Connor's Achilles (Fast and Loud #1)

by S. L. Perrine

  It was always the same thing with him. His dreams of owning a motorcycle shop were always on his mind. It was all he ever talked about. Well, that and racing. Two years after we split, I sat front row at Daytona International to watch him win his very first race as a professional stock car driver. Then the following year a custom build for one of the other drivers had him breaking headlines. I followed his career. Found out he moved his business to New York City and made sure when I was in town to check out his showroom. In all the years I’ve visited I’d never run into him until now.

  I had to admit, I stopped at the Tool Box in hopes it was a bar he frequented. Knowing the bar scene was his go-to after hours. He’d sit on a stool drinking whiskey or whatever his heart desired until the bartender had to kick him out at closing time. I was sure I’d run into him in previous years. I guess I’ve been wrong. Knowing that he quit when I walked away made me happy to know in some way, what I said to him hit home. Too bad I was a hypocrite.

  His arm was draped over my shoulder as we made our way into the back entrance of his building. The desk clerk served as the doorman for the overnight hours and quickly assessed the situation.

  “This is…” I tried to say, but the portly man stopped me rushing over to take Connor from my grip.

  “What happened to Mr. Reed? Who are you?” The man asked.

  “I’m Parker, an old friend from high school. We were out catching up, and he had a bit too much to drink. Thought I’d bring him home and get him settled.”

  “I need my bed, Tony.” Connor moaned but didn’t lift his head from where his chin rested against his chest.

  “That’ll be all then. I’ll see Mr. Reed gets upstairs,” Tony turned toward the elevator.

  “I’m actually visiting from outta state. Connor said I could freshen up. I’ll have to call a detail service in the morning.” The man looked at me expectantly. “He wasn’t able to get the door open before he got sick, and it’s not a rental.”

  “Mr. Reed?” Tony asked Connor as if he’d be able to make a coherent statement about my going upstairs.

  “It’s phone, man. He pools,” Connor waved a hand at me.

  “Okay, if you’re sure,” the man hit the button on the elevator and deposited Connor back onto my arm. Then swiped a card on the reader inside when the doors popped open. “He’s on the top floor. Make sure to hit the red button beside the elevator when you get off. It’ll be next to the call button beside the doors once you get inside his place. Are you expecting Mr. Benjamin to return this evening?”

  I didn’t know who that was but guessed it was Connor’s ex, so I felt safe when I shook my head. “Thanks,” I said when he turned to head back to the desk mumbling under his breath.

  I pulled Connor inside the elevator and waited till the doors closed. “That guy have a homophobic issue?”

  “Nah, he tool too.”

  The feeling I had about Tony went from bad to worse as we rode up to the twenty-third floor. I didn’t like people who were close-minded homophobes. I had an even bigger problem with bigots. Being an athlete wasn’t something I was recognized for since I stayed out of the spotlight. I was always in the background, and even when my teammates pulled me into their lime action, I tended to stay quiet and reserved. I loved the game, but not the attention. I hadn’t had a naysayer look at me like Tony did since I was in Santa Barbara. Since then I only ever wore neutral colors and kept my leathers free of anything that could be considered gang related. Being in New York, I didn’t anticipate Tony’s reception. I tried to chalk it up to the condition in which his tenant showed up and the late hour. Unless he gave me the same looks in the morning, I’d reserve myself to keep a clear head about it.

  When I helped Connor off the elevator, he pointed at the wall. A small red button with the word lock in the middle was lit up. I pushed it in, the doors closed, and the lift went down. The red light went out, and a ding sounded through the huge room.

  “Hey, Connor. Which way to your room?”

