Forbidden: A Romance Anthology

by Yolanda Olson

  My arms wrap around her eventually, knowing it’s the only way she’ll detach herself from me. As we awkwardly block the door to the shop, the barista Carol gives us a disapproving look.

  “You’re letting in the gray, you two.”

  Carol has been like a mom to me without the constant love. She’s sixty-seven and quicker than a whip. Her hair is graying throughout, but it’s barely noticeable with her being a blonde. Almost looks like shimmering silver, or at least, that’s how she corrects me when I bring it up.

  We hurry in, and she starts our order without asking. It’s been like this for three years. Prim and I—my salvation. These meetups, our conversation, her peppiness.

  There’s no one in the shop. A smile tugs free at that. It means our table will be free of rando tweens and writers who pretend to work while browsing social media. Prim rushes to it, dragging my hand along. We get seated, and I just sigh. It’s all I’ve got to offer after my shit morning.

  “Let’s talk, Tex,” Prim articulates.

  Her eyes are digging into my head, not literally, of course. She’s trying to compile what transpired. I can’t tell her, not the truth or reality of what happened. She wouldn’t understand. If on the slim chance she would and isn’t like every other snub-nosed person in this town, where would that leave us? Would she be accepting or weirded out? Would she not want drama or damaged-friend goods?

  “My dad kicked me out. Not much to say other than a big disagreement he wouldn’t compromise with. I don’t have a job, so my car is my new home, and I’m tired as fuck.”

  She has this saddened expression marring her peaceful features, bringing her eyebrows downward and her lower lip out. It’s an expression that needs to go away. I want to wipe it clear from her and not allow her to feel sorry for me. It’s not her fault.

  Prim, unlike most, isn’t meant to be sad. It’s almost more devastating for her to feel your emotions than experiencing them yourself.

  “Don’t be upset, Prim. I’ll figure it out,” I calmly say, trying to reassure her. And I will figure it out, not that there’s much choice. Starving isn’t on the roster. Homelessness won’t do. “Just need to find a job and drop out. I can make it work.”

  “You’re not dropping out!” she hisses loudly, peering around to see if anyone is listening. No one but Carol can hear, or she would tell us to hush. “I’ve got the perfect place for you to work.”

  My ears prick at that tidbit.

  “What? Where?” The eagerness in my tone can’t be cramped down with hesitation. I’m pretty desperate at this point.

  She smiles conspiratorially. “You’re twenty-one now, Tex. You can work at Drink More, Love Less!”

  I stare at her, wondering why that sounds familiar. Yes, it’s her last name, but—

  “Your Dad’s bar?” I ask, cutting off my own thoughts, realizing she told me once about the place. I might be twenty-one, but bars aren’t my thing. If I got too drunk and hit on someone, I would be better off dead.

  Prim nods, a big smile encompassing her face. “And you can stay with me. I’ve got extra room. Or rather, we do. Dad has another two spare rooms.”

  My eyes bug out. A bed. A place to stay.

  It all sounds nice, but she’s making these big decisions without her dad’s approval. She may be nineteen, but she’s still under his roof. There are restrictions. Believe me, I would know.

  “No, that’s okay. Don’t need to make your old man hate you as much as mine does me.”

  “Oh, stop!” she says, exasperated. “He’ll be fine. Plus, we know once you get on your feet, you can get a new place.”

  I’m nodding even though I shouldn’t. I’m not a freeloader. I work for my shit.

  “Maybe we can get a place together when you’re in a better financial place,” she continues. “I’ve been meaning to get a job, too. Imagine us living together.”

  The way she said we has me feeling bad in more than one way. We’re best friends, yes, but she likes dick.

  Me too, Prim. Me fucking too.

  “Your drinks,” Carol interrupts us with her raspy leather-like voice. It brings comfort, always has. It’s like my home away from home, especially since that home was never more than a roof over my head. “If I had enough business to hire help, Texas, you’d be the first to know.”

  It’s in those words and the shine of her eyes that I realize she’s upset about my entire situation.

