“Good, you’re alive. The biker didn’t kill you after all,” Blaine stated in a condescending tone as he pushed through Alec’s kitchen door. He hadn’t bothered to knock, but he never did, so nothing new there. He treated Alec’s home as if it were his own, going straight to the refrigerator and pulling out a Dogfish Head’s 60 Minute IPA—his preferred beverage. “I admit I got a little worried when you didn’t answer your phone.”
“Ha. Right. It’s been over nineteen hours since I got home. You called twenty minutes ago. You weren’t too worried,” Alec chided, mixing his stir-fry.
Blaine leaned back against the counter, facing Alec as he worked at the stove. “That the Asian noodle salad that Ming Tsai made?”
“For one. Yes.” Alec nodded, adding the sauce he’d made from a recipe Ming had shared with him at his sister’s college graduation party. Alec had spent most of the evening in the kitchen with Ming, the hired celebrity chef for the evening. Although Alec wrote down every measurement exactly as Ming instructed, he suspected something hadn’t been explained accurately. The dish never tasted quite the same until a few months ago when Alec got bored and started playing around with the different components.
“It looks like there’s enough for two,” Blaine said after a minute of surveying the wok, turning just enough to take his forefinger to dab at the remnants left inside the sauce bowl. “Mmm. Needs more brown sugar.”
“It’s fine,” Alec said tersely. He and Blaine were so in sync with one another that he didn’t doubt Blaine could tell that Alec had cut back on the brown sugar in lieu of an extra workout. Alec just kept the reason for the absence to himself. “Alexa, turn down the volume.”
Blaine’s unexpected arrival had interrupted a Keyes-equals-sexy-time playlist that his Echo had been playing. He’d been in full-on fantasy mode. Lost in his head about the possibilities of Keyes. Alec had conjured up the most delicious image of him and Keyes on his back porch, dancing to “Havana” by Camila Cabello. Fuck, that song was sexy.
In Alec’s fantasy, their movements were fluid and hot. Lots of alcohol involved, barely any clothing—his big weakness was a man who loved showing off a broad naked chest, firm flat stomach, and emphasized that sexy man V with unbuttoned jeans that hung low on slim hips. Mmm. Made it easier to slide his palms down the back of those jeans and enjoy the bare skin of each perfect ass cheek. He imagined them both fighting for the lead. Keyes, the strong, self-assured alpha. Alec considered himself all those things too. They would have a rousing time deciding how their eventual bedroom activities turned out. No doubt he’d submit to any and every idea the biker could come up with.
“Where’d you go?” Blaine’s hand waved in his face, zapping him from his daydream and bringing him back to reality.
Alec looked over at his annoying friend. In the replay of all the possibilities, he’d completely forgotten Blaine stood next to him. “I got a few hours’ sleep then went to get the tires changed.”
“No, right now. You zoned out.” The smell of burned soy sauce caught his attention at the same time a plume of smoke rose from the wok. Quickly, he removed the pan from the stovetop, vigorously stirring, hoping to salvage the crispy little vegetables.
“No, I didn’t,” he denied. Except, he totally had.
“It’s the biker. I know that look. He didn’t rob you. You’re here in one piece, so that means he came back for you. What happened after that?” Blaine asked, reaching for the hot vegetables. Grabbing a thickly sliced carrot, he bounced it from hand to hand until he popped the still steaming orange wedge in his mouth and chewed it down. “You think that makes it all right to fuck him. No, wait. You did fuck him. Did you bring him back here? No wait, you got a room. No, no, no, you went to his grungy garage and fucked him over the bike. That’s it, right?”
“Stop trying to live vicariously through me. You want a biker, go find your own. Besides, nothing happened. I think you might have been right—he’s straight,” Alec lied, keeping his face neutral. Keyes was his and only his. He didn’t want to share him with anyone. Not yet. He ignored the needling in his gut pointing out that Alec didn’t truly know the man’s sexuality. All he had to base his opinion on was the slumming it comment. A straight man would have cut him off right after the coffee date suggestion, made it clear he liked women. Instead, his got his rejection by way of a class distinction remark. Keyes had to be gay or bi.
“And that means nothing to you. You have to be shot down way more times to stop pursuing what you want.”
“Why are you here?” Alec asked irritably, tossing the pan and the spoon on a cooled burner before facing off with his buzz-kill of a buddy.
“I’m going home tomorrow,” Blaine said, completely unfazed, taking a long swig of his beer.
