The Tinder Stories

by Tory Temple

  “If class doesn’t go late, I’ll be here by five thirty. It’s just us for dinner, right? You didn’t secretly invite anyone else?” Morgan knew the answer to that, but maybe Christopher would surprise him.

  As Morgan expected, Chris cleared his throat and averted his gaze. “Nope. Just us. Quiet night.”

  “Are you setting me up?”

  Chris turned his head slightly and met Morgan’s stare head-on. “Why would I do that?” he asked innocently. “That would make you mad.”

  “Yes,” Morgan confirmed. But he couldn’t help quirking a smile at Chris’s wide-eyed expression. “Cut out the act. Innocent doesn’t become you.”

  “My mom says it does.” Chris grinned and padded naked into the bathroom, offering Morgan an eyeful of nice, rounded ass.

  He couldn’t help a wry chuckle.

  STATION FIVE had been renovated only a year ago and was a gorgeous model of a firehouse. The living areas and classrooms were on one side of the massive garage while the dorm area was on the other. Everything was laid out on one floor; it was fairly uncommon to see a fire station in California that had two floors and the traditional pole down the center. Earthquakes made it impractical, and Morgan had definitely experienced his share of quakes.

  He entered the station through the garage, as the firefighters would. The front door was only for visitors and guests. Several of the crew were still sitting with their morning coffee at the long kitchen table, dressed in department shorts and T-shirts, but two rookies were in full uniform. They were busily doing their morning chores and greeted Morgan politely as he passed through the common area.

  Tate Young grinned and lifted a hand to Morgan. The seasoned captain got up from the table and followed Morgan down the hallway and into a small classroom. “Hey, Morg.”

  “Tate, how’ve you been?” Morgan smiled and shook Tate’s hand. He liked the experienced fireman and appreciated that Tate took little risk with himself or his crew.

  “Eh.” Tate shrugged and leaned on a desk. “Think my ankle’s going to be ready for retirement before me.”

  “Six more months.” Morgan knew Tate had put in long, hard years with the department and was ready to enjoy some stress-free time. “Can you make it?”

  Tate sighed. “Yeah, need to try. Shelley’s got her retirement planned out to match mine. I think she’d kill me if I was lying around the house before she was.”

  Morgan gave a sympathetic nod and began laying neat piles of papers on the desk. Today’s training was a review on wildland fire origins. Fairly close to Morgan’s danger zone of subjects he didn’t like teaching, but not yet crossing that line. He’d do it fast and get the crew done in less than two hours, hopefully. Barring any emergency calls during class, of course.

  “Let me go round those guys up for you.” Tate wasn’t required to stay; captains had their own classes and course hours to complete. “I’ve got two rookies on this shift. If they give you shit, let me know.”

  Rookies were usually the most well behaved in any class. Morgan blinked and looked up at Tate. “You’re having trouble with them already?”

  “No.” Tate laughed. “But they have trouble potential. They’re young and cocky, and both of them are just itching to be off probation. You know the type.”

  He did, and well. Morgan stifled a sigh. “I can handle them. Tell them I’m ready.” He slid on his wire-rimmed glasses and took a sip of the coffee Christopher had put in a travel mug for him.

  “You got it.” Tate gave him a small salute and headed for the hallway. Just before the door closed, he stuck his head back around. “Your, uh. Friend called.”

  Morgan paused in getting the PowerPoint presentation ready. “Who? What friend?”

  “Matthews.”

  Morgan’s preference for men was not widely known throughout the department. The few people who did know had either worked with him or with Chris and had seen them together. Neither Morgan nor Chris found reason to make an announcement about their relationship, and for the most part, it was rarely mentioned. Morgan knew that was more a matter of people being uncomfortable with it, rather than being offered privacy, but it was what it was. Morgan could not remember a time in his life when he hadn’t known he was gay, and at forty-nine years old, he wasn’t about to pretend now.

  “Ah. And what did young Christopher say?”

  Tate grinned. “Happy birthday, old man.” He let the classroom door close, and Morgan could hear him whistling down the hall.

