“Did I tell you Rachel Wallis and her amazing ta-tas is supposed to be there tonight?”
Rob ignored Barry’s continued campaign and squatted on his heels. He grabbed the next huge bag of dirty laundry and dumped the contents into the sorting cart.
“She keeps asking me how you like college and what you’re up to.” Barry fed some coins into the vending machine, and Rob listened to the familiar clunk as a soda dropped into his friend’s eager hands. “She’s still got it bad, must be all your tall, pale, and skinny. You show up tonight and even without the six-pack she cost me, I bet you could hit that.” The soda hissed agreement as Barry popped the tab, bubbles rushing to the opening.
Rob stood back up, absently tugging at his fallen shorts once again. Somehow he had managed to lose a freshman fifteen, not gain. He either needed to buy a better fitting pair or regain some weight. He turned to steal Barry’s soda only to stop, surprised to find the newcomer had joined Barry at the counter, his brown eyes fixed on where Rob’s hand still rested on his waistband.
“Can I get change here?”
The guy had a nice voice, almost gentle. For once Barry shuffled out of the way without Rob nagging him. His soda dragged along, wet trails of condensation left behind. Rob swallowed, staring at the mess as he silently took the offered bill and returned the change. Of course, the first time he approached Rob, it had to happen with Barry around. Rob caught a quick flash of silver, a broad band encircling the man’s thumb, and then it disappeared from view, folded over the coins. Rob waited for him to walk away, hoping like hell his ability to breathe would return once he did.
“Thanks.” The guy held his ground, and Rob looked up in time to catch a flirtatious smile. “Your name’s Rob, right?”
Rob nodded. He cast a glance to the side, all too conscious of Barry’s closeness.
“I’m Jim.”
Despite his desperate mental plea, Rob’s mouth and brain refused to communicate. He bobbed his head once again, willing himself to say something that wouldn’t sound stupid or juvenile.
“I guess I’ll be seeing you around.”
Rob’s eyes followed the scuffed brown boots as they trailed back to the washers. Barry started in, nothing different than a hundred times before when customers had interrupted them, but all of Rob’s focus stayed on the close fit of faded denim as Jim strolled away from him. Rob traveled up the long stretch of leg, paused at the soft gray T-shirt pulled over a curving slab of back muscle, and continued to the black, curly hair pushed behind the glint of more silver.
What an idiot, Rob chastised himself as his mind abruptly re-engaged, flooding with appropriate replies to Jim’s conversational opener. There shouldn’t be anything special about him, just another guy here to wash his clothes. Rob couldn’t understand his fascination. Well, that was the problem, Rob thought as he wiped at his suddenly dry lips. He could.
“You aren’t even listening to me,” Barry complained. His knuckles rapped the counter in a bid for Rob’s attention. “Something’s different. You’ve acted weird ever since you went off to college.
Rob froze. If Barry, not the most intuitive person, noticed, had anyone else? Things were different. At least, Rob was. Going away to school, freed from the pressures of home and worry he faced experiences and opportunities he never expected. He learned about himself too, finally paying attention instead of drifting along. How had he not known?
Barry guzzled the last of his soda and belched. Rob stared as his friend wiped his hands across the front of his wrinkled shirt, and he grimaced. Okay, all things considered, maybe he would cut himself some slack on the lack of personal awareness. Still, Rob couldn’t even say for sure when he realized something was going on.
Everything had clicked while sitting in his Spanish class. Kevin had been telling a story about his weekend, arms flying excitedly through the air as he spoke, and the longer Rob had stared at his hands, those long, strong fingers and carefully groomed nails, the more he wondered at their strength. The way the callused texture might feel on his skin. And the idea didn’t bother him, not at all. So yeah, Rob was going with it. He just wasn’t sure how.
Rob had caught a guy casually checking him out in math class, but he hadn’t felt brave enough to do more than kind of flirt back when they met in the library to study. He didn’t know if this Jim presented a real opportunity or if he was playing around to kill time. Either way, Rob had blown his chance to find out.
“I get your life sucks, coming back and working for your old man.” Barry tried the paternal approach, his arm across Rob’s shoulder, stale breath directly in Rob’s face. “Hell, if my dad asks me one more time about getting a job while I’m home I’m going to explode, but you haven’t dated anyone this summer.”
