Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Epilogue
EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ®
www.evernightpublishing.com
Copyright© 2019 Louise Collins
ISBN: 978-1-77339-895-2
Cover Artist: Jay Aheer
Editor: CA Clauson
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
BALLS FOR BREAKFAST
Romance on the Go ®
Louise Collins
Copyright © 2019
Chapter One
Travis knew it wasn’t normal, or if it was normal, it certainly wasn’t appropriate. He lay naked in bed, stroking himself to the grunts of exertion outside. He kept the window open, even though he got bitten by every insect under the sun, all so he could hear the Saturday huffs of his neighbor, Patrick.
He had a bench set up in the yard and was lifting weights. Travis touched himself in sync with Patrick’s lifts, and each time Patrick grunted, Travis released a soft noise into his palm.
Up, stop, barely hang on as the need for pleasure crippled his toes, then down again. Travis repeated the motion until it bordered on torture, and his eyes leaked. Patrick, unbeknown to him, was teasing a slow orgasm from Travis’s body.
Only when the grunts ended and he heard the clatter of Patrick folding the bench did Travis speed up his hand. He finished with an eruption across the sheets, and a silent call to his daddy-next-door.
It wasn’t appropriate, but Travis couldn’t help himself. He lusted for the hot neighbor who wore suits in the week, and on Saturdays wore joggers, tanks, and weightlifting gloves in the yard. He was older, but that only added to the lust level. Older, muscular, and with a take-no-shit attitude. He ticked all the boxes in Travis’s smitten head, and he got tongue-tied even saying hello.
Despite his seriousness, Patrick smiled while Travis floundered and failed to come up with a greeting, and always took control of the conversation. Whether it was a comment about the weather, or asking about Travis’s work, Patrick always took over, and saved Travis from imploding from embarrassment.
There was a knock at the door, and Travis cursed, glancing down at his hand. “Yeah, just a minute.”
“Luke wants to know if you want bacon?”
Amy sounded too cheerful for the early morning, she was the yin to Luke’s yang. The brunette to his blond, the brown eyes, to his blue.
“Bacon—that sounds uncharacteristically generous of Luke.”
“You want some or not?”
Travis wiped his sticky hand on the soiled sheet. “I’ll be down in just a sec.”
The pattern of her footsteps sounded more like skipping, and Travis rolled his eyes. He climbed out of bed, shoved on a pair of jeans, tugged on a t-shirt, then peeked through a crack in the door.
The landing was clear, and he rushed to the bathroom to wash his hands.
He glanced up at the mirror and jolted at his pale reflection. His brown hair was in disarray, and his green eyes were wide and unblinking as he looked sheepishly at himself. Even his own reflection seemed to be judging him for his Saturday morning highlight.
Travis splashed water on his face, then flicked droplets from his fingers to distort his mirror image. Once satisfied, he left the room and plodded down the steps to the kitchen. He sniffed the air, but no bacon greeted his nostrils, and he scrunched his face.
“Bacon?” he said, pushing the door.
Luke and Amy sat at the kitchen table, arms folded, and chins lifted.
There was no bacon in sight, and Travis sighed dramatically and sagged into the door frame.
“How could you lie to me about bacon.”
Luke snorted, and shook his head. “Cruel right? I told you it was cruel.”
“I needed to get him out of bed somehow…” Amy muttered.
“What the hell is this?” Travis said.
Luke and Amy glanced at each other and pressed their lips together not to laugh.
“Well?”
“We’ve decided, it’s time you find yourself a boyfriend,” Luke said, raising his eyebrow.
Travis gestured to himself. “You’ve decided? Surely I should be the one to decide that.”
“As your concerned mate, who thinks you spend far too much time watching daddy porn, we need to find you a boyfriend, your age.”
“Wait … daddy porn?” Amy mumbled.
Luke waved the comment away. “Don’t worry yourself over it.”
Travis rubbed his face, then kept his hands there. “I can’t believe you just said that out loud.”
“You really should delete the history on your laptop.”
Amy waved Travis into the kitchen. “Look, we just want you to find someone special, the same way me and Luke have.”
She turned and brushed noses with Luke before chuckling. It was sickly sweet, and Travis clutched his stomach and grimaced.
“Oh, please, like I want that.”
Luke held his scrunched fist to his lips, and coughed out the words, “Daddy porn.”
“You don’t have to keep mentioning it.”
“Oh, I do.” Luke smirked. “It’s hilarious.”
“Right, I’m going—”
“No wait,” Amy said, shooting off her chair. “We want you to come out with us tonight. That gay night club opened last weekend.”
“Golden Oldies.” Luke added with a laugh.
“Not funny. Drop the daddy stuff.”
He held his hands up and shook his head. “No seriously, that’s what it’s called.”
Amy slid in front of Luke, blocking Travis’s view of him. “It would be nice if we went and saw what the fuss is about.”
“I dunno,” Travis mumbled.
“What if I promise to cook you a fry up tomorrow morning.”
