by L. A. Witt
“Things can happen anytime, anywhere. I promise, it sounds more dangerous than it is. I mean, my presence is mostly a deterrence, and it works. People see me, and they think twice about fucking with Anna.”
He exhaled but said nothing. I didn’t know what to say.
After a long moment, his eyes flicked up and met mine. “This is going to sound stupid, but . . . I worry about you.” His brow pinched slightly, as if to add you know why. “That’s why I never skipped a chance to see you when you were working those crazy shifts. I . . .” He lowered his gaze again. “I guess I needed to be sure you were okay.”
My stomach flipped. I brought his hand up and pressed a soft kiss to his fingers. “My job isn’t nearly as dangerous as it sounds.”
“I know.” He swallowed. “But . . . things can happen. You wouldn’t be guarding her if there wasn’t any worry about her safety. Which means your safety is . . .”
I reached across the console, drew him in, and kissed him softly. “I didn’t realize it bothered you that much.”
“It comes with the territory,” he whispered. “With my past and your job, it’s kind of inevitable for me to be worried.”
A knot formed in the pit of my stomach, and ice water trickled through my veins. I could already hear the I don’t think I can do this and the You’re a great guy, but . . .
“I’m careful,” I said, silently cursing how stupid and useless that sounded. “I promise.”
“I know you are.” He slowly drew in a breath, and I braced for the gentle letdown. I even loosened my grasp on his hand so it would be easier for him to pull away. But he didn’t. Instead, he looked me in the eye. “Can I ask a favor?”
I nodded.
He hesitated. “While you’re in Vegas, will you text me now and then? Just to let me know you’re all right?” More than the words, it was the soft, uncertain tone that made my heart clench.
“Absolutely,” I whispered. “And actually, I’m . . .” I paused, not sure if I wanted to go there or not, but then decided bringing up something depressing was worth it if it put his mind at ease. “I’m taking a day off while I’m there. I’ll be completely away from Anna and from the convention.”
He held my gaze, the unspoken question clear as day in his eyes.
I moistened my lips. “Remember? I’m . . . I’m seeing my kids. Their mom is bringing them to town for a day.”
His eyebrows jumped. “Oh. Right. I’d forgotten about that. Well, that’ll be good for all of you.” Beat. “Won’t it?”
“I hope so.” I swallowed. “I’ll text you after that too. Let you know how it goes.”
Finally, a smile began to form, though his eyes were still filled with worry. “Good luck.”
“Thanks.” Silence set in, and neither topic—my job or my kids—was going to make the atmosphere inside this car any more comfortable. I cleared my throat. “So, um, these cons. They’re not for the faint of heart, but I will say it’s always kind of amazing to see the number of openly queer kids who come to these things.”
“Yeah?”
I nodded. “The show’s got a reputation for being queer-positive, so the cons always have a ton of kids there who are obviously out and proud.” Smiling, I added, “It’s pretty cool to see.”
“I’ll bet it is. I’ve actually had a few patients whose kids have come out after reading the Wolf’s Landing books.”
“Have they really?”
“Yep. Usually, the kids already knew it about themselves, but the books gave them a jumping-off point to talk about it with their folks. Especially since a lot of teenagers and their parents read the series together.”
“That’s great to hear.” I refused to acknowledge that pang of sadness that I hadn’t read the series with my kids, who were both rabid Wolf’s Landing fans. I forced a quiet chuckle. “Maybe I should tell that to the protesters who come to the con.”
Scott laughed. “Yeah, I’ll bet that’ll go over well.”
“I’ll make sure to get it on film.”
“Good call.”
Our eyes met, and we both laughed halfheartedly.
I gazed out the windshield at the water, which was almost entirely black except a few sprinkles of light from the city behind us. “I actually envy those kids.”
“Me too,” he whispered. “I would’ve sold my soul for some way to break the ice with my parents.”
“Hell, I would’ve sold my soul just to know what the hell I was, never mind talk to my parents about it.”
“God, yeah.”
I turned to him, watching the faint light play on his features and deepen the shadow of his stubble. “When did you know?”
“Right before I turned seventeen.” His gaze was still fixed on the water. “I mean, I think I knew before that, but I was so determined not to be gay that I dated as many girls as I could. And then we came back from summer break at the beginning of my junior year, and one of the guys . . .” He whistled, turning toward me. “Let’s just say that summer was kind to him.”
Goose bumps prickled my neck. I hadn’t been aware at the time that it was sexual attraction, but I’d definitely noticed what those three months off had done to some of my classmates. Tans. Muscles. Growth spurts. Jesus—how had I not known I was gay?
I cleared my throat. “So what happened when you figured it out?”
“I dated even more girls.” He cringed. “It’s a wonder I didn’t get anybody pregnant, to be honest.”
“Wow . . .”
“Yeah. I was in some serious denial. But the more time went on, the less I could get into it with girls, and the more boys were getting my attention. The night of our winter formal dance, I just couldn’t ignore it anymore. Not with that many guys in tuxes.”
“Oh God. Yeah. I get that.”
He nodded. “So I dumped my girlfriend—which I definitely could’ve been less of a dick about—and a week later, I broke down and told my parents.”