“That you know of,” Rob pointed out, strictly on principle.
“Please. You’ve told me everything since the sixth grade.” Barry dismissed the impossibility with ease. “Promise me you’ll think about showing up?”
Rob stared at Barry, wondering how his friend would react if Rob opened up the lid on his can of confusion and shared his new awareness, his doubts and fears over his future. But should he risk going on that limb? What if this whole weird feeling was a fluke? Rob struggled with his decision, but then Mrs. Ruiz’s two boys ran up, needing change for the ancient video game. The moment lost, he settled for nodding his agreement. “Yeah, I’ll try.”
3.
July 1998
“SEE you next week.” Rob set the last basket of clean and folded laundry in the backseat of the older model sedan and shut the door with a wave. Mrs. Wolf hadn’t changed since she taught his second grade class. A widow now, Rob wouldn’t be surprised to discover she’d talked her late husband into his grave. Sometimes he thought she brought her wash in for the company.
Tonight, fresh off a visit with her grandchildren, she outlasted two older men from the senior’s complex down the road and then followed Rob around, chatting as he mopped the floor. He finally ushered her out the door by pleading closing time, and yeah, maybe he dropped a few hints about Barry’s stupid party. Rob’s sense of guilt compounded at her disappointed understanding. Not only did he deliberately mislead his best friend, but now he lied to little old ladies as well. Barry was right, he was a loser.
Rob locked the front from the inside and turned off the outside lights. He grabbed the bags of trash staged by the back door and dragged them out to the dumpster with a tired grunt. The night had stayed ungodly hot and humid, and he wanted to crawl into a shower and air conditioning. Maybe finish his studying. He heard music from the apartments, a television commercial blaring through an open balcony door.
Barry hung around for another hour, interrupting Rob’s work and bitching the entire time about people Rob barely remembered from high school, but who apparently now went to college with Barry. Thankful all over again his partial scholarship had taken him out of state, Rob didn’t bother to listen. Instead, he kept trying to figure how to explain things to Barry. Hell, Rob didn’t even know how to explain them to himself, and what about his family?
He tossed the last bag into the open maw of the trash container with another grunt and trudged back to the door. Rob cursed when he stumbled over something in the dark, the overhead lamp in the rear parking lot out again. Every time the county replaced the bulb the neighborhood kids used the light for target practice. At least they kept their BB guns away from the laundry windows.
“Hey.”
Surprised by the quiet greeting, Rob thought Barry had returned to drag him off to the party, but then whoever slouched against the building in the dark, one foot braced on the back wall, inhaled on a cigarette. The coal sparked into a reddish-yellow glow. Sweet and aromatic smoke twisted and turned toward the sky, hanging in the still air. His nose wrinkled at the familiar smell. Definitely not tobacco.
Rob swallowed. Rivulets of sweat dripped down his forearms, the moisture collected in his palms, and he wiped his hands on his shorts. Someone had
draped a string of party lights on their deck, and the colors flickered on and off across the parking lot and offered enough light for Rob to recognize the Saturday night guy, Jim.
“Hey,” he replied. Rob immediately wanted to slap himself for sounding like an idiot, but he couldn’t escape the sudden, swamping awkwardness, the million-and-one questions racing through his brain. The guy had left before Barry, leaving Rob alone to continue composing his list of all the things he should’ve, could’ve said. Of course, not one of those responses came to mind now that he had another chance.
“You want a hit?” Jim asked, offering the joint in Rob’s direction.
Rob stared at the silver thumb ring, the glowing end of the hand-rolled cigarette, and he shook his head to try and clear the fog. “What?”
“The weed. You want a hit?” As if showing Rob how, Jim brought the joint to his lips, pursing them out and inhaling deeply. He closed his eyes as he held in the smoke, head titled back and dark tendrils of hair falling into his face. The rush of want filled Rob like a punch to his gut, leaving him breathless and a little nauseous. He stared, and his body, pulled by an inescapable magnetism, swayed forward.
