“I didn’t do anything.”
“Yes, you did. I spoke with Brent,so cut the bullshit. When you called her back to Dallas, you acted like youdidn’t give a shit about her mother.”
He starts toward his bedroom, butI step in his way and put my arm out to block him from the door.
“Get out of my way.”
“That day when you were trying onclothes and said that awful crap to Darren about not being able to afford thatshirt, and then you bought it for him.”
“He needed a shirt. I got him oneI knew would look good on him. That was it.”
“I’m having a hard time believingthat’s all it was. You act so fucking miserable and distant and cold…and likean asshole. But—”
“I’m sorry that Brent misinformedyou, but what you see right now is the real me. That dickhead that everyonetalks about—the shit that I spend every day trying to convince people isn’ttrue—that’s who I really am. That’s who I’ve always been, whether you want tobelieve it or not.”
“Really? Because I’m starting tothink it’s all a fucking lie. That’s all you are. A liar.”
I step toward him, and he backsaway slowly, not looking me in the eyes. “You don’t know me.”
“What is this game you’re playing,Tad? What do you think will happen if people see beyond all this shit that youtry to put out like it’s all you are? Why can’t you be more than some conceitedasshole? What do you think will happen?”
“I don’t know.”
His words are his admission. Hefinally looks at me, and I see hurt. Sadness. Like when he was telling me abouthis mother.
“I think you’re scared as hell of showingpeople that you have a heart…that you care…that you can be vulnerable, becauseyou think life is just another fucking game. You’ve got it into your dumb brainthat you can’t show fear to your opponents or teammates…that it’s your job toalways be strong and tough and look like some kind of machine, and you neverlet anyone see that there’s a person in there. But there is. Why would you wantto live like that? Why would you want to live every day feeling like you can’tbe honest or open with anyone? Why keep pretending?”
“Really?” he asks. “You got as faras you did with your theory, but you can’t take it further than that? Can’t yousee? You know how life works. You told me about your foster parents. You letpeople close, and they hurt you. They disappoint you. Why not skip all thepretense? And the pain, so they can just hate you from the get-go?”
“How is that a way to be happy?”
“How does the guy who tied a beltaround his neck and planned to end his life have any right to judge me?” hepractically spits his words at me. He might as well have slugged me in theface. Only that would have been less painful than his words. To throw such a painfulmemory back at me is cruel. Sadistic, even, and I can tell by the look on hisface that he doesn’t care how much he hurt me.
But then he charges me. He shovesme back against the wall and presses his lips against mine like he’sapologizing for the blow. As angry as I am with him, I just kiss back. Becausehe isn’t wrong. I’m not better than he is. I don’t have a right to judge himfor the life he’s chosen to live, and right now, I feel like we’ve beaten on eachother’s pain to the point where we both need relief.
His kiss relieves the tension inmy muscles. I cup my hand behind his neck and pull him close, my own apologyfor our fight.
“Let’s just have tonight,” hesays. “Let’s just pretend none of this terrible shit is real and that it’s justus.”
“Tad—”
He kisses me again. I guess toshut me up.
He unbuttons my shirt, furiouslyas ever, and he kisses down my body as he continues unbuttoning it likeremoving my shirt is taking too long, and he needs to enjoy my flesh now. Helicks and kisses, and it feels so good to feel his affection on me.
I pull a condom and packet of lubeout of my back pocket. I keep them there since we have too many experienceswhere we need to be prepared, so I try to make sure we always are now.
He unfastens my belt and lowers mypants swiftly so that soon he’s squatting and sucking on my dick, offering mean intense relief that fills me with ease.
He wraps his hands around my asscheeks and engulfs as much of my cock as he can, gagging on it as he works in arhythm and brings one of his hands in to join his efforts. I remove my jacketand shirt, toss them aside, and kick off my shoes while he continues working toplease me.
“God, you’re so good at that,” Isay. It reminds me of the discipline he’s acquired through his training.
He stands, abandoning my dick. Removinghis pants, he kicks off his shoes. He quickly raises his shirt over his headand kisses me. Our hard cocks stroke side-by-side against each other’spelvises. I wrap my arms around him and cling to him tightly. Too tightly. In away that surely he must be silently mocking because it’s the way I imagine ateenager would hold another.
Close. Filled with desperation.Like he’s the only person I believe I could ever possibly be with.
I can’t help myself because Idon’t know any other way to be with a guy that I’ve been fucking for as long aswe have. The way he holds me assures me that I’m not doing anything wrong. Ipush him back to the kitchen island and he stops kissing me. He turns to theisland and plants his arms against it.
