Manny Get Your Guy (Dreamspun Desires Book 37)

by Amy Lane

  “No,” Brandon said firmly, grabbing Taylor’s hand. “No. Not moving. I’m signed up for next semester, and I’m changing my major, so I’ve got another three, three-and-a-half years.”

  Ann-Marie nodded, looking uneasily at their joined hands. “But… could you just think about, you know, coming up for a week or two? If all goes well, he’ll be coming home on Friday. That’s what they said. Garrett and Cliff, they’ve got families in Tahoe and Auburn—”

  “Which are both not as far away as I live!” Brandon protested. “Nica and Jacob need us!”

  “Oh really? How much use could he—” Garrett caught Taylor’s glare and almost choked on his tongue.

  “Would you like to see me change a diaper?” Taylor asked him. “Or balance a schedule? I’m hell in the grocery store. And to a woman stuck in bed while her kids go on about their day without her, I’m the difference between a new baby in seven months or heartbreak, so you’d better shut your damned mouth.”

  “I didn’t know Nica was on bed rest,” Ann-Marie said uncertainly. “I’m… I’m sorry. But… but see? They have, uh, Taylor, uh, your friend, and… we just need you for a week. Please, Brandon. Your father… he’s—” She smiled weakly. “—not the greatest patient when he’s sick. Could you—”

  “No—”

  Taylor grabbed his bicep and pulled him away. Brandon went unwillingly, glaring over his shoulder so often he almost ran into the door as they left the waiting room.

  “What?”

  “You need to stay.” Taylor hated himself for saying the words even as they left his mouth.

  “What?”

  The betrayal in Brandon’s eyes actually hurt his chest. “No, not for good!” Taylor’s voice cracked. “Dammit! I’m not saying that.”

  Brandon glared, and Taylor rubbed his sternum, wondering if an actual bruise could appear after a look like that.

  “Then what are you saying?”

  “Look, Brandon, my family doesn’t want me. Even a little. You’ve got a life in Sacramento—I don’t want you to leave that.” He swallowed. “Even if… you know… you and me, we didn’t… I wouldn’t want you to leave that. But there is you and me. So, you know. Staying would be great.”

  To his relief, Brandon rolled his eyes. “That was eloquent.”

  “I’m sure there’s a college boy with a pretty mouth who could do bett—”

  Brandon kissed him hard, without mercy, pressing him back against the glass window of the waiting room, and Taylor opened, easy, like butter for a hot knife, just that anxious and desperate to feel Brandon’s possession again, to know he was owned, had a home in a good man’s arms.

  The kiss ended and Brandon moved back just far enough to lean their foreheads together.

  “That wasn’t rejection,” he said.

  “No,” Taylor panted.

  “You’re not breaking up with me.”

  “Right again.” Oh God, he really wasn’t.

  “Then what’s this about?”

  Taylor closed his eye and blocked out the world. “Family. Duty. Doing what’s right even if it sucks. It’s a week. Maybe two. We go home, you finish up the room addition this week, finish your promise to your boss, and come back up Friday night.”

  “And you?”

  Ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch. “Jacob and Nica need me. But I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be there when you come back.”

  Brandon sighed, tilting his head back and studying the blank white wall over Taylor’s head. This hospital—it was spit-shiny and pretty, but not counting children’s wards, Taylor hadn’t seen a single hospital that couldn’t benefit from a crapload of rainbow paint and some good motivational posters.

  But something up there sure did seem to fascinate Brandon.

  He turned back to Taylor and narrowed his gaze. “You move into my apartment,” he said seriously.

  Taylor opened his mouth. Closed it. Squinted. Stopped. Mouthed “What the fuck?” to himself several times.

  And gazed back at Brandon in shock.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “My God, you’re a drama queen. You heard me.”

  “No, I didn’t,” Taylor lied.

  “My apartment. Yours is furnished—you’ve got clothes, a weight set, and a cat. I’ve got plenty of room in the closet, and you don’t have that many clothes.”

  “Enough for the cat to poop on,” Taylor told him, heart racing. This was not going how he’d planned. He was going to make the noble sacrifice, send his young lover back to his family. And maybe when Brandon came back, he would have come to his senses, and Taylor wouldn’t have to worry about disappointing him.

