Him
: Chapter 13

There are a million cars outside Lou’s because the place shares a parking lot with a Dairy Queen. We park on the road and walk through the cricket-filled darkness to the decently sized roadside bar.

Lou’s has an Adirondack theme, and they’re working it pretty hard. The requisite old wooden paddles hang from the paneled walls. An inverted canoe is suspended on hooks from the ceiling. The drink specials are named for nearby peaks.

Of course they are.

“Okay, so you’ll have the Nippletop, and I’ll have the Dix Mountain.” Wes is already enjoying himself.

“Dude, if the Nippletop has peach schnapps in it, I will hurt you.”

He grins, and it’s wicked. “How do you feel about elderflower vodka?”

“Not funny.” I wave down the bartender. “I’ll have a Saranac IPA. Thanks.”

Wes flips the drink menu onto the bar. “Make that two, please.” He puts a twenty down, and when I reach for my wallet, he waves me off. “I’ll get these.”

We take our beers to a high table, both of us doing a little people watching. I don’t see any girls I want to chat up, but that’s fine because that’s not what I came here for, anyway.

Wes fishes his phone out of his pocket. “Should have shut this thing off,” he says. Then he squints at the screen.

“What?”

“It’s a Brandr notification. Somebody’s trying to chat me. And it says ‘less than 100 feet away.’”

I almost choke on a swallow of my beer. “Some guy in here?” Then I’m swiveling my head in every direction, wondering who it is.

Wes kicks me under the table. “Cut that out.”

But it’s too late. At the far end of the room, there’s a guy in a Fugees T-shirt looking this way. He’s watching me. Then he smiles.

“Oh, fuck,” I hiss out.

Wes is laughing. “Dude, you just picked up a guy.”

“What?” I’m sweating now. And I can’t beat the crap out of my best friend because the guy has almost reached our table.

“Hey,” he says, giving me a grin. Then he looks at Wes. “Wait.” He chuckles. “Which of you…?”

Oh my fucking God.

“It’s my profile,” Wes says, and I can tell he’s trying very hard not to bust a gut. “You like?”

“You fishing for compliments?” The guy winks. He’s a few years older than us, with dark, shiny hair. “I need another beer. Can I buy a round?”

“I’m good,” I say quickly.

“One for you, then,” he says, pointing at Wes. Then he slips away to the bar.

When he’s gone, Wes puts his face in his hands and laughs. “Jesus, the look on your face!”

Ugh. “Why did he think it was me, anyway?”

“My face isn’t in my profile pic.” Wes can hardly speak for laughing.

I realize something. “You didn’t show me your profile.”

“No kidding,” he says, getting a hold of himself finally. “Not showing you that.”

“Why?” When he shrugs, I suddenly wonder if… “Is it a dick pic?”

Another burst of laughter shudders out of his mouth. “Abs,” he croaks. “It’s my abs.”

Of course it is.

Wes’s new “friend” drifts back to our table, sliding a bottle in front of Wes, who’s barely made a dent in his current one. We spend the next few minutes chatting. Well, they chat. I just listen, feeling uneasy. There’s something kinda…sleazy about the whole thing, about this guy, but maybe I’m just grumpy. I wanted to hang out with my best friend tonight, not watch him eye-fuck some other dude.

“I teach second grade at the public school,” the guy’s telling Wes. His name is Sam, and it’s a little hard to hate him now that I know he works with kids. He seems decent. And he’s really good-looking. Not Wes good-looking or anything, but—Jesus. Am I seriously sitting here comparing the level of attractiveness of the two guys beside me?

I take a deep gulp of my beer. Screw it. If I’m going to be the third wheel tonight, I might as well get wasted.

“Pool table’s available,” Sam says, gazing across the room. “You guys up for a game?”

“Sure,” Wes answers for us, and I swallow down my irritation with another swig of beer.

“I’ll just watch,” I mutter as we reach the table. “Not in the mood to shoot pool.”

Wes eyes me for a moment. “All right.”