  Great. Leave it to Chris to make the public broadcast. Still, Morgan couldn’t help a wry smile. Chris had made no secret that he wasn’t going to be quiet about it, so despite not being thrilled with all the attention, at least it wasn’t a surprise.

  He shot off a quick text message to Chris as the crew filed into the classroom.

  Don’t call anyone else. You’re in trouble.

  Morgan put his phone on silent and tossed it in his briefcase. He knew Chris would answer him with some smart comment that would probably make Morgan laugh, so better hide the temptation to look.

  The crew settled into their seats with resigned expressions, with the exception of the two rookies. On the job for just six months so far, the probies were not yet tired of the required forty-five coursework hours per year. Morgan was grateful for their attention.

  The other four firemen were polite, at least, and all of them jotted notes down. Morgan knew it was mostly because their annual reviews were just around the corner, but he didn’t mind. By the end of the hour, all six of them had answered questions or participated in the discussion about fire inspection.

  They thanked him on their way out, and one of the rookies lingered behind. “Mr. Daniels? Can I ask you something about natural gas piping?”

  “Yes.” Morgan settled one hip on the edge of the desk and nodded at the young man.

  Fifteen minutes later, the rookie—whose name was Ryan—had his question answered and another half page of notes on his pad. Morgan would bet his six-month test was coming up, hence the anxious questions.

  Ryan grinned his thanks and left the classroom. Morgan used the opportunity to check his phone.

  i can outrun you

  He snorted and shoved his cell in the pocket of his slacks. Morgan gathered up his briefcase and jacket and headed back down the station’s hallway to the kitchen, hoping the coffee was still on. He had to be down at headquarters by noon and probably didn’t have time to stop for a latte, even at the drive-through.

  A single doughnut was on a plate in the center of the kitchen table. No firemen were in sight, although Morgan could hear a couple of them in the garage. Stuck into the doughnut was one lit candle, burning merrily.

  Morgan rolled his eyes and bent over to blow out the candle. Fucking Chris. The brat had known damn well what would happen when he’d called to tell Tate about Morgan’s birthday. Morgan counted his blessings that he wasn’t actually part of the firehouse’s crew; otherwise his day would be filled with practical jokes and endless ribbing.

  But hey, Morgan wasn’t one to turn down a doughnut, despite his constant campaign to keep his cholesterol down. He tossed the candle on the plate, wrapped the doughnut in a napkin, and went out through the side door to the parking lot. He gave a wave to Tate on the small basketball court and slid behind the wheel of his car. If he hurried, the drive-through coffee place wouldn’t have a line. Then to headquarters to file a few reports. A nice, normal day, despite Chris trying to make it into something else.

  Normal was good.

  IT WASN’T as bad as he feared. Chris did a remarkable job of showing restraint. Morgan appreciated it, even though their quiet dinner reservation for two turned out to be a party of eight. Chris had called several of Morgan’s friends from the department as well as John and Maribel Matthews. The latter couple was a pleasant surprise, since Morgan was fond of Chris’s parents and he knew they’d made a five-hour drive from central California to be there.

  “Happy birthday, darling.” Mari
bel beamed at him and kissed Morgan’s cheek. “I like your haircut.” She ruffled his bangs a bit, and Morgan felt himself blush. Forty-nine years old still felt like ten when your partner’s mom… well, mothered you.

  “Maribel.” Morgan kissed her back and then shook John’s hand. “You let your wife talk you into driving down, didn’t you?”

  John sighed. “I had a fishing tournament tomorrow. I’m missing it.”

  “John!” Maribel spoke sharply and planted her hands on her hips. “Honestly, it’s the man’s birthday! At least lie to him!”

  Morgan couldn’t help laughing. He winked at John and was not offended in the least by the remark. Hell, he wouldn’t have wanted to miss a fishing trip either, if fishing was something Morgan enjoyed. He’d personally rather be on his bike in the desert, but to each his own.

  The dinner itself turned out to be quite enjoyable. Christopher grinned at him all night long and had one hand in Morgan’s lap under the table, so Morgan couldn’t complain. He wouldn’t go so far as to actually forgive Chris for the surprise party, but Morgan would take whatever Chris was willing to give up as an apology.