  Taylor could live with disappointment—he was pretty sure.

  Brandon’s hand against the roughness of his scarred cheek melted that barrier, that anticipation of the hard blow, the bad thing.

  It’s going to decimate me when it hits.

  “That’s the deal breaker, Taylor. I’ll believe you mean it—that I’m coming back to an us—if you move into my rooms above the garage.”

  “Tino’s getting me an apartment—”

  “We’ll both move into it.”

  Taylor laughed. “Getting ahead of our—”

  Brandon kissed him again.

  Oh dear God—the bubble, it was a real thing. Their whole lives, their hearts, their bodies, their minds—all of it existed in this very real bubble, and inside that bubble, there was Brandon with his kisses, his strength, his warmth, and his indomitable heart.

  Fall in love in two weeks? Give away the rest of your life for two nights and a back rub? In the bubble, it all made sense. In the bubble, Taylor was the kind of man who could grab this kid’s hand and skip gaily into the future without a look back.

  Brandon ground up against him, erect and needy, and Taylor whimpered, pulling back, because they couldn’t do that here.

  “Yes,” he said, leaning his head back against the glass and gulping for air. “Yes. I’ll move into your rooms. Yes, I’ll move in with you when the apartment is ready. Just… just come back here for a week.” He took a heaving breath, shaking with the effort of saying that. “Be your parents’ little boy again. Make things right while you have a chance. I’ll be waiting.”

  Brandon smiled, bright and glorious, and Taylor couldn’t dampen that glow of hope, couldn’t resurrect the barriers of doubt that had kept him safe for so long.

  “You’d better. We’ll move you in this week. You’ll be in my apartment, in my bed.”

  Taylor tried hard to keep his jaw square, his gaze narrow, but he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t stop the tremble that racked him. “Kid, you had better not be bullshit.”

  Brandon’s smile went crooked. “I’m not bullshit, and you’re not chicken feed, and last night wasn’t a fluke.”

  Taylor swallowed, and swallowed again, and Brandon cupped his jaw and took his mouth and kissed him softly, teasingly, until their bubble stopped spinning and hung suspended in space again.

  Every moment they touched was a perfect moment.

  Taylor had never had perfect moments before. He was going to hold each one in his mind like a spinning crystal in the palm of his hand.

  “Hello!” The sound penetrated the bubble, but the bubble held.

  “Is Dad out of surgery?” Brandon asked Garrett without turning his head.

  “They just took Mom in to see him.”

  Brandon actually looked at his brother. “I’m glad he’s okay. You need to call Garland and tell him you were mistaken. I’ll talk to him later today when I get home.”

  “But Mom—”

  “I’ll come back Friday, if we’re far enough on the room additions, and I’ll stay for a week. The end. A week. After that, if Dad still needs help, we’ll….” He floundered, obviously at a loss for a plan.

  Taylor helped. “Hire a nurse.”

  “Well, don’t you always have a plan,” Garrett said sourly.

  “He’s smart,” Brandon said, looking at Taylor again with that cheerful
worship. “He’s going to school in the winter and getting his degree and his teaching credential.”

  “Yeah?” Oh, Taylor had planned it, but it sure was nice to hear someone else believe in him.

  “Damned straight.” Brandon dragged a soft knuckle down the side of Taylor’s face, where the mirror had showed him a sweet yellowing bruise around his eye. “’Cause he’s like an old-time knight in shining armor.”

  “A paladin,” Taylor said, pleased.

  “Yeah.”

  “Whatever.” Garrett’s snort still couldn’t shatter them. “So we can count on you in a week—”

  “And for a week,” Brandon said seriously. “I have a life. I’m not leaving it—not even for Mom.”

  “I’ll be sure to tell her that.” Garrett spun on his heel and left.

  Brandon buried his face against Taylor’s shoulder and sighed. “You really want me to be a part of this family?”

  Taylor grimaced. “Your mother seems okay?”

  They laughed then, and Taylor leaned his cheek against the top of Brandon’s head. I’m going to let him go in a week? I should get a medal for this.

  No medal was forthcoming.

  THEY went into the waiting room, and Brandon eventually got to go talk to his dad. He came back out looking subdued and unhappy, his jaw locked mutinously.

