by Ruskin, JD
“Are you asking me to talk dirty to you?” Logan asked, his voice one part amusement and two parts growl.
Caleb’s heartbeat sped, breath hitching in his chest. “Please.”
“Do you want to hear about how I want to shove my cock into you?” Logan asked, his voice velvet-edged and strong. “How I want to ride you until you can’t walk? How I wish it was my hand on you, making you come?”
“Oh, God,” Caleb said, gripping the receiver so tight his fingers ached.
Logan’s groans of “So good, so good” made Caleb’s balls tighten in response and he quickened his pace. The sound of slapping flesh became louder and more erratic. Caleb panted into the mouthpiece and pumped harder, ignoring the stickiness clinging to his pants. Full and hot, his balls tightened against his body, ready to burst as he stroked himself again and again. Within seconds, Caleb released a guttural groan, coming in his hand, seed soaking his sweats.
Moments later, Logan cried out, Caleb’s name on his lips. Neither of them spoke for a few minutes.
“Good night,” murmured Logan. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Night,” Caleb said, before ending the call. His sweatpants were damp and sticking to his leg, but he couldn’t bring himself to care about the mess. He quickly wiped his hand and groin with his T-shirt and turned off the light. He fell asleep easily.
Chapter 5
ON FRIDAY, Caleb woke when the morning sun found the gap in the curtains and attacked his eyeballs with a sharp ray of sunlight. Squinting, he peered at the bedside clock and groaned when he realized it was well past eight. Logan would be here in less than half an hour. Caleb felt a wave of sympathy for Logan. He had already been at work for hours, and Caleb was still lazing around in bed. He dragged himself from the warmth of the covers and cringed when he saw the state he was in. He would be lucky to get the pants off without giving himself a bikini wax. He needed a shower desperately.
Caleb entered the bathroom, turned on the shower, and adjusted the spray until it was scorching hot, the way he liked it. Considering the late morning hour, he needed to move quickly before the hot water ran out. He peeled himself out of the pants, wincing when he lost hairs in the process. That’s what you get for not cleaning up after phone sex, he thought as he stepped into the shower stall. He felt his cheeks flush and not from the billowing steam and near scalding water. He couldn’t believe he’d had phone sex. With Logan. Who would be arriving in a matter of minutes. God, what if he regrets it? What if we sit there in awkward silence?
Caleb leaned his forehead against the wall, his vision clouding and his legs and arms tingling and distant. A crush of emotions and thoughts rushed through him and he felt the fear build in his chest. Time drifted and shifted, leaving him feeling dizzy. Until the hot water decided it had had enough.
“Fuck!” Caleb leapt backwards away from the icy spray. One foot landed on a soapy tile. He skidded, lost his balance. His arms windmilled, and he snatched at the shower curtain. The blue-checkered fabric ripped under his weight, the curtain hooks popping off the rod as he tumbled forward. He fell halfway out of the shower, his upper body crashing against the edge of the toilet and his head cracking against the cabinet. Letting out a short, harsh gasp of pain, he rotated his body away from the toilet, cradling his arm against his chest. The pulsing pain shooting up his arm and elbow battled with the throbbing ache in his head.
His vision blurred and he thought about getting to the phone to call Logan. Rapidly, thoughts flooded through his mind in a blinding whirl. What if the door jams and I’m stuck in here forever? What if my arm’s broken and I end up crippled? Or it turns gangrene and they want to cut it off? His stomach churned and his head spun. He was going to be sick. With his good arm, he pulled himself to his knees and flipped open the lid of the toilet. The universe blinked out of existence. He was there for two minutes, or maybe it was ten, wracked with cramps and spasms. God, would they ever end? The thought made him retch again, while every muscle and bone in his arm cried out in protest.
The terror immobilized him. So he went still, lying on the torn curtain while the cold spray splashed out of the shower onto his legs and back. A familiar sound rang in the distance. It was an important sound, but he couldn’t latch on to it. The universe blanked out again.
