Gateway to Love

by Sarah Hadley Brook

  “Hey!” Mitchell’s eyes rounded on Craig, surprise lighting them up.

  “What?” Craig asked, pasting on an innocent look.

  “You’re a goof,” Mitchell told him, shaking his head. But he was smiling. So there was that.

  They approached the white clapboard house and Mitchell pointed. “The fence is here!”

  “Here, let me get a picture,” Craig said, pushing him toward the fence. He didn’t need to say cheese. Mitchell was grinning in the photo. God, he had a beautiful smile.

  They both moved to read the sign in front before heading to the front door, painted a hunter green.

  “Boys, no, you need to enter through here,” someone called out. They both turned toward an elderly man with bright red suspenders standing at the edge of the white fence, pointing to a white wooden archway.

  “You enter the museum over here,” the man said, gesturing for them to follow him.

  They looked at each other and shrugged, following the man through the arch and down the redbrick path, where others stood, waiting for the tour to begin.

  Craig thought he would be bored out of his mind, but to be honest, he learned more than he ever thought he would. The tour leader, Mary, was a great lady who clearly loved her job, which helped keep them interested.

  As she told them that Mark Twain’s real name was Samuel Langhorne Clemens, Craig noticed Mitchell nodding along with her. He wasn’t surprised. Mitchell had told him more than once that reading The Adventures of Tom Sawyer as a child had inspired him to write.

  Craig listened as Mary discussed the author’s life—growing up in Hannibal, marrying and moving to Connecticut, having four children and losing his son to diphtheria. Hearing the details while standing in his childhood home made the iconic author seem more real.

  When she mentioned he was close friends with Nikola Tesla and Twain had actually patented three inventions, Craig was impressed. The man had certainly done a lot more than write.

  But his favorite part of the tour was watching Mitchell. He was like a kid on Christmas morning, and when they got to the gift shop, he ended up with quite a haul, even purchasing them matching T-shirts to mark the day.

  “I CAN’T believe you did that,” Mitchell said, laughing. “You’re crazy!”

  Craig merged the car onto the highway before he glanced at Mitchell. “You’re just figuring that out now?”

  Mitchell laughed. “No, I’ve known for years. But still. You were crazy.”

  Craig laughed. “Hey, that lady was the one that started it.”

  “All she said was that you looked familiar, Craig,” Mitchell protested.

  “And that’s when inspiration struck.” To be honest, he couldn’t believe he did it. Claiming to be a great-great-great grandson of Mark Twain hadn’t been something he had planned. Craig shook his head and smiled as he remembered the moment it happened.

  “You look so familiar,” the plump lady with the bright red hair had said, her brow furrowed as she looked him up and down.

  “Yeah, I get that a lot. Many people say I look like my great-great-great grandfather, Mark Twain,” he’d lied as Mitchell’s eyes widened in surprise. The tour was over and they’d just finished shopping. Mitchell was waiting to pay the cashier, while Craig glanced through some postcards at the counter. Mary had stepped away, so Craig just rolled with it. He’d grabbed Mitchell’s hand and pulled him close—hey, he’d wanted to do it all day anyway—then dropped it and wrapped his arm around Mitchell’s shoulders. “And this is my fiancé.” He hauled him even closer until their sides were pressed together. “I wanted to show him what I could about my ancestry.”

  They were peppered with questions for the next fifteen minutes until Craig could pull Mitchell out of there. They’d run to the car to pack away their new purchases before anyone could follow them.

  “I still can’t believe you signed a couple of autographs.”

  Craig shrugged. “They’ll figure it out if they look up Mark Twain’s ancestors. But either way, it gave them a thrill.” It’d given him a thrill but for an entirely different reason. He felt a little bad about deceiving those nice people, but holding Mitchell close had been more exciting than he’d ever dared hope. Later, after they’d walked the town, bought more souvenirs, and visited a few other places, he was still at half-mast. He was looking forward to getting to the motel where he could hide in the bathroom and take care of the problem. A little less than two hours until they were in St. Louis. He’d make it. It might kill him, but he’d make it.