“Home where?” he asked, trying to get a better understanding. Blaine’s family was much like his—nobody really worked. The daily grind was for peasants, which included Alec apparently since he put in long hours at the office every day. Blaine had never held a job in his life. He owned homes all over the world and only came to North Texas as moral support for Alec. Going home could technically mean leaving Alec’s house to drive back to his high-rise in downtown Dallas.
“Back to New England. I tried here, but this whole area’s whack. And what sucks even more is watching you become something I don’t even understand, but I gotta let you do you. You’re determined to fall flat on your face one way or another. You’re self-destructive.”
“I am not!” he countered defensively.
Honestly, he was totally self-destructive. No news there. So old news, Alec went back to the pan, dumping the contents into a bowl filled with rice noodles.
“I also booked a suite at the Westin for Coachella. You need to come with me. Get away. Remember who you are. We weren’t bred to work this hard,” Blaine advised, crossing his arms over his chest even when Alec grabbed a fork and started for the kitchen table.
“You don’t work at all,” Alec reminded, setting the bowl on the table then going back for his glass of wine.
“Because of you, I do work very hard, and it’s incredibly stressful. I’m aging. Wrinkles are forming,” he said, getting a grin from Alec. Blaine shoved away from the stove and stepped around the kitchen counter. He didn’t sit at the table. Instead, he stood there, staring down at Alec.
His buddy was serious, and worried—he could tell. Alec just didn’t know how to ease Blaine’s concerns. These were the differences between them. Of course, Alec didn’t necessarily love his job, and hell no, he damn sure didn’t want that federal judge appointment, but he did want a normal life. He wanted normal things with normal people. Being a socialite, running fast and loose, had been fine when he was younger, but not now. At twenty-nine, he wanted a career, a home, a place to develop some roots. He loved being a prosecutor, battling it out both in and out of the courtroom. He liked cooking his own food, installing his own home gadgets. He just needed time to find his groove.
“Blaine, I’m living a normal life. My normal life—” Alec tried to explain until Blaine cut him off.
“You’re thinking this is all okay, but it’s not. You’re losing yourself and you’re losing me. I’ll miss you, I swear I will, but I miss me more.”
Alec stared at him, shoving a big bite of food in his mouth. He chewed, kicking out the chair across from him. “Sit down. You’re being dramatic,” he said with a full mouth.
“I’m being real. You’ve lived here a year and have no friends. You’re in this big house all alone all the damn time. Your best friend’s an automated voice from Amazon.” Finally, Blaine did take the seat, reaching for Alec’s bowl and his fork to take a bite. “It needs more sugar,” he said with his mouth full.
Alec just shook his head, grabbing the bowl back. “So, when’s Coachella this year?”
“Late April. I chose the second weekend to get the best room,” Blaine said, taking Alec’s napkin to wipe his mouth.
“I’ll go for the weekend, but I’ll need to be back by Monday,” he said, with most of his focus on the food. His friend was right—it did need more sugar. He wouldn’t scrimp on that ingredient the next time he made the meal.
“Alec! You’re killing me.”
Alec paused, his bite held midair as he glanced over at Blaine’s outburst. His buddy drained the last of his beer, his leg bouncing the whole time. Blaine had more to say. He was visibly holding himself back and that seemed fine to Alec.
“Look, you do this,” Blaine said, getting to his feet. “Be this soccer dad type who never dates, never leaves the house, becomes so sedate that you’re a bore. Keep doing it all to please a family that didn’t invite you to Aspen for the family ski trip again this year. Did you know the whole crew went? They were all there last week. Your sister shared the pictures on Instagram with her five million stupid followers. She wears makeup. That’s her only accomplishment. How the hell does she have five million followers?”
Alec said nothing, just continued staring. He blinked as Blaine’s targeted arrow hit the mark of his heart. A family trip to Aspen without him. Yeah, that hurt. Growing up, that was their one trip a year he loved. He hadn’t been invited since he turned sixteen years old and got caught kissing the ski instructor.
“I’m not doing this anymore, and I can’t watch you do it. You’re my best friend. We should be on a beach in Rio de Janeiro, thumbing our noses at our pretentious families with me falling in love with every man I see. You should not be cooking Asian food in McKinney fucking Texas while playing with your little Amazon product even though you have hundreds of unused smart features already integrated into your home that looks similar to every other house in this stupid state.”
Yeah, Blaine needed to go. Alec pushed the bowl away from him, staring at Blaine who glared right back at him. “See yourself out,” he finally said, his tone leaving no room for negotiation.
Alec shoved away from the table, left the kitchen, and headed to his bedroom. He heard the kitchen door slam shut just before he slammed his bedroom door, pacing the length of the room. He’d been happy today. Seriously in a good mood, lost in his little fantasy about the biker.
