“Yeah.” Diego’s jaw muscles tightened, and his finger tap-tap-tapped its little SOS to the world. “Kinda.”
“If the alternative is DIY sex and hookers, is that really what you want?”
“No.”
“So there’s probably no harm in acting as if you believe someone could want you for yourself. If only in controlled situations . . . say, for example, when you haven’t met through a Craigslist ad?”
“You make a pretty good point,” Diego grumbled.
Me and Pascal.
I hope you never learn why it’s all bullshit.
“If you’ll please just give me a chance,” Healey offered, “I’ll prove my dick gets hard around you with regular, almost alarming, frequency. And that has nothing to do with your SCI.”
Diego’d believed a good line before, only to find, more often than not, the person using it was interested in him because of his SCI. They were curious. Morbidly fascinated. Concerned for him. They pitied him.
After the accident, the competitive-level fitness, high-risk job, and lofty principles he fought so hard to balance fell away, one by one, leaving him in a desperate struggle to relearn physical tasks he’d mastered before he could talk.
The worst times were long past, but on the way he’d had to learn a whole new set of social skills too.
There were workarounds for everything, but most of it pissed him off.
“The waitress asked you a question,” Healey pointed out.
“No, she didn’t.”
She tried again. “I said, does your friend want—”
“I see. Wait.” Healey turned to her, benign quizzical smile in place. “Since we’re not using sign language, I wonder why you would think my friend is deaf?”
Aw, thud.
That rubbing sound? That was Diego’s heart, humping Healey’s leg.
Not that he’d admit it.
“I’m so sorry, sir.” The girl looked faintly sick now.
“It’s nothing.” Diego was used to interacting with people who lost their shit. He smiled to put her at ease.
“I tell you what. Why don’t you take this—” Healey took two twenties from his wallet and gave them to her. “And bring us a couple of boxes. All right?”
“Oh, thank you. Thank you.”
Diego could see he still rattled her. He didn’t get why, though. Because he was brown? Because he was in a wheelchair? “Aw, fuck it.” He quit worrying about it.
“What?”
“I don’t even get what her problem was. I was nice. I don’t fucking bite.”
“You act like you will. I think at first she thought you were hot, and then you said, ‘bowel routine’ like a grumpy old man and fucked it up.”
“Okay, yeah.” My fault. Right. I scared the girl. “Must have happened exactly that way.”
“It did, man. And if it didn’t, fuck it. What do you care what she thinks?”
“I don’t.” Petulance, your name is Diego. They boxed up the remains of their meals and headed outside without going over it again.
The sun wouldn’t set for hours yet, and it wasn’t too overcast. As they passed through the downtown streets, traffic seemed light. The denizens of Bluewater Bay must be eating dinner before making their way back outdoors to enjoy the fairly nice evening.
Diego rolled along the sidewalk. Healey stayed in step beside him, carrying the bag that held their leftovers.
“I’m sorry about dinner,” Diego apologized. “I realize that was an unappetizing conversation.”
“That was nothing.” Healey gave an uncaring tilt of his head and turned to walk backward, so he was facing Diego.
“For you maybe.”
“I’m not saying I love autopsy dinner theater, but on an intellectual level there’s nothing gross about the human body.”
“Watch where you’re going,” Diego warned.
Healey turned around just in time to avoid a newspaper box.
“What’s autopsy dinner theater?” Diego asked.
“What Ford used to call Bones.”
“Ford’s the ex, huh? How come you broke up?”
Healey’s blue eyes appeared to glitter briefly but then he blinked. Gone. “We were leaving school. Heading in different directions.”
Healey’s answer tripped all Diego’s early bullshit detectors. It didn’t have emotion behind it, and Healey was an emotional guy. The words sounded rehearsed, like a jingle, or a political sound bite.
Healey needed a warning label: Fragile. Handle with care.
“So I’m Rebound Guy?” Diego asked.
