Chapter 6
Max
Waiting all day to meet with Beck was torture. My brothers could tell something was up with me and eased up on some of their bullshit today, so that was a nice reprieve at least.
I was out of the garage at five o’clock on the nose and roaring down the street on my bike to meet with Beck.
My hands are sweaty on my handlebars, and my stomach twists itself in complicated knots all the way to the restaurant where Beck and I had agreed to meet.
I pull into a parking spot around the side of the restaurant and head inside, conscious of the fact that I look like a filthy grease monkey, but also grateful that Beck knows me well enough to know I am a good father no matter how messy I may look after a day of work.
“Max,” Beck calls out from a table to the left of the host’s station. He stands and offers his hand when I approach the table.
Beck is dressed in a pink blouse and black skinny jeans and has pink high heels on. His face has light make-up today, and I notice there’s a certain lightness to his expression that wasn’t there before he met Gage.
“Thanks for meeting with me. You know, being in love looks good on you.”
“Aw, thanks you big sap.”
I chuckle. He’s not wrong.
I take a seat, and a waitress appears to take our drink orders. We make small talk for a few minutes about how Beck is liking life after corporate law and what it’s like living with Gage.
“Nox has been trying to talk me into letting him give me a tattoo, but after the peacock Gage did, I’m not eager for any more needles,” Beck explains. Nox is the boyfriend of Gage’s best friend. I’ve met the whole Heathens Ink crew on a few occasions when Beck has invited Clay and me out to the bar; they all seem like good guys.
“What’s he want to ink on you?” I ask.
“Well, he does these mythical creatures that are pretty badass. He did a griffin for Adam, a unicorn on Madden, and a Siren on Dani. He’s going to give Gage a dragon to symbolize strength, and he said he wants to do a pixie for me because pixies are full of light and laughter.”
“That sounds perfect for you,” I agree.
We lapse into silence for a few seconds before I decide to bite the bullet and get into the reason we’re here.
“Jess told me yesterday that she’s engaged and planning to move to New York. Obviously, she wants to take Gigi with her. But I can’t let that happen. I can’t stand the thought of only seeing her for a month or two in the summer and missing her the rest of the year.”
Beck frowns and rubs his chin.
“That’s going to be tricky. If I remember correctly, you agreed that disputes would be settled in mediation. If you can’t work it out and it goes to arbitration, they’re likely going to side with the mother. With Gigi being school age, they’re not going to split the school year. You may be able to get winter break as well as summer, maybe spring break, but…” Beck trails off and shakes his head, and my stomach plummets.
“So, what do I do?” I ask desperately.
“Let me think this over, and let’s set up mediation to see if the two of you can reach any sort of agreement,” he suggests, but I can still hear the but hanging in the air. This is hopeless. Jess is going to take Gigi all the way across the country, and I’ll only get to see her a few times a year.
I know I’m an asshole through our meal, unable to summon the common courtesy to hold a proper conversation while my heart breaks over the thought of losing Gigi, and my blood boils at Jess doing this to me. I should find whoever this douchebag fiancé is and punch him in the nose.
◆◆◆
I flick on the light in the garage and take a deep breath, letting the scent of motor oil and grease calm me.
I grew up working in the garage. It’s no surprise that the scent smells like home to me.
I run my hand over the frame of ‘67 Norton Commando I’m restoring.
Some people might think it’s weird that I would want to work on cars all day and then come home and do more work. But restoring classic bikes isn’t work for me. It’s been my passion since I was sixteen, and I got my first bike at a junkyard and rebuilt it from the ground up. There’s no thrill like taking something that’s broken and rusted and making it beautiful again.
“Hey, I thought you might be out here,” Clay says, peeking his head out of the door.
“Yeah, what’s up?”
“Oh nothing, just wanted to say hi and see how your day was.”
Clay’s interest in my daily life never fails to warm me inside.
“Kinda sucked,” I admit. “Let me work for a little bit, and then I’ll come in and tell you about it over a few drinks?”
“Sounds good,” he agrees with a smirk.
I’m not sure how long I spend outside working, but when I go inside Clay is lying on the couch watching Will & Grace and I hesitate in the entrance to the living room. I know I have to tell him about Jess, but I really need a fucking drink first.
“Hey, sweetie. You okay?”
“Yeah,” I answer with an uncharacteristic gruffness to my voice. “I need a drink, and then I have to tell you something. You want a drink?”
“Sure.” Clay sits up, worry clouding his eyes.
For some reason, I notice that he looks kind of cute with his hair all mussed from lying down.
I shake off the odd thoughts and head toward the kitchen to get the bottle of Jack I keep above the fridge.
“You’re worrying me; did something happen?” Clay asks, appearing in the kitchen doorway.
I unscrew the cap on the bottle and take a drink before waving Clay back to the living room.
“Jess stopped by to talk yesterday.”
“Is something wrong with Gigi?” Clay gasps.
“No, but Jess is engaged, and they’re planning to move to New York in six months,” I reveal, and when Clay doesn’t react, I continue. “She says she’s taking Gigi.”
“What? She can’t do that! Can she?”
“Beck didn’t seem too confident, honestly. The Parenting Plan we agreed to says that in a dispute like this we have to deal with it in mediation, and if we can’t reach an agreement, then it goes to arbitration.”
