Brody was surprised when he didn’t see Jonah Monday morning, but he figured he had an early morning client at the gym. He wanted to run a few things by him for the kitchen, and it was delaying everything the longer he waited. Since they used the existing cabinets and layout, he needed to work around it and find appliances to fit the area. He managed to find cabinets that resembled the original ones and figured he could add an island in the middle of the space. There was enough room for it. On top of that, Brody thought of a way that he could add a dishwasher, and he wanted see what Jonah thought about it.
He found things to do here and there to work around it, even though he knew that he should just call Owen and ask him, instead of wasting time. Every time Brody went to call him though, he stopped himself. By two-thirty, he was pacing the damn room. Owen would be home in half an hour, and Jonah still hadn’t come home. For the past couple of weeks, Brody thought he’d moved past being nervous around Owen, and they had found some kind of common ground. The way Owen gave him the death glare on Friday night at the restaurant said otherwise. What he wouldn’t give for Owen to see he’d changed.
Not gonna happen.
Thank God the kitchen would be done in a few weeks. He’d originally thought it would be sooner than that, but he still had to order appliances and build the island if they wanted it. He hoped like hell that, even though Owen clearly wanted him out of his home, he’d still recommend him around town. He couldn’t be that spiteful, could he?
Brody let his mind wander again, and before he knew it, he heard the front door open and Owen walked in the room. They said their awkward hellos then Brody said, “Hate to bother you right when you walk in the door, but when you have a minute, I have a couple of questions about what you guys want done.”
Owen just stared at him, finally saying, “Fine, give me a minute.” He turned and walked out of the room without another word.
Well, that went well. Yeah, no warm and fuzzies coming from that guy. Gabe was out of his fucking mind.
Fifteen minutes later, Owen walked back into the kitchen, sweats and a T-shirt on, dark hair still wet from his shower. Brody cursed under his breath, looking anywhere but at the man standing in front of him. He smelled the fresh, clean scent of the soap Owen just used and tried to ignore the flush his cheeks still had from the hot water.
“Okay, what’s up?” Owen asked, his tone holding no emotion, his arms crossed.
Brody cleared his throat, trying to remember what he even wanted to ask Owen about. “Uh, well, I had some ideas, some things I wanted to run by Jonah, but I haven’t seen him all day.”
“He’s not here. He went to see his family.” Owen stood there in a defensive stance, arms crossed over his sexy chest—sexy? Really, Brody? Owen was staring at him like Brody was shit on the bottom of his shoe, and Brody thought he was sexy. Fucking great.
“Oh, okay. Well, should I wait for him to come back? I know you wanted me to deal only with him.” Damn, this guy was making him so fucking nervous.
Owen scrubbed a hand over his annoyed face while he put the other on his hip. “Fuck. No, from now on all ideas go through me.”
“But―”
“It’s just me from now on. Shit, I’d like to say it’s none of your goddamn business, but that doesn’t really exist in a small town, does it.” Owen exhaled then shocked the shit out of Brody. “Jonah and I aren’t together anymore.”
Brody felt all the air leave his lungs. What did he just say? “What? Why?”
Owen gave him a look like he had to be out of his fucking mind and barked, “Now that, I can say, is none of your goddamn business.”
“I’m sorry, I―”
“What did you have to ask me, Brody?” Owen huffed like the entire conversation was an inconvenience to him.
Brody could kiss this guy’s fucking ass, and it still wouldn’t matter. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t done or said anything insulting to Owen since he’d started this job. It didn’t matter that he’d apologized. It didn’t matter that he’d been walking on eggshells every fucking day. Owen still looked at him like he was an annoying fly, buzzing in his face—that he wanted to crush against the nearest wall.
“Since it’s clearly pissing you off, why don’t I just write it all out and save you the trouble of this conversation?” Brody didn’t mean for it to sound harsh, but he’d had enough. He was tired, so damn tired, and he had other things on his mind more important than begging for Owen’s forgiveness every goddamn day. He turned to walk away, but Owen grabbed his arm.
“Don’t waste my fucking time, Brody. Just ask me your damn question.”
Brody yanked his arm free. “What have I done in the last few days that’s pissed you off so much?” Not the question he intended to ask, but it was the one that was on the tip of his tongue and rolled out first.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“That…” Brody jabbed a finger at Owen. “That right there. Last week you were civil, and today you’re biting my head off. Fuck, even Friday night you looked like you wanted to kill me.” He was sick of this shit. Owen started to walk away again down the hall, and Brody found himself going after him. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re the one being hypocritical now. You hate me because of how I treated you back then, and I get it, I do. But I have been nothing but nice to you—and still you treat me like shit.”
Owen rounded on Brody so fast he almost slammed into him. “I’m the hypocrite? Are you fucking kidding me? You hated me for years, probably still do, because I’m gay, and you have the nerve to throw your gay best friend in my face? Fuck you, Brody!”
“I didn’t throw Gabe in your face!” Brody shouted back. “That’s what this is about?”
Owen shoved a hand against Brody’s chest. “Does he know, Brody? Does he know what you’re really like?” He pushed Brody again, making him take a step back. “Does he know that you like to hit scared, defenseless kids for being attracted to men, just like he is?”
Brody’s anger was pulsing. “That’s not who I am,” he growled through clenched teeth.