LOGAN stepped back from the door, hands on his hips. No answer. He took out his cell phone and dialed Caleb’s number. His unease increased as Caleb’s phone repeatedly rang before going to voice mail. He hit the End button on the phone. After a moment’s hesitation, he pulled up Klass’s number and hit Send. His boss sounded harried when he answered the phone.
“I’m at Caleb’s place, but he’s not answering.”
Klass’s voice seemed temporarily muted as though he were switching the phone from one ear to another. “When did you last see him?”
Logan rubbed the back of his neck. “Saw him on Wednesday and talked to him on the phone yesterday.”
Logan heard a murmured woman’s voice. Klass agreed with what she said before continuing. “You say you called him?” He paused. “Why exactly?”
“Just checking in ’cause I couldn’t stick around too long on Wednesday like I usually do.”
“That’s very kind of you, Mr. Sellers.”
“Weren’t no big deal. He’s a good guy.”
“I’m glad you think so,” Klass said, sounding downcast. “Did he mention anything unusual happening when you talked with him yesterday?”
Oh fuck. He was glad Klass couldn’t see his face. “Uh… he mentioned visiting Mrs. Simon at her place and carrying her cat to a neighbor on the fifth floor.” And then we had phone sex.
“Ah, that explains it,” Klass said, sounding like he’d solved a mystery. “When he pushes himself to break his patterns, it can be upsetting to him. He tends to retreat, needing time to recover. It’s best if we give him that time.”
Logan privately thought letting Caleb slide backwards after he made progress seemed like the wrong approach, but what did he know? He wondered if Klass knew about the trips out they’d taken. Caleb had made it all the way to Meng’s without freaking out, but maybe it was different going up the stairs with only a fat cat for company. “So you want me to just leave?”
“Yes, let’s give him the weekend. If he doesn’t answer the door on Monday, you can use my spare key.”
Logan wanted to argue, but maybe Klass was right. The idea of meeting Dabb in his own apartment made Caleb shake and stutter. Dealing with the old bird’s attempt at matchmaking was bound to be stressful. Yeah, right. Blame the old lady and not the fact that you went from one kiss to phone sex. Caleb was probably hiding in his place, too embarrassed to answer the door. The request had been impulsive and more than a little possessive. The idea of Caleb meeting some hot guy had bothered him more than he wanted to admit. He’d wanted to stake his claim on Caleb in a way his curfew didn’t allow. The result had been too fucking hot for him to regret it, but he could acknowledge, if only to himself, the reason behind it. He’d have to wait and see if Caleb regretted it.
LOGAN opened the door to his apartment and made his way inside. He stood in the middle of the room for a full minute before turning around and heading back out. He’d go crazy if he stayed here. He needed a distraction, something to keep his mind off Caleb. It wasn’t until he started AA he realized so much of his life revolved around booze. Watching football at a local pub, playing pool, and even slaughtering his buddies at poker were all just excuses to get plastered. So what the hell do I do now? He could go for a run around the lake if he wanted to experience a heat stroke. Not for the first time, he wished he could afford a gym membership. Passive thinking, scolded the voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Stacy. It was a valid point regardless. Caleb could probably help him find someone online interested in selling a set of used free weights. Assuming he ever speaks to me again. Logan felt a pang of unease at having to wait until Monday to see him. He took out his cell phone and pulled up Caleb’s name f
rom the contacts. He hesitated, finger poised over the Talk button. Sighing, he hit the End button and shoved the phone back into his pocket.
Exiting the apartment building, Logan heard a man’s voice call out. A twitchy-looking guy with greasy hair and a backpack that looked like it weighed more than he did emerged from the narrow gap between buildings. Moving to block Logan’s path, Twitchy opened his mouth to speak.
Logan stopped abruptly, holding his hand out to keep the guy at a distance. It wasn’t often that even the panhandlers approached him on the street. His size was usually enough of a deterrent. “Not interested,” he said, moving around the man.
