by L. A. Witt
Wes, who’d been far too drunk to know who or what he was doing. The kiss would’ve happened to anyone who was within reach. He hadn’t meant a damned thing he’d said.
Eyes closed, Reggie panted hard as he stroked himself. He hadn’t been turned on like this in he didn’t know how long, and it didn’t even matter that he was fantasizing about someone he couldn’t have. He didn’t care. He bit his lip and jerked his dick harder, closing in on an orgasm faster than he ever did.
Wes isn’t really gay.
He doesn’t really want me.
But at least for tonight, in my mind, he is and he does.
Oh. God….
Chapter 4
WES HAD never imagined it was possible for his head to hurt this bad.
He’d done everything he could to block out the light, closing the thick curtains over the motel room’s window and wearing his dark sunglasses indoors, but the throbbing would not relent. It wasn’t a migraine, thank God—he’d had a few of those over the years—but it was one hell of a fierce hangover.
Should’ve drunk some water last night, he chastised himself as he lay on the bed and tried not to move. There was a soda machine down the hall. He could’ve gotten a few bottles of water and kept himself hydrated. Especially after he’d puked the first time. And the fourth time.
But the dehydration and the hangover weren’t the worst of his problems right then.
He was so fired when he got back to LA. More than that, though, he was just mortified. No amount of unemployment assistance or job interviews could take the sting out of knowing he’d made that drunken confession to Reggie last night. Bad enough he’d flown out here to ask Reggie to whore himself to desperate women on national television. Now he’d personally made the man uncomfortable to boot. And told him why the network had pitched the show to him in the first place.
Awesome. I should put this shit on my résumé.
Plus he’d kissed him. Christ, what was I thinking? Yeah, he’d wanted Reggie since forever, but he didn’t even know if the man was gay.
Apparently, Wes thought, running his fingertips across his lips, he is. No straight man would’ve stood for that for more than the couple of seconds it took him to realize what was going on. Reggie hadn’t just tolerated it either. He’d joined in, and he’d been mostly sober too. Wes shivered as he remembered the way Reggie had kissed him back, letting Wes take the lead but not being passive either.
Well, now he knew what it was like to kiss Reggie, and he was pretty sure he knew which way Reggie swung. He could jerk off to that in between job interviews during his upcoming unemployment.
Eventually, he made himself get up and shower. On the way to the garage, he stopped for coffee, and drank it there. He took his time, since he was in absolutely no hurry to be in the same room with the man who’d watched him humiliate himself last night. When he’d finished that cup, he ordered a second and made it halfway through that one before he finally convinced himself that he couldn’t put off this meeting forever. It was probably the last official thing he’d do for the network anyway. Might as well get it over with so he could go back to the motel and start updating his résumé.
He didn’t remember the garage being so close to where he was staying or to the coffee shop, but before he knew it, he was pulling into one of the spaces outside the freshly painted blue building.
In between the first and second seasons, the network had decided the shops on Wrench Wars needed makeovers. As a result, the simple blocky building was now bright blue with the Wrench Wars logo—flames and the show’s title—splashed across the walls. There was no pretending this was just any garage.
Wes wondered how Reggie would feel about painting over that after the network nailed him for breach of contract. Given the way they’d jerked him around from the day one, he’d probably throw a painting party complete with a keg and a bonfire. Wes couldn’t blame him.
Or avoid him.
Standing out here and staring at the logo wasn’t going to get him any closer to ending this meeting that promised to be hellishly uncomfortable. He took a deep breath, set his shoulders back, and went inside.
Chandler, one of the other mechanics who never, ever appeared on the show, was in the break room between the filming area and no-camera zone. When asked where Reggie was, he didn’t answer, just pointed at Reggie’s office door.
Did he know about what was happening with the network? Or was he just being antisocial? Though knowing how the network had fucked him over, he probably had nothing to say to Wes or his ilk.
Whatever the case, at least Wes knew where to find Reggie.