It was hard to imagine him as the scared, confused kid he must’ve been back then. Painful, too. I barely kept myself from reaching for him and wrapping my arms around him. I swallowed. “How’d they take it?”
He inhaled slowly. “They took a long time to accept who I was. They even sent me to some gay conversion therapists.” He shuddered.
So did I. Conversion therapy . . . that was some sick, scary shit. Now it was a serious struggle not to pull him into a protective embrace. “I’m surprised that didn’t put you off therapists.”
“It almost did, believe me.” He went quiet for a long moment, gazing thoughtfully out the windshield. “After Nathan died, I was flailing pretty badly, especially since I couldn’t lean on my family. One of the cops who knew Nathan put me in touch with a grief counselor, and he helped a lot. And I guess I found my calling while I was at it.” He turned to me. “What about you? When did you figure it out?”
A million painful, shame-filled moments flashed through my mind. All the attempts to be intimate with Jackie that were more of a struggle than the last. All the times I’d fantasized about men in the shower while she slept in our bed. How I’d finally had to resort to fantasizing about them while she and I were having sex. The tentative way Jackie had tried to broach the subject of our slowly deteriorating sex life. The night I finally told her. All the hurt and hatred in her eyes when the truth sank in.
Gazing out the windshield, I quietly said, “I figured it out much, much later than I should have.”
He studied me for a moment. “Did you have any inkling at all when you got married?”
“Kind of?” I shook my head. “I mean, looking back, it was obvious, but at the time, I honestly just thought I was awkward with girls. Believe it or not, my ex-wife was the only girlfriend I ever had.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
He laughed softly and shook his head.
I arched an eyebrow, not sure what he found amusing about all of this. “What?”
“Nothing. I . . .” He gestured di
smissively with his drink before setting it in the cupholder again. “I just have a hard time imagining you being awkward with women. Or with men.”
I shifted a little, the passenger seat creaking with the subtle movement. “I guess I was a bit of a late bloomer. And in some hard-core denial.”
He sighed. “You and half the queer kids of our generation.”
“Yeah.” I rested my elbow beneath the window. “You ever wonder how things would’ve been different if we’d grown up today versus back when we did?”
“All the time,” he said. “The kids still have a hell of an uphill battle these days, but thirty years ago . . .”
“Seriously.” I paused. “You know, I would never want to go through high school again—not in a million years—but I have to admit, there are things I kind of wish I could go back and relive, knowing what I do about myself.”
“Such as?”
“Dating, mostly.” I tapped my free hand on the armrest, not sure why this topic made me this twitchy and uncomfortable. “It would’ve been nice to fumble through all the awkwardness and cluelessness back when everyone was awkward and clueless.”
“I don’t know. That part’s kind of overrated. I mean, yeah, you’ve got someone who doesn’t know any better, so they’re not going to judge you for being clueless. But on the other hand . . . you’ve got someone who’s as awkward and clueless as you are. So it’s not exactly fun.”
I watched him in the darkness. “Speaking from experience?”
“Just a bit. I dated girls in high school, and then boys when I was in college. And it was really the same the whole way through. You’re giddy for each other for a little while, you pose for pictures at homecoming or prom, park a few times, and then break up with more drama than a reality show.”
I grimaced. “I hadn’t thought of it that way. Though I don’t know. It’s kind of a rite of passage, isn’t it? To have those stories to laugh about later?”
“Or cringe at,” he muttered around his straw.
“That too. But imagine being that clueless in your late thirties when you’re sticking your neck out there for the first time. I mean, I didn’t have sex with a man until I was forty.”
He blinked. “Wow.”
“Yeah. So you can imagine what he was expecting and what I could deliver.”
He put his hand over mine on the console, and a subtly playful note crept into his voice. “Well, you’ve obviously figured it out.” His finger traced the back of mine, and we both grinned.
“Glad you don’t think I’m a complete failure in that department.”
He laughed and shook his head. “Not even close.” Turning a little more serious, he squeezed my hand. “But, I get what you’re saying. We’re all expected to know what we’re doing by this age.”
“Mm-hmm. And there was a learning curve, believe me. One I would’ve liked to climb while everyone else did.” I sighed and shook my head. “I don’t know. I think I just wish I could go back in time and be gay.”
Scott nodded. “That’s perfectly normal. And yes, even the shittier rites of passage are rites of passage—it’s hard not to want to experience them, just to gain the same experience as your peers.”
“Yeah.” I laughed dryly. “I mean, this?” I gestured at the car. “What we’re doing right now? This is the closest I’ve ever come to parking.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Seriously?”
I nodded. “Never did it with a girl when I was younger, and once I started pursuing men, we’d always just go back to a hotel room or one of our places.”
“Wow. I mean, I lost my virginity in the backseat of my dad’s Volvo, so cars and I have a history.”
I chuckled. “Is that right?”
“Mm-hmm.”
Our eyes met.
And slowly, it dawned on me that we were sitting in a car. Parked down by the water. In the dark. Alone.
As if he could read my mind, Scott grinned and slid toward me. “Well. Better late than never, right?”
