by Barley A. R.
This definitely wasn’t the best idea he’d ever had.
That didn’t stop him from lowering his head to lick at the first salty bead of precome as the truck’s tires spun out wildly on the turn toward the house. “Fuck.” Dale’s hips jerked upward, filling his mouth. One hand dropped down to curve around the base as he licked and bobbed. The truck lurched to one side but managed to stay on the drive.
The engine roared for a brief moment, and then the brakes squealed. The truck jerked to a stop. The hand on Nico’s head gripped a little tighter as Dale relaxed back into his seat. “Damn, you’re getting good at that.”
Nico hummed his assent. He lifted his head. “Maybe I’ve got a good teacher. Now get in the house and take off your pants.”
A sharp whimper barely escaped Dale’s throat, but then the door slammed open and he was running toward the house with his pants slipping down his ass. Nico raced after him. Damn, he was glad the man liked to go commando.
Stripping off his T-shirt, he headed through the front door and unsnapped his waistband. Two steps forward and he realized his mistake. His jeans tangled around his legs. The heavy denim caught on his shoes. He slowed down long enough to strip from the waist down before bolting the last few feet to the bedroom.
Dale was naked and waiting. Miles of tanned skin gleamed in the light coming through the open window. His golden hair haloed out around his head, pale against the deep navy of his comforter. One hand cradled his cock while the other snicked open a bottle of lube.
Oh, hell. Nico’s mouth went dry. Every hair in his body stood on end as he watched Dale work a finger deep inside himself. “You’re beautiful.”
“Hot,” Dale corrected.
“Fucking hot.” Nico would use whatever words he wanted—as long as Dale didn’t stop doing what he was doing. The condoms were in the top of his dresser. Easy to grab on the way out the door but impossible to reach from bed. Nico snagged a single foil packet, then thought better of it and moved the box to the bedside table.
“I hope you’re not looking for a lot of foreplay.”
Blue eyes gleamed. “I’ll be happy if you can hold off until you’re inside me.”
“You don’t have a lot of faith.”
“Honey, you’re hot as hell, and I want nothing more than to have you fuck me senseless… but you’re young.”
“And you’re so old.”
“Older than you.” Dale shrugged. He added a second finger to the first—stretching himself. “I—I remember what my first time topping was like. I was fifteen years old, and I came in under a minute.”
“And your first time on the bottom?”
“I was a late bloomer. I didn’t bottom until college.” A moment’s doubt creased his forehead and clouded his features. “If you want to try it that way—”
“Nope.” Nico knew exactly what position he wanted—the same one he’d been dreaming about for days, jerking awake in a wet puddle beside Dale. It made him feel like he was fifteen again.
The condom packet was slick in his hands. He needed two tries to rip it open, and he took his time rolling it into place.
The cotton comforter cover was rough against his knees as he knelt on the edge of the bed, but Dale’s skin was so fucking soft. Nico’s breath came a little faster. His heart was beating so hard it felt like it would come out of his chest. Nerves jangled deep in his core. What if he didn’t do it right? If he came in less than a minute?
Fuck, it’d be embarrassing, but it wouldn’t be the end of the world.
Since they’d taken their relationship to the next level a week earlier, he’d learned Dale’s body inside in out. Hand jobs. Blow jobs. He’d even spent one long evening sprawled out between Dale’s legs on the couch. Technically, they’d been watching a movie, but he’d spent the entire time teasing his lover’s nipples until the movie was forgotten and they were both groaning.
He knew how to make him whimper quietly, bringing him to the edge over and over again as he drew things out slowly before finally sending him flying.
“Whatever happens,” he said. “I’ll take care of you afterward.”
“That’s what I’m counting on.”
Good enough. He gripped Dale tight as he eased himself into position and slid home. Oh, hell. It was like nothing else he’d ever felt before. Hot and tight and—most importantly—Dale. His hips bucked. His teeth sliced into his bottom lip as he tried to distract himself from the blue eyes staring up at him or the keening sound coming from Dale’s mouth.