  Chapter Three

  Mitch

  IT WAS dark by the time they found a hotel in St. Louis. They’d originally wanted to just find a cheap motel, but when they saw a Drury Pear Tree Inn, they decided to stop. It had an indoor pool and whirlpool, so they grabbed their bags and headed inside to check in.

  Ten minutes later, they were walking into a medium-sized room with two queen beds taking up most of the space. Teal walls gave the room a modern vibe. Tall wooden headboards butted up against the walls, bypassing the need for artwork. The beds were covered in matching white bedspreads with throw blankets of teal and brown draped across the ends. A large TV sat on the dresser, next to a wide wooden desk and black office chair. A teal chair and ottoman sat near the window, a floor lamp behind the chair. The bathroom was just to the right of the door.

  Mitch tossed his bag on the bed closest to the door and flopped down on his back, his arm across his eyes. He felt Craig grab his leg and shake him as he walked by. Was it his imagination or was his friend touching him more often than usual? Probably wishful thinking.

  “Want to go swimming?”

  Mitch pulled his arm away from his eyes and glanced over at Craig, sitting on the edge of his bed. Grinning. He was always grinning. Mitch was going to miss his smile. His belly did a weird little flip at that thought and he looked away.

  “Come on, Mitchell. Let’s go swimming and then order a pizza or something and eat in the room.”

  Mitch could admit that sounded good, so they changed into their suits—Craig in the room, Mitch using the bathroom. When he stepped back into the room, he found Craig at the window, his back to Mitch. The drapes were open, revealing windows overlooking the city, lights twinkling in the distance. As beautiful as it was, the sight that had Mitch’s heart pounding was Craig. Shirtless. With only one light on in the room, Craig was partially shadowed. Mitch’s gaze roamed the muscles in his back, down from his shoulders to the curve of his ass and those muscular thighs, then back up slowly, drinking him in.

  Mitch closed his eyes for a moment and swallowed hard, taking a moment to pull himself together. He’d spent years around Craig, but the intimacy of the trip had his self-restraint slipping. Their forced closeness had Mitch hoping for things he’d long given up on. He’d hidden these feelings for years and it wasn’t the time to let them run wild.

  He opened his eyes and froze. Craig’s eyes were on him, his lips curved up in a small knowing smile. Heat spread across his face and Mitch had no idea what to do. Had Craig seen him checking him out? Had his best friend just watched Mitch drool over Craig’s ass? Shit.

  “Took you long enough,” Craig teased, his voice low. He crossed the room and bumped his shoulder against Mitch’s. “Come on. Let’s go have some fun.”

  Mitch was too stunned to say anything as he grabbed a couple of folded towels from the bathroom.

  “I’ve got the key card,” Craig called out as he waited at the open door.

  Mitch took a shaky breath and turned back to him, trying to keep his heart from showing on his face as he brushed by Craig out into the hallway without looking at him.

  The door clicked as it closed, and they were alone as they walked toward the elevator. Mitch’s heart was roaring in his ears and he had the insane thought Craig could hear it.

  “You okay, Mitchell?”

  Shit. Craig’s voice was like warm silk falling around his shoulders and his mouth went dry. “Yeah,” he croaked out and clear
ed his throat. “Tired. From… from the car ride.”

  “If you say so,” Craig said, pushing the button as they reached the elevator.

  Shit. Shit. Shit. Mitch knew he was screwed. Why was he letting his emotions get the best of him? He knew this fucking trip was a mistake.

  The elevator door slid open and he stood rooted to the ground. Somehow Mitch knew if he went swimming with Craig, things were going to change. Something would change their relationship, either for better or worse. He could feel it in his bones, as if his body were screaming at him to turn back. Warning him to run. Run back to the room. Go to bed. Don’t go to the pool with Craig.

  Then he felt Craig’s hand on his back, his fingers on Mitch’s bare skin and pleasure seared through him.

  “Mitchell?” Craig asked, watching him intently with those sky-blue eyes.

  And he took that step. He ignored all the warning signs. Ignored his common sense. Craig followed him in and the doors slid closed. They were alone. And every cell in Mitch’s body knew it.

