Cooper

“Where to next?” Jake says, eyeing me in the rear-view mirror of the SUV.

I check my watch. “Let’s get something to eat. Then we’ll pick up supplies and fortify the motel rooms.”

Jake nods as he puts the vehicle in gear. I glance at Sam, who’s sitting beside me, messing with something on his phone.

“I’m texting Beth,” he says, when he catches me watching him. “She invited me to dinner tonight. I’m telling her I can’t make it.”

I watch Sam finish his text and send it. He’s so damn beautiful, it makes my chest hurt. His body is lean and muscular, and I know damn well what’s beneath his clothes—tattoos, piercings, a gorgeous cock, and a damn fine ass. His face is beautiful, like that of a fallen angel, and his red hair reminds me of a flame that burns as hotly as his emotions. Sam doesn’t do anything half-heartedly. He goes all-in. Whether you’re his friend… or his lover, he gives you his all. I honestly don’t know why he wastes time with me.

Beth told me there was someone in Dayton who tried his best to woo Sam away from me. Craig somebody, someone his own age, a personal trainer at the gym where he worked out. Apparently, this guy offered Sam the moon. And according to Beth, Sam turned him down repeatedly. But Jesus, what if Sam had said yes? I could have lost him so easily. He might never have come back to Chicago. He might have decided I wasn’t worth all the effort.

My pulse skyrockets, and I feel hot all over, my stomach in knots. I can’t imagine my life without him. In the two years we’ve been together, he’s become everything to me. The three months he was gone nearly did me in. I came so close to going after him and dragging him back by his hair. I’m not going to lose him. No matter what it takes—I won’t lose him.

His words are burned into my memories. “I need you to be my boyfriend, not just my fuck-buddy.”

I reach for his hand, linking our fingers together, and rest it on my thigh. When I squeeze his hand, he gives me a smile that tears right through me.

Hell no, I’m not going to lose him. And tonight, once we’re settled in for the night, I’m going to show him he’s not just my fuck-buddy. Far from it.

* * *

Like much of this town, Rosie’s Diner is stuck in a time warp. Nothing’s really changed since I sat in this restaurant forty years ago. The same black-and-white checkered floor, the same red Formica table tops and red vinyl chairs, the same red vinyl barstools along the counter. I recognize several of the older gals waiting tables as girls I went to school with. And I’ll bet the youngsters waiting on tables are daughters of my old classmates.

I ask the hostess, to seat us at a booth at the front of the restaurant. We want a window seat so we have an unobstructed view of the street. It’s a little early to worry about trouble—the shit won’t hit the fan until tomorrow morning, when the paper comes out—but it never hurts to be prepared. There’s no guarantee that Jenny Murphy isn’t loyal to Billy Monroe.

Jake takes one side of the booth, and I slide in beside Sam on the other. The hostess—June, according to her name tag—hands us menus and says our waitress will be out shortly. I catch her watching me out of the corner of her eye and have to wonder if she recognizes me. I remember her. She’s a lot older than me, but I went to school with her younger brother, Phil. Sure, I look different than I did forty years ago. Back then, I was a tall, skinny kid with a head full of wavy, dark hair. I’m no longer skinny, and my hair is cut short and all but gray now. Still, I recognize her easily, even with her silvery-blonde hair swept up in a beehive. I guess we don’t change as much over the decades as we think we do.

She looks at me quizzically. “Danny?”

I nod. “Hi, June.”

“I remember you. You were in Phil’s class. I haven’t seen you in…ages.”

“I haven’t been back here in ages.”

“Well, welcome home. Missy will be right over to take your orders.”

Jake’s attention appears to be focused on the menu, but I know better. Just like me, he’s scoping out the place and watching the activity on the street. I glance at Sam as he looks over the menu, taking a moment to admire the breadth of his chest and his taut arms. My gaze fixates on his long, tanned fingers as he holds his menu. I’m damn grateful Jake got us separate rooms, because it would have been sheer torture to sleep in a bed with Sam and not be able to touch him. I honestly don’t think I could have done it. Jake’s a smart man.