“Can’t argue with—”
He kissed me, and my toes immediately curled inside my shoes. We wrapped our arms around each other as I took over and deepened the kiss.
The confines weren’t the most comfortable, especially with the damned console between us, but this was even hotter than I’d expected. Maybe it was because we knew we wouldn’t get much further than this—maybe a blowjob or a handjob—and so this wasn’t foreplay. This was the main attraction—tangling up as much as the seat configuration allowed, holding on to each other, kissing for kissing’s sake.
Holy shit. This was definitely not overrated.
He broke the kiss, and his lips skated over my jaw and down to my neck, and I leaned back against the headrest, offering up more skin for his soft, breathless kisses.
His hand slid over my thigh. I gripped the armrest in one hand, the back of his shirt in the other, and completely forgot how to breathe as his hand drifted higher and his lips explored my throat. Jesus, I’d missed him. I hadn’t even realized how much until now, but being wrapped up in him like this, even with clothes and a console between us, put my world back on its axis.
As his palm brushed over my erection, I gasped. At least I was breathing again. Still dizzy, though. God, I needed to taste his kiss again, so I grabbed his hair, pulled his head back, and claimed his mouth. Scott moaned. He kneaded my cock through my pants as we kissed breathlessly, hungrily.
I didn’t care if I came. As far as I was concerned, we could stay like this—dressed, kissing, touching, holding on to—
Tap-tap-tap.
The metallic sound startled us apart.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Scott said, moving back to the driver’s seat.
“Seriously?”
Scott muttered something as he turned the key and rolled down the fogged-up window. The streetlights glinted off a shiny badge, and my heart jumped into my throat.
Really? Forty-two years old, and I just got busted by the cops for parking like a damned teenager?
Scott cleared his throat. “Evening, Officer.”
The cop—a state trooper, judging by the wide-brimmed hat—shined a light in Scott’s face, then mine. He lowered it, and when my eyes adjusted, he was laughing. “Aren’t you boys a little old for this?”
“You’re not going to tell my mom, are you?” Scott deadpanned.
The cop blinked, and then he chuckled. He shut off his flashlight and stepped back. “You kids are on private property. Move along, would you?”
“Will do.”
“All right, gentlemen.” The man tipped his hat and returned to his car.
As Scott rolled up the window, I said, “So, uh, that was a first for me too.”
We locked eyes. Then we burst out laughing.
“Did you even hear him pull up?” I asked.
“No.” He shook his head, still chuckling. “I think I saw his headlights, but I thought it was just some random car.”
“You think he’ll call our parents?”
Scott snickered. “Well, if he does, I can already hear my mom.” He sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes as he spoke in a ridiculous voice. “‘Scott Fletcher. Again?’”
I laughed. “So you make a habit of these things?”
“I’ve been known to.”
“Uh-huh.” I’d have been mortified in my teenage years, but there was something oddly exhilarating about this. About getting caught like a couple of kids, doing something harmless but socially frowned-upon. Something I’d missed out on in my youth.
Watching him in the low light, as his amusement formed deep lines in his face and his lips curled into that mind-melting smile, I was actually kind of glad it had taken me this long to get here. If I had to wait forty-some-odd years for this experience, it was worth it because I was experiencing it with him.
I slid as close to him as the console allowed and twisted toward him. “Well, the nice officer did say we’re on private property.” I pressed the heel of my han
d against his still-hard cock. “Think we should get out of here?”
“Oh, I totally should.” He put his hand over the top of mine and curved the other around the back of my neck. “Which makes staying even hotter.”
“God, I love the way you think . . .”
As they always were, the convention was utter madness. The Wolf’s Landing fandom were unbelievably devoted. They didn’t just want the actors at the cons. They wanted the author, the screenwriters, the costume designers—anyone who played a role in bringing the series to life was in demand.
The various directors even had their own subsets within the fandom these days. There was a playful—I hoped—rivalry between Anna’s fans and those of another director, who was apparently well-known for his work on some other show that had a lot of crossover fans.
And of course, the minute any of the actors walked in, everyone went batshit.
It was a wonder anyone still had a voice after the first day. Now, halfway through the second day, as fans lined up by the thousands for autographs, most people were starting to get hoarse. Somehow, Anna and the actors were holding their own.
I stayed behind Anna, watching the people in line while she signed autographs. Most of the fans were visibly nervous, but completely nonthreatening. A handful of them caught my eye, though, and I watched them closely as they inched toward her table.
One girl clutched a book close to her chest, her fingers twitching along its spine. Whenever the line wasn’t moving, she shifted her weight to the left, back to the right, back to the left, or rocked from her heels to the balls of her feet. Lips taut, she kept glancing at Anna. Probably just some starstruck nerves and maybe a little social anxiety.
When she reached the table, she kept her eyes down, muttered a quiet “Hi,” and couldn’t manage another word to Anna, not even her name so Anna could personalize the autograph.
I felt for the kid—these events were insane. Even Hunter Easton’s cowriter-slash-boyfriend had been a nervous wreck at the first couple of cons, the poor kid, but he seemed to be getting better about the whole thing. He stayed close to Hunter, though. But then, who wouldn’t want to stay close to that guy?