“Once your headache’s gone, and you can stand the thought of eating again,” Luke muttered.
Travis sighed. “Fine, as long as he never mentions daddy porn again.”
“Okay, I won’t. I’ll just call it D-porn.”
“Luke.” Travis growled.
“Okay, okay, but if I see you climbing into a taxi with some eighty-year-old, I won’t be impressed.”
Travis ignored Luke and instead asked, “Is there any cereal left?”
Amy tightened her brow, and her eyebrows tugged together. “I’m really sorry, we’re out of milk, too.”
“Great. I’ll go down to the shop then.”
She smiled brightly and fluttered her eyelashes. “Thanks, Travis.”
“Don’t mention it,” he hissed through gritted teeth.
He left the kitchen and slipped on his worn sneakers. His stomach rumbled in protest, and he winced and held himself. After his morning activities, and with thoughts of bacon on his mind, his stomach had gotten ahead of itself.
Travis swung open the door and froze on the doorstep. Patrick was out the front, sponging down his black Mercedes. His white tank top was damp and clung like a second skin to his abdominals.
“Hey, Travis.”
Chiseled jaw, black hair swept back and greying side-burns. Patrick looked dark and brooding—a movie villain, or a criminal—but his eyes were kind when he attached his gaze to Travis.
&n
bsp; “Hi…” was the only word his brain supplied, and he struggled not to gawp.
“Your t-shirt’s inside out.”
It took a few seconds for the words to register, then Travis looked down at the faded logo. Not faded, but inside out.
“Idiot,” Travis grumbled.
“It happens to all of us. Just whip it off and turn it the right way.”
Travis made no move to remove his t-shirt. He had no problem walking around shirtless in the house, but outside, with Patrick’s gaze locked on him, he couldn’t do it.
“It’s fine.”
“Fair enough. You going somewhere?”
Patrick’s words freed him of his paralysis, and he stepped forward. “Yeah, the shop, out of milk and cereal.”
“You can have some of mine.”
“There—there’s no need.”
“Oh, I insist, you help out with the post all the time.”
“But I’m a postman, it’s my job.”
“You save me a lot of time. If you didn’t keep hold of my packages until I got home, I’d have to drive back and forth to the depot.”
Travis didn’t mention it was the highlight of his day taking packages round in the evening. Once their fingers even brushed in the exchange, and Travis’s heart almost leapt out of his chest.
Patrick dropped the sponge back in the bucket, then strolled towards his open door. “I insist. Come inside.”
Travis followed hesitantly and hovered in the doorway. The houses were the same layout, and he knew Patrick had gone into the kitchen.
“What cereal do you like?”
“I’m not fussy,” Travis shouted back.
Patrick appeared in the hallway without the milk, or cereal, and Travis swallowed uncomfortably, and started to back away.
“Come inside,” Patrick said firmly.
A surge of heat tingled Travis’s crotch, and he forced it to dissipate by thinking of his bubbling stomach. He walked into the house, breathing the scent of Patrick subtly through his nose. Dark, but homely, too, Patrick’s house smelled good, and made Travis hungry in a different way.
“Pick the cereal you want.”
“You sure?”
“I said so, didn’t I?”
Travis didn’t even look at the boxes, he grabbed the one closest to him, and held it over his crotch.
“And milk?” Patrick mumbled.
“Yeah, but don’t worry if you don’t have any—”
“I do.” Patrick swung open the fridge and grabbed a carton. “Full fat?”
“Yeah, that’s amazing.”
Patrick frowned, and laughed under his breath. “It’s only milk.”
“I know, it’s just, thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Travis walked away, but paused when Patrick asked, “You got any plans today?”
“Yeah, going out later. The—the new gay bar on Green Street.”
“Ah, you’re a fan of Oldies, are ya?”
Flames built in Travis’s cheeks, and he ducked his head and looked at the floor. “Will be my first time with an oldie.”
“You mean at Oldies, right?”
Travis lifted his head fast. “That’s what I said, wasn’t it?”
“No, you said … ya know what, never mind. I hope you have fun, and my yard can breathe a sigh of relief.”
“I’m sorry about the plant pots, I really am.”
Patrick raised his hands. “I was joking. I said it was fine when you came around apologizing last weekend, and I’ll say it again now. Accidents happen.”
“I told Luke not to kick the football about, but he didn’t listen. I tried to stop him.”
“Jesus, Travis it seems like you almost want me to tell you off.”
Travis’s heart took an extra powerful thump and left him breathless. “No, why would you think that?”
“Well, just in case—you were a naughty boy last weekend.”
Travis knew it was in jest, he could hear the mocking in Patrick’s voice, but his knees weakened, and he leaned heavily on the wall.
“You okay?”
“Yes, daddy.”
Patrick’s lips popped open, and he blinked in quick succession, then tilted his head. “Did you just call me—”
Travis’s words caught up with him, and his body was thrust into fight or flight mode. He spun on his heels and fled through the front door.