  “Brandon,” his mother said, holding on to his elbow, “I’m sure he didn’t mean that.”

  “Mom, he said it.”

  “But he was just coming out of the anesthesia—the last thing he remembers is Taylor yelling at him—”

  “To get him to get in the ambulance!”

  “Brandon, please. Taylor saved his life. Don’t think I don’t know that. Don’t think I’m not grateful.”

  Brandon scowled. “Mom, I was going to come back on Friday when he came home, but—”

  “Oh, please do. Please? Your brothers are going home—just for a week, Brandon? Please?”

  Taylor caught his eye from the far side of the room and nodded, and Brandon sighed.

  “You’d better send me a damned Christmas card. And put Taylor’s name on the envelope. And maybe send him a present too.”

  His mother cast Taylor a grateful smile. “That’s a deal. Thank you. I’ll call you Thursday night—Cliff works down there on Fridays, so maybe he can give you a ride up?”

  “And a ride down!”

  “Well, of course, sweetheart.” His mother kissed him on the cheek, and together they walked to where Taylor was doing his stretches. “So, you two are on your way back down?”

  “Home,” Taylor said briefly. “We’re going home.”

  AND home felt good.

  They climbed up to Taylor’s apartment building and found Marilyn on her back on top of the kitchen table, bloated white belly swollen too big for her to move. Taylor walked up to her and scratched her abdomen, and she just curled her paws against her chin.

  “What in the hell did Nica—”

  “Sammy—Sammy did it, remember?”

  “What did Sammy do to my cat?”

  Brandon opened the garbage and chuckled. “Two cans of Little Friskies Buffet.”

  “Oh God. Marilyn, you big moo-cow, you need to learn how to not eat me out of house and home!”

  “What she needs to do is stay away from the bed,” Brandon moaned. He kicked off his shoes and dropped his shorts as he walked into the bedroom. Taylor followed after him, picking up his clothes with a sigh of exaggerated patience. They’d driven down not long after Brandon saw his dad, and got lunch on the way. Garrett and Cliff had protested, but Brandon had claimed he had shit to sort. Closer to the truth was that he’d wanted to be alone with Taylor, period, the end.

  Taylor wasn’t going to protest.

  “Are you a neat freak?” Brandon asked, falling facedown on the bed. “I mean, I’m not usually a slob. I just need to know.”

  “Army,” Taylor said briefly. “Six years.”

  “Yeah. Okay.” Brandon yawned. “I’ll step up my game. Just as soon as you put that crap down and come lie next to me.”

  Taylor put Brandon’s clothes on the dresser and dropped the shoes next to it, then took off his own shoes and shorts and limped to bed in his T-shirt.

  Brandon sat up, pulled his shirt over his head, and threw it near the dresser. “Yours too. I need a nap before sex, but I want to touch you.”

  Taylor shook his head, feeling sore and scarred. “Under the shirt,” he said quietly. Light poured in through the thin curtains.

  Brandon’s mouth twisted. “Yeah, okay. But come lie down.”

  Taylor did, stretching out on top of the cover like Brandon. “Where did you get the bossy streak?” he wondered, yawning. “Your mom’s not great at it. Your dad doesn’t seem to be this together. How did you happen?”

  Brandon chuckled. “Jacob’s family. I mean, I know they’re sort of overshadowed by the Robbinses, but his dad is a character. Rides motorcycles, works on cars—and he’s a dentist. He’s sort of a crack-up.”

  Taylor thought of Nica’s husband—how steady he was with their kids, the way he’d forgiven Taylor. “Well, Jacob’s a good man. It shows.”

  “Yeah. I don’t know what happened with my dad. It’s like… I don’t know. Jacob’s dad was me, and my dad was Garrett.”

  “Whose dad was Cliff?” Taylor yawned as he spoke, his eyes closing.

  “Cliff was found under a mushroom,” Brandon said through another yawn. “He had to make his own father.”

  Nonsense. But it was whimsical and not sad or worried nonsense, so it could stand. Taylor chuckled under his breath, and when Brandon’s hand slid under his shirt, he didn’t make a move to shake him off. Gentle and reassuring—more touch, more skin to skin. He fell into dreams that were as painless as silk and warm water.