Jim patted him on the shoulder, holding his breath and rolling his eyes to pantomime the effort involved. Rob’s awareness focused on the heavy, warm weight of Jim’s hand, the way his palm smoothed slow and steady down Rob’s side before coming to rest on his hip. A casual touch between friends, except Rob’s nerves responded in an instant, blood sparking to life in his veins.
“It’s cool if you don’t.” Jim finally exhaled, the grayish-white cloud billowing out. He coughed, and Rob pulled himself back, watching as Jim’s hand fell away.
“No,” Rob said. He pushed his sweaty hair off his face and hoped he didn’t look as awkward as he felt. “I want to. I—you surprised me.”
The rest of the night seemed far away, and silence closed around them like the teasing tendrils of smoke. They stared at each other in the dim light. Rob’s heart pounded in his chest, and he shivered as a line of sweat rolled down the middle of his back.
“Yeah,” Jim said, looking at his boots. “I surprised myself.”
They both laughed for some unknown reason, the sound filling the space, the silence between them.
“Uhm.” Rob managed to cough the word out of his tight throat. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Okay.” He didn’t understand the stillness or what Jim had tried to tell him, but he refused to walk away. Instead, he listened to the rumble of a car as it passed, the drone from a television behind him, and waited.
“I’m not trying to be pushy,” Jim finally said, back still settled against the rough brick. “But I thought maybe you were interested.”
Rob tried to relax, act like nothing about the situation was new to him. His senses recognized the undercurrent here, something different than when he met up with friends back in high school to smoke up or his roommate brought out some weed at college. He just couldn’t figure the vibe out. “I’m good.”
Jim smiled, a quick grin before he took another hit. This time he reached out, strangely gentle as he grabbed hold of Rob’s shirt and pulled, tugging Rob forward. His center of balance disrupted, Rob fell onto Jim’s chest. Flustered, Rob braced his arm on the wall, but before he could apologize or push back, Jim turned his head, just an inch to the side, and pressed his lips against Rob’s.
Their noses bumped together, angles misaligned. Then Jim exhaled, jolting Rob with a sharp jab of unexpected disappointment. Shotgunning. That’s all. Except, unlike any time before. Sure, when Rob parted his lips and inhaled he tasted the smooth caress of smoke as the warmth filled his mouth and lungs, but also stubble, chapped lips, and strong hands to tightly grip his shoulders, and—oh, holy fuck. Unable to stop himself, Rob made a small noise in the back of his throat, his eyes closed as he leaned in, desperate for more.
“Exhale.” Jim reminded him. Rob heard him chuckle and immediately tensed. Was Jim laughing at him? Did he do something wrong? Jim patted him on the cheek. Fingers light, brown eyes liquid with heat as he tightened his grip on Rob’s shirt. “You good?”
Rob coughed out the smoke he had taken directly from Jim’s mouth, aware of the faint first tinglings of his buzz, unsure if the sensation originated with Jim or the dope. Hell, he didn’t care. This time when Jim held the joint to Rob’s lips, his other palm curved gently around Rob’s jaw, thumb stroking the soft skin. “Hold it in, okay?”
They stood pressed together, and Jim’s eyes, dark pupils dilated from the drug and the need to take in any and all available illumination, reflected the glowing colors off the apartment patio. Rob drew in a deep breath, the world stopping and starting in jerky slow motion. He stared at Jim’s tongue, highlighted by the cherry-hot glow, gliding pink and wet as it moistened his lips. Then Jim’s mouth covered his, saliva slick as they shared one breath.
Jim slumped against the wall, legs wide. He urged Rob closer, let him settle between his thighs as he tapped the roach out with the fingers not twisted in Rob’s shirt. Rob moaned at the sudden, heated contact and fumbled for more. Blinded by the rush of need, he grasped rough denim and the smooth leather of Jim’s belt. He slid his hand under soft cotton to stroke the sweat damp skin beneath, and then he was flying. Not from the weed, but the dizzying sense of right and want and energy surging between them. For the first time Rob could remember, he fit; there was a place for him in the world, pressed so close to Jim he couldn’t tell them apart.
“Rob.” Jim shifted forward, a hard, slow grind before he backed off and gasped out Rob’s name for a second time.