He knocked on the door.
“It’s open.”
Another deep breath, and then he was in the same room with Reggie. He nudged the door closed with his heel.
“Have a seat,” Reggie said dryly.
Wes did. He had no idea what Reggie’s expression was because he couldn’t even look at him. He wanted the concrete under his feet to just open up and swallow him whole.
“So, um.” Reggie cleared his throat. His chair squeaked as he shifted. “We should talk. About some things that came up last night.” Beat. “I mean, what we… sort of talked about last night.”
“Right.” Wes made himself look at him. Reggie’s expression was unreadable. The bastard had had a hell of a poker face when they’d been negotiating with the network, and apparently that skill carried over to awkward conversations that straddled the line between personal and professional.
Professional. Sure. Because I obviously know the meaning of that word.
He broke eye contact again, replaying last night in his throbbing head for the millionth time. What the hell had come over him? He never drank, never mind enough to get that stupid.
He coughed but still didn’t look at Reggie. “Maybe we should start with the stuff that’s, uh, not related to the show.”
The chair squeaked again. “Okay.”
Silence. Right. Because it was pretty clear who needed to do the talking on this one, and suddenly Wes wondered if he’d wind up doing with his coffee what he’d done with all that beer last night. Just in case, he glanced around and caught sight of a trash can near the door. Good enough in a pinch. Better than all over Reggie’s desk. Or Reggie.
Reggie, who was still waiting for him to speak.
Wes took in a deep breath. “Look, I’m sorry about what I said. And what happened.” He rubbed his neck and avoided Reggie’s eyes. “I was… I….” He sighed. “Fuck, there’s really nothing I can say that—”
“Did you mean it?”
Wes jumped. His head snapped up, and he stared, wondering how the hell he was supposed to take—never mind answer—that question. “What?”
Reggie folded his arms across his chest. “What you said at the bar last night.” He inclined his head a little. “Did you mean it? Or were you just drunk?”
Wes swallowed. He had been pretty drunk. Maybe he could blow it off. Pretend his comments about Reggie being hot had been nothing more than alcohol-induced nonsense. It was a long shot, but if he could save a little face….
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I was just drunk.”
“Oh. Okay.” Reggie’s posture changed. Wes couldn’t quite put his finger on what had changed, but was that… disappointment?
No way.
“So I suppose what happened at the motel,” Reggie said quietly. “That was the booze too?”
Dropping his gaze again, Wes nodded.
“Oh.” Reggie was silent for a moment. “So, what about everything else?” When Wes looked at him, Reggie squared his shoulders. “Is it true the network is using the bachelor show to push me out of Wrench Wars?”
Wes flinched. What hadn’t he said last night? “It’s, uh, it’s true.”
Reggie blew out a breath. Closing his eyes, he let his head fall back against the chair. “Fuck.”
“I’m sorry,” Wes said. “If it means anything, I was against it from the start.”
Eyes still shut, Reggie said, “So against it, you still flew out here and pitched it to me.”
Ouch.
He sighed. “My ass is on the line here, all right?”
Reggie opened his eyes, cocking his head in true “are you fucking kidding me?” fashion.
Wes put up his hands. “No, that doesn’t make it right. But you weren’t the only one backed into a corner here.” He shook his head. “Why do you think I was drinking myself stupid last night?”
“Fair enough,” Reggie said. “But none of that changes the predicament they’ve got me in.”
“I know.” Wes rubbed his forehead with his thumb and forefinger. “And I wish I could give you a solution. The fact is, they’re sure this is going to give them the ammo they need to bump you off the show.”
Reggie swallowed. “What if I agree to do the bachelor show?”
Wes’s heart dropped. “You’d consider it?”
“I’d rather not.” Reggie pinched the bridge of his nose. “But what choice do I have? We lose Wrench Wars, I give it six months before people forget we even exist. A year after that, when all the money’s dried up, I’m gonna be laying people off.” He dropped his hand and looked at Wes. “The contract doesn’t state I have to stay married to this woman, does it?”
