Hard Truths

by Alex Whitehall

  Sue and I were still laughing as we cartoned up the eggs and washed the waxy residue off our hands. Shoulder to shoulder, we fought over the small sink like we were still kids. It felt good—this was why I came home. I bumped against her, my cheeks hurting with my grin. “Logan says hi.”

  She bumped me back. “Boyfriend stealer.”

  “You’re just jealous.”

  She sighed in a swoon-like manner and rested her head on my shoulder. “I am a little. You seem happy with him.”

  “I am.” I dropped my voice, paranoid my parents might hear us. “I love him, you know?”

  “I got the feeling.” She reached up on tiptoe and kissed my cheek. “I’m happy for you.”

  “Thanks. I’m glad someone is.”

  “Who—”

  “What are you two doing in there taking so long?” my mom called, peeking into the already cramped space. “Come on, we’ve still got pie to eat!”

  We followed her out, the conversation dropped in favor of the more enjoyable option: eating pie.

  That night, I got home later than I’d planned. It would have been nice to be welcomed back by Logan with a kiss and a hug. To fall into bed together and wake up together. But I was going over to his place in the morning and spending the day with him, so there was that. Even if it wasn’t enough.

  “April showers bring May flowers,” Alessa said, spreading out a blanket over the soft grass in the park where Logan and I and his friends were enjoying the first really nice weekend.

  “But what do May flowers bring?” Matti asked.

  I groaned, prepared for the bad pun—and yes, I realized the hypocrisy.

  “Allergies,” Troy mumbled through a stuffy nose. “Whose idea was this?”

  “Did you take your antihistamines or whatever?” Bryan asked.

  “No.”

  “Do you complain about this every year?”

  “Yes.”

  Bryan let out an aggravated sigh, and Alessa continued, “I apologize to those among us with allergies—”

  “Aka, me,” Troy grumbled.

  “—but as per our annual May Day celebration—”

  “Which should have been three weeks ago,” Logan pointed out.

  “—that has been delayed because of rain,” Alessa added, a hint of annoyance coloring her tone. She paused, glancing around as if daring anyone else to interrupt. “We are here on this May Day celebration to welcome spring!”

  “Halle-fucking-lujah!” Erika raised a bottle of grape juice that looked suspiciously not like Welch’s. “And we’re having perfect weather. Finally,” she muttered under her breath.

  I was grateful for the weather, and not just because I was getting stir-crazy. Today I would finally be getting on Logan’s bike. We’d had to come separately—I’d taken the bus—but after the picnic, I would get to ride it with him. Not that I’d been anxiously waiting for this since December.

  Oh sure, I could have gone one of the dozen times he rode it over the winter, but it had been cold and my desire to ride was not enough to cancel out the biting winds the bike would have exposed me to. Despite all his fancy gear, he’d been frozen solid after a few of those trips.

  But today was warm and sunny, and as I slid my arm around his waist, I knew it was going to be a good day.

  We’d set up near a tree, where we could escape to for shade when the May sun got too intense for our sun-starved flesh. I was a little jealous of Erika and Jacob, who with their darker skin, still needed to apply sunscreen but wouldn’t likely turn into neon-pink otters. Even Logan, Alessa, and Matti were likely to be spared.

  Bryan and Troy met my eyes as we all pulled out bottles of sunscreen, and we shared a rueful grin as we started lathering up.

  “Need me to get your back?” Logan offered, kneeling behind me.

  I glanced down at my shirt—yep, still wearing it—and then over my shoulder at him. His eyes sparkled in the sunlight, his smile broad and carefree. He was fucking beautiful. “Uh?”

  In the wide-open space, his laugh seemed bigger somehow, like he’d kept it bottled up all winter. “Okay, okay. I could do your neck. Or—” he swiped at my nose, and I felt the lotion smear “—make sure your face is clear.”

  “Sure, but . . .” I batted my eyes in the most ridiculous manner I could think of and pitched my voice as high as it would go. “Be gentle.”