“Yep.”
“Because you think I’m hot.”
“That’s right.”
“Stop,” Diego ordered. “Close your eyes right now.”
Healey did as he was asked.
“Tell me everything you remember about me.”
It was a risk. He might find out Healey was a lying loser. He might find out just how naive he could be about a man, again.
But if Healey was some kind of bullshit artist, Diego would know.
Of course, they’d stopped right outside Red Hot Bluewater, and Healey’s eyes were closed, but Diego had to stare at the most blatant display of sex toys he’d ever seen.
They didn’t used to put those in the window, did they? Because, wow. There was a sign in the window:
Blow-XXX Sale.
(Pick your favorite three-letter word)
“You want me to describe you physically?” Healey asked. “Or should I add in character traits?”
The nerve of some people.
He’d said it before, and he’d say it again. Smug. Healey was smug. “Physically would be fine.”
“All right. You’re wearing Vans. They’re black suede and canvas and they feature a white pin-stripe on the side. Black cotton socks. Your jeans are Levi’s. Low rise. Washed to perfection. They look and feel like you ball them up every night and sleep with them in your arms. How am I doing so far?”
“Fine.” Diego’s mouth dried as he watched Healey’s dick thicken behind his zipper.
Healey kept on—utterly sinvergüenza.
“You’re wearing a T-shirt with all four Doctors from the new Doctor Who series on it. They’re in a crosswalk, mimicking The Beatles Abbey Road cover. Your hoodie is probably Hanes, but I’m only guessing there.”
“All right.” Diego had to call it. “I believe you. You actually see me.”
But no. Healey could not see him at that moment, because he kept his eyes squeezed firmly shut, ignoring Diego’s order to finish up.
They were going to have to talk about the word consent.
“Your face is oval. You have a very determined chin. High cheekbones, brown eyes, angry eyebrows, and a nose that’s a bit hawklike. I like your nose, by the way. You probably caught some shit about it in school, but it’s majestic. At one time, your ears were pierced, as was your left eyebrow. How come you took it out? I think you’d look hot with a barbell. You have a faint scar on your jaw in the shape of an inverted V. Every time I see it, I want to lick it.”
“Is that all?” Diego asked hoarsely.
“For now. I was hoping I’d find tattoos. You had your shirt off, and I didn’t see any. I like them.”
Diego pressed his lips together. Licked them nervously.
“Did I do okay?” Healey opened his eyes, anticipating a treat like a puppy performing a trick.
Diego’s gaze found Healey’s belly. Fell to the fabric stretching over his cock. “It’s early yet.” He spoke without looking up.
“Yeah it is,” Healey agreed.
Healey’s answer was careful. Diego appreciated the way Healey felt his way toward whatever it was they were doing. The way he didn’t pepper him with questions, or ask for gory details.
Diego saw how hard Healey’s cock was and how hard Healey was holding himself back. Like a Thoroughbred at the starting gate, Healey was ready to race. He wanted to go as fast as his mind and body could carry him, but he’d a
greed to go at Diego’s pace.
He honored his word.
After the light changed, they crossed the street. Diego caught sight of himself in the reflection from one of the old shop windows.
He was exactly as Healey described.
He was average. Hot average. Not scrub average.
Healey asked, “Do you want me to come home with you, Diego?”
Diego gripped his wheels, ready to turn left, toward his house.
“I have to decide now?”
Healey pointed to the right. “It’s just that I could leave you here and get back to the B&B pretty easily. You wouldn’t have to drive me.”
“So?”
Healey took time to adjust the pin that held his hair. “I don’t want to misread the situation. If you want me to come with you, I’d like you to tell me.”
Okay. Wow. No need to discuss consent with Healey after all.
This was it.
You either ask for what you want, or you fuck off.
The man knows what he’s getting into.
He sees you.
If he’s a creep, he’s done a terrific job of not making things weird so far.