A teenager with strawberry blonde hair and freckles walks up to our table with a big smile on her face. “Hi, fellas. I’m Missy. I’ll be your server.”

She gives me a polite, perfunctory smile, then immediately dismisses me when she catches sight of Sam. Her cute, freckled cheeks flush bright pink as she gives him a blinding smile.

Sorry, honey, but you’re wasting your time. He doesn’t play for your team. He plays for mine. Besides, he’s taken. I feel an odd tightness in my chest as she checks out my lover. I should be used to this by now. Sam attracts attention wherever we go, from both men and women. I asked him shortly after we met if he was at all attracted to women—if he was bi. He said he wasn’t, and frankly he never pays girls much attention, other than having a few as friends. But that doesn’t stop the girls from checking him out, propositioning him, sometimes right in front of me when they don’t realize we’re together. He gets a kick out of it—thinks it’s funny. I don’t. And that’s why he has taken to wearing T-shirts with gay slogans on them. He calls them public service announcements designed to educate the ladies on his status.

“Will it be separate checks, gentlemen?” Missy asks, smiling coyly at Sam as she makes a little notation on her order pad. She’s probably drawing hearts and flowers.

Maybe Sam should take his jacket off so she can read the public service announcement on his shirt—Gay Men Suck.

“Two checks, please,” I say.

She glances at me, momentarily confused.

I point at Sam. “He’s with me.”

Her brow furrows as she tries to work it out, and she’s probably wondering if he’s my son. It sure wouldn’t be the first time someone came to that conclusion. Meanwhile, Sam is biting back a chuckle.

For some reason, I’m feeling awfully territorial this evening, which is why I slip my hand under the table and squeeze Sam’s knee. He rewards me with a wide-eyed smile, and honest to God, he’s blushing.

Touching his knee in public… it’s such a small gesture, and yet it obviously means a lot to him. I don’t know what possesses me to do it, but I release his knee, stretch my arms above my head, then casually let my right arm fall along the back of the booth, behind him. It’s the classic high school cliché. I lay my arm against his back and let the fingertips of my right hand graze the top of his right shoulder. The gesture isn’t lost on him. He looks at me like I’ve just hung the moon especially for him.

“What?” I say, shrugging it off, as if it’s no big deal.

None of this is lost on Jake. He’s grinning at us from across the table, pretending to ignore us as he places his order for a burger and fries.

Sam’s gaze is still on me, and I can see the blatant hunger in his eyes. I’m filled with anticipation, too. It’ll be just the two of us tonight, alone in our hotel room, reconnecting for the first time in several months. I can’t wait.

When our server finishes with Jake’s order, she turns to us. Her sharp gaze goes right to my fingertips as they graze Sam’s shoulder. When I brush the side of his neck with my index finger, she blushes and diverts her gaze, finally getting the message.

“And what can I get for you fellas?” she says, keeping her eyes on her little ordering pad.

I order the burger and fries platter, while Sam orders a grilled chicken salad. Then our little server races off to the order counter.

I stroke Sam’s shoulder. “It looks like you have an admirer.”

He shrugs off my comment, blushing, and a moment later, I feel his hand on my thigh. He turns to look out the window at the sidewalk traffic, seemingly ignoring me, as his hand burns a hole through my jeans. I harden instantly and have to shift my position to make room in my jeans for an erection that just won’t quit.

Yeah, I’m looking forward to getting him back to our hotel room.

* * *

After we finish our meals and pay the bills—I pick up the tab for Sam’s meal—we head back to the motel, stopping briefly at a convenience store to pick up water bottles, protein bars, snacks, and a case of beer. Sam grabs two packages of Skittles and a couple chocolate bars to feed his sweet tooth.

The evening is still young, but this early in the year it’s already dark by the time we arrive back at the motel. Jake parks right in front of our rooms.

“You want any help setting up the cameras?” I ask as we exit the vehicle.

He shakes his head. “Thanks, but I’ve got it. You guys relax tonight while you can. Tomorrow’s going to be hell.”

I nod. He’s got that right. “Let me know if you need anything.”