  He shuffled around in front of me—which was as graceful as it sounds—and resumed kneeling there. He cupped my jaw, caressing his thumb along my cheek and picking up the conversation as if the position change hadn’t happened. “Certainly. You’re too precious to break.”

  A handful of grass flew at us—and fell short. “Get a room!”

  Logan playfully leered at Troy. “That’s later.”

  “Great,” Troy grumbled, “now I’m congested, stinking of sunscreen and have a hard-on.”

  Logan picked up one of the dandelions that had nearly reached us and threw it about as effectively back at Troy. “Stop perving on my boyfriend.”

  Troy did an impressive eyebrow wiggle. “How do you know it’s him I’m perving on?”

  Before Logan could answer, I leaped forward and hugged him possessively to my chest, glaring at Troy. “No. Mine. Get your own!”

  “Oh! A challenge.”

  “Careful,” Alessa chimed in, “or he’ll take on both of you.”

  “Take that as you will,” Erika added.

  “Oh hush,” Troy said, giving Alessa the stink-eye. Then he looked back at me with a friendly leer. “Don’t worry, your boyfriend is safe from me.”

  I rolled my eyes and sat back. “Good to know.”

  Logan shook his head and rubbed in the rest of the sunscreen I’d missed on my forehead, cheeks, and nose—pretty much all of it, it seemed—and the conversation around us moved on to what foods and games people had brought. I soon learned Erika had absolutely, definitely, totally not brought wine in the Welch’s bottle, wink-wink, nudge-nudge.

  Snacks and drinks were dug out and consumed, and then a Frisbee appeared and I was dragged from my comfortable resting spot against Logan’s shoulder to join some incarnation of Frisbee, football, and keep-away that mostly served to make me hoarse from yelling, and sweaty.

  By the time we collapsed—well, I collapsed; everyone else seemed more fit, the bastards—onto our blankets, it was time for lunch and reapplication of sunscreen. Thankfully there was plenty of both.

  “You’re not too bad at Frisbee.” Bryan patted my back, plastering my sweaty shirt to my sweaty skin. Ew. “Though, it would help if you threw the disk to your teammates.”

  I chuckled, only a little uncomfortably. “I wasn’t actually sure who was on my team most of the time.”

  “We chose sides!” Troy shouted from where he was dishing out salad.

  “But whenever I gave it to my teammate, people yelled at me!”

  “That’s because you were breaking the rules,” Bryan said.

  I didn’t know the rules! I wanted to scream, but shrugged instead. “Sorry.”

  “No worries. We’ll give your team a handicap next time.”

  “I thought I was the handicap,” I said, only half-joking.

  “You said it!” Alessa crowed, and everyone broke into laughter, except Logan and Erika, who seemed to be in deep contemplation over a tub of pasta salad.

  I had never bragged about my made-up-sports skills, so they didn’t need to rag me so hard. Maybe they didn’t like me. Or maybe this was how they were with each other? It seemed kind of harsh though. Not how I’d welcome someone to a group. Maybe this was their not-so-subtle way to tell me I wasn’t welcome? Had I done something to annoy them?

  With an awkward shrug, I hid my discomfort beneath a smile and started handing out plates and plasticware, then settled next to Logan, ostensibly to pile pasta on my plate.

  Really, I just needed to be close to him.

  He glanced up, his smile faltering as he saw whatever it was he saw on my face. “You okay
?”

  I tried to brighten my expression. “Tired from all that running around.”

  “Okay.” He studied me another moment, then nodded down at my empty plate. “Here for some stellar carbs?”

  “Load me up.”

  While everyone filled their plates, my unease settled a little. I was probably blowing things out of proportion. They were just poking fun at my lack of athletics. That was what friends did, right? No big deal.

  But as the conversations continued on—about shows I hadn’t watched and music I didn’t care about—I felt left out. Like every time we got together. Which was stupid. Logan and I had plenty of things in common. I could talk about any of them with him.

  Yet he was talking with his friends. I couldn’t interrupt that. So I sat quietly and listened to the banter and the discussions, the yelps of “I can’t believe they did that!” and “Remember that concert in Philly?” I ate my pasta, soaked in the warmth and the sunshine, and rested against Logan’s shoulder, trying to ignore those feelings. This was his family, and they were important to him. I wouldn’t fuck this up by being a sourpuss.

