. Even when I went to Melbourne, you were still there for me. After every game you’d message and tell me if I did well. Praise, encouragement, and a tongue-lashing if I mucked up. Remember the first time I got reported?”

  I grimaced.

  Ambrose had accidentally broken another player’s nose when he went into a tackle with a little too much enthusiasm. He’d been reported to the tribunal for it but was let off with a fine, since it was his first incident and it was deemed careless rather than deliberate.

  “You messaged me before the game had even finished and told me to apologize. I did. I went immediately and found Trent and checked he was okay. He put in a good word for me at the tribunal. Can you imagine if I’d had to miss the next game?”

  The following week, Ambrose played one of the best games of his life. He was on fire, on the ball, and booted a marvelous six goals.

  “You can’t tell me I was the reason you played that well.”

  He shrugged. “I knew you were watching. You always watch. I knew I had disappointed you the previous week, so I was making it up to you.”

  I sobered. “I don’t always watch. I haven’t watched since preseason.”

  To my surprise Ambrose put a forgiving hand on my thigh. “I know. It was my fault. I ruined it between us because I took it for granted. What happened that night? I wanted to apologize, but I didn’t know how to say the words. But you were right to shut me down. It’s made me reevaluate my life. It’s been good.”

  “Yeah?”

  He gave a firm nod and touched the tattoo. “And so I got this as a reminder—you and me, what always was… and what I want again. I want to make you proud of me again, Shane.”

  Those tears threatened once more. “Oh, Ambrose. I’ve always been proud of you. Whether it was because you were getting an award at school or because you finally made that C grade in Mr. Evans’s class or because you made the AFL. You’ve come so far. Even if you never play another game, you make me proud.”

  I loved him.

  I’d loved him when I was eighteen, I loved him when I was twenty-five, and I still loved him. It was why I could never make it work with anyone else. I could date them and sexually desire them, but they never took my heart because it was in Melbourne with Ambrose.

  I leaned down and kissed him softly.

  “Shane.” My name was a sob against my mouth.

  I sipped at his lips and tasted the word as it fell from his tongue. Ambrose. I loved him and wanted to celebrate that.

  The condom was near my ankle, and I reached for it, handed it over, and then grabbed the lube. Within a minute we were ready to go.

  Ambrose’s gaze was hooded, and he watched the expression on my face as I reached back, lined up his cock with my hole, and pushed down. I knew he was watching me, because I was watching him. He waited and gave me time before the penetration was comfortable and I could move freely. I stared at him and remembered that he had me permanently tattooed on his skin. For a fleeting moment, I hated the condom that was between us. I wanted to feel him inside me and know it was him, not separated by the thinnest of sheaths.

  As I began to rock back and forth on his rigid cock, I imagined how it would be to have his hot come shoot inside me, taking me, branding me, claiming me as his own. I leaned forward and continued to rock so his dick slid in and out of me with each movement. The position wasn’t as intense as being pushed into the bed while Ambrose pounded me from behind. The penetration wasn’t as deep or forceful, but for the first time since we’d last made love, it was powerful.

  My brain shut down as my senses arrowed in on where we joined. I was only aware of the two of us, the movement of our bodies, the heat of our skin, and the sound of our breathing as we experienced the pleasure of coming together. My eyes were closed as I concentrated on that warmth, that wetness. I threw back my head and rocked faster.

  Then I leaned back on my hands, thrust myself onto his cock, and worked us both to climax. Then there was a touch on my dick. I didn’t bother to open my eyes. I was too far gone. With Ambrose working me into a frenzy, I cried out a warning that I was going to come. Ambrose tightened his grip and pulled hard.

  I came.

  “Keeping going. I’m nearly there.” Ambrose’s command urged me on. My body clenched with the force of my orgasm, but I pounded up and down on his dick and prolonged my orgasm until I was sure my teeth were going to crack because I was holding my jaw so tightly.

  “Yes. Fuck yes.”

  Ambrose gripped my hips as he helped me move in those last thrusts that he needed to come. He pushed up with his good leg and dug his fingertips into the soft flesh of my hips.

  “Fuck, yes. Fuck, yes. Fuck.”

  He pushed me down one final time and kept me there as his body attempted to bow up. I breathed hard and started stepping down off that plane of pleasure to find my body was aching in awkward spots. W
hen I sat up to relieve the pressure on my spine and thighs, Ambrose lessened his grip on my hips. I leaned forward and saw my come gracing his chest. It was a pretty sight.