  Mitch threw his towel over his shoulder and handed the other over to Craig without looking. When Craig took it, his fingers brushed against Mitch’s, sending a thrill through him.

  Mitch pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger and focused all his energy on forcing the door to open. What were the magic words? Open sesame? Please? Whatever it took. The air was being sucked out of the small space as Craig stepped closer. He hadn’t had a full-blown panic attack in years, but he felt the rush of one coming for him, eager to pull him down into the swirling vortex of anxiety.

  Just as Mitch felt Craig’s hand brush against his back again, the doors whooshed open and he burst out, dragging air into his lungs. He braced his hands on his knees, bending over as he worked on taking slow, deep breaths, fighting the tightness in his chest.

  “Are you okay?” Craig asked, worried, placing his hand on Mitch’s back and rubbing soft circles.

  Mitch flinched and moved away as he shook his head. What the hell was wrong with him? He heard the doors close behind them and wondered what floor they’d gotten off on.

  “Are you claustrophobic?” Craig asked, his eyes full of concern.

  Mitch shook his head. At least, he’d never had issues with it before. Was claustrophobia something that could pop up in a person’s twenties? “I don’t like small spaces, but no, I don’t think I am. I think it’s a panic attack.” His voice was raspy.

  Craig laid his hand on Mitch’s back, gently rubbing circles again. “God, you haven’t had one of those in forever, Mitchell. Just breathe,” he said quietly. “Breathe through it.”

  He focused on his breathing, but Craig’s touch was sending jolts of pleasure through him and he closed his eyes and focused on that instead. Warmth spread through his back and his chest and a tiny moan escaped his lips. His eyes flew open, fearing Craig had heard, but his friend stayed quiet and didn’t stop rubbing his back. Surprisingly, his breathing had evened out and, other than the semi he was sporting from Craig’s touch, he was doing much better. He took a deep shaky breath in and pulled the towel from his shoulder, holding it loosely in front of his crotch as he stood up and turned to face his best friend. Craig’s hand slid from his back, brushing against his ass for a moment, and his skin felt hot all over. Mitch knew it wasn’t all from the embarrassment of what had just happened.

  When he met Craig’s stare, he gave a wobbly smile. “Sorry. Maybe I am claustrophobic.”

  Craig stood still, his gaze searching Mitch’s for a moment, as if he didn’t quite believe him. But he finally nodded. “You still want to go swimming?”

  “Sure,” he lied. All he really wanted to do was go back to the room and pull himself together.

  Craig tilted his head to the left. “Sign says the pool is down this way.”

  They walked together, neither speaking, following the strong scent of chlorine coming from the end of the hallway. They were definitely in the right vicinity. A right turn at the end of the hall and they reached the glass double doors leading into the pool area.

  A quick glance told Mitch they were completely alone, and he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

  Craig tossed his towel onto a green metal chair sitting at one of the matching round tables. “You okay?” he asked again.

  Mitch nodded. “Yeah. Go ahead. I’ll be in in a minute.”

  Craig smiled and Mitch reached for the arm of the chair as that bloom of hope grew inside again. Craig walked to the edge and dove in, smooth and elegant and sexy as hell.

  He fell back into the uncomfortable chair and sighed. This was a mistake. It was only the first night and just the few hours they’d spent together in the car was almost too much. It was like Craig was a drug. Mitch couldn’t get enough of him. Hell, he wanted to lean over and smell his goddamned hair.

  He let his head fall back against the chair as he closed his eyes. He’d kept himself in check for so many years, and he was going to ruin their last moments together because he couldn’t keep his emotions under control. He should have insisted they let Adam come with them. He would have been the perfect buffer.

  Mitch had known Adam since high school, and when he’d introduced him to Craig, the two of them had hit it off right away. Adam was the only one Mitch had ever confided in about his feelings for Craig.

  Maybe it wasn’t too late to somehow get Adam to join them.

  “Mitchell!” Craig’s voice echoed loudly through the empty room and Mitch tried to ignore the way his heart stuttered at hearing his name on Craig’s lips. He’d never understood why he insisted on calling him Mitchell, and it drove him crazy. But deep down, he could admit he liked it. Liked knowing only Craig called him that.