Sam racks the balls and flashes Wes a grin. “Looks like it’s you and me. For the sake of full disclosure, I’m about to kick your ass.”

This guy doesn’t know Wes, though. I used to watch my buddy hustle every unsuspecting sap who’d ever challenged him to a game.

Wes smiles sheepishly. “Yeah, you might be right about that. I’m not very good.”

I stifle a snort.

“You want me to break?” Sam offers.

Wes nods. His gaze meets mine briefly, and I see the twinkle in his eye before he turns away.

I lean against the wood-paneled wall as Sam bends over at the far end of the table, the pool cue positioned skillfully in his hands. His opening shot sends the balls scattering in a dizzying whirl, but he only lands one—solid red in the side pocket. He sticks with solids, sinking one more before missing the next shot.

Wes is up. He studies the table with a frown, as if he can’t decide which shot to take. Bullshit. Like his shrewd brain hasn’t already planned out every single shot all the way up to the sinking of the eight ball.

Sam sidles up to him, lightly resting his hand on Wes’s shoulder.

I narrow my eyes. Handsy motherfucker, ain’t he?

“Go for the eleven,” Sam advises. “Corner pocket.”

Wes bites his lip. “I was thinking the thirteen.” Which would require a combo shot that would make even the most advanced billiards players sweat.

Sam chuckles. “That might be a bit too difficult considering you’re not—”

Wes takes the shot before Sam can finish the sentence. He sinks the thirteen. And the nine. And the twelve. In one impressive combo that makes Sam’s jaw hit the floor.

I can’t help it. I start to laugh.

“You’re not very good, huh?” Sam sighs heavily.

Wes’s mouth twitches. “I may have underplayed my level of proficiency.”

A part of me hopes Sam is one of those sensitive egomaniacs who can’t handle losing, but Mr. I-Teach-Second-Grade seems delighted by Wes’s awesomeness. He simply stands there and whistles as my buddy circles the table like the pool shark he is, even breaking out in applause after Wes cleans the table without once letting Sam take another shot.

Sam accepts his defeat by chugging the rest of his beer, then slamming the empty bottle on the ledge behind the pool table. “Another one?” he asks Wes.

Wes glances at me as if to check if I’m cool with it. I just shrug. I know there’s no prying Sam away from Wes right now. He’s too fucking enamored with my buddy.

They play another game.

I order another beer.

They play a third game.

I order a third beer.

The drunker I get, the handsier they get. Sam’s palm grazes the small of Wes’s back as he leans in to line up his next shot. Wes glances over his shoulder and winks at Sam, his gray eyes gleaming.

Eventually I wander back to the table, alcohol buzzing in my bloodstream as annoyance builds in my gut. Fuck this Sam guy. I take it back—he’s not decent. He seems to have no problem monopolizing my best friend’s time. Doesn’t even give a shit that they’re both ignoring me.

And he won’t stop touching Wes.

My fingers curl around the beer bottle. When Sam steps closer to Wes and whispers something in his ear, my knuckles turn white as my grip tightens. Is he asking Wes if he wants to get out of here? Telling him how much he wants to screw him right now? Offering to blow him in the bathroom?

I drain the rest of my beer. Yeah, I’m buzzing hard now. And the alcohol has done something to my brain. Short-circuited it somehow, flooded it with memories I don’t usually allow to surface.

The soundtrack of that last day at camp four years ago runs through my mind.

“What are you waiting for, Ryan? Suck it already.”

“Fuck, Wes, you’re making me come.”

It bothers me that I remember every word I said to him. I’ve been on the receiving end of some pretty phenomenal blowjobs these past four years, but can I tell you what was said during them? Can I repeat, verbatim, every single word I uttered to those chicks? To Holly? Every dirty command that left my mouth?

No, I can’t.

My gaze shifts back to the pool table, locking on Wes’s mouth. My dick stirs, remembering that mouth wrapped around it.

Shit, maybe I’m more drunk than buzzed.