  He released me and thrust his hands through his hair, but he had cut it all off, so he ended up gripping his skull. His eyes were closed as though he were in pain.

  I gingerly climbed off him. “Ambrose? You okay? Did that hurt?”

  He took a big breath, and his chest expanded and brought my attention back to my come and the tattoo on his side. I smiled as I looked at it.

  “Yes.”

  My smile turned to a frown. “Yes, you’re okay? Or yes, that hurt?”

  His eyes opened, and his gaze met mine. His eyes were sparkling with happiness. “Both. It hurt, but that’s okay because… yeah. Wow. Fuck.”

  I stared at the length of his body lying on the sheets of my bed and had another moment. Wow. Ambrose Jakoby was naked in my bed, wearing my come, his dick covered in a condom, and he was happy about it.

  So was I.

  I could get used to this life.

  Interview Six

  Aaron

  “WHEN DID I know that Vinnie was the one for me? Easy. When I couldn’t imagine my life without him at my side.”

  Silence.

  More silence.

  “That’s great. But how long did that take?”

  “I don’t know. It wasn’t like I was counting. We moved in together for convenience. And then I couldn’t imagine it any different. Finito.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  SUNDAY BROUGHT a worried phone call from Tracy. I walked out the back of the house and shut the door, at least attempting a bit of privacy while I assured Tracy that Ambrose was fine and that we were just hanging out together.

  “Look after him, Shane. Something is wrong. He’s got something weighing on him.”

  Ambrose was making coffee when I reentered the house. “What did Mum say?”

  “She was worried because you prefer to sleep over at my tiny little house and share a small bed with me, rather than go to the mansion you helped her buy and sleep in your huge king-size bed by yourself.”

  Ambrose smirked. “She doesn’t know the fringe benefits of sleeping in your small bed.”

  Yeah. There was that. I wondered if Tracy suspected.

  “Besides, it’s not a mansion,” he said as he passed my coffee.

  “Compared to what we grew up in, it’s a mansion,” I said.

  He didn’t deny it.

  My phone started to beep then as group messages came in from the gang about our usual Sunday gathering. John confirmed the time the game started, as though it didn’t start at the same time each week, Jamie reminded everyone to bring a hat because it looked sunny out, Aaron demanded we bring food with us, and Vinnie told him they had plenty of food.

  I giggled at the screen.

  “Who’s that? Mum again?”

  I shook my head. “It’s the guys. Group chat. Aaron said we all need to bring steaks and sausages to cook, and then Vinnie comes back and tells him to be quiet, that they don’t need that much food. They’re probably in the same room, yet they message via the chat.”

  Ambrose gave a little snort and then sobered. “Are you going?”

  “Yeah, of course.” I went every week. “Did you want me to drop you home first? I need to leave in about an hour.”

  “Can I stay here?”

  I didn’t expect that. “Oh. Umm… sure. If you want.” Then a thought occurred to me. “Did you want to come? See John play and have lunch?”

  I would cop so much shit from the guys for never telling them about my famous friend, but it would be worth it if Ambrose wanted to come.

  “Nah. I don’t want to socialize. I just want to… be a hermit for a while. Can I use your laptop while you’re gone?”

  “No problem. What do you want it for?”

  Ambrose looked to the side and mumbled, “Nothing much. Just some research stuff. Tax and legal things. Charity work stuff I’ve been doing.”

  That was odd because I knew Ambrose had a tax accountant. And any “legal things” he could’ve asked my mum about. It rang some vague bells. What did Ambrose ask the other night?

  “Okay. Can I use some of your groceries to make a salad to take to Aaron’s?”

  “Of course.”

  We chatted while I made up two salads—despite not enjoying cooking for one, when I got a chance to feed more than myself, I liked to make yummy stuff—and served out a portion of each on a plate for Ambrose’s lunch. He reassured me several times that he was okay at my place by himself.

  So I dressed, packed the salads in a cooler bag with some ice packs, added some drinks and snacks, grabbed my camping chair so I could sit on the sidelines and watch John’s game, stole a kiss from Ambrose, and left.

  I wasn’t the last to arrive, but only Jamie and Liam were missing. Aaron and Vinnie were sitting side by side, chattering—or rather arguing—about something, as evidenced by Vinnie’s violent head shakes and Aaron’s answering nods. Hiram had taken the spot on the other side of Aaron and was looking at his phone, probably playing one of those apps he was addicted to. Kee was sitting next to Vinnie, and on the other side of him were two coolers, several bags, and then Tate, sitting on his own but talking to his boyfriend across “the gap.” We’d taken to putting our coolers and bags in the gap between the footy-appreciation side and the nonfooty-appreciation side.