  I was jostled from my self-reflection by a phone alarm going off, followed by a series of groans. I glanced around, a little confused.

  “Jacob has a date,” Logan said, making it clear I’d missed something. “And since Troy’s drugs are wearing off, I think we’re going to head home.”

  “Okay. Sorry. All that running around and good food must have put me into a trance.” I smiled sleepily at him, and he leaned over and kissed me.

  “I hope you’re not too tired for a bike ride.”

  A zing of excitement shot through me, and I perked up. “No way.”

  He grinned and nosed my cheek. “Then come on, let’s help pack up.”

  With everyone involved, it didn’t take long, and soon we were walking back to where the vehicles were parked. Getting up and focusing on the tasks had woken me up—or perhaps distracted me was a better word choice—keeping my thoughts off of everyone’s approval. Plus I’d had excitement thrumming through me: I was going to be riding on a motorcycle. Even if it was called bitch seat, as Logan had amusedly told me.

  As we left, though, some of those doubts returned. I kept playing over their teasing and laughter. Their frustrations during the game: the snappy comments and terse commands. I really hadn’t fit in.

  Logan slipped his arm around my waist as we walked, and pulled me close. “What’s up?”

  I blinked and glanced over to him. His eyes were still crinkled in the corners, his face flushed from a day in the sun and outdoors. “Huh? Um, nothing. Tired I guess.”

  The smile faltered, flickering away. When it returned, it was sadder than before. “Is that it?”

  He’d had a fantastic day with his friends, and I wasn’t going to be the one to cast a gray pallor. Better to keep my mouth shut. I wrestled up a smile of my own. “Yeah.” I turned my smile a little lurid. “But I’m sure a ride on your bike will wake me up.”

  His deep, rumbling chuckle shuddered through me like a caress down my back. “I’m just glad you had a good day. I know you’re more of an indoor cat.”

  I cranked my head to stare at him. “Wait, what?”

  Color darkened his cheeks. “I, uh, sometimes sort of think of you and your friends as indoor cats and my friends as outdoor cats?”

  “Okay, aside from the obvious ‘Why do you think of our friends as cats?’ does this mean that you’re an indoor-outdoor cat?”

  “Oh definitely. I’m the tom who seduced the indoor cat outside.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I feel like I should be offended.”

  “It’s not like I really think we’re cats.”

  I snorted. “Yeah, sooo not the point.”

  We reached his bike, so he tugged me around into a proper embrace, nuzzled against my neck, and trailed his lips up to my ear. “You don’t like being the one who was able to tame the wild tom?”

  My shiver was entirely a reaction to the whisper of his breath on my skin and not at all related to the thought of taming him. At all. I slid my arms around his neck and nipped his earlobe. “From the wilds of graphic design?”

  “Hey,” he murmured, all sexy-like, “I’m freelance.”

  I shook with ridiculous laughter, breaking the spell. His arms tightened around me, and I muffled my amusement against his shoulder, although that made me shake harder.

  “It wasn’t that funny,” he said.

  “I dunno,” I managed to snort out. “Freelance.”

  He pulled back a little, though my forehead was still resting on his collarbone. “Maybe I should leave you behind. No ride on my bike.”

  I gasped and stared up at him, widening my eyes in the exact exaggeration of horror his fake threat warranted. “No! Please! What can I do to get your forgiveness?”

  He kissed me—barely a brush of our lips. “I think forgiveness is better earned at home.” Another kiss, which I tried to chase but was denied. “Your place?”

  I sighed, reluctantly moving out of his arms. “Okay.”

  He unlocked his helmet from the bike and handed it over. We’d already made sure it fit me, and he’d be wearing the secondary one that fit in his saddlebags. The helmet still felt huge on my head, and I probably looked like one of those Funko Pop! figurines. He, of course, fit the part with his black leather jacket, sleek helmet, and boots. I wanted to jump him, wrap my legs around his waist, and go at it.