  “I’m not apologizing,” Chris laughed on the way home. “You liked it. You laughed and had fun; I watched you.”

  It was true, but Morgan wouldn’t admit that. “I asked you not to make a big deal.”

  Chris was undeterred. “It wasn’t a big deal.” His eyes were twinkling. “It was eight people who like you and wanted to share your birthday. Get over it.”

  There was a bad joke to be made there about how Morgan definitely planned on getting over something in the next hour, but he bypassed it in favor of snorting and looking out the window instead.

  It wasn’t until two hours later, when he and Chris lay panting and sweaty and satisfied in their bed, that Morgan grudgingly said, “So… thank you.”

  Chris chuckled and draped himself over Morgan’s chest. “You do realize that the worse you are about your birthday, the more I want to make a thing of it?”

  “I know.” Morgan tried to be glum, but his afterglow was still shiny. It had been a really good fuck.

  “Okay. Just so we’re clear.” Chris sounded much happier than he had a right to be, but somehow Morgan didn’t care.

  CHAPTER TWO

  THE ARGUMENTS never meant to be arguments. At least, Morgan didn’t intend them to be. Somehow, Christopher always had other ideas.

  “The weekend of the twelfth. I signed us up and put our deposit down.”

  “Cool.” Chris nodded and carefully set the lens of his camera down on the soft cloth he used for cleaning it. “Wait. The twelfth? Of February?”

  “Yes.” He slid a plate of pancakes next to Chris and plunked down the near-empty syrup bottle. “You’re almost out of syrup. Want any of mine?”

  Chris made a predictable face at the mention of Morgan’s low-sugar pancake syrup. “I’ll use extra butter. I’m working the weekend of the twelfth.” He glanced over at the shift calendar that hung from a magnet on the refrigerator. “My own shift on the twelfth, overtime on the thirteenth.”

  “It’s the President’s Day ride. We missed last year because you were working too. Didn’t we decide in November that we’d do it this year?” It was a rhetorical question. Morgan knew they’d decided together to do the ride that their small motorcycle club hosted. It was traditionally the first ride of the new year, and Morgan liked being out in the crisp winter air.

  “Yeah, we did.” Chris sighed and gave his pancakes a liberal slathering of butter. “I’m sorry.”

  “So get your shift covered and give back the overtime.”

  Chris lifted a blond brow. “What? No. I’m doing a favor for Ken Takanashi. I owe him from when we went camping two months ago and he covered me, remember?”

  Morgan didn’t, but it didn’t matter. He’d been looking forward to this ride, and not just because he loved being out on his bike. It was a combination of things, most of them having to do with the man in front of him. At the end of the day, Morgan just plain liked being near Christopher.

  “We lose our deposit. Fifty bucks.” Not like they couldn’t afford it, but still. Principle.

  “So I’ll pay you back. Seriously, Morgan, I’m sorry. Ken needed help and I owe him.” Chris sighed and looked as sorry as he said he was, but Morgan still prickled beneath the skin.

  “You’re saying that someone you work with takes priority, then.” Morgan knew it wasn’t true but couldn’t stop the childish words. His constant wish was just that Chris would use his brain without being reminded.

  The fork Chris was using clattered to the table. “Are you kidding me? You’re kidding me. Are you kidding me?”

  Morgan shrugged and leaned against the refrigerator. “I don’t understand the loyalty to coworkers over me, I guess.”

  “I know you don’t.” Chris leaned both elbows on the table and met Morgan’s gaze. “Otherwise, you’d know that no one gets priority over you. Come on, Morgan. That isn’t like you.”

  It was true anyway. Morgan was secure enough in his place in Christopher’s life that he didn’t have to resort to silly relationship games, so why was he bothering to argue?

  “Fine,” Morgan conceded. “Maybe I’ll just go alone.” It wouldn’t be half as fun, but the ride would be nice. And if Chris was working, what the hell was Morgan going to do at home alone anyway?

  There was an imperceptible pause, as if Chris hadn’t expected that. “Okay,” he finally said. “You should go.”

