Chapter Five
Darren
Ido as I’d promised, shuffling down the hall a few times to check on Jake, careful not to stare too long once I’m sure he’s breathing and reasonably comfortable in a bed that must be at least as stupidly luxurious as the one he’s allowed me to use for the night. His sheets and duvet are two shades of dark blue, and Jake and his boxers are mostly buried beneath them and the darkness. Still, moonlight has been invited in by curtains left open, and it kisses his gray hair until the sun starts to rise.
But again, I’m not staring, quick enough about each visit to fall back asleep more easily than I think I should.
And a little more deeply each time.
Eventually, when I open my eyes again, I can tell it’s late morning, everything about it familiar to me even in an unfamiliar place. I’m hard, but I only bother with a few lazy strokes over Jake’s shorts before I realize it’s been too long since my last visitto his bedroom. Willing my body to relax, I sit up and rub a hand over my face and force myself out of a sleepy daze I usually enjoy for a while. Then I stand, the carpet thick beneath my bare feet. I should probably take a minute to pee first, but my first steps carry me toward Jake instead, and I don’t feel like going anywhere else.
His door remains cracked open, just as I’d left it a few hours ago, but nothing else is the same after that. His bed is perfectly made, and the silence is too loud.
I’m not sure why I expected him to be asleep when most people aren’t on my strange schedule, except that Jake was up as late as I was, and his body must have screamed at him to rest. And really, I think I just wanted him to be right here, within reach.
The next moment has me turning toward his bathroom, my stomach upside down before I’ve even fully imagined how he might’ve passed out there, but it’s empty, too. I take another couple of seconds to clock the subtle scent of coffee from downstairs, and then I imagine him under a pile of expensive blankets while he sips from a favorite mug. That would be fine, of course, but when I see a piece of paper tucked beneath the corner of a decorative pillow, I know he’s not home at all.
Had to take care of a few things at work. Yes, I can see just fine. No, I’m not bleeding out. Help yourself to whatever you want and don’t rush to leave. And maybe you don’t need the ego boost, but thank you for being a damn good bartender.
I read the note again, and I can’t tell whether I’m worried, angry, hurt, or disappointed that he left with no other goodbye and is too far away for me to give him shit about it. I read it a thirdtime and smile at a compliment that sounds grouchy somehow. Jake really shouldn’t be moving around as much as he is, but he knows that as well as I do. And he’s got some kind of businessy hospital administration job, so I assume he can find help from a doctor if he figures out how to ask for it.
As soon as the note and I are back in the guest room, I pick up my phone to say so.
“I wondered whether I’d get this call,” Jake grumbles.
“Good morning to you, too. Or should I drop thegoodpart of that because your body’s busy reminding you of how stupid it was to leave the house today?”
“Maybe you should drop themorningpart because it’s barely that anymore.”
I chuckle. “Well, it’s a relief to know nothing has changed after last night.”
“Nothing?”
“Not this. Not us,” I say. “And yes, of course you got this call. Please tell me you’ve sought some kind of professional medical attention.”
There’s an audible breath or two and then the slam of a car door before Jake answers. Sort of. “I’m leaving here now. Be home soon.”
I don't know which hospital Jake works at, so I’m not sure whatsoonmeans, but he’s gone before I can ask, and I wasn’t planning to stay on the phone all day anyway. With at least some time to myself, and Jake’s word that I don’t need to leave right away, I finally make it into the bathroom to pee and brush myteeth, following that up with a hot shower. It feels exactly as good as I expect it to, but I end it before I can wonder what would happen if Jake walked in on me. Apart from any idle curiosity, I’ve never actually fantasized about him, and even after last night, I’m not sure it’s the best time to start.
I’m perfectly reckless about the sex I have, and unapologetic about it as long as I’m not stupid, but eventhinkingabout fucking Jake might require caution I rarely exercise. He doesn’t want me biting my tongue, but I should at least keep my hand off my dick for another minute or two.
I grab a neatly folded towel from the rack and dry myself quickly, and then I dig around under the sink until I find a plastic bag I can use to carry my briefs and socks home. With that in hand, I return to the bedroom and opt to pull my jeans over my bare ass before leaving Jake’s shorts on a bed I make because it feels like the right thing to do. I've barely worn my t-shirt, so it's fine to throw on now, and I do that before I comb my fingers through my hair and leave the rest behind. Mostly awake but in need of coffee, I make my way downstairs, and sort of stumble at the sight of things I’d missed last night, too focused on my need to take care of Jake.
His house is stunning, obviously. I’d known that much from the moment he steered me toward this neighborhood, and confirmed it easily before coming to a complete stop in his driveway. Even with my attention on Jake, we moved just slowly enough for me to appreciate the balance of stucco, wrought iron, greenery, and the gorgeous terracotta steps that led us to his front door.But inside, I’d noticed little until now.
Barefoot and gentle, I duck in and out of what must be his home office because, even at my nosiest, I’m uninterested in creeping into every space he’s kept private for years. I know I’ll end up in the kitchen, so I pass that for now, and find myself in the dining room instead. My house doesn’t have more than a small area with a table and chairs, but I’m unsurprised that Jake eats at a gorgeous dark wood table, probably walnut and probably custom-made. It’s surrounded by artwork I’d like to study, and a buffet topped with bottles of liquor I’d like to drink. More impressive than any of that is the view, floor to ceiling windows allowing me to take in the backyard I’d admired from above last night.
I think back to Jake’s admission that he hasn’t had anyone here in a long time, and I ache again with the implications of that. It’s not that I don’t believe him when he says he’s not lonely, but I wonder whether he’s carefully carved out some pocket of loneliness here, close enough to reach out and touch before he busies himself with hospitals and Harleys and a few rounds of trivia and a couple of rounds of Guinness. His backyard is designed for more than his solitude, though, no matter how much I’m sure he enjoys the quiet, and I blink hard the moment I imagine myself sharing croissants and coffee with him on side-by-side lounge chairs.
Blinking one more time brings me to the idea of poolside blowjobs and the chance to ride him while the firepit blazes at my back, and I have to press my hand to the front of my jeans forsome quick relief before I step away from the window.
The living room is full of the comfort that seems to be forgotten in many of these multimillion-dollar homes, coziness too often lost to the desire to show off to a bunch of people who have all the same things. I can’t imagine Jake has ever cared enough about bullshit like that, and while I know nothing about his wife, I doubt she was ruled by ego either. There’s an overstuffed couch, loveseat, and recliner surrounding a coffee table stacked with food and home magazines, and the number of throw blankets and pillows reminds me of Beau. I’m drawn past them, though, appreciating the tv mounted above a stunning Spanish-tiled fireplace before I wander close to one of the wide bookcases on either side.
I don’t have time to take note of more than the several architectural design books gathered on one shelf before I hear the garage door and bite back any of the new questions forming on my tongue. I’m not all that concerned with being caught snooping, but I move toward the kitchen, and my first closer look at it since I’d grabbed the Tylenol last night. It’s a little messier than I would’ve expected, except that another glance makes me think it’s a chore Jake must have abandoned for his bike ride, and I smile at an impulsiveness that feels new to me. I think my smile falters when the door from the garage opens to a small hallway just off the kitchen, and I see him for the first time since he’d slept soundly enough for me to do the same. The wall behind him does a good job of holding him up, and it’s probably the nicest possible observation I could offer when pain complicates each new breathhe takes.
“Morning,” I say.
“Afternoon,” he argues back.