Sam and Wes’s laughter wafts toward me. Looks like Sam finally won a game, and knowing Wes, he’s taunting the guy about it being a fluke. Or hell, maybe Wes let him win. Maybe he decided to throw the guy a bone before he…throws the guy a bone.

My chest goes rigid. The thought of Wes hooking up with someone tonight pisses me off.

Jealous? a little voice mocks.

Screw that. I’m not fucking jealous. I don’t care what Wes does—or who he does—but we were supposed to hang out tonight. Me and him. Not him and some random guy he met through a hook-up app.

I abruptly hop off my stool and make my way back to the pool table. They’re not even playing anymore, just standing close together, chuckling about something. Sam’s hand rests on Wes’s hip. A casual gesture. Light, harmless.

But it sparks resentment in my gut. Why the hell is he touching him? He doesn’t even know him. Presumptuous asshole.

“Ready to go?” I raise my voice, because neither of them notices me standing there.

Wes blinks. “Now?”

I answer through clenched teeth. “Yes. I want to take off.” I can’t help but offer a cool look. “You’re my ride, remember?”

Wariness floats through his expression. Then he gives a quick nod and turns to Sam. “Thanks for the games, man. Looks like we’re taking off now.”

The other guy’s disappointment is impossible to miss. He glances at me, then back at Wes. “Uh, yeah…sure. Let me just grab your number before you go?”

Asshole.

I grind my molars as I watch them exchange numbers. Well then. I guess they’re going to meet up again. So much for getting to spend the summer reconnecting with my best friend.

Wes doesn’t say anything as we head for the exit. The music in the bar had been too loud to hear what was happening outside, but when we step out the door, we replace ourselves in the middle of a torrential downpour.

A cold gust of rain slaps me in the face, soaking my clothes in seconds. “Shit. Run to the car?” I shout over the deafening pounding of the rain hitting the pavement.

Wes stays put. His expression is as thunderous as the weather. “What the hell was that?”

I can barely hear him over the wind and rain. “What?”

“You acted like a total douchecanoe in there.” Then he stalks away, his boots splashing the puddles forming on the asphalt.

The little awning spanning the side of the building does nothing to protect us from the rain. Our clothes are plastered to our bodies. Water clings to my hair and drips down my face as I hurry after him.

“I was the one acting like a douchecanoe?” I yell after him.

He stops, spins around to face me. “Yes. Jesus, dude, the way you treated that guy, you’d think he was carrying the Ebola virus.”

“Maybe I just didn’t appreciate the way he was pawing you right in front of me!” I shoot back.

Wes’s mouth falls open. “What?”

My mouth slams shut. Jesus fuck. Why did I say that?

“I mean…” I swallow. “It was rude.”

Wes stares at me. Droplets run down his chiseled face, catching in the beard growth shadowing his jaw. His lips are slightly parted. I can’t stop looking at them.

“What is happening right now?” he asks slowly.

Misery lodges in my throat. I don’t know. I honestly don’t know what’s happening. The rain falls harder. A flash of lightning slices through the black sky. I should be cold, but I’m not. My body feels like a furnace. Three beers shouldn’t be having this effect on me.

Maybe it’s him? Maybe he’s making me hot?

Wes’s tongue darts out to lick at the raindrops on his bottom lip, and I catch a glimpse of his tongue ring. It wasn’t there when we were eighteen. It wasn’t there when his tongue had circled the head of my cock the night he gave me the best BJ of my life.

And there it is.

Ryan Wesley had given me the best BJ of my life.

“Canning…” He trails off, watching me again. He looks uneasy, but…there’s something else in his gaze. A flicker of confusion. A hint of interest.

I take a step closer, but I’m not sure why. My heart is pounding harder than the rain. My eyes are glued to his mouth.

“Jamie.” A note of warning this time.

I suck a gulpful of oxygen into my lungs.

Then I ignore the warning.

His eyes widen as I shove my fingers through his hair and tug his head closer. “What—”

He doesn’t get to finish that sentence, because I’m smashing my mouth against his.