He must have hit his prostate on the first try.
Go team.
Now he needed to last longer than a minute. He swallowed hard, counting backward from sixty until the time was over. He’d outlasted a teenager. He pulled back slowly, drawing almost all the way out before slamming his way back home.
Dale’s gaze flickered. The pink color left his cheeks.
Wrong angle.
Nico took a breath and tried again, canting his hips upward this time. It took him two more tries before he finally found the motion he was looking for. When the angle was right, he repeated the motion, rocking forward over and over again.
“Oh, damn.” Dale muttered. “Oh, damn. Oh, damn, damn, damn.”
His words pushed Nico over the edge. He came loudly, eagerly, muscles seizing deep inside of him as he shook with pleasure. “Oh, damn, is right.” He barely managed to pull out and shift to the side before collapsing. His head spun. Sweat dripped across his chest, but he couldn’t be sure which one of them it had come from.
“Give me a minute.” He dragged the condom off and tossed it in the small trash can beside the bed. “Then I’ll help you finish.”
“Hmmm.” Dale rolled onto his side to nuzzle into him. His pupils were wide with lust. Heat made his cheeks red. His lips were cushioned, and he tasted like sin. A familiar wetness coated his skin. “That’s not going to be necessary… really.”
Chapter Twelve.
EVERY MORNING at the Lazy Crab started the same way. Nico unlocked the safe, double-checked the books from the night before, and then triple-checked to make sure the waiters had done all their side work. It turned out that being lunch manager was a little more involved than being headwater at Travelli’s—and a lot more tedious.
The doors opened at 11:00, and the first few customers usually trickled in around 11:15. By noon, the place was hip-deep in tourists and drowning in orders for bottomless Bloody Marys and unlimited Long Island Iced Teas. Half an hour after that and everyone was rushed off their feet, delivering bushels of crabs, dropping off kid’s menus, and flipping tables to get as many orders in as possible before the lunch rush ended sometime after two.
Nico was on his feet the whole time, teaching newbies, calming frazzled nerves, and pitching in whenever necessary. It usually ended with him covered in sweat, drenched in butter, and smelling like Old Bay.
Dale said it smelled sexy, but he’d clearly been living in Delaware for too long.
The man was brainwashed.
He got hard smelling crabs and got high off sunscreen.
Weirdo.
“What’s got you grinning?” Chris demanded.
“Dale’s picking me up at the end of my shift.” Which had to be soon if the restaurant owner was there. Nico checked the clock over the kitchen door. Twenty more minutes. “We’re going to Cape Henlopen afterward. The waves are supposed to be amazing.”
“Yeah, well, you look like an idiot.”
Big words coming from a man wearing a pink-and-red T-shirt that matched the one spackled against Nico’s chest. He rolled his eyes. “Anything you need me to do?”
“Yeah, there’s a two-top on the deck—Tim’s section—they want to talk to whoever’s in charge.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s you.”
“Yeah.” Chris winced. He checked his watch. It wasn’t a sneaky move, but it wasn’t meant to be. “Not until three. Go get ’em, tiger.”
It took everything Nico had not to swear. Dal
e was rubbing off on him. That probably wasn’t a good thing, but Nico didn’t care.
He pulled his tacky T-shirt away from his body, ran his fingers through his hair, grabbed a pitcher of ice water, and headed out onto the wide plank deck. August was coming to a close. It was going to cool down in September. Everybody said so. For Nico it couldn’t come soon enough.
He filled four different glasses on his way to Tim’s section and then—
“Nicolas Michael Gabriel Travelli.” The familiar voice was like sandpaper against the rough edges of his soul. “You’re a butt-face.”
“That’s Mr. Butt-Face to you.” He put his hand on his hip and winked at his cousin. “Whatcha doing here, Gina?”
“You don’t call. You don’t write—”
“And how’d you find me?”
“We lived together, remember?” She rolled her eyes in his direction. “Your bank statements still come to my house. That includes information about your paycheck, Mr. Butt-Face.”
