“I don’t buy that.” Cooper unlocked his car and climbed into the driver’s seat. He stabbed at the ignition button, and his car transferred the call to his Bluetooth, Devon’s accusation blaring through the speakers.
“I’m not wrong.”
“I just don’t want to play,” he lied.
Cooper did want to play—more than anything—but he didn’t want to play with just anyone. He’d tried that. Honestly, he’d spent years chasing after partners who could give him the kind of rush he was after, but no one compared to Adam.
And he hated that he compared everyone to Adam, but it was impossible to not. Adam Yates was everything Cooper had ever wanted, and ten years before, they’d crashed and burned in the most spectacular way imaginable. He’d spent months hoping that the discourse between them had only been an immature argument, just words thrown around in the heat of the moment. But Adam had cut him out completely, and Cooper had reacted in kind.
Cooper had given Adam time and space and patience, but nothing had brought him around. He’d done everything short of reaching out, because Cooper understood what it was like to not be wanted. He knew what it meant to have limits, but he didn’t need to be told no more than once, and he wouldn’t put himself in a situation for that to happen. Avoiding Adam, who was part of his core friend group, had proven to be a lot of work, though. They’d run into each other on plenty of occasions over the past decade, but for the most part avoided conversation.
Once, Grant had asked him about what happened, but Cooper didn’t bother to share. He knew Grant and Adam were best friends, and he knew Adam would have already offered his side of things. He knew at least that Adam must have been kind in the storytelling because Grant didn’t cut Cooper out. Instead, Grant stopped talking about Adam, and Cooper appreciated that kindness, so he never brought up what he knew.
But even if he wanted to talk about it, what could he say?
I enjoy submission, but I can’t give up all of the control all of the time because I did that once and…
Cooper sighed, thinking back to the breakup with Adam and back even further to his first serious relationship. At eighteen, Cooper thought he knew nearly everything and he was fairly certain his then boyfriend, Shel, knew the rest. It would take two years and some hard lessons, but Cooper would find out Shel didn’t know anything beyond how to lie, and cheat, and harm.
His past trauma with Shel was the main reason he’d kept quiet years earlier when he’d started to suspect something was going on between Grant and Adam’s son, Wyatt. He’d honestly thought that whatever had been developing between them was a good thing for Grant and probably Wyatt, too, but much like what happened between him and Adam, something went wrong. Wyatt left for college as planned, and as far as Cooper knew, he’d never set foot in town again.
Much like the way Grant didn’t bring up Adam, Cooper didn’t bring up Wyatt.
Apparently that summer had been a disaster for practically everyone.
“Then don’t play,” Devon countered his earlier statement.
“Everyone will be playing.”
“You don’t know that.”
Cooper shifted the car into drive and headed home. “I do know that. It’s why I used to come and why I don’t anymore.”
“Then you can play or you can be the odd man out.” Devon laughed.
“What time?” he sighed.
“Eight.”
“I’m not playing tonight,” he said again, not sure if he wanted to convince Devon or himself.
“Your loss.” He could hear the smile in Devon’s voice. “Don’t forget my present.”
“You’re a brat.”
Devon laughed again, and the call ended with half a syllable of goodbye. As soon as the call disconnected, music pumped through his speakers, and Cooper unrolled his windows, singing along as the cool fall air blew through the car.
Devon had a point.
Cooper had been avoiding the play parties deliberately because he hadn’t wanted to run into Adam. His social life and his sex life had suffered as a result, and the drought had gone on long enough. Besides, Devon’s house was big enough for both of them, and maybe enough time had gone by that he wouldn’t feel that awkward pang in his chest every time he saw Adam. He knew the last part of that thought was unlikely because he felt it every time he’d seen Adam, even on the occasions where they hadn’t exchanged niceties.
The drive home was short because his mind raced with possibilities, and Cooper found himself naked and in the quiet of his bedroom less than ten minutes after he’d left work. He gave himself a judgmental once-over in the mirror, tracing his fingers over the soft auburn scruff on his face, down to the coarse curls on his chest. He wasn’t a bad looking guy. The years had turned him broader than he’d been in his youth, but he was far from stocky. He worked out a couple times a week, mostly trying to maintain the muscle he’d packed on post-breakup with Adam.
He knew he was a good looking guy.
He knew he was a catch.
And most of all, he knew the things he wanted weren’t unreasonable. He didn’t think they’d been unreasonable in the past, either. But Cooper was older now, maybe wiser, and the things that interested him had changed. At least in some respects, not all. There were still things he wouldn’t budge on, and he was strong enough to stick to his guns. That was the main reason he’d never been with anyone seriously after Adam.