  “Thanks, Care.” The sincerity in my voice speaks volumes, and in return, she squeezes my shoulder.

  After we start drinking, Prim comes up with a plan. I gave her shit for trying to push me onto her dad and begged her to have a conversation with him before jumping the gun. She gives me enough cash to stay at the little inn on the corner and to get dinner, saying she’ll approach her dad about the job and moving in.

  Lettuce pray.

  Get it? She’s a vegetable-tarian.

  No?

  Just me?

  Chapter Two

  DEVIN

  Married at sixteen.

  A father at seventeen.

  Gay the entire goddamn time.

  My mom never raised a quitter. A man who likes dick, yes. But a quitter? Never.

  When Whitney got pregnant, my first and only wanted time with a woman, I stayed. No one has to stay. Yes, for the child, but in the relationship? Not at all. No one wants a loveless marriage. But we found love, just not in the same way. Having sex with her for twelve years after, well, that nearly killed me.

  Having a secret as deep and hidden as mine isn’t an easy feat. Whenever we were in bed together, I had to imagine I was plowing into an ass. I’m such a prick, though. We never had face-to-face intercourse after the first time. It took everything to push into her at all and only ever from behind as I imagined a man beneath me.

  It made me feel worse each time, but upsetting her made me feel physically ill. She only wanted love. We had a great friendship, something that grew and made us bond for years.

  One day though, she found out the truth. Instead of a screaming match that anyone could expect, she hugged me.

  “I had a feeling for a long time, Dev. For years, it seemed to hurt you to be with me. In your eyes, there was a respect and love, but in your heart, it was shelled and cracked, faking something you weren’t capable of.”

  Her words make me cry. For the first time since our daughter was born, I cry. She understands in a way many people in this town wouldn’t.

  “I-I’m sorry.” I choke over the words.

  She pulls me closer, tighter, holding me together. “No need. Yeah, the time is gone and spent being unhappy in a romantic sense, but it’s you, Dev. You stayed for our daughter. You loved me in the only way you could. You were never mean or hateful. You tried. We had a good life.”

  It was in that moment I realized how much I lucked out with Whit. She didn’t berate me or call me harsh names, and we promised to not tell our daughter until I was ready.

  We don’t exactly live in an understanding and progressive town. If anything, we’re frozen in the past, only sticking to one social norm of a man and woman.

  Whit and I finalized our divorce when our daughter turned thirteen. It was harder on her than us. We never spoke ill. Hell, there isn’t hatred on either side. She wanted love, and so did I. We deserved to live our lives and find our happy endings.

  She did a few years later.

  Now, it’s my turn.

  I’m just not sure how to broach dating or how to tell my nineteen-year-old daughter that I’m gay. “Hey, I’m into dicks. It’s why Mom and I aren’t together.”

  Scratch that.

  No, fuck that.

  I’m not ready.

  Why tell her when there isn’t a single dude in Valley West who’s openly gay and also someone I’m into?

  It’s not that I haven’t been with men. Just that none of them are from this town, want a relationship, and are willing to relocate. It’s tedious enough to drive two hours to find them. My
first time was sloppy. Awkward and quick.

  Whit and I had been separated for a whopping fifty hours. It took five shots of Jaeger and a shit ton of courage from the guy convincing me to top him.

  “You’re definitely a top,” he muses. He isn’t what I imagine I would want. Slim, tall, but shorter than me. Almost lanky and feminine in a soft but hard edges kind of way.

  “A top?” I question, not knowing the lingo. In all the years I’d been with Whit, I never watched porn or let my eyes stray. Except that one time… Why give myself a taste when I’d be in a closet and married to someone with the wrong-for-me parts?

  “You know, you do the fucking.” His smile widens with that.

  My dick jumps in my pants. Yeah, he likes that idea too. It’s not a stretch. The thought of getting plowed hasn’t really appealed to me. But giving? Hell yes.

  “I-I’ve never done this,” I mutter, almost feeling low and fucking ashamed. I’m thirty and have never been with a man.