  I walked up, greeted Kee and Tate, who were the only ones to notice me, added my bag to the gap, and set up my chair next to Tate. Since it was only Tate, Jamie, and me on the nonappreciation side, I’d gotten to know him quite well over the course of year. Tate worked in the fashion section of a large department store in the city. He’d given up trying to persuade me to wear anything other than my normal, nondescript clothing. He was a big movie and TV-series buff, so we usually chatted about that.

  Jamie and Liam arrived soon after. Where I could sneak in and sit with only two out of the five people in our group noticing, Jamie arrived in a flourish, and half the crowd in attendance at the game noticed.

  “Oh my gawd. It’s going to be a glorious day, isn’t it?”

  Jamie didn’t know how to be silent. Or quiet. And we loved him for it. He came over and prattled on about how wonderful the sunshine was and how that meant it was going to be an early spring and then started in on an argument about how it was good for the bees but subsequently bad. We all had trouble following Jamie’s arguments. I listened as he opened his chair and plonked it on the other side of me.

  But then Vinnie cut Jamie off midsentence with, “Oh my God. Shane. When did you get here?”

  I shrugged. “A couple of minutes.” Or ten.

  “Thought you’d sneak in, did you?”

  Did I ever have to sneak anywhere? “Uh….” I didn’t know what he was getting at.

  Vinnie stood and with determined movements, pulled me out of my chair. “I think there needs to be a change of scenery for you, don’t you think?”

  I was perplexed, and so was everyone else in the group. Vinnie snagged my hand, lifted my chair, and very determinedly tugged me over to the other side of the gap and placed my chair next to Hiram.

  Aaron protested. “Now, now. We can’t just invite anyone over to the footy-appreciation side, Vin. There’s rules about these things.”

  “What rules?” demanded Vinnie.

  Aaron looked shocked. “You can’t switch teams like that. It’s not done.”

  Vinnie got a crafty look on his face. “You can’t switch teams—like you did?”

  We all tried hard to hide our laughter. Liam spun on his heel and turned his back on his best friend. Tate slapped a hand across his mouth. Hiram looked up and squinted at the sun to hide his smirk. Aaron turned red. We still enjoyed giving Aaron shit for falling in love with Vinnie. Before they started to sleep together, Aaron was convinced he was heterosexual.

  “I didn’t exactly switch teams,” he defended himself. “I jus
t sorta realized I liked the other team too.”

  Vinnie blushed. “And I’m ever so glad you did. But to keep with that analogy, it’s not that Shane’s switching teams, it’s that he’s been in the closet. Isn’t that right, Shane?”

  “Umm… what?” I was confused.

  So were others. Hiram cleared his throat. “Uh, I’m someone who can personally testify to the fact that Shane’s not in any closet.”

  Vinnie shoved his hands on his hips and rolled his eyes. “Not the gay closet. The footy-appreciation closet.”

  “Shane likes football?” Kee was the first to get it.

  “Why didn’t he just say so, then?” Liam was unfazed.

  “But he always reads his book. Are you sure about this, Vinnie?” Tate had sat next to me through enough games that he knew I didn’t watch.

  Jamie stood up. “I’ve known Shane the longest, and if he were a football fanatic, I would know about it.”

  But Vinnie held his ground. “I didn’t say he was a fanatic. I said he’s an appreciator of football.”

  “Why would you sit on the other side of the gap if you liked football?” Kee asked with uncertainty.

  Vinnie smiled. “I think Shane is holding a lot of secrets. Are you ready to come out of the closet and tell us any of those secrets yet?” He was looking straight at me as he issued the challenge.

  Remember those corporate people who pushed to get ahead? Remember that nondescript Shane couldn’t be bothered to work that hard and just rolled over?

  I shrugged as though I didn’t know what he was talking about. Vinnie’s face fell.

  Jamie suddenly had a lightbulb moment. The way I know that? He screeched out loud, “Oh my gawd!” Jamie doesn’t hold anything in. “Do you mean to suggest, Vinnie, that our favorite Shane here has a secret boyfriend we don’t know about?”

  Vinnie crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t know. Do you have a secret boyfriend, Shane?”

  That one was easy. “No. Of course not.” Ambrose wasn’t my boyfriend.

  Vinnie narrowed his eyes. Thankfully Aaron came to my rescue.