Nico was tempted to leave right then, but Gina had traveled almost a thousand miles, and her face was shiny with excitement—or sweat. His cousin was addicted to cashmere sweaters and tailored wool pants, perfect for winters in the Windy City but not so good for summers by the sea.
The black pencil skirt and complementary pink blouse were her concession to the heat, but she’d have been better off in a tank top and some cut-off shorts.
“Here.” He poured her a glass of water. Chris had called the table a two-top, but the seat across from her was empty. “You traveling alone, or did you bring someone?” His gut twisted and knotted deep inside. “Is Erica with you?”
“I always said the two of you were wrong for each other.”
“Erica’s a good woman—”
“Not good enough for my little cousin,” Gina said. Her lips were pressed together in a thin line, the deep plummy lipstick flaking slightly. She hated lipstick. She only wore it for fancy dinners and interviews.
The clothes—the full face of makeup—she’d dressed up for this. Because she was uncertain? She didn’t know how he would respond?
He took a step forward, and she flinched.
Water slopped over the side of the pitcher and spilled down Nico’s shirt as he jerked backward. “I hurt you.”
“No, idiot. I like being tossed aside and ignored by my favorite relative.”
Shit. Was that what Nico had done? Was he just like his mother? He wiped his face on the edge of his sleeve. “I’m sorry.”
“Not good enough, Nicky.” His grandfather’s voice was rougher than normal. Tony Travelli had always been larger than life, but somehow he managed to pass Nico in the narrow aisle without brushing against him.
Or maybe he’d always been this small. A few inches shorter than Nico with skin that sagged around his eyes. His hair was white. He’d cut it recently, the look more severe than what he usually went for.
Like Gina, he’d picked his clothes for the weather. Unlike Gina, he’d chosen tan shorts and a linen shirt with salmon and gray stripes. His knees were knobbly.
Nico hadn’t even been sure his grandfather had knees. He certainly couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen them.
He swallowed hard. “Grandfather, I’m sorry—”
“I don’t want your apologies,” Tony said gravely. “I want an explanation.”
“Erica… she….”
“She turned you down. You loved the girl, and she broke your heart.” His bushy white eyebrows lifted. “This is why you abandon your family?”
What? It took Nico a moment to realize he’d stopped breathing and to restart his lungs. When he did, he was gasping. They thought he’d left Chicago because of Erica. His former girlfriend had been more discreet than he’d thought.
No one knew he was gay.
They thought he was heartbroken.
Nico put his pitcher down on the edge of the table and wiped his hands on his apron. His gaze drifted out toward the road, and a flash of color caught his eye. Dale’s fire engine–red truck was double-parked on the other side of the street. The driver’s side door popped open to reveal a thatch of wheat-bright hair.
“It’s time to come home,” Tony said. “I’ve put up with your… foolishness… for long enough. It’s time for you to come home. This place is not for you.”
Leaving Chicago might have been foolish, but that didn’t mean it had been a mistake. The people he’d met along the way—the places he’d been—none of that could ever be a mistake.
Nico forced himself to meet his grandfather’s gaze head-on. “I like it here.”
“At the Lazy Crab?”
“The food’s good, and the employees are friendly.”
A familiar long body sidestepped the crowd of people waiting at the hostess stand, and Nico grinned. Dale was still wearing his red board shorts and white T-shirt with the town’s name plastered across the front. He must have come straight from work. His hair was standing straight up. He’d been a little lax with his sunscreen, and there was a streak of sunburn across the bridge of his nose.
Nico grinned. “I’m a manager—”
Something flickered in his grandfather’s eyes. Anger or sorrow? “You like being in charge? Good, you can have more responsibility when you get home.”
Did he want more responsibility at Travelli’s, where nightly receipts could reach twenty thousand dollars—double that if they had a few wine connoisseurs in the dining room?
“Your cousin Antonio’s been talking about starting his own business. Plumbing supplies. Idiota. You will have his job. It will be better. Travelli’s has been missing you. We have all been missing you. Soon you will be back in Chicago running the front of house, and this whole thing will be forgotten.”