  “What?” he hollered back.

  “Are you joining me or not?”

  Depends on what you want me to join in on. Then he chastised himself. He’d just gotten his dick to play nice and now it wanted to jut out at the thought of, well, the thought of doing anything with Craig. Shit. His body was acting like he was back in high school. He was so screwed.

  “Yes,” Mitch answered, praying his semi wouldn’t be seen through his suit and striding over to the opposite side of the pool, away from Craig. He wasn’t going to dive in, he was going to be smart and take the stairs into the pool. That way he could get accustomed to the temperature.

  He stepped in and smiled. The water was warm and welcoming. The chlorine was definitely too strong, but he didn’t worry. They weren’t planning on staying in too long. He glided in, letting himself sink until he was walking toward the deeper end.

  Craig met him partway and smiled. “Chicken shit.” His eyes were sparkling.

  “Hey, I like to be careful. Not everyone dives into life without checking things out,” he added, his voice a little huffy.

  Craig stepped back, his eyes wide. “Whoa, didn’t mean to piss you off. I was just teasing.”

  Mitch knew that and he wasn’t sure why he got so upset at his friend. “Sorry. Guess I’m feeling a little discombobulated still from earlier.”

  Craig laughed. “Discombobulated? Oh God, you are such an English major!”

  Mitch stuck out his tongue and laughed before diving under and swimming to the other end of the pool, Craig close behind.

  They spent the next fifteen minutes or so racing each other underwater. It felt good to just let loose and act like a couple of kids. The last semester had been a bitch and full-on adulthood was just on the horizon.

  At one point, Craig chased him until he had Mitch backed up against the wall, his arms braced on the ledge on either side of Mitch. Craig surprised him by swimming underwater and rising up in front of him, so close they were almost pressed together.

  They both stood there, panting, wet, gazes locked. Mitch was shocked to see Craig’s pupils blown wide, and he shivered.

  “Cold?” Craig’s voice was rough.

  Mitch shook his head.

  “You have to stop doing that,” Cr
aig whispered, his breath hot against Mitch’s cheek.

  “Doing what?”

  “Chewing your lower lip.”

  Mitch released his lip immediately, not even aware he’d been doing it. But why would it irritate Craig?

  His friend sighed and stepped back, still staring at Mitch. “Shit,” he murmured, shaking his head.

  “What’s wrong?” Craig was confusing the hell out of him.

  Craig finally looked away. “Nothing. I guess I’m tired. And hungry. How about you?”

  “Yeah. I could eat.”

  They both climbed out of the pool and wrapped the towels around their shoulders, then walked through the chilly air-conditioned hallway to the elevator. Craig gently hip-bumped him, and Mitch shook his head. His friend was acting weird. And it was sending all sorts of heated feelings throughout his body.

  The elevator wasn’t quite as frosty as the hall, but Mitch still shivered. Craig moved closer, opened his towel, and wrapped his arm around Mitch’s shoulders, draping the towel over them.

  Mitch shivered again, but it wasn’t from the cold. Heat from Craig’s body permeated the towel around his shoulder, warming him, and Mitch wished he could remove the cloth barrier and feel their bare skin together.

  The elevator dinged, but he stayed rooted to the ground. Craig nudged him with his arm, and Mitch stepped out onto their floor, but his friend kept his arm around him and they walked together, leisurely. When they reached the door, Craig finally dropped his arm and Mitch immediately missed his touch.

  This was a dangerous game he was playing and he knew it. Allowing himself to enjoy his friend’s touches, the way he held him, how he warmed him in the elevator. He was playing with fire. Mitch needed to put some space between them, so while Craig ordered a pizza, Mitch hid out in the bathroom for a moment to regroup. They hadn’t spoken since leaving the elevator, and the air was thick with tension. Mitch wasn’t sure if he was reading into things, but it seemed Craig was staring at him pretty intensely. What the hell was going on? Or was it all just wishful thinking on Mitch’s part? Once again, he admitted the trip was a bad idea.