“Travis!”
The cereal box slipped from his arms, but he didn’t swoop down for it, he kept going until he was out of Patrick’s house and inside his own.
“So, erm … milk, but no cereal?”
He hadn’t even noticed he had been clutching it to his chest until Luke mentioned it, then he punched it forward, almost winding Luke in the process.
“Easy. You all right?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Take it.”
Luke darted a concerned look at Amy, and she mirrored the expression of unease.
“Sit down, I’ll make you a cup of tea.”
Travis shook his head, and ran his fingers through his hair, catching the ends, and tugging. “No thanks, urm… I’m—I’m gonna go for a shower.”
The front doorbell sounded, and Travis bolted up the stairs and waited on the landing out of sight. He heard the deep tones of Patrick’s voice, Luke’s shaky voice replying, then a few seconds later, the door slammed.
“Patrick gave us the cereal you dropped,” Luke shouted up the stairs.
Travis didn’t reply. He fled to the bathroom, climbed in the ice-cold spray and willed his brain to forget the embarrassment of calling Patrick daddy.
Chapter Two
“So, I was thinking we eat one of the pizzas in the freezer before we go, and if we get hungry, we’ll get something out.”
Travis nodded along and hummed his agreement. He felt Amy’s gaze on him, but didn’t turn to her.
“And we’ll get to the club about 8:00, and Luke will be your wingman, and me, your wing-woman.”
“Yep, yep…”
“And I’ve entered you in the striptease competition… You have to stand on stage and pull off your pants.”
“Sounds good.”
Amy frowned, and Travis saw her not-so-subtle kick of Luke’s foot.
“Ow, what the hell was that for?”
Amy muttered something too low for Travis to decipher, then the next thing he knew, Luke had flung himself down on the sofa, and placed his hand on Travis’s knee.
“You sure you’re okay? Patrick didn’t threaten you, did he?”
“What? Of course not.”
“He said he would poison Whiskers if he pooed in his flowerbed again.”
Travis glared at Amy. “But Whiskers does use his yard like his own personal toilet…”
“Okay, what about the time he said he would throw me through the window if I block his car in the drive again?”
“You did make him late for work.”
Luke removed his hand. “Hey, whose side you on? I didn’t put the handbrake on, and the car rolled back, innocent mistake. Besides, everyone is late for work at some point.”
“Yeah, but he’s a spy…”
Luke sharply turned to Amy. “Don’t be ridiculous. He’s not a spy, if anything, he’s the criminal. Some mafia boss.”
“Mafia boss?” Travis gasped.
Luke nodded. “All moody looking, the sharp suits, expensive shoes, the car, the muscles, the gun holster.”
“Gun holster?” Amy squawked. “I haven’t seen a gun holster.”
Travis rolled his eyes. “It’s a posture corrector.”
“That’s what he wants you to think. He’s dangerous—you were pretty freaked out when you came back from his place. What did you see?”
Amy took a deep breath and widened her eyes. “A horse’s head?”
“What? No.”
“Then what happened that creeped you out?”
Travis scrunched his brow. “I said sorry about the plant pots—”
“And he got angry. Threatened to bludgeon you with the cereal box.”
“No, he said not to worry.”
“So why did you come back looking like you’d seen a ghost?” Luke asked.
Amy wagged her finger. “I bet it was the way he said it, like don’t worry, but with a drop-dead kind of voice.”
Luke nodded enthusiastically. “Actually, in the movies the bad guy lures you in, makes you think everything is fine, then wham!”
Travis opened his mouth, poised to tell Luke to shut it, but a loud thump at the door had his jaw snapping shut. His heart leapt into his throat, and he darted wide-eyed looks at Amy and Luke.
“Is—is that him?” Amy asked.
“How the hell am I supposed to know?” Luke snapped.
The door pounded again, then there was the sound of the letterbox, and Patrick’s voice. “You in there?”
“Oh, god, do you think Whiskers has done it again?” Amy whispered, smacking her palm to her lips.
“Maybe, or my cars rolled back. Either way, we can’t stay here.”
Travis looked at Luke, and gasped. “What?”
“If he looks through the window, he’s gonna see us. Sitting here like—like targets for a hit.”
“These mafia references are going too far.”
“Whatever,” Luke said. “We need to move.”
“Crawl.” Amy said quickly. “Let’s crawl behind the other sofa.”
“Don’t be ridiculous—”
“Good plan, babe.”
Luke followed Amy onto the floor, and then after another thump at the door, Travis slid down after them. They made their way across the living room carpet and hid behind the other sofa. Amy peeked over the top, then flung herself down on Luke.
“He’s looking through the window.”
“Did he see you?”
“Don’t know.”
Patrick knocked on the pane of glass, and the three of them huddled together and held their breaths.
“What did he say to you earlier when he gave you the cereal?” Travis asked.
Luke swallowed loudly. “He looked at me with his cold eyes, and asked where you were.”
Balls for Breakfast Page 1