  “That’ da way,” he pointed to the left. The place was wall to wall hardwood. There was a loft-feel to the area. Steel rafters and wood beams could be seen above and every few feet there was a ceiling fan. With no strings and no way to reach the things, I had to assume they were operated by a switch. The lights in the middle of each were dimmed enough to walk around without getting impaled by furniture, which was scarce. A brown leather sectional sofa and recliner sat in the corner with a light oval wood colored coffee table. It was all very Adirondack looking. A quick glance around a small support column told me the kitchen was outfitted in stainless-steel. Beige and brown tiles adorned the floor, but the island had my attention; tan and brown swirled amidst a few gold flakes.

  After moving through the living room and a nice sized dining area, I took a left down a hallway. I walked toward the first room on the right, and Connor lifted his arm pointing down the hall more. We passed three more doors and made it to the last on the left. When I opened the door, and Connor hit the light, I was floored. A king-size bed sat in the middle of a beige room, keeping in with the décor through the rest of his place. The brown carpet looked plush, and my feet told me I could have slept on it and got a better night’s sleep then I had in some of the hotels I’d been in. It was, however, the bed that had made me pause. The headboard and footboard looked as if the thing was carved from a tree or several based on its size. I turned my body and sat down on the edge of the bed, bringing Connor with me. He went further laying back on the mattress with his feet still on the floor.

  My bag dropped from my shoulder, and I reached down to take off his boots. Connor moaned and curled onto his side. His tall, slim frame looked small in the middle of the bed. Dark hair fell out from underneath his hat as it rolled to the floor. The tight tapper above his ears and the back of his head were the same as always. However, the top he’d kept long to allow his soft curls to grow wild. That was one of the things I most loved about him. I remember spending hours lying awake at night when he was in his current state, running my fingers through his hair, making sure he didn’t get sick in his sleep and choke to death. His hair was silky smooth then and based on the way the light cascaded on him, I could tell it was still soft as ever. What I wouldn’t give to run my fingers through those curls once again.

  As I slid my leather off, my hand connected with the drying vomit. I needed a shower and Connor needed to be cleaned up as well before he ended up sleeping in it.

  Stripping him down to his boxers was as easy as ever. More so, since his body was leaner than the last time, I’d done it. I discarded my shirt and then took care of him. I found the master bathroom and located a washcloth and soap to wipe him down with. When I got back to the room to get my clothes from my bag, I noticed he’d shimmied up the bed and was lying flat on his back.

  His arms were folded behind his head. One leg was bent at the knee, and I couldn’t help gazing at his body, studying every scar; new and old. Recounting the way he’d gotten most of them from his practice rides on his father’s old bike; a 1986 Triumph Bonneville. He spent countless hours restoring the bike his father left behind when he passed away. The day he started riding it I knew he’d found his calling.

  Connor moaned, and I felt a twitch in my pants. His tanned skin and sculpted body were making my dick wake up from a very long slumber, and I was itching to let it out to play. I grabbed my clothes and went into the bathroom. The tiled floor was cold under my bare feet but did nothing to staunch my urges. Damn, this man always gets to me. I thought as I pressed my back against the glass wall of the shower. The hot spray felt good in contrast to the cool glass and by the time I scrubbed my skin clean my cock was begging for attention. With a tight grasp of my shaft the tingling I’d thought had long since gone away for good, came back. I looked down watching pre-come form on my helmet. The thought of Connor just a few feet away from me had my hand moving faster. It’d been so long I didn’t know if I was able to come, but within minutes I was painting his shower wall
with my seed, and I was elated to finally feel the release I’d waited so long for.

  When I woke later that morning, I almost forgot where I was. I slept in a pair of gym shorts on top of the covers. Connor was still on his back, arms behind his head. He’d slept like that for as long as I could remember. Unless we’d just finished ravishing each other. Then we almost always fell asleep in each other’s arms. Hell, I bet he didn’t even realize I was there.

  I took a moment to study the room a bit before getting up. I wanted to get a feel for who this new Connor was. The one who seemed to have molded his life to match me. I wasn't conceited at all, but the Adirondack style was something I’d always wanted. Granted we were in the middle of New York City and not the mountainous regions of the Catskills, but the look of his apartment said differently.