As Sam unlocks the door to our room, I scan the parking lot, partly out of habit, and partly just being prudent. I doubt word has gotten out yet about why I’m back in town, but if, by some chance, Jenny Murphy leaked my story, it’s entirely possible we could find ourselves with unexpected company.

I follow Sam into our room and lock the door behind me. He switches on the lamp on the nightstand between the two beds and sits on the bed we’ll be sleeping on. His hands are clasped in his lap, and his gaze is focused everywhere except on me. I guess it’s not surprising that he’s a bit nervous, after all it’s been a while, so we’ll have to take it slowly tonight. He hardly picked at his meal—in fact I don’t think he ate much of anything—and that’s not like him.

There’s a sharp rap on the adjoining door that connects our room to Jake’s. I unlock it and open the door.

Jake pops his head through the opening. “Hey, guys. Keep this door unlocked at all times in case I need to get to you quickly.”

I nod. “Will do.” Then I close the door.

“I’m going to take a shower,” I say, unzipping my duffle bag and pulling out a pair of gray sweats and my small toiletries case. I can feel Sam’s eyes on me as I cross the room and enter the small, bare-bones bathroom.

The bathroom is small, but at least it’s clean. After turning on the water in the shower to let it heat up, I strip off my clothes, hang them from a hook on the back of the bathroom door, then take a leak. Just as I’m about to step into the shower, the door creaks open and in walks Sam, wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs.

Damn! His body is a work of art…lean muscles and black tribal tattoos winding down his arms and across his abdomen, snaking down his hips to his thighs. Hell, just looking at him makes my pulse race.

And his piercings! Everyone can see the small black plugs in his ear lobes and the industrial hardware threaded through the cartilage in his left ear. But the rest of his piercings… no one sees those but me. Both of his nipples are pierced through their flat dusky pink bases with tiny platinum barbells, and there’s a curved barbell threaded through the hollow of his belly button. No one sees these piercings—no one touches these piercings—but me. These parts of him belong to me. Unless…

I realize we’ve never spoken about Craig. “Did you let him fuck you?”

Sam’s eyes widen, and he looks blind-sided. “What? Who? Did I let who fuck me?”

“Don’t play games with me, Sam. I know all about Craig. It was all I could do not to go down there to Dayton myself and wipe the floor with his face. Did you let him fuck you?”

“No!”

I stare him down, but he holds his ground. Sam’s no liar, and he’s no coward. If he’d fucked the guy, he’d admit it.

He reaches up to remove the hairband holding his hair in a topknot, letting the red strands fall to his shoulders. I have to wonder who’s been trimming his undercut for the past three months, because it sure as hell wasn’t me. He can’t do it himself worth shit, so someone had to have been doing it for him.

“Who’s been trimming your undercut?” I ask. “Was it that fucker, Craig?”

“No, my sister did it. Rachel.”

I narrow my eyes at him, as if challenging his assertion.

“Craig never touched me, I swear. Not like that.”

“But he wanted to, didn’t he?”

Reluctantly Sam nods, and I know he feels some small measure of guilt, even if he never encouraged the guy.

“I don’t share, Sam.”

“He didn’t touch me, I swear it! We never fucked. He never even kissed me.”

He’s looking at me intently, and I know something’s on his mind. “What do you want?” I say.

He glances at the shower, which is starting to steam up the room nicely. “Nothing. I just want to shower with you.”

I take a step toward him, wrapping one hand behind his head and palming the bulge in his briefs with the other. He’s hard as a rock. Good. He wants this as badly as I do.

* * *

Sam steps into the shower after me and pulls the curtain closed. His brown eyes glitter with anticipation as he grabs the shampoo bottle out of my hand and squirts some of the liquid into his palm. Then he sets the bottle down and rubs his hands together, creating a lather. “Turn around.”

I turn to face the spray, ducking my head beneath the water to wet my hair. I’m curious to see what he’s going to do.

When his fingers sink into my hair, digging into my scalp as he gives me a firm massage, I groan. I glance down at my erection, which is straining in the air, the head flushed dark.