  “Oh, honey. It’s not hard… yet.” He laughs and escorts me to his room. My first time could be a lot worse, that’s for sure. At least he isn’t an asshole.

  It took me a few minutes to stop freaking out, but he showed me how to stretch him, and we fucked. I’m a little ashamed to say it was only five minutes. But we both came, and the next few times after that with different guys over the years, I found what I liked.

  “Daddy!” my daughter, Primrose, yells from in the front room. Or is it the kitchen?

  I’m getting ready for tonight’s shift. Being a bar owner has its advantages. I can do whatever I want, show up when I want, and still manage fine.

  “In here!” I holler back, folding up the cuffs to my buttoned-up shirt sleeves. We have a fairly casual establishment. They all wear the logo tees and whatever else they want. I’m a little more old-fashioned. Buttoned-up with a shirt underneath and nice jeans with boots. It’s not too fancy, but I keep a clean cut.

  She opens the door and comes toward me. “I need to talk to you. It’s really important.”

  I raise an eyebrow. Primrose always beams in one way. Whether it be her colorful attire or her radiant smiles, she’s vibrant in everything. Tonight, she seems nervous—possibly even scared.

  “What is it, wild child?”

  She smiles at that, and the glimmer of light that leaks through her stressed gaps make me believe she’s serious. My child, the one who brings my life full circle, is never this out of place in her own skin.

  “Remember my friend I told you about?” she asks, her eyes a little downcast.

  The thing about Prim, is that she has tons of friends. If she walked into a bar—my bar, even—everyone and their cat would be her friend. Especially the cat. She’s obsessed. I’m allergic, so that’s a no go, but she loves from afar.

  “Which one?”

  She pouts, and I can’t help the chuckle that leaves me. With that, she’s crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes. She reminds me of when she was little and would get whatever she wanted with that adorable expression. Not much has changed.

  “You’re friends with the entire town, sweetheart.”

  “I know, Dad, but jeez, you could try and think of the only person I always talk about.”

  “Texas?”

  She nods.

  “I thought you were talking about the state. I didn’t realize this was a person.”

  She smacks my arm lightly, her glare as admonishing as a unicorn’s glitter. “Dad.”

  “Primrose,” I tease.

  She huffs, and I love this immature side, the childish one that reminds me she’ll always be my little girl.

  “He got kicked out today, and I offered him a job and a spare room,” she rapidly explains. It’s like she ran a race with how fast she spilled the words out.

  My eyes widen. This Texas is apparently a guy. My daughter has... a guy? Abso-fucking-lutely not.

  “Are you two dating? Scratch that. There’s no fucking way your boyfriend will stay under the same roof as my daughter.”

  “Daddy! Come on. He’s not my boyfriend. We’re just friends.”

  “Just friends, my ass. I was a boy once, Primrose. They only want one thing.”

  “He’s twenty-one! Not a child. He’s desperate and has no one. Please, Daddy,” she implores, using those doe eyes—the ones that are slightly glistening with emotion and hurt—that force me to almost give in.

  “Fine. He can stop by tomorrow. We’ll talk then.”

  She jumps up and down and squeals. “Thank you, Daddy!” Her arms wrap around me as she continues to celebrate. What I would do for my child.

  “I’ve got to head out, but we’ll talk tomorrow. It’ll be a late night tonight. Stock order.”

  “See you then!” she squeaks before kissing my cheek and running off.

  I swear if this dude is only trying to fuck my daughter, he’s in for a rude awakening.

  I’m not scared to show him the door.

  Chapter Three

  DEVIN

  The bar is already being prepped by the time I get here. We open in an hour, and the only thing I do beforehand is to make sure everything is on task for the start of the night. We already had our shipment delivered, restocked, and cleaned.

  We’ve been waiting ages to branch out, and finally, we can afford it. People think expansion isn’t as costly as it is. You can live a lush life for a tenth of the price versus starting up another location.

  The new store in Vegas opens up in a few months. Dusty manages everything for now, but even my best worker can’t handle it all. I’ll have to fly out and help too, which will mean leaving Landon, Sandra, and Jules to run this store.