“I have a few things I need to get caught up on before bedtime.”
Diego let himself roll past Healey, but turned to give him a look so incendiary they should have both burst into flames.
Just so there was no mistake about what and who he wanted, he said, “Heel, Healey. There’s probably something for you to do while I’m busy, but I’ll for sure want you there when I finish.”
Healey saw himself from the outside in. As if in a documentary of his life, he sat in the living room of the house that was no longer his, but that still felt familiar—like an actress, aged by makeup, or the photograph of a long-dead relative whose features you share.
Familiar enough that the differences were more obvious than the similarities.
“C’mon. Pick up, pick up, pick up,” Healey whispered, glancing toward the hallway, beyond which Diego had spent the last hour doing God knew what.
“You need a ride?” Nash’s voice boomed. Way to be on stealth mode.
Why didn’t I text?
“He’s in the bathroom. I’m waiting in the living room. It’s been like . . . an hour.”
“You check he hasn’t gone out the window?”
“No, but he should, probably. The longer I wait, the less confidence I have. By the time he comes out, my dick’s gonna be like an elevator button and he’ll just keep pushing it and pushing it and the car won’t rise—”
“Don’t panic. How often do I gotta tell you: it’s only sex.”
“It’s not. Not for me. I told you—”
“When your mind starts racing, and you’re feeling nervous, what do you do? Grab your dick. Your brain can’t do two things at the same time.”
“I can’t do it, Nash. I just wanted to be with this guy I like, but this—”
Diego’s cold voice interrupted him. “Didn’t believe me about the inconvenience?”
At the sound, Healey turned sharply.
Diego waited in the hallway, shirtless, wearing only boxers, slightly hairy feet bare.
Erect.
How had he managed to leave his room and wheel all the way back without Healey hearing a thing?
He looked so vulnerable, Healey’s heart hurt.
“As you can see,” Diego’s voice dripped with quiet dignity, “it’s not just inconvenient to be with me. Do you think you’re the first to point out the lack of spontaneity?”
“I need to hang up now, bro.”
“I’ll drive you home.” Diego turned his chair to move past.
“The hell you will.” Healey blocked his way. “Listening to half of a conversation is like trying to solve one side of an equation. That was Nash.”
“I guessed.”
Healey nodded. “Sure, but don’t guess what we said, okay?”
“I heard what you said.”
“You heard half, maybe. Not the part where I said I’m nervous I’ll mess this up. Or where I reminded Nash I don’t have a fuckton of experience because I don’t really screw around all that much.”
“Yeah?” Diego rolled forward about ten inches.
“Not by myself, no.” Healey took a step toward him. “And you didn’t hear how much I want to be with you but waiting seems to ratchet up my anxiety and I feel like I’m taking a test again . . .”
Diego’s posture softened a little. “Your boyfriend play around on you?”
Healey laughed. “Nope. He liked to add more than divide, if you see what I mean. He brought people home. Singles. Couples. I think he was probably—” He put his hand over his mouth before he could say, pathologically poly, in that one man or woman never satisfied Ford for long. “We were safe, sane, and consensual. I was with Ford. And Ford might be with anyone.”
“I understand.” Slowly, Diego nodded. He rolled forward until he was close enough to take Healey’s hand. “I wouldn’t share you.”
Healey had to think about breathing. In. Out. Not too loud. No snorting.
“I don’t really want to be shared, anyway.”
“Come with me, Healey.”
Healey laid his cast hand on Diego’s strong shoulder, memorizing the play of muscle beneath all that silky smooth skin. He let Diego lead the way to his bedroom, which should have been weird, because—duh—his little sister had grown up in there, for God’s sake.
But no.
The room was completely transformed.
“Shelby would kill for this.”
He turned in a complete circle to get the whole picture. The wall between Shelby’s room and what used to be their pop’s study had been opened and a brand-new arch allowed passage between the two.
Shelby’s room was now Diego’s dressing area.