  HE woke up with Brandon’s mouth traveling down the soft skin of his stomach.

  “Mm?”

  “I woke up with wood,” Brandon murmured, his voice stirring the silken hairs below Taylor’s navel.

  “That’s my problem wh—ai?” Oh yes—Brandon found Taylor’s own wood and mouthed it through Taylor’s boxers. “Shower?” he mumbled, because they were both still wearing the dust of the road and the sweat of the summer heat and…

  Oh God.

  Last night’s sex on their skins.

  The thought did nothing but wake the heat slumbering in the pit of Taylor’s groin.

  Brandon sucked hard on Taylor and then pulled back and blew lightly while Taylor fought the shivers of sudden, brutal arousal.

  “I like the taste.” Brandon’s eyes were half-closed, his mouth slightly parted, feline, tasting and scenting in the same breath. “I liked it last night when you came in my mouth.”

  “Nnnn….” It was a terrible sound—an unmanned whine—but Brandon was honest and crude and he wanted Taylor, wanted his body, and wasn’t going to retreat from this, wasn’t going to get shy.

  Brandon laughed softly, all power, and shoved himself up so he was whispering in Taylor’s good ear. “Would you like me to come in your mouth?”

  “Yes….” Taylor rolled over and kissed him, desperate for him, but more than that.

  Desperate to take him.

  Brandon gave back, dominating from the bottom, threatening to roll over and steal the kiss from Taylor, but Taylor didn’t want to give it up.

  He slithered away, kissing down Brandon’s collarbone, the smooth skin of his broad chest, his flat pink nipples.

  Oh, he’d forgotten the joys he could take in a partner, in pleasing himself by pleasing someone else. He pulled Brandon’s nipple into his mouth and teased the sensitive tip with his tongue, enjoying the tug of Brandon’s hands in his hair.

  With a pert little nip, he moved to the other side, sliding his hand down Brandon’s flat stomach to flirt with the elastic edge of his boxers.

  Brandon’s low chuckle told him the teasing worked, and Brandon moved one hand from Taylor’s hair to help shove his boxers down. “Yo
u may know some tricks after all,” he taunted. “I was starting to wonder.”

  Taylor glared at him lazily. “Wonder?”

  “All this talk about being a bad boy… and last night you were so awfully, awfully gooooood….”

  Taylor lunged down his body, taking his erection into his mouth with a little groan of satisfaction. Like the rest of Brandon’s musculature, this muscle was long and broad, and it filled him, filled his senses, drugged him on the taste and smell of blatant sex.

  He couldn’t pull it far enough back in his throat.

  “Ah yeah,” Brandon urged, massaging Taylor’s scalp again. “You are… ungh… good at this….”

  Taylor pulled back, swirling his tongue at the head, using his free hand to massage all points south. He stayed there, tormenting, until Brandon got less chatty.

  “Ahh… Taylor, please!”

  That’s my boy! Taylor thrust down to the back of his throat again, taking Brandon’s unwilling microthrusts as a challenge.

  Brandon whimpered without shame, using Taylor’s mouth as Taylor used all his skill to make him crazy. Hands, chest, tongue, palate, clever fingers—everything working in conjunction, until Brandon tugged at his hair, raising his head so they could lock gazes across the broad expanse of Brandon’s chest. “Do you want it?” he taunted. “Tell me yes.”

  “Yes….” Taylor stuck out a tongue and lapped, offering a tormenting little smile.

  “Beg me,” Brandon ordered huskily.

  “Please,” Taylor whispered before playing the taut string of flesh on the underside, the little bundle of nerves that had such a huge impact.

  “Please!” Brandon’s voice cracked, and he gave Taylor’s head a little shove.

  Taylor didn’t need any encouragement. He abandoned himself to the task, the worship of Brandon’s body, the taste and sensation of another man’s cock. Too soon Brandon started to beat his open palms against the bed, and Taylor laughed, the sound resonating on Brandon’s sensitive flesh.

  Without ceremony Brandon wiggled, lifting Taylor’s backside and moving under it. Before Taylor could reposition himself to finish his job, his own boxers had been shoved down his thighs and his cock…. Oh Lord. What Brandon lacked in practice and finesse, he made up for in enthusiasm and the lack of a gag reflex.