The bustling crowd is spilling over from the bar to the booths, laughter rolling over the jukebox, the smell of fried onions and spilled beer all around us. We’re tucked in the back corner booth: me, Taron, and Trask. Racer’s sprawled under the table, head on my boot, snoring through the noise like it’s some kind of doggy white noise.
Taron’s in the middle of telling a story about some disastrous city photoshoot Pace once dragged him on—something involving a wind machine and a feather boa—and he’s got Trask doubled over, wheezing into his beer. I’m just watching him. The way his eyes crinkle when he laughs. The way he gestures with his whole body. The way the low light catches the gold flecks in his hazel eyes.
Damn, he’s perfect.
That asshole Pace on the other hand.
What I wouldn’t give for ten minutes with him…
But rather than dwell on a piece of crap like Pace, I refocus back on Taron. He’s wearing that red jacket again, unzipped over a soft cream sweater that hugs his curves just right. Every time heleans forward to make a point, my gaze drops—guilty, automatic—and I have to drag it back up.
Trask catches me.
Of coursehe does.
He smirks behind his pint, raises an eyebrow likeyou’re done for, brother.
Taron finishes his story with a dramatic flourish—“And the photographer just yells, ‘More wind! More wind!’ like I’m supposed to summon a hurricane with my mind”—and we both crack up. He wipes tears from the corners of his eyes, still giggling.
“Okay, okay,” Taron says, catching his breath. “But seriously, Kaleb… I had an idea. My best friend Robbie? He’s the one who basically forced me to come here in the first place. He’s dying to visit. Would it be okay if I invited him for a night? Maybe two? And…” He turns those big eyes on me, hopeful. “Could you maybe take us camping? Like we did last night? Show him the real woods?”
I don’t even have to think.
“Course. Be great,” I answer. “Plenty of room in the truck. Racer will love the extra company.”
His face lights up like the Fourth of July. “Really? You’re the best!”
Before I can answer, he leans over and plants a quick, soft kiss on my cheek. His lips are warm, smelling faintly of the cider he’s been sipping. Then he’s sliding out of the booth, bouncing toward the pinball machine in the corner like a kid who just got permission to stay up late.
I watch him go—his magnificent dump truck of a booty flexing in his light blue jeans—and feel that familiar tug in my chest. And my cock twitches too. I don’t know how long I can go before taking things to the next level. Taron is doing things to me that I barely believed were possible.
Trask waits exactly three seconds after he’s out of earshot.
“Jesus, man,” Trask says, low and amused. “You look at him like he hung the moon in the sky.”
I grunt, take a long pull from my beer. But I don’t deny it.
My buddy leans in, elbows on the scarred table. “Time for thinking’s over, Kaleb. You’ve been chewing on this for days. He’s not just passing through anymore. He’s talking about bringing his best friend. Asking you to take them camping. That’s not vacation behavior. That’s nesting behavior.”
I stare at the label on my bottle, peeling the corner with my thumbnail.
“He kissed you on the cheek in front of half the town,” Trask continues. “And you didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. You leaned into it. You’regone, brother. Hopelessly gone.”
I exhale through my nose. “Yeah.”
Trask waits.
I set the bottle down. Look at him square. “I’m falling for him. Hard. Deeper than I thought possible.”
He nods, slow. “And?”
“And I’m done pretending it’s temporary. Done pretending I can just enjoy it while it lasts.” My voice drops. “I want him. For good.Forever.”
Trask’s grin spreads slow and wide. “There he is.”
Across the room, Taron’s at the pinball machine now, hips bumping the side as he racks up points, laughing every time the ball pings off a bumper. The neon lights flash across his face—pink, blue, gold. He glances back at me, catches my eye, and waves like I’m the only person in the room.
My chest aches in the best way.