“Isn’t it?” Owen was in his face now, challenging him. He used both hands, pushing Brody back again. “Show me what you got, asshole.”
That day from so long ago came rushing back again, making Brody’s head spin with things he hated to remember. Let’s go, Brody. Show us what ya got. We should’ve known he was a pussy.
Owen raged on, getting in Brody’s face. “I’m not that scared kid anymore, Brody. You punch me, and you can damn well bet I’ll return the favor.”
Brody turned to walk away before he did something he’d regret, but Owen must have been too far gone. He pushed past him, blocking his way, taunting him like his friends had so many years ago.
“What are you afraid of, Brody? Huh? Are you so much of a coward that you’re too chickenshit to take me on right now―one-on-one?”
Brody wasn’t a fucking coward, not anymore. He stared into Owen’s raging blue eyes, and when Owen pushed him again, something inside of Brody snapped. His hand flattened against Owen’s chest, shoving him back against the wall, his system on overload, his blood pumping fast and hard.
~ɤ~
“Ah, there he is. There’s the Brody I know.” Owen didn’t know what the hell he was doing. He was egging Brody on, pushing for a fight, uncontrollable words flying out. “Must have been hard keeping him bottled up these last couple of weeks, huh?” Owen didn’t want to fight, didn’t want to do this, but couldn’t stop himself now. All the years of pain and anger had shot to the surface. He’d never back down to a guy like this again. “Go ahead, Brody. Do what you’ve wanted to do since you got back in this fucking town.”
Owen watched Brody’s brown eyes grow dark. His chest was heaving, a strong hand pushing hard on Owen’s chest, holding him to the wall. The antique clock on the wall ticked loudly, as if counting down until Brody would finally draw his fist back, like he had that day fifteen years ago. Owen braced himself for the blow.
The air was knocked out of him, confusion swallowing him at feeling Brody’s lips pressed hard against his own. Owen’s world tilted, his mind struggled to comprehend what was happening and his body fought the rush of blood straight to his cock. Brody’s lips were moving, rough at first then softly nipping Owen’s bottom lip. This wasn’t right―couldn’t be right. Moving his hands between them, he pushed Brody away, breaking the kiss.
They stared at each other, both of them dragging in deep, ragged breaths, desire clear in those big, brown eyes of Brody’s. Owen wanted to walk away, to punch him―anything but what his body was telling him to do. Brody stood less than a foot away, his scent fogging Owen’s brain, and Owen’s sweats tented with his arousal.
Owen reached out, fisted Brody’s T-shirt, and yanked him forward. Their lips came together in a rush of heat. Brody’s slightly bigger frame pushing Owen up against the wall; their bodies flush from head to toe. The kiss was urgent, aggression fueling desire as hands traveled, fingers ghosting over muscles and clothing. Then Brody’s hands flattened against the wall on either side of Owen’s head, as he pushed their bodies together harder. Owen held on to Brody’s hips tight enough to leave bruises. They were moving together, grinding, growing harder. Owen felt his pulse in his cock and wondered if Brody did too. Owen’s hands found the bottom of Brody’s shirt and he slid them inside, his palms brushing over the smooth skin of Brody’s back.
Brody’s lips broke away, moving to Owen’s jaw, kissing a line down to his neck. Owen leaned his head away, giving Brody the access he needed, not wanting him to stop. Brody’s moist, warm breath on his skin sent a shiver through Owen’s body. Moving his hands, Owen lifted Brody’s shirt, exposing his back, pushing the material up―
The sound of Brody’s phone ringing snapped them both out of moment.
As if cold water had been thrown on the two of them, they both pulled back. Brody’s lips were slightly pink and swollen. They were swollen from Owen kissing him like his fucking life depended on it. Holy shit, what the fuck just happened?
Owen adjusted himself, embarrassed by how hard Brody made his dick.
After the second ring, Brody backed up another step and answered his phone. The look of anguish on his face had Owen walking forward to stand in front of him. He didn’t want to touch him; they had already crossed a major fucking line.
“When did she start?” Brody asked the person on the other line. “All right. I’ll be right there. Will you please tell her I’m on my way?” His voice was shaking, and Owen could tell he was trying to bite back his emotions.
Brody turned back to Owen, taking a step toward him, and out of reflex, Owen took a step back. Brody winced, and the anguish in his eyes was staggering. Owen felt the guilt wash over him. He wanted to say something, anything, but he didn’t know what. What just happened—what they just did—could never happen again. It was wrong on so many levels. Confused the shit out of him.
Borderline masochistic, for fuck’s sake.
Brody’s voice was incredibly soft as he said, “I need to go to my mom’s. That was my aunt. She said my mom’s really upset.” He turned to walk to the door, but when he got there, he stopped. Brody turned back around, looking Owen in the eyes and added, “Just so we’re clear, what just happened between us a minute ago? That’s what I’ve wanted to do since I got back in this town.” The agony coming off of him thickened the air in the room, the atmosphere not getting any lighter even after Brody walked out the door.
Owen leaned back against the wall, still trembling with the thought of Brody’s body pressed against his. He had to be out of his fucking mind. Closing his eyes, he slid down the wall until he was sitting on the floor, wondering what the hell he was going to do now.
Because that kiss almost brought him to his fucking knees.