  The chair I laid my clothes on last night was a perfect match for the bed. Built, or carved from an actual tree. There was a dark brown cushion on the seat and against the back making it look comfortable as hell. I didn’t notice the fireplace the night before since the chair was blocking it. That was definitely a nice touch. Wood dressers lined the walls to the left and beside the door, and in the corner was a wall-mounted television that looked like it was at least fifty inches.

  Connor rolled to his side of the bed, his back to me. A clear sign he was about to wake up. So, I moved as quickly as I could toward the bathroom to relieve myself. The white tiled floor was a significant contrast to the rest of the apartment that I saw, but it felt right. An extended counter complete with two sinks, and a vanity mirror stretched behind them gave me a gorgeous view to the man lying in bed. The shower was amazing, big enough to fit three men of my size. But it was the jet tub I was admiring when I heard the bedsheets rustle around in the other room.

  Chapter 3

  Connor

  I thought I was still dreaming when I woke and saw the movement out of the corner of my eye. I remember Matthew moving out. I also remember the bottle of rum I devoured last night. Did I hook up with someone? …Oh shit…Parker!

  Just as the thought came to me, I saw him move past the bathroom door. His caramel skin a direct contrast to the bright white tiles in the room. I scooted across the bed and peered at him. His back was to me as he emptied his bladder, and I could see the dimples in his ass cheeks as he tensed. The same dimples I used to run my hands across as I peppered his ass with kisses.

  When Parker lifted his shorts and moved forward to flush I scooted back to my pillow, noticing for the first time that I was stripped down to my boxers.

  “Good morning, sleepyhead,” he said bringing a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin to me. He smiled and took a seat on the bed, scooting my legs over toward the middle. “How’s the head?” I watched and contemplated what I wanted to say first, as the familiarity of the encounter struck me. He dished out two capsules from the bottle, dropped them in my hand and offered me the water.

  “Not bad, actually. Should be worse if I remember correctly.” The aspirin fizzed against my tongue before I had a chance to sip the water, giving me a nasty taste in my mouth. Once I swallowed, I handed the glass back to Parker, and he set it down. His hand straddled my body to rest on the mattress on my other side. The movement was comfortable, but also somehow unnerving. “Did we, uh? Did I?”

  “Puke all over me and the inside of my car? Yes, you did. Did we sleep together? Yes, but only in that sense. I wanted to make sure you didn’t get sick again and choke on it. I also had to use your shower.”

  “Oh, sorry about that. You caught me on a bad night.” I pushed my untamed curls back away from my face. Wanting to get a look at the man before me. I’d longed for him for so long, it was hard to believe he was sitting right here close enough to taste.

  “Yeah, well your morning might not be so good either,” he said turning to the tv mounted in the corner of the room and turned it on. I hadn’t even realized he had the remote in his hand.

  Suddenly pictures flashed across the screen of him and I walking down an alley. My back was to the camera, and my face was never visible. But several eyewitnesses said they saw me in the bar. However, the bartender wouldn’t comment.

  “Decent guy, Dennis. I used to play ball with his brother,” Parker said turning off the television.

  “Ugh. Great. Damage control time. I am so sorry. I guess I’m not as good as I used to be at holding my liquor.”

  His pecs moved as he spoke, making me look down to a six-pack and the all too familiar happy trail that disappeared behind the waistband of his shorts. “You really did stop.”

  His hand started to rub my thigh, and my eyes shot north to his. A habit exhibited in the past. Just as quickly as he started, he stopped and stood. He seemed to be looking around for something, but when he grabbed his clothes from the chair by the fireplace, I understood. There was no need to act as if we were in the past. That was over and done with.

  “Yup,” I said jumping, albeit a bit too quickly, from bed to grab a pair of gym shorts from my dresser. “Cold turkey. Spent most days and nights in my father’s garage fixing up his old stock car. I had it in my head that a suit and tie just wasn’t for me. I thought racing was the easiest way to get the funds up to start my shop.”