Wes shook his head slowly. “No. But the contestants on these things, some of them are gold diggers, but some are really desperately looking for something real.”
“I know.” Reggie sighed. “But they’re signing up for it. They know damn well what can happen on a show like that.” He waved a hand at the wall between the office and the filming garage. “My guys are a part of Wrench Wars because they’re a part of my crew. They lose this, they’re all going back to working in no-name shops and hoping those shops don’t fold in a year.”
Wes grimaced.
“I don’t want to do it,” Reggie whispered. “I’m just not sure what choice I have.” He chewed his lip. “If I agree to do the show, then…?”
“Then the show happens,” Wes said. “And Wrench Wars keeps going with the current cast until the execs find some other way to cut you out.”
“Fuck.”
“Yeah. I wish I had something better for you.”
“Not your fault.” Staring at his desk with unfocused eyes, Reggie said, “I need to think about it for a while.”
“Understood.” Wes paused. “I can, um, bring the new contracts to your lawyer. Let him look them over and at least get a head start on that in case you decide to accept the offer.”
Reggie nodded slowly. “Good idea.”
Wes stood. “I’ll go call him and schedule a meeting.”
“Okay.” Reggie finally refocused and met Wes’s eyes. “You have his information?”
“Yeah.” Wes shifted his weight. “I’ll give you a call after I’ve spoken with him. Then you and I can discuss it.”
“All right.”
Silence fell, and it became less comfortable by the second. Reggie avoided Wes’s eyes. Wes avoided his except for the occasional fleeting glance.
Finally, he said, “I should go. You’ve got….” He nodded toward the wall.
“Yeah. Thanks.”
“We’ll be in touch.”
They exchanged a glance, and then Wes started to leave, but he paused with his hand on the door.
This meeting was over. It needed to be. They both needed some breathing room right now, and Reggie had a lot to think about. Still….
Hand on the doorknob, one turn away from an easy escape, he looked over his shoulder. “Would anything have been different if I’d meant it?”
Reggie straightened. “Beg pardon?”
Wes looked down at his hand. After a second, he let his fingers slide off the doorknob and slowly turned around to face Reggie completely. “If I’d meant what I said last night—” He gulped, begging his mouth not to go dry on him. “—would that have changed anything?”
Reggie studied him. “Are you asking hypothetically?”
There wasn’t a single thing he could say right then that wouldn’t be a cop-out or a dead giveaway. And he couldn’t talk anyway. His heart was pounding, and he’d all but forgotten how to breathe, and forming words was just not happening.
Reggie tilted his head slightly. “Well?”
Wes coughed to get some air moving. “I asked you first.”
A quiet laugh escaped Reggie’s lips, but Wes couldn’t escape the intensity of his stare. “Except what I asked might change how I answer your question.”
Oh, shit.
Wes gulped. “How so?”
Reggie got up. He came around the desk, and now there was no safe barrier of furniture between them. A foot or so away, close enough Wes could feel the slight difference in height—Reggie was maybe two inches taller—Reggie stopped.
Wes pressed himself against the door, feeling around for the knob and telling himself it was so he had an easy escape, not so he had something to hold himself upright. He didn’t want to draw away from Reggie, didn’t want to escape him, but he wasn’t sure he could cope with being any closer to him than this.
And he didn’t have much choice because Reggie took another step.
“If it’s a hypothetical,” Reggie said quietly, “then I can pull any answer I want to out of my ass and it wouldn’t make a difference.” Another half step, and they were almost touching, and Wes couldn’t press back any harder against that door without knocking it off its hinges. “If it’s not a hypothetical, then….”
Wes couldn’t breathe. He stared at Reggie, certain everyone in the building could hear his heart thundering against his ribcage.
“Just answer the question.” Was Reggie… pleading?
Oh, hell. Wes had already dug himself a hole, might as well keep on digging.