It was everything Nico had wanted—to be forgiven for running away and accepted back into the bosom of his family. He could go home, to Gina and his grandfather… and Travelli’s with its elegant dining room, distinguished clientele, and live string quartet twice a week.
The sounds of forks hitting plates and mallets cracking crabs echoed over classic rock. Dale was less than half a dozen feet away now. Had he heard what was being said? Did he know what Tony was offering?
Could Nico really afford to turn down a management role in his family’s restaurant?
“I’m—I’m gay.” It was the first time he’d said the words to someone other than Dale, and they made his teeth ache. He couldn’t stop now, even if Gina’s mouth was hanging open in amazement and his grandfather’s cheeks were red.
“I’m gay,” Nico repeated. “I like men. That’s why Erica turned me down. I never should have asked her in the first place. I didn’t love her. I can’t—I can’t love a woman that way. I’m gay.”
“And what does this have to do with business?” Tony asked. “With family?”
“Uncle Mike says—”
“My son is an idiot.” Tears dampened Tony’s eyes and stained his cheeks. There wasn’t an ounce of doubt in his voice. “He does not tell me how to run my business, and he will not tell you who to love. You will come back to Chicago and find a man who deserves you.”
Dale’s gaze met Nico’s over his grandfather’s shoulder. His eyes were so damn blue, deep and unfathomable like the ocean. His lips were pressed together in a wry little smile.
Nico’s heart skipped a beat.
Something fluttered deep inside his belly….
And then it broke.
His gaze faltered and dropped. His hands balled into fists. He should be introducing Dale to his family, but all he could do was listen as his grandfather laid out his future in front of him like so many plates on one of Travelli’s elegant tables.
The next time he looked up, his boyfriend was gone.
Chapter Thirteen.
DALE DIDN’T need a time machine. He had seen the future. In forty years, Nico was going to be a little more bowed, a little more wrinkled, and his curly dark hair would be replaced by shockingly white locks. Other than that, h
e’d look exactly the same.
Stately. Nico’s grandfather looked fucking stately.
The man at the Lazy Crab had to be Nico’s grandfather. No one else would look so much like him in profile that it was like looking at a fun house mirror—or a really crazy Snapchat filter.
Dale didn’t know who the woman was who’d been sitting with him. He didn’t think it was the ex—the way Nico talked about her, their breakup hadn’t just been final, it had also been inevitable—but he could be wrong.
He’d been getting ready to introduce himself when he heard the man’s voice, rasping and gravelly. “Soon you will be back in Chicago running the front of house and this whole thing will be forgotten.”
Nico should have said no. He would have said no, but instead he said: “I’m gay.”
Fuck. Pride exploded deep inside Dale’s chest, shocking him to the core. It was one thing to talk about his sexuality with a stranger—or a potential lover—but coming out to family was different. Dale had known he would be accepted when he came out, and he’d still hyperventilated every night for a week before telling his parents at the ripe old age of twelve-and-a-half.
Of course, he’d already practiced by telling Aunt Shirley. She’d given him a cookie and told him to stop stealing the Calvin Klein ads out of her bookstore’s magazines.
Nico wasn’t getting a cookie, but he’d definitely earned a Happy Coming Out Day blow job.
Dale had been tense and ready, prepared to step into the fray if necessary. Except Granddaddy Travelli hadn’t rejected Nico. He hadn’t even blinked. He didn’t care if his grandson was gay. He only cared if his grandson was coming home to Chicago.
And Nico still hadn’t said no.
Thump. Thump. Thump. Dale’s feet pounded against the wide-board decking.
Beeeeep. A horn honked as he threw himself down the front steps and out onto the sunbaked sidewalk. There’d been no heat warning on the radio that morning, but it still felt like it was a thousand degrees out.
The heat rolled over him in waves while a healthy dose of humidity made the air thick and almost unbreathable. His flip-flops squeaked.