“What happens at arbitration?”
“Jess and I would present our sides of the case in front of a small panel, and they’d get to decide who Gigi goes with.”
Clay looks as devastated as I feel and, for that, I swear I could kiss him.
“We can’t let Jess take her.”
“We’ll keep thinking, and in the meantime, we’ll drink.” I salute him with the bottle and take another gulp before passing it to him. He hesitates for a second before taking it and drinking as well.
The hours pass, and the whiskey slowly disappears between the two of us.
Clay repeats a joke he heard, and I collapse against his side in a laughing fit.
“Sorry,” I apologize when he tenses under my touch.
“Don’t be, this is the most action I’ve gotten in ages.”
“See, that’s something I just don’t get. How are you single? You’re a gorgeous, successful business owner. And don’t think I haven’t seen how flexible you are when you’re doing yoga in the living room.”
Clay’s pouty lips morph into a sly smile, his eyelids drooping slightly from the alcohol he’s consumed.
“If you’re trying to get into my pants, flattery will get you everywhere,” Clay slurs and then giggles.
An unexpected rush of heat licks at my skin.
“Seriously, though,” I prompt.
Clay’s smile fades a bit, and he’s suddenly very interested in taking another drink. I wait patiently, my curiosity overwhelming.
“Are you sure you want to know this? It’s a sex thing,” he warns, his cheeks—already pink from the liquor—tinge even darker.
“Now I’m even more interested to know. Do you have an extra dick or something?”
My eyes dart over Clay, trying to imagine what could be wrong with his body physically. I’ve seen just about every inch of him, as tends to happen when you’re roommates.
Clay laughs before meeting my eyes cautiously. “God, this is embarrassing. I have a kink.”
I’m too drunk to manage any kind of poker face, and I’m sure my raised eyebrows and shocked smirk say it all.
“Do tell,” I prompt, leaning forward unconsciously. What kind of kink could my meticulous, responsible roommate be so into that it affects his ability to have a relationship? “Oh wait, can I try to guess?”
Clay snorts and takes another drink before passing me the bottle. He brandishes his hand in a gesture to tell me to go right ahead.
“Okay, let me think. It must be something really freaky if it scares guys away,” I stroke my chin, and Clay crosses his arms, regarding me with challenge. “Oh, is it the thing where you want a dude to change your diaper and like feed you a bottle?”
Clay’s mouth drops open, and he lets out a barking laugh. “No, definitely not.”
“Oh, I know; you want to be a puppy,” I guess again.
“No.” Clay shakes his head again. “Where are you even coming up with this stuff?”
“Real Sex on HBO.”
“You’re not even close.”
I lean back and let my gaze wander over Clay again, trying to picture what a man like him might really be into in bed. Maybe it’s not as out there as I’m thinking; maybe it’s just something he’s embarrassed about.
“I’ve got it; you’re totally into being dominated.”
Clay’s easy smile turns tense, and his eyes dart away from me.
“No, I don’t like to be dominated.” His voice is rough, and I can tell that I must’ve hit somewhere close to the mark or at least struck a nerve.
“You don’t have to tell me if it’s too uncomfortable for you, but I hope you know it doesn’t make a damn bit of difference to me what you’re into in bed. You can be a furry for all I care.”
Clay relaxes a little and chuckles again. He still doesn’t meet my eyes as he fiddles with a throw blanket over the back of the couch and shifts around like he’s trying to find a more comfortable way to sit.
“I’m...uh...really into bondage,” he finally admits.
A strange spike of heat goes through me at the confession.
“Oh?” My voice comes out sounding like gravel as my mind conjures up images of Clay with his wrists bound by a length of rope. “I’m surprised the guys you’re trying to date aren’t into that. Or at the very least can’t be persuaded to give it a try.”
“Yeah, the bondage itself isn’t the issue. The issue is most guys who are into bondage are into dominance and submission, which I’m definitely not into,” Clay explains. “Plus, it’s a big trust thing, so picking up a stranger to tie me up isn’t exactly ideal.”
A protective surge pulses through me in equal measure to the surprising lust this conversation has evoked. My skin feels hot and tight, like I might explode out of it at the wrong move. The idea of a man being rough or punishing to Clay when that isn’t what he wants makes me want to break something. Even worse is the thought of Clay feeling helpless or nervous with someone he doesn’t know or trust.
My fists clench, and my heart thunders.
Without thought, I reach for Clay, my fingers grazing the soft skin on his forearm, imagining what he would look like completely at my mercy.
I shift in my seat, and the minor friction of my pants against my achingly hard cock is almost enough for me to lose it. I’ve never been this turned on in my life, and my alcohol soaked brain doesn’t give a shit that it’s a guy I’m imagining pinned beneath me.
“This conversation is making you uncomfortable,” Clay notes apologetically.
Yes, but not in the way you would think.
“No, I’m just drunk.”
Clay sets the nearly empty bottle of Jack aside and gets to his feet as gracefully as a newborn giraffe.
“Come on, love, let’s go to bed.” I know Clay doesn’t mean it that way, but his words are husky and oddly inviting as they roll around in my alcohol sodden brain.