Was that a question? Rob groaned his answer and dropped his head. He scraped his teeth against the skin of Jim’s throat and fought to keep from losing everything at the salty, sweet taste. He was hard, God, was he hard. Harder than he could remember being his entire life. And Jim was too. Rob pressed the thick line through their layers of denim, and all his doubts collapsed beneath this sure and certain knowledge.
Rob shifted, lifting one of Jim’s legs onto his hip while his hand smoothed over Jim’s rounded ass, pulling him even closer. Jim exhaled and let Rob have control, practically boneless as he rubbed against Rob’s hipbone. His rough moan vibrated through Rob’s chest, and he tightened his grip on Jim’s ass, the firm flesh hot beneath his hands as they arched together.
“Can I suck you?” Jim whispered. He started his own assault on Rob’s neck, teeth and lips sharp and hungry, and Rob’s hips stuttered, disrupting their smooth rocking motion as his head dropped to the side, offering up more of his skin. “Anybody ever done that for you before?”
“Yeah.” Rob stared into Jim’s eyes, his voice shaky and breathless because Jim was the one begging, and the way he made Rob feel? Well, that was something to spend a lot more time thinking about. Later.
Jim reversed their positions, pushing Rob against the wall and sliding, sinuous and slow, onto his knees in the dirt of the back parking lot. He fumbled with the zipper on Rob’s shorts, fingers slipping over moist skin as the fabric dropped to Rob’s ankles, and he glanced up to make sure he had Rob’s attention. Jim licked his lips and pressed hot, wet kisses along Rob’s stomach, rubbing his cheek and chin roughly over the tender skin.
Rob’s head spun, and he gasped when Jim sucked his cock into his mouth. No hesitation. No coy little games. The slippery, wet suction almost too much to take. Rob carded his numb fingers, thick and clumsy, through the dark tangles of Jim’s hair. This wasn’t his first blowjob, but Rob knew it would wipe the slate clean.
Jim alternated the smooth, slick downward slide of his lips, the sharper scrape of his teeth. Each stroke hotter and wetter, messy with spit and Jim’s slurping gulps of air. Rob groaned at the electrifying effect on his nerve endings. The skin on his stomach prickled, rubbed raw by the earlier brush of Jim’s rough bristle, soothed by the softer curls that fell over his forehead, butting into Rob’s belly with each downward motion. Saliva caught in the hair on Rob’s thighs, dripped down
his balls. Rob managed to widen the spread of his legs, head lolling against the rough brick.
Rob swallowed his curses, mouth dry, tongue swollen and thick. He heard cars on the other side of the building, smelled fabric softener from the exhaust vent to his right, Jim’s shampoo, the musk of his own armpits. He tried to remind himself that they were outside—even with the lack of light anyone might look out from their apartment—but he didn’t care about anything other than Jim’s mouth as it worked his cock.
Rob didn’t protest when one of Jim’s hands slid behind his balls, callused fingers gliding up his sweaty crack, not even when he gently circled the ridged pucker. Rob trembled with breathless anticipation. Would he? Wouldn’t he? And suddenly everything became too much, too intense, and he couldn’t hold on.
“Oh, fuck.” Rob didn’t try to bite back his loud curse. His hips bucked, and just that fast, he came. He pumped deeper into Jim’s willing mouth, tightening his fingers in Jim’s hair, niceties forgotten as he drove to finish. Finally he slowed, falling limp against the building, legs weak as his cock slipped from Jim’s lips.
Come splashed over his knee, spattering the brick behind him and dripping hot and thick down his calf. Rob blinked, eyes bleary. He ignored the spinning of the world around him and searched for the source. Jim’s head tilted up toward him, face slack and mouth open as he breathed in harsh pants of air. Rob realized Jim had been stroking himself off at the same time, and his body flooded with heat all over again.
4.
Present Day
DAVID couldn’t miss the memory-evoked emotions as they played across the sharp planes of Rob’s face. He felt disturbingly like a voyeur, afraid he had taken advantage of Rob’s grief to pick and pry into a past that Rob barely mentioned on a good day. Between his father’s funeral, obviously still fresh in Rob’s mind, and his painfully distant meeting with his sister scant hours before, today could hardly be considered a good day.
The One That Counts Page 2