“You didn’t, Davis.”
Anxious energy starts to move into him. “But I did. You’re my friend’s son. You’re basically brothers with my freaking son, Chris.”
“Davis—”
The regret is etched in his eyes as he holds up his hand. “Chris. It wasn’t right. I don’t even think you’re gay. I think maybe you were just curious and I was horny and I just—I just took the situation somewhere where it wasn’t supposed to go.”
Just horny. I feel the sting of his words. It was all about sex for him.
He rearranges the gold-plated cutlery a few times. When he looks up, his eyes look sort of shiny and I’d been thinking all night that they looked so beautiful and that I didn’t care about him being a man or being Jordan’s dad or my dad’s best friend. I just wanted to wake up next to those eyes for the rest of my life. Now, he’s struggling to even look at me.
“Mr. Clay. Davis. You must understand, I’ve always been attached to you. Wanted you.”
“If that’s the case Chris, that’s a problem. It’s not a good thing. It’s not love. It’s lust and maybe—maybe something even worse.” He leans in and his already deep voice goes rough and intense. His eyes search his hands. “I owe you an apology. That’s what I came here tonight to do. I have some soul-searching to do. To see what I could have been thinking to lead astray someone who was entrusted to my care. So risky. Jordan, if your dad found out, your parents. Chris, this could ruin my career, my art, my true calling, before it’s really even started.”
I sit back away from him, feeling heated. So, I stay silent. Everything I say, I know that he’ll twist it anyway.
His deep timbre comes across the table. “Yes, it’s true that I can’t get you out of my mind. We have a connection…something special. But, we’ll have to settle for just being friends.”
I’m already shaking my head no. To all of it. It’s bullshit and he knows that it is.
“It has to be this way, Chris.”
I look up into his beautiful eyes. For a second, a certain desperation flickers there. He’s pleading with me to try and make “just friends” work. He’s just as lost as I am.
I didn’t imagine the way his eyes lit up. He feels the connection, too.
I know it’ll never work but what else can I do? So, I lie. I say, “Okay.”
18
Chapter 18
Though I want to scream, I let Davis pour me another glass of champagne as I take a deep breath. “Tell me about your work?”
That part pours out of him. After our encounter, he was out of sorts for a few months and he felt isolated. He couldn’t talk to my father— “That’s another conversation I need to have,”—and he felt like he had no one in the world. Jordan was mad at him for some reason. So, he’s always wanted to sculpt, had been drawing plans for long time. He finally picked up the chisel and got to work.
“And the rest is history?”
“The rest is history.”
“So, I was sort of like your muse.”
He looks up, licks his lips. His eyes glitter. “I suppose so.”
“I’ve seen some of Jordan’s paintings.”
“Oh, you saw Number 7?”
“Number seven?”
“I think that’s what it’s called?” He holds up his glass and looks at it. “I’ve had a few of these though. In fact, I should stop. I have to drive.” He takes a sip. “He painted for hours and hours trying to get that color right. Your eyes are such a perfect blue…” He stops himself, breathes. My heart quickens. I watch him struggle. “Your eyes are stunning. Jordan really wanted to get the color right.”
My heart pounds.
He says, “Guess it paid off. He sold it for a nice chunk of change to some rich friend of his.”
I say, “You know that I’ve talked to him, right?”
“I figured as much. You two were always close.”
“What I mean is that we’re cool.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. He knows about us. You don’t have to worry. At least not on that front.”
Davis’ head snaps up. Horror grips his face. “What?”
“What?”
“You told him?”
Anger flashes through me. “Davis, he already knew.”
I watch Jordan’s dad take a deep tortured breath. Grip the bridge of his nose. Anxiety rolls through me like a cold tide “Fuck,” Davis mutters. I see him come to a conclusion. He pops out his cell phone. “You know, Chris, I should probably—”
“No, Davis. Just—” I place my hand over his. I feel the slight jerk of his hand underneath mine, but he relaxes. I can’t get another word out. I want to tell him to just chill. Not to go. Not to freak out. Just to trust me. To trust this. To trust us.