He scrubs my scalp, and when the lather runs down my back, his hands follow, massaging my neck first, then my shoulders, and finally my back, down to my hips. I moan at the feel of his strong fingers on me, and my erection defies gravity as it bobs in the spray of water.

He turns me under the water so I can rinse my hair and back. While I’m doing that, he grabs the bar of soap I brought with me and lathers up. I watch him run his soapy hands over my pecs, then lower to my abs. He dawdles there, taking his sweet time as he traces the ridges of muscles.

When he strokes my cock with wet hands, I reach out to tug lightly on the barbells that run through the base of his nipples. He cries out, throwing his head back, straining the muscles and tendons in his neck. I know how sensitive the piercings make his nipples. The rough, needy sound he makes as I play with them goes straight to my dick.

My balls are hot and aching, and I’ve had enough of this teasing. I grab the shampoo bottle and quickly lather his hair, scrubbing his scalp hard because I love how that makes him groan. After rinsing his hair, I grab the bar of soap and turn him away from me, pressing up against his backside, letting my erection tease his crack. Now it’s my turn to torture him.

I reach around him with soapy hands, starting at his collar bone, and work my way down. I run my hands across his smooth chest, lingering at his nipples, where I tease the little barbells, tweaking them and tugging gently. He arches his back, leaning against me, and the more he squirms, the tighter I restrain him. And the tighter I restrain him, the quicker he melts.

I run my hands down his abdomen, tracing his ridged muscles, to his belly button, where I tease the piercing there.

My hands move lower still, following the path of his thin happy trail as it leads to the wiry nest of auburn hair at the base of his big cock. He’s rock hard, his cock straining, turning a deep, ruddy shade as it thickens. His erection bucks in my hand, and when I stroke the length of him, from base to tip, he sags against me, breathing hard.

He rests his head back on my shoulder, his voice dropping to a raspy plea. “Cooper, please.”

I run my fist along the length of him, from root to tip, then brush my thumb over the head, spreading his slick pre-come over the crown. “Please what?”

He groans. “Take me to bed. God, please.”

I turn him so that he’s standing beneath the spray of water and rinse him off. When I release him, he sways on his feet, and I have to steady him. I could kick myself for forgetting about his leg. “Finish up in here, then come to bed when you’re ready.”

I step out of the shower and dry myself, then leave him to finish up. I wait for him in the bedroom, where I check my phone for messages and kill time by hanging my clothes in the closet and setting my toiletry kit on the nightstand within easy reach. I pull the covers back and grab a hand towel from the closet, where extra linens and towels are stored. Everything’s ready.

After that, the only thing I can do is pace the room and resist the urge to hurry him up. The anticipation is killing me, but I figure he’s a wreck too.

The bathroom door opens, and there he is, his skin flushed from the hot shower. His hair is damp, but the long strands are back in his signature topknot. I like the manbun—it makes for a nice hand hold. He’s standing in the open doorway, naked, with a body that makes my knees weak. Despite the effects of his injuries and slow recovery from the accident, he’s still lean and fit, his muscles chiseled. He’s a feast for hungry eyes, and I can’t look away.

His tight expression tells me he’s just as affected as I am. I meet him halfway and run my finger up his arm, tracing the curve of his bicep. He’s breathing hard, his chest rising and falling, and that tells me everything I need to know. He wants this, just as much as I do.

I step up to him and touch my mouth to his, just a gentle kiss, letting my lips cling to his for a moment. He’s hard already, and I run a hand along his shaft, squeezing lightly and loving how his breath catches.

He exhales a shaky breath and smiles when I take his hand and lead him to the bed, urging him to lie down on his belly, presenting me with a view of his perfect ass. His butt cheeks clench, and he starts to squirm, pressing his erection into the bed. He’s in such a submissive position, his ass in the air as he waits for me to mount him and cover him with my body. I run my hands over his two round globes, giving him time to anticipate what’s coming. The longer he thinks about it, the more jacked up he’ll be, the harder he’ll be. I want him so aroused he can’t think straight. I’m going to remind him what he’s been missing, and just who the hell he belongs to