  I’m blessed to be managing a store and starting a new one in another state altogether. Yes, I’m living the dream, but I want more in life. Don’t we all?

  After I double-check everything, the doors open, and our regulars pour in. Todd comes straight for me, knowing I’ll make his Old Fashion in a jiff without question. Sliding it back to him, I head to the tables the patrons usually are, and go back to my laptop.

  Searching real estate in Vegas isn’t easy. It’s not cheap, and anything somewhat near the bar is gaunt and overpriced. I look into nearby cities, especially Overton and Mesquite. They’re close but far enough to be cheap. They’re pretty unpopulated, too, which means it won’t be too hard to venture around. Nevada is an open-minded state. Being gay isn’t a big deal there, and in Vegas, I could meet tons of new people and possibly even find love.

  After bookmarking a few properties that appeal to me, I head toward the bar and watch Sandra and Landon pour drinks for people.

  On the far side of the tabletop, I notice someone I’ve never seen in here before. Not in this town or my bar. His hair is dark, but with the lamp shining down on parts of it, I can tell it’s a deep blue, navy possibly? Like my jeans but with black roots. It’s longer, wavy, edgy and different, but it also makes him seem very young. A hipster. Like my daughter, he’s not going with normal hair color.

  Unable to help myself, I make my way to him, spotting arms full of tattoos and a lip piercing that glints in the light.

  He doesn’t see me yet, so I take the time to admire his sharp jaw and sad posture. He’s troubled. I’m not sure how, but I can tell from his presence.

  An urge swells within me to help him out. It’s what makes me a good bartender, knowing the people, feeling them out, and listening to their stories. I know so many stories without asking for them.

  From behind the bar, I reach for a towel, I’m finally in front of him. I wipe the area down out of habit, and he finally peers up. His piercing honey eyes connect with mine, and my heart beats a little faster. Weird. I’m not one for being attracted to different or young and he’s definitely both. The despondence in his posture has a frown decaying inside me, unwilling to break free and scare him off.

  “Another?” I ask, nodding to his drink. I’m not sure what it is, but I’ll help him to whatever he needs. Maybe even just to h
ear him speak, to feel his pain, and to soothe whatever misery he’s carting around.

  “Not sure if I should. I don’t drink often,” he mutters, his face full of emotions that refuse to spill out.

  “Need a cab then?” I offer, not wanting this kid to wander off but not wanting him to leave either. It doesn’t make sense why I’m experiencing this urge to keep him here.

  He doesn’t seem even a little tipsy. The stiffness in his shoulders make me believe he’s ready to bolt at any wrong move. His desire to leave might be more aimed at despair and the wish to be alone than it does his excuse of not drinking often. Either way, it doesn’t stop the need unfurling inside my chest to help him.

  “No.”

  It’s one word, but it feels like a punch to the balls, bringing a larger pit from my stomach to my chest, weighing heavily with each beat.

  “What’re you having?” It’s not exactly a question but rather a band-aid, a forced one. “On the house.”

  His eyes meet mine again, and he tongues his piercing with his fingers, almost like he doesn’t understand my kindness. He pulls on it, making it indent his lip in an appealing way. My cock stirs at the motion, a burning in my insides, making me crave the taste of silver, and I long to delve into its flavor.

  “Jaeger,” he whispers, eyeing my mouth in a way that makes my chest tighten.

  Fuck. What is it with this guy? I’ve never felt even a glimmer of attraction for anyone in this town, yet this stranger walks into my bar and has me wanting to use my stock room.

  “Good choice.”

  “Fucks me up every time,” he muses, but there’s no smile. Just sadness. A whole lot of fucking sadness.

  I grab the entire bottle and two glasses and end up pouring us both a shot.

  “Jaeger’s my poison,” I admit when he doesn’t ask me the question burning in his gaze.

  He takes it, raising to his mouth. “To poison.”

  “To poison,” I respond and throw it back. By the time I lick the edge and glance at him again, his eyes are honed in on my throat, and the lust reflecting in his eyes has me steel in my jeans. Fuck.