Fucking Blaine. He didn’t get it, or didn’t want to get it, or what the fuck ever. Blaine needed to go. Dropping his jeans to the floor, Alec changed into a set of athletic shorts. He needed to run like crazy on the treadmill, let everything slide away until he could figure his shit out. The beep on the security system told him the gate had opened, and Blaine was leaving the property. Good riddance. Alec scrubbed a hand down his face and took a deep breath. He didn’t dwell. It wouldn’t change anything.
He’d shove this frustration deep down, hide it so completely, like he did all the pain in his life. Run. He needed to run.
=♥=
The sleep deprivation grew harder and harder to ignore. Keyes gave a jaw-cracking yawn as he stopped in the front yard of the two-bedroom house he shared with his worthless father. Apparently, the party had spilled from the clubhouse and appeared to have continued at his house based on the two additional Harleys parked in his regular spot in the driveway and the little beater car parked sloppily behind the bikes.
When he cut the engine, he could hear the Dicks blaring from the old CD player in his living room. His father’s favorite anthem, “Hate the Police,” screaming at him. With all certainty, Keyes knew “Rose Tattoo” would be next, again screaming their hate for society. All were songs Keyes had found for a playlist he’d created for his dad thirteen Christmases ago. A present that earned him a kick in the leg for its stupidity but that the man played over and over every time something like the raid happened to the club.
So they were in a mood tonight. Keyes sat there, staring at the tiny, rundown house. He should just go back to the clubhouse, take a room there. He knocked the kickstand of his Harley into place then ate up the distance to the front door. He’d need to pack a bag, have clothes for tomorrow.
The smell of pot hit him way before the front door ever opened. No matter how many times he’d walked in on this exact scene, it always startled him. His old man sat on one end of their old tweed sofa with a club whore riding his dick. Keyes’s stomach roiled as he tried to avoid the fucked-up visuals taking place on the sofa. He averted his eyes only to find two women taking care of the president—the prez’s wife was not one of them. That was the only reason Fox ever came to this part of town, to fuck filth in filth. Mack’s bike was also outside. The noises coming from the bathroom suggested much of the same happening in there. Fuck his life.
“What you lookin’ at? Damn perv.” His father huffed and grunted.
Keyes ducked his head and went straight back to his bedroom. Even with the rest of the house still in complete disarray from the raid, Keyes had taken the time to put his room back together. He was a clean freak. Liked his shit in order. Couldn’t sleep in such a mess. Besides, he didn’t have much to begin with. Keyes pulled the duffle off the shelf in his closet, grabbed his jeans, underwear, socks, and a T-shirt, then went for his hidden stash of toothbrushes. He never left that or his toothpaste out. After a few urine soaked toothbrushes, of course all in the name of fun, he’d learned to keep his shit hidden.
Grabbing his hairbrush and cologne, Keyes bent at the knee, reaching under his bed for his noise-cancelling headphones. He kept those hidden too. They’d be pawned as soon as his old man figured out he had them. Tossing the bag over his shoulder, he looked around the room for anything he’d forgotten as he absently lifted his long hair to tie in a knot at the top of his head. His cut—his patched leather vest—was in the storage compartment on his bike. He had his wallet. Keyes grabbed his phone charger, and he was good to go.
Stepping back out, Keyes quietly shut the door to his room. He kept his gaze averted as he walked back through the house. This time through, he spotted the coke on the coffee table. Something his very sick old man shouldn’t be doing.
“Dory, go show Keyes how to be a man so he’ll get that fuckin’ girlie bun out of his goddamn hair.” The sound of flesh being slapped followed that command. Keyes involuntarily looked over to see his father’s hand massaging the woman’s ass cheek. He shifted his gaze to Fox, but seeing Fox like that left an image Keyes was afraid he’d never be able to scrub out of his head.
To his annoyance, Dory immediately jumped up on his father’s command. Those women were shared among all of the men. His father’s health couldn’t survive a serious STD if he got one.
When Dory came toward him, Keyes kept going, extending a hand in her direction. “Nah, I’m good.”
“Goddamn, pussy!” The beer his dad held went flying, spinning through the air toward him, liquid shooting out across the room. Keyes ducked, but he hadn’t needed to. Dory took the hit straight to her head, blocking his dad’s intended target.
“Ow! That hurt.”
Keyes never looked back. He was out the door and back on his bike within minutes of arriving. The clubhouse was fifteen minutes away. Keyes opted for a helmet this trip. He was too tired to guarantee a fast response. He let out another long yawn. Did they call it desensitized that he didn’t give a single shit about what was happening inside his own house? Who knew. Who cared.