It felt like a spa with a bath and shower area enclosed by glass bricks for privacy, and a large padded platform under a nice bright window for . . . Healey was trying to figure it out when he caught Diego staring at him.
“Massage table? Reading nook?”
Diego’s expression was unreadable. “I lie down to dress.”
“This is a great setup. Wish we’d have thought of it for Shelby. It would have been so much easier for her. She’d have been our little queen in a place like this.”
“My stepbrother designed the room, and the rest of my family came up to help with the build.”
“Sweet.” Healey ran his fingers over the glass. “Where do they live?”
“Glendale.” Diego wrinkled his nose. “When we stripped the old fixtures out and did the painting, we kept running into your family’s memories.”
Healey laughed at that. “The dings where Nash put my head through the wall?”
“Open the closet.” Diego jerked his chin toward Shelby’s old walk-in.
Curious, Healey opened the door.
“Behind it.”
Warmth filled Healey’s heart when he saw they hadn’t painted over his sister’s girly pink Sharpie-marker scrawl: Mr. And Mrs. Spencer Kepler. Mrs. Shelby Holly-Kepler. Shelby Kepler. <3 <3 <3.
“Aw, that’s priceless.”
When Healey whipped his phone out to take a picture, Diego pushed his hand down. “You do that and shit will be weird around the holidays forever.”
Healey thought about it, chuckled, and then snapped the picture anyway. “Weird family holidays? You have no idea.”
“You’re a lousy brother, you know that?”
“I don’t like to brag, but I do what I can.” In the archway, Healey got his first look at Diego’s bedroom.
“Am I looking at a layout for Architectural Digest? Or Modern Bondage?”
Diego’s grin faded. “Not sure I see what you’re seeing.”
The room was small, but there was enough space around the bed for Diego’s wheelchair to turn. The monochrome beige linens matched the walls. White crown molding and baseboards would have made the room soothing, except for the queen-size
four-poster with a frame made of welded pipes defining—literally dominating—the space. The industrial bedframe mimicked a canopy. The gymnast’s rings suggested The Doms of Dick-Licking. Healey’s cock got hard just imagining all the things he could do on a bed like that.
Or.
Maybe the rings were a great way for a guy with an SCI to get himself out of bed. His blood rebelled. Half went toward his brain, half charged his dick. Some must have got lost, because for a second he didn’t understand what Diego was saying.
“Hmm?”
“That for me?” Diego brushed his fingers over Healey’s zipper.
Healey grunted when Diego deepened the caress. He caught Diego’s hand—strong and square; veiny, as was his forearm. Healey dropped kisses on Diego’s fingers, leaning in and pressing his lips to Diego’s firm, full ones. He tasted like cinnamon mouthwash and smelled like soap. Like clean man. One of Healey’s personal kinks. He loved it when a man smelled fresh, but not . . . perfumed.
Healey sank to his knees and fumbled with footrests, which led to touching Diego’s perfect, shapely bare feet, and more kissing. Healey used lips and tongue and sharp little nips of his teeth because Diego’d liked that before, but it occurred to him: maybe he’d like something else?
“What should I do?” Healey asked, in a whisper.
His mouth was dry, his tongue thick with desire. Diego’s lazy smile was dangerously close to a smirk again, but Healey was too turned on to give him any shit about it.
“Undress for me?” If Diego saw Healey’s fingers were shaking, he gave no indication.
“Sure.” Healey could do this. Some men liked a slow seduction. He stood, keeping his focus on Diego, meeting his hot, hungry gaze. He winced when he pulled his shirt over his head.
“You should maybe wear a sling.”
“I should do a lot of things.” Healey dropped his shirt and toed off his shoes. As soon as Diego loosened his belt, his trousers, which were too big, pooled around his ankles.
“Nice.” Diego snapped the elastic on Healey’s Hugo Boss boxer briefs. “I did not see those coming. You choose those?”
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