19
Chapter 19
He insists on giving me a ride to my house and I don’t want to agree but I do. It’s not like I have extra cash for a taxi anyway and it’s late. I feel foolish, childish, next to him, can barely meet his eye and we wait for the valet. To think that I came here to lay it all on the line, to be an adult about this situation. Now, I’m leaving with a shredded heart and the “let’s be friends talk” ringing in my ears.
I don’t know what I expected but I know it wasn’t this.
Even as I take my seat and strap on the safety belt, I can only think of how much a colossal waste this is. Because I can already see it. The more he protests, the more I can see how good we would be together.
If I can see how good we’ll be together, why can’t he see it?
We ride along Lake Shore Drive and the night beyond the window of the car is one of those perfect Chicago summer nights when anything seems possible. The kind of night that seems to float light and foamy, somewhere between dreams and real life. The air is the perfect temperature, holds a little bit of moisture. The waves don’t even beat the shore that hard, instead the fold over and over like softness being slightly frothed. There isn’t a cloud in sight. White, unfiltered moonlight pours down. The sand glows in the moonlight. I think about how nice it would be to go for a late-night walk on the beach.
Maybe strolling with Davis as he holds my hand.
If only.
“It’s beautiful, huh?” he says.
It takes me a moment to register that he’s talking about the lake. He’s read my mind. “It is.”
“How do you like it here? In Chicago?”
Yeah, sure, this is the perfect time for fucking small talk.
“I love it. It’s a cool city. Good people. Good weather. Good food.”
“You don’t miss Fairview?”
“I do. Of course, I do. It just got kind of…hard to be there. I guess I was ready for a change. Ready to leave the nest.”
We pass under the green underlit road signage.
“Good food?”
“Yeah. Chicago has great food. Everyone knows the food in Chicago is good.”
“What’s the quintessential Chicago dish?” he asks, a smile tugging at his cheek. I know he’s trying to be casual but nothing’s casual with Davis. Not when I feel for him like I do. Gosh, I think, I could live my whole life with him looking at me like this.
But he thinks I’m a child. Thinks it was all a mistake.
“Pizza,” I say. “You’ve got to eat Chicago-style pizza.”
“Pizza? Surely that’s New York. Fold the slice in half, all of that.”
“No, Chicago Style Pizza is pretty magical. You’ve never had it?”
“Many years ago,” he says. “Back when you were a boy.” He glares out at the road.
I feel my heart ping. Back when I was a boy. Drive the knife deeper, why don’t you? I may be young, but I know what I want.
Don’t I?
“It’s not hot dogs?”
“That would be New York.”
He asks, “Have you had an Italian Beef, yet?” After he says it, he looks at me and we break out laughing at the same time from the innuendo. “God…we’re juvenile,” he
says.
I roll my eyes.
“Let’s go and have one before I leave,” he says. “My treat.”
Then, I feel something new, my heart catching. He’s not here to stay. I always knew it but to be talking about his departure and planning for it is different. He still lives in Fairview. In that other life I left behind.
“I want to see some of your sculptures,” I say. “Before you go…”
“You will.” Then, he swerves into a new lane. “Actually, there’s one on a college campus nearby.”
“Can we go see it?” I ask. I’m not ready for this night to end. Even though he’s breaking my heart, I’m still not ready to be away from him.
He merely nods and takes the next exit off LSD. Then, he’s winding us through the dark Chicago streets like it’s our town to share and he knows it like the back of his hand. It feels like we’re the only people in the world. I like this with Davis. My heart, even though it knows the rules, starts to beat a little faster.
“Davis,” I ask him, “You said before that you didn’t think I was actually gay. How do you know?”
“What?”
“How do you know? How could you know?”
“I’m just not sure. You’re so young. Got your life ahead of you. Me? I’m just some old dude—”
“And if you were sure?” I can’t stop myself. My heart thuds as I continue, “If you were sure that this was what I wanted, would that change things?” It almost feels like I’m begging. But, I am at my wit’s end here.
He sighs. Grips the steering wheel. “Chris, that’s a hypothetical.”
“But, I am sure. I know what I feel.”
He frowns, cocks his head at me. “You’ve been with a guy up here?”
I can’t help but note the tone of displeasure in his voice. What is it? Disgust? Jealousy?