  Morgan nodded and forked up a bite of pancake. “We’re still riding today, right?”

  “Yeah.” Chris gulped down his orange juice and wiped his mouth. “A long one would be good.”

  “Could do Wildcat Canyon, maybe?” It was a long, scenic route that had very little traffic on weekdays. That was a benefit of Chris’s job, Morgan had to admit. Weekdays off allowed them to do things when most people were grinding away at nine-to-five office jobs.

  Chris had his camera lens back in his hands and was inspecting it. He looked through it at Morgan, and all Morgan could see was one big, blue eye blinking at him.

  “Christopher. Wildcat Canyon, yes or no?”

  “Yes.” Chris wiped at one more imaginary spot and fitted the lens back onto the camera. “I have to check fluids on the bike first.”

  “I’ll do it.” Morgan rose from the table, dishes in hand. “You clean up in here.”

  “I’d rather do fluid check,” Chris grumbled, but grabbed his empty syrup bottle and tossed it in the trash.

  Morgan reached out and took Chris’s upper arm, hauling him close. As annoyed as Morgan was about the President’s Day ride, maybe some time together outside would cure both of their grouchy moods. “If you clean up,” Morgan murmured, “I’ll find a spot to stop in Wildcat and let you fuck me.” He didn’t condone lewd acts in public, despite their proclivity for messing around in diner bathrooms, but the canyon was remote enough that they’d be able to find a private spot off the highway.

  Chris’s sulky look dissipated almost immediately. “Yeah?” he asked. A corner of his mouth quirked up, and his tense posture relaxed.

  “Yes.” Morgan kissed him hard and let him go. “Do the dishes and pack the lube.”

  THEY WERE on the road an hour later. Apparently the idea of a ride and outdoor sex had spurred Chris into action, because the dishes had been done quickly and he had appeared in the garage with both his and Morgan’s backpacks before Morgan had finished doing the safety check on the bikes.

  The late-January day was overcast but with moderate temperatures. It was a perfect riding day and Morgan felt his spirits lifting, as they usually did when he and Christopher rode together. It was the one thing they did as a couple that could erase the always-present reminder of Chris’s job and Morgan’s resulting concerns.

  Boulder-covered hills were on either side of them as they rode the deserted highway. It took concentration as the road was full of angles and turns, but Morgan enjoyed the ch
allenge. He’d ridden motorcycles for twenty-five years and admired Chris’s skill as a riding partner.

  Chris handled his own bike skillfully and safely, two things on which Morgan insisted. Neither of them had ever had an accident. There was a speeding ticket or two in their past, but police officers had let them go with a warning more often than they were actually ticketed.

  After an hour and a half, Morgan spoke to Chris through the Bluetooth headsets in their helmets. “Turn off on Honey Springs.”

  Chris gave him a thumbs-up in response and made the tight right turn onto the scenic road. It was a bit hilly at first, then smoothed out, and Morgan found what he was looking for. “Pull off,” he said to Chris, who acknowledged Morgan by stopping on the wide shoulder of the road.

  Morgan stopped too and removed his helmet. Despite the cool weather, his forehead was sticky with sweat, and the light breeze felt good. “Back here,” he told Chris. They hadn’t been out this way in some time, but Morgan was pretty sure there was a small dirt area just beyond the oleander bush up ahead.

  They pushed the bikes another few feet and came upon the open space that was concealed from the main road. Morgan and Chris hit their kickstands and parked the bikes, and then both of them unzipped their jackets and let the wind cool them down.

  “I forgot this was here,” Chris said thoughtfully. He put his hands on his hips and turned in a slow circle. “Isn’t there a….” The sentence trailed off, and Chris arched a brow at Morgan.

  Morgan grinned and started down a barely there path that led into the high grasses. He knew Chris was referring to the long-forgotten picnic table that sat abandoned in a little clearing.

  There it was, just around the curve of the giant palm. They’d stopped to eat lunch here once, but that had been several years ago and Morgan had almost forgotten it. The old, peeling table was still here.

  “Remember?” Morgan asked. Chris had come up behind him, and Morgan could feel Chris’s breath warm in his ear.