Twitchy sidestepped and blocked Logan’s path again. “Got me a li’l somethin’, right here, you wan’ it?” He held up a small bottle of what looked like scotch. “Only a fin and totally legit,” he said, showing off his broken yellow teeth in a manic smile.
Logan snorted. Minibottles of booze were illegal to sell in Chicago. Twitchy had to have bought them in the ’burbs or online, assuming he’d actually paid for them instead of swiping them off the back of a truck. “You ain’t got nothing I want,” he told the man, wondering why his feet hadn’t gotten with the program. That the guy had stationed himself between a halfway apartment complex and the shelter down the street showed he knew how to spot an opportunity.
Looking at the bottle Twitchy was waving back and forth, Logan remembered the message he’d scribbled on the packet of oatmeal for Caleb: “in case of emergencies.” Wouldn’t it be better to have a small amount of booze on hand if shit became too much instead of risking going to a bar or binge buying at the liquor store? He would only need to get through the weekend and then he could toss it. Just ’cause I buy it don’t mean I have to drink it. Logan fished out a ten from his wallet, handing it to Twitchy. He accepted the scotch, checking to make sure the seal was still in place. And then shoved it into the front pocket of his cargo shorts, not bothering to try to get change from the guy.
Logan started walking without any clear idea of a destination. He plowed through block after block without paying much attention until his calves began to ache. He stopped, realizing he was only a couple of blocks from his old apartment. He must’ve walked for miles while the fog swirled around in his brain.
“Logan?”
Logan zeroed in on a familiar man blocking the flow of traffic on the sidewalk, his gut clutching at the sight. The last time he’d seen Michael was from the prisoner’s side of a cubicle. They’d talked through a heavy window of glass. Or Logan had talked. Michael had just sat there looking devastated. His blond, curly hair sticking out in puffs like he’d run a sweaty palm through it over and over again. He didn’t even protest when Logan told him not to come back, ending a more than decade-long friendship.
“Michael,” Logan said, shaking the other man’s hand. “Good to see ya.” He was surprised to find that it was true. Michael was a part of the past Logan didn’t like remembering. They’d been the closest of friends since junior high and stayed close after graduation. Cutting all ties with Michael had felt like severing a limb.
“Can I buy you a cup of coffee or lunch if you have the time?” Michael asked, oblivious to the annoyed pedestrians moving around him.
Logan thought about saying no, but the hopeful look in Michael’s bright blue eyes stopped him. It wasn’t Michael’s fault Logan had let himself be sucked down so deep he couldn’t climb out. Michael had done more than he should have to try to drag Logan out and gotten a fractured wrist for his efforts. “Sure.”
They headed down Milwaukee Avenue to the Pancake House. Logan had spent many a Sunday morning nursing a hangover in the diner. He wondered if Michael was thinking the same thing as he frowned at the small, red-brick building. Stepping around him, Logan opened the door.
The place smelled like it always did, of hot coffee and sizzling bacon. It wasn’t as packed on a weekday, but they still opted to sit at the counter. Their waitress greeted them brightly. Logan wouldn’t be surprised to learn she’d been working there since the forties. She gave them menus and went to fetch them coffee. After a few minutes of staring at a menu they’d both memorized years ago, the waitress returned.
“What can I get for you boys?” she asked, setting down their coffees.
Impulsively Logan said, “Belgium waffles.”
“Do you want strawberries and whip cream on them, hon?”
“Uh… yeah.”
Michael raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment. He ordered the meal they’d usually gotten when they came here, the fiesta skillet. It had enough chorizo and jalapeños to burn any remaining alcohol from your body. It was also tasty as hell, but Logan couldn’t stomach anything that brought back so many memories, good and bad.
The waitress drawled out their order in diner-slang to the fry cooks, leaving them to sit in silence once again. Logan wished he had a list of instructions to navigate this conversation. Michael stared at his coffee cup like he expected the dark brew to surge up and swallow him.