“No.”
He breathes. “Okay. Good.”
“But, Davis, I’m sure. I know what I want. You’ve got to believe me on this.” I don’t want to say it, but I must, “You’ve got to trust me that this isn’t some passing phase.”
He pulls to the stoplight. “What makes you so sure?”
“You.” I say.
It’s true. He makes the difference. It’s only ever been about him and the way he makes me feel. I can feel the courage building in me. I must let him know. Somehow. I lean over, and I press my lips lightly against his. He freezes at first, but he quickly relaxes, his mouth coming to claim mine, hot and aggressive.
When we pull apart, my whole body is aflame. I’m shaking. My voice is barely above a whisper as I say, “And even if I wasn’t sure, it’s my mistake to make.”
He presses his lips together. Takes us around a corner and we sift through the soft yellow glow of a streetlamp.
At the next stoplight, I lean in and give him another kiss. There’s no hesitation this time as the kiss starts to build. First, softly and carefully, his lips moving gently against mine like I’m delicate, something precious he needs to savor. A groan builds in my throat and eeks its way out. He makes me crazy for him. Something ignites him and then, he has his fingers cupped around the back of my head, fingers in my hair, and he’s driving his kiss down onto mine and I can feel his tongue sliding in against mine. I can taste him. He tastes like spearmint gum and champagne fruit and roughness and all man.
I feel my hands catching at his wrists. I don’t feel helpless. I feel good in his hands. Like I belong. I feel like his equal. Like he sees me clearly. Like I’m secure. Like I’m his. My heart speeds as he deepens the kiss, exhaling against my lips.
A car zooms around us making a racket and we wrench apart in time to catch it disappearing into the dark night ahead of us. We both look up as Davis starts to accelerate—I can feel his muscle twitch under my palm. Except that that the light has just turned red again.
We got lost in the kiss.
We laugh a little and I see something in his eyes. Curiosity?
Because I’m feeling bold, I keep my hand on his leg when he does pull off. It feels like the perfect place for it. Though it’s not my intention, before I know it, my fingers have inched up along his rough inseam and I can feel the hotness of his thick erection there. I run my fingers across him and that gets a hiss out of him as he cuts his eyes at me.
He doesn’t say a word but he doesn’t stop me. His eyes are low and sexy with lust.
“I was so horny that day,” I murmur.
I feel him twitch below my hand.
“I remember,” he says, his voice rough like gravel. “You were leaking like a faucet.”
“A little like now,” I say.
He glances at me. There’s muted shock on his face. That melts into something almost ravenous. He knows I’m not the boy I was three years ago.
He has to.
His eyes are blazing in the dim car’s interior when he commands me. “Prove it.”
I feel my heart stop when I realize what he’s said.
I look him directly in the eyes. Lust courses through my veins. If he wants me to prove it, I will.
Besides, this might be my only chance to show him how much I want him.
That none of this is a mistake.
Plus, I’m already craving him. I might die if I don’t get a taste.
I’m trembling as I put my finger to the button of my slim trousers and undo it, loosening my waistband. I want this so bad, but I will myself to be steady. Then, I grip the zipper pull.
“Slowly…” he breathes, his voice rough and deep. Lust climbs up my spine at him telling me what to do.
Fuck, Daddy. I think it, but I don’t dare say it.
I obey him, taking down the zipper bit by delicious bit. Once it’s fully open, I sit there with my hardon straining against the material of my boxer briefs.
“One finger,” he says.
We come to a stop sign and for a minute we sit in a pool of darkness. But his gaze, his eyes are bright, hungry. I take one finger and rub it along my length. My cock snaps to attention and heat runs from my crotch all over my body.
I do it again. Then again. With every pass, I can feel the ache growing in my balls. I can feel his eyes on me. His desire.
I love being watched by him. Directed by him. Giving my control over to him.
I keep moving that finger along my dick, watching as my cock strains for release. One finger does nothing to alleviate the fire that’s wracking my body, the heat that threatens to consume me.
I’m on fire from this light touch. It’s woefully inadequate. Especially after all this time. My hand moves up to my chest and I tug at my nipple, taking my bottom lip in between my teeth as my need surges through me like wave.
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