“No.” He swept his tongue across his lips. “It’s not just a hypothetical.”
Reggie released a long, ragged breath. Wes was about to ask how that affected his answer to the first question, but he didn’t get a chance.
Because Reggie kissed him.
Grabbed him, a rough hand on the back of his neck and the other on his waist, pinned him up against the door, and kissed him.
God, the way he kissed. Last night aside, Wes couldn’t remember the last time he’d kissed a man, and he’d never touched a man like Reggie. He always wound up with pretty boys, and pretty boys were fine and good, but Reggie was the rugged, rough around the edges type who made Wes’s knees shake. He smelled of grease and sweat—not in a grimy, off-putting way, but in a masculine, hard-working kind of way. The type of man who turned wrenches hard enough to have some serious strength behind those hands.
The rough surface of Reggie’s calloused hands made every touch unavoidable, something undeniably there that Wes couldn’t mistake for anything else.
When they parted, they were panting against each other’s lips and clinging to each other like they were both as drunk as Wes had been last night.
“I’ve been wanting to do that for ages,” Reggie breathed.
Wes’s pulse skyrocketed. “You have?”
“Yeah.” Reggie kissed him lightly. “And now that we have… I don’t….” He rested his forehead against Wes’s and grasped his lapels. “I don’t want to stop.”
Wes shivered. Absently, he pulled Reggie closer, not realizing until a second too late that his hands were on Reggie’s hips, and that subtle motion did nothing but make their cocks rub against each other through a layer of jeans and slacks.
“Fuck….” Reggie shivered this time. “Let’s get out of here.”
Holy shit. Really?
“Are you—”
“I want you.” Reggie’s voice was deliciously unsteady. “Now. I don’t want to wait.”
“But… the show.” Wes struggled to catch his breath. “You need—”
“Fuck the show. Let’s go.”
“T-to where?”
“Someplace with condoms. And lube.” He groaned softly and dra
gged his lip across Wes’s. “Lots of fucking lube.”
Chapter 5
WHY DID the motel have to be twenty minutes away?
Reggie tapped the wheel with his thumbs, staring hard at the road and willing the strip of pavement to magically get shorter.
Beside him, Wes was just as quiet. They’d made a quick escape from the shop, telling Carl they needed to meet with the lawyer and discuss some contractual issues. At least that had gotten the director off their backs—if there was a contract involved, then the network was tapping its collective foot, and woe be unto him if he held that shit up. That left the rest of the crew to film without Reggie. He owed them all several beers for that later.
Especially since they weren’t negotiating a damned thing or discussing anything with the lawyer today. Working hours be damned. Fuck the fact that the show was hanging by a thread and the network had him backed into one hell of a corner. Wes had meant what he’d said last night, and he’d meant that kiss, too, and Reggie couldn’t wait another minute.
Except it took more than a minute to get from the garage to the motel.
He drove a little faster than he should’ve down the main drag. The place wasn’t far from here, was it? A few more blocks.
Wait, no.
It was down at the other end of the road. At least three or four miles. Way, way too far.
Beside him a seat belt clicked and then snapped back against the seat. A second later, Wes slid across the bench seat and put his hand on Reggie’s leg.
Reggie sucked in a breath. “Fuck….”
“What’s wrong?” Wes squeezed his thigh and leaned in to kiss the side of his neck.
“You know exactly what’s wrong.” Reggie exhaled, sliding his own hand between Wes’s legs. “We’re not in your room yet.”
“I know. Damn it.” Didn’t stop him from nibbling Reggie’s earlobe, though. Any other time, Reggie would have shrugged him off and told him to wait till they weren’t in motion, but to hell with it. He was focused on the road all right. It was the only thing standing between him and the motel room, and he concentrated on it like he concentrated on the stubborn safety seal on a bottle of lube or a particularly difficult condom wrapper. It was an obstacle to overcome, and being distracted wouldn’t get him anywhere.