At the exotic fruit stand—did they fly it in from some small Hawaiian farm to this little, local farmers’ market?It was messing with his definition of “local”—Sam was looking at pineapples when he felt Ian just behind his shoulder.Ian’s hip nudged Sam’s ass, and his hand landed on Sam’s biceps, then made a slow trip down his arm, his thumb tickling Sam’s palm for a split-second before he whispered throatily in Sam’s ear, “Why don’t you let me carry that bag?”
Apparently, covert touching was okay.Sam heartily supported that.
At the weird knickknacky stand that sold just ...stuff, Ian cornered him in the back of the stall, behind some kind of concealing sculptural object.He placed a hand on the small of Sam’s back, slipping a couple fingers into his waistband and teasing the skin just above the crack of his ass.“What do you think of that?”he asked Sam in a low voice, breath brushing the nape of his neck.
Sam tried to focus on some strange sculptural thing.“What is it?”It was made out of cut-up plastic soda bottles.Maybe.
“I don’t know,” Ian murmured, leaning in close enough to nip his skin.“Does it matter?”
“No,” Sam whispered, trying not to melt.
Ian chuckled and withdrew his hand, leaving Sam feeling flushed and dizzy.
Guh.Who knew shopping could be foreplay?
By the time they were done buying all of Ian’s fruits and vegetables (how many could he eat in a week?), Sam was abuzz.Drunk on Ian and on being with Ian in public—a straight-people-abound public—and on being touched by Ian.His skin was fairly humming with the possibility of being touched more—their little gay sex secret, surrounded by all those ignorant straight people.
It was possibly pathetic, but he’d never been on this kind of date.He and his first boyfriend Bryce had dated much like prey animals on the African savannah must—amidst a vast herd of their kind, hoping the cheetahs would find someone weaker to pick on.They’d never ventured out to the waterhole alone.
Marley had never taken him on a date, or vice versa.Unless visiting Marley’s pot dealer counted as a date.That guy was straight, and as far as Sam could figure, 90 percent of his clientele was equally hetero.Not that he’d gone there with Marley much, just a couple of times in the beginning.Marley had called him a “drag” because he wouldn’t smoke up with them, and he never wanted to hang out.Sam hadn’t understood why they needed to hang out and offer to smoke some of the marijuana with the dealer from whom Marley had just bought it.
That question had earned him a lecture on the etiquette of buying drugs.That had been Sam’s last trip to the dealer’s house.
An errant Frisbee hit Sam in the chest, bringing him back to the present with Ian.It dropped onto the path at his feet, and Ian laughed.
“Still thinking about nothing?”he teased, bending to pick up the Frisbee.Sam watched his shirt ride up just enough to show a brief slice of skin.Yummy.
Focus.“That thing just hit me,” Sam said, tuning in to what was going on outside of Ian’s pants.
Ian stood up, smiling.“Yeah, it did, kiddo.I better figure out who this belongs to.You want to keep heading back to the truck, and I’ll catch up?”
They were standing in the middle of the walking path, a large sloping stretch of grass to their right and the river to their left.It was a nice day, so people were around, but not too many.“I’ll wait,” Sam said.
Ian nodded, looking uphill at a guy jogging toward them.“That must be the owner of the Frisbee, anyway.”The dude had on sandals and shorts, and a dog with a bandana around its neck trotted in front of him.Your standard Frisbee-playing neo-hippie.
“Hey, you wanna play, man?”he yelled at Ian.
Did people just do that?Ask strange men to play Frisbee?No one had ever asked Sam.He turned back to Ian and realized why—Ian looked like the kind of guy who might toss things around for fun in a park on a nice day.Sam probably looked like the kind of guy who couldn’t catch.He sighed.
“You care?”Ian asked, looking like a hopeful little boy.
That little boy look would get Ian far.Sam shrugged and smiled.“It’s fine with me.”He found a bench to sit on and watched while Ian jogged over to the guy.Then he had the entirely novel experience of watching his completely hot ...well, the completely hot guy who was doing him play catch in the park.
It was surreal and quickly got Sam to the point where he was fantasizing about chasing Ian down like a Frisbee and tackling him, ripping open his fly and reaching into his bulging briefs to wrap fingers around—
“Well, if it isn’t Sam, sitting in the park watching all the sexy boys who’ll never give him a second look.”
Sam closed his eyes.Un-fucking-real.He knew that voice coming from the path behind him very well.Maybe if he pretended to be deaf, Marley would just go away.
“Hey, Sam, I know ya can hear me, you skinny little fuck,” Marley slurred.
Sam dug his phone out of his pocket and checked it, carefully ignoring Marley.Just after one in the afternoon, and Marley was drunk.Some things never changed.Had he ever sobered up in the past two years?
Marley snuffled closer, blowing foul breath over Sam’s shoulder.Ugh.How could he have forgotten that Marley was a dedicated mouth-breather?And sheesh, his hygiene had gone downhill precipitously.Sam held his breath; it helped with both the stench and the not-speaking thing.
“You ’noring me, Sammy-boy?”Marley asked, his tone edging into menace.“Can’t have that.”He came around the end of the bench and sat too damn close to Sam, right up against his thigh.Sam’s skin tried to crawl away, even with the layer of denim between them.
He checked Marley out in his peripheral vision.Oh God, he was even fatter and sloppier.Sam could see a slice of skin where Marley’s shirt rode up over his expanded beer gut, and it was so completely the opposite of the skin he’d spied on Ian.