  Parker went into the bathroom to dress while I pulled my shorts and a semi-clean t-shirt on. It still smelled like Matthew, so I took it off just as quickly. By the time I found a clean one in my dresser and pulled it on, Parker was in the doorway to the bathroom. He had a plastic bag in his hand and shoved it in his duffle at the end of the bed.

  “You always carry luggage with you?” I asked him, and he looked down at his hand as he zipped it.

  “Um, no. I was moving to the city. I decided to stop for a drink when I saw you before heading to my hotel room.”

  “Oh. Well…” I froze. Not knowing the etiquette for the morning after an ex saves me from myself. “Let me at least make you breakfast. I threw up so much. My stomach feels like an empty black hole.”

  “Sounds good, but please tell me you have coffee,” he put his bag over his shoulder and carried it out into the living room.

  “Actually, I do.” I pulled the coffee canister from the freezer and set it on the counter to go in search of the filters.

  “You store the coffee in the freezer? And your drinking French roast? Who are you and what have you done with Connor Reed?” I didn’t know what to say, so I just laughed and shook my head.

  I was a dark roast drinker for most of my childhood. After my old man passed away is when I started my addiction to caffeine. It was my way of being the man of the house, and the man of the house drank a pot of coffee every morning, smoked cigarettes and swore a lot. When my mother caught me smoking my father’s cigarettes that were in the freezer, she made me eat one. I never lit another. Though I found swearing only got me a bit of soap in the mouth, it still wasn’t my way of having fun. She didn’t seem to mind me drinking the old man’s coffee. She even restocked it when I ran out.

  Parker and I lived together for about four years after high school. We always had to buy two different kinds of coffee, which meant two coffee pots. He insisted keeping it in the freezer kept the flavor in the grounds longer, and I always just left mine in a canister on the counter like my father had. The moment he asked about coffee I knew somethings never changed. About him anyway. I already knew a shit-ton had changed with me.

  Parker changed me. It was just too little, too late. The day he walked out of our apartment I died on the inside. I vowed that I would never be that me, ever again. The one that chased people away when they just wanted to love me. I needed that. Love. A few years after Parker left, my mom died. Then it was just me. I felt alone, scared and utterly depressed. And so very much, unloved.

  I still never picked up a drink, until last night. I don’t even know why. Oh, right…I do. I chased away another person who only wanted to love me. That’s what Matthew said before I left for Indianapolis. We’d had an argument about me doubling my career. H
e wanted me to stay home more with him. Go on vacations, travel the world. Settle down and start a family. He couldn’t understand that racing and building bikes were both passions in my life. It was never about the money even though he insisted it was. He also thought I was more passionate about my double career paths than I was about him. I didn’t know he was at his breaking point until I came home and saw he’d gone.

  Now, as I stand in my stainless-steel kitchen, all built for Matthew, I knew without a doubt that he was right. Because the only man I’d ever been passionate about was standing across from me, admiring my six-burner stove set in the marble island.

  “This kitchen is to die for.” His smile reached his eyes and maybe even his hairline. “I would kill for a kitchen like this,” his hand skimmed the front of the restaurant-sized refrigerator, and then down the counter. I knew from experience the feel of the marble was so smooth, it was like laying your hand on glass.

  “And what would you do with any kitchen? You don’t even cook. Or has that changed?”

  “No, but I’d love to learn, and a kitchen like this would be the ideal place.”

  The thought of him cooking in my kitchen wearing a little apron that covered nothing more than the manhood behind his zipper was making my dick hard. I had to stop imagining him buried deep inside me, splayed out on the island with whipped cream mashed between our bodies. I mentally shook my head. That was all in the past. An enjoyable past that I wouldn’t change. Except for maybe the things he’d asked me too, the ones that would have prevented him from walking out the door, never to return.