“Your family doing okay?” Logan asked.
“Yeah, my folks retired to Florida and Lisa’s living with me.”
Logan wasn’t surprised. Michael had acted more like a parent to his baby sister than their parents. God, she must be in high school. No wonder her older brother looked so ragged even in his designer suit. She’d be a heartbreaker for sure. “Her living with you working out?”
Michael grinned, bright and eager like the boy he’d been a lifetime ago. “She’s decided she’s a lesbian.”
Logan barked a laugh. “Meaning no teenage boys will be groping her.”
Michael’s smile faded, and he sighed as if the weight of their combined baggage had reappeared. They didn’t speak again until the waitress delivered their orders. Logan looked at the mass of waffles smeared with strawberries and cream, wondering why he’d ordered it. He picked up his fork and started eating.
Michael swallowed a mouthful of the hash and then asked, “Do you remember all those times we took my sister ice-skating?”
Logan smiled, remembering the perky blonde who was ten years younger than they were. At the first snowflake, she’d start begging to go to the ice rink. She’d been so cute in her poufy pigtails and bright pink skates. “She always insisted on going around by herself.”
While Logan darted around on the ice, Michael hovered close but not too close behind his sister, waiting for the eventual moment when she fell. She was as awkward as a seal on land, spending more time on her ass than not, but it didn’t stop her from trying.
Eyes on his skillet, Michael said, “When you were arrested, a part of me was relieved.”
No more waiting for the inevitable fall, Logan thought. He understood the feeling. He had gotten his first taste of it not long after he’d graduated high school. When he walked into his father’s bedroom and found he had OD’d during the night, he’d felt relief rather than grief. You could only go so long expecting someone to die before it numbed you. His mom had been smart enough to take off when Logan was in junior high. Occasionally, he wondered how his life would have turned out if he’d agreed to go with her.
Michael cleared his throat. “That day I went to see you in prison. Was I one of your AA steps?”
Logan nodded, forcing himself to take another bite of the too sweet waffles. He chewed and then said, “Step nine, make amends to people I’ve harmed.” The bottle in his pocket felt like it had doubled in size, pressing into his thigh. It’s preventative, he reminded himself. Pushing his plate away, he leaned his elbows on the counter and rubbed his face with his hands.
“Is the food all right, sweetie?” the waitress asked.
“Yeah,” Logan said. When she stared at the plate disapprovingly, he resumed eating.
Michael wasn’t doing any better with his own meal, moving the hash and eggs around the skillet without eating much of it. After a swallow that looked painful he said, “I convinced myself the reason you wouldn’t let me sit in the courtroom or visit you in p
rison was because you were angry with me. I didn’t know what to think after I got an apology and a get lost permanently.”
“You tried to help me, but I wouldn’t let you. I don’t have nobody but myself to blame.”
“Then why cut me out of your life?”
Logan couldn’t bring himself to say the words they both knew. Michael was better off without him. Logan was sober now, but there were no guarantees he’d stay that way. Michael didn’t know how to walk away from someone he loved, even when he should. Logan pushed his plate away again. No wonder Caleb was hiding in his apartment. He was smart enough to back off before he got sucked into Logan’s world.
“I know how that thick skull of yours works,” Michael said, pointing a finger at him. “You’re listing off all the bad things in our friendship and totally ignoring the good. If you don’t want me in your life, I won’t try to force you, but don’t you for one second think I’m better off without you.”
Logan shook his head. “How can you say that? You know damn well your wife divorced you because you were spending too much time dealing with my shit.” He lowered his voice when he spotted their waitress looking like she was contemplating an intervention. “And that night in the bar wasn’t the first time I’d hurt you when I was too shitfaced to care.”
Michael rolled his eyes. “Her tennis coach had more to do with it than you.”
Logan hadn’t heard about the tennis coach, but he wasn’t surprised. Melissa had been a slut in high school. No reason to think marriage would reform her. But he’d bet she had been the one to initiate the divorce and not Michael.