I put my hand over his mouth. “He’s lying Uncle Daddy.” Did Johnny’s lips just pucker against my palm? The fuck? Shaking my head, I ignote Johnny’s stupid lips and focus on the task at hand. “Hesaid he’s gonna fuck me raw in your boat. We’re going to bust fat loads in the lake, sir.” When I pull my hand away, Johnny gapes at me, and the old man glares at him, his knuckles tightening around his pen.
“If you even think of ejaculating on these open waters, I'm coming in after you, and I'm coming in hot.”
“Promises, promises,” I sing-song, because life is a show, darling.
Johnny sighs and shakes his head. “I wouldn’t fuck him with your dick, bro,” he tells the man, but he doesn’t sound all that convincing, but maybe that’s just unwishful thinking on my part. “And I ain’t planning on doing none of that. I’m just here to fish with my best bro.”
“You’ll be fishing in the lake of fire with Satan himself if you don’t watch that dirty, deviant mouth of yours.” As he rants and raves about the youth of today, Johnny turns to walk away, heading toward a dock. There are two boats, one on each side of the pier.
Johnny Boyd may be the most annoying man on God’s green Earth, but that ass is a gift from the big guy himself, probably as an apology to the gays for all the hate we have thrown our way.
I follow him a few steps before calling out, “Johnny.”
He stops mid stride and looks over his shoulder. “Yeah?”
I fold my arms over my chest because my hands are shaking a little, and I don’t want him to see me rattled. “About earlier. I just wanted to say I’m really sorry.”
He blinks at me before turning and heading toward the lake, calling out, “Whatever, bro. Go see if Bubba needs help,” without looking back. Fucking rude, but okay. More time alone with Bubba means more time tainting his perception of Johnny, so I rush back up the hill, to the truck. I make it just in time to find Bubba slinging a backpack over his shoulder, carrying a toolbox in his other hand.
“What’s in the bag?” I ask.
Bubba adjusts the backpack strap on his arm. “A few beers. The sunblock Johnny bought when we stopped at Walmart on the way.” He bridges the distance separating us and traces the curve of my lower lip with this thumb. “I grabbed some snacks after you decided to come.” He stares past me, probably looking at Johnny. “Did everything go okay? He seems pissed.”
“How can you tell? He’s nowhere near us.”
“His shoulders. They’re usually slumped because of his shitty posture, but they look like squares right now.”
I look over my shoulder, and sure enough, Johnny’s shoulders are squared, and his arms jolt and jerk as he tugs the rope tethering a small boat to the dock. As he works, my eyes drift down to his ass again.
Fuck.
I shouldn’t be looking at him like this, but I can’t help it. It’s been over a year since I’ve had sex, and even with my daily casual masturbation around those I love most, it’s not enough. I’ve never even entertained the thought of topping, but with an ass like that, it puts new, scary thoughts in my head. Thoughts of bending over a Johnny lookalike—because this version of Johnny is the absolute worst—and dragging my tongue up his crack.
Bubba’s hand caresses my ass from behind, and God help me, I don’t push him away. Instead, I arch my back, seeking more connection.
“I know, baby,” he whispers into my ear. “He has a beautiful ass.”
Swallowing, I slowly nod, unable to lie. “I hate him.”
“I know you pretend like you do,” he says, squeezing and releasing my cheek in a calming, repetitive cycle. “But I promise, if you just give him a chance, we could be happy, Ezra. If you can’t bring yourself to love him the way I know you can, can you please, please be a little nicer to him?”
“Absolutely not.” I just stare at him, confused. “We are at war here.”
“That’s exactly what this is. A war. And you just beat a man as he lay dying.” His hand cups my cheek, and though his touch normally makes me feel all warm and fuzzy, now I just feel cold, and maybe a little embarrassed. “I should have said something while he was still in front of us. I should have stuck up for him. Ezra, you’re my world, but you were dead wrong just now.”
“I …” I don’t have words. None big enough to ease his troubled heart. I talk a lot of shit, but Bubba is a good man with a kind heart, and washboard abs with ridges so deep, you could go camping in the valleys between them. In my heart, I know he must be right, because he’s not an unfair man. If anything, I feel for Johnny sometimes, because I’m shiny and new, so I soak up a lot of Bubba’s attention. I want Johnny gone, but sometimes I don’t. Sometimes he’s not so bad. So, if Bubba’s telling me I went too far, I know I must’ve, and I know I need to make it right. I just hope my bad behavior won’t make Bubba like me any less. When his arms tighten around me, I know it’s the silliest thought I could ever think. He loves me. He’s said it so many times.
Scared and sad, but still a little hopeful, I place my hand on top of his, holding him against me. I like Bubba. More than I should, probably. Definitely more than I let on. For everyone else, I can see love stories unfold before they’ve ever been written. I can peek down fate’s corridor, seeing things days, weeks, and sometimes even months off. Despite many attempts, my spirit guide, Barbara, refuses to give me any form of guidance on how to handle things with Bubba and Johnny. I don’t get any warm, tingly feelings like I do when I’m giving a client a reading on OnlyFans. She doesn’t tiptoe through my heart, tugging at its strings to indicate I’m making the right choice by opening up to Bubba. I’ve repeatedly asked her why she’s been so uselesswhen it comes to matters of my heart, but she just laughs softly like it’s the silliest question she’s ever heard.
“I don’t want him. Not like that.” Slowly, I turn, but his arms never unhook from around me. We’re chest to chest, me looking up, him looking down, our eyes locked. “But I’ll try to be nicer.” Swallowing, I look away. “For you.”
In an act that would normally send my palm connecting with his cheek, Bubba leans down and kisses my forehead. “That’s all I’m asking for.” He tickles my chin. “Would it bother you if I said I want to fuck him?”
“You do?”
He nods. “And I want to fuck you.” His nose brushes against mine, and he leaves a trail of kisses up my jaw. “You’ll deny it until the end of time, but I know you want me to pick you. I know you both want me to choose between you, but I don’t think I can.” Our foreheads touch, and he closes his eyes, like looking at me too long is making him nervous. I don’t want him to be nervous. Not about this. “I love you, Ezra. I’m in love with you.” My heart is thundering, but the storm clears just as quickly as it arrived when he adds, “But I’ve loved him longer. I’ve loved him without knowing I love him for years. He hurt me when he ran away, but I should’ve held on, because I knew he’d be back, but then …”
“But then you met me.”