  Instead I paid attention to the probably important specifics of where I should sit and place my feet and hands.

  “You can grip the seat here.” He pointed to a spot below the seat.

  “Or I can put my arms around you.”

  He smirked. “That’s the other option.”

  Getting on was an adventure of Wait, do I . . . and No, put your hand here and No, let me . . . but we eventually were both straddling the bike. I slid forward until my crotch was securely against his ass and my arms around his waist. He patted my thigh and I squeezed them around him.

  “Comfortable?”

  “Perfect fit.” I wished I could whisper it in his ear, but the helmet didn’t allow for it.

  “Feet up.”

  I took the position and the bike roared to life. The hum of it spread through me, burrowing into my muscles and sinking into my bones. It was like nothing I’d ever felt before. There was the raw power, yes, but it was also . . . open. No cage to protect me from the world and the road. Yet I didn’t feel unsafe. I leaned forward slightly, letting my body press against Logan’s. I melted into him, as if the three of us—Logan, the bike, and me—were one being.

  And then we began to move.

  Even wearing multiple layers, plus the helmet, I swore I could feel the wind. But not just the wind. Everything. I could reach out and touch it all. Well, if I could move without tipping us over and ruining the moment.

  Instead I kept my hands firmly on Logan, our bodies pressed as close together as was possible with clothes on. We were positioned to fuck too, and I wanted to kiss the curve of his spine and shed our clothes and do that. I imagined the bike parked in a private garage, where we could strip off our clothing and fuck over the bike. Obviously I’d have to wait—as it was cold and Logan didn’t have a private garage—but that didn’t mean my hands couldn’t wander, down over his hips and along the insides of his thighs where he straddled the seat.

  I didn’t get too handsy—not wanting to crash, after all, and wanting to enjoy the ride itself. The vibrations, the world rushing past with nothing between me and it except the helmet, the slight fear when we made a turn and it was like we were going to fall over, the thrill when Logan took the long way home so we could speed down the road without having to worry about traffic. We still weren’t going too fast, but my heart was racing and the pulse throbbed in my dick.

  The downside of taking the long way home was, well, it was a long way home. I enjoyed every torturous minute, but when he finally parked the bike by my place, I was
beyond ready to get off.

  I marched up the stairs with Logan’s hand in mine, a bag of stuff over each of our shoulders, and a hard-on in my pants that made marching less than ideal.

  Once we’d gotten to my apartment, we had to go to the kitchen to throw some items into the fridge. I thought I was going to weep with joy when I slid the last cold item onto the shelf and let the door swing closed. Finally. I turned, my eyes set on Logan. He was reaching for his bag again, but I slipped in front of him, our chests together and our eyes locked.

  “It can wait.”

  He stretched his arms around me and pinned his hands to the counter, lodging me firmly between his hips and the immoveable. His cock pressed against me, and I inhaled sharply. Grinning, he lowered his forehead to mine. “Can it?”

  “The food can,” I growled, tilting my chin up to meet his lips in a consuming kiss. He tasted of the cake he’d eaten and the coffee he’d washed it down with, so I delved deeper, until all I could taste was him. Until he overwhelmed my senses and I was only aware of his hand moving to grip my lower back, his tongue teasing mine in their dance. I thrust forward, and he groaned, sending a shiver down my spine. God, I wanted him.

  I wanted him always. I wanted to drag myself home from work and find him here. I wanted to leave together when we went on trips like today’s. I wanted to experience all the little moments that connected his life. And I wanted him to experience mine.

  The throb in my groin warred with the thump of my heart, but I pulled back slightly, panting against his lips. He rocked his hips, as if to remind me of what we were doing, but didn’t plunge ahead. Instead, he waited while I scrabbled at the words that were a jumble in my head.

  “You know, we could have fucked this morning if we lived together.” Eloquent I was not.

  Thankfully he understood me. “Are you saying that you want to move in together?”

  An exciting, terrifying tremor slammed through me. “Yes. If you want to. I mean, of course if you want to. You wouldn’t agree if you didn’t want to—”