Page 31 of Temptation On Ice

In the community? What does that even mean? I guess that Tucker’s saying they’re from the same community, as in the gay community.

“So…what is your type?” I ask curiously.

Tucker looks down shyly, rubbing the back of his head and smiling softly before he answers with the red spreading down his neck and to the tips of his ears now.

“I like ‘em a little thicker, I guess. Less—” he makes a hand motion by his head, “—fast-talking and scattered. Someone who’d enjoy it out here, maybe fish, and hang out with me quietly. But I’m not too worried about that.” His explanation sounds oddly specific and reminiscent of the evening we spent together last night.

Am I more Tucker’s type than Callum? Callum seemed to think so when he was warning me off.

“So you’re gay?” I ask, wanting to be certain we’re on the same page and I’m not reading into things.

“Yeah, I am,” he says, looking oddly insecure.

“Oh.”

Holyshitmotherfucker he’s gay? He’s gay! Oh my God, he’s gay. Should I be happy about this? My dick is feeling some kind of way about it, as it twitches in my pants, that’s for sure. I cuddled him, and it felt good. Should I have liked it as much as I did? Now that I know he’s gay, does that change anything for me? I have no fucking idea. My head is spinning.

“Surprised?”

“I guess. Not that it’s bad, just not what I expected with everything else.” I gesture at his torso, which I just now realize is shirtless and massive, his broad shoulders widening as he straightens under my perusal. His dark sleeve of tattoos down one arm is fully on display, while I’m just noticing a shoulder tattoo on the other arm. He doesn’t have a defined six-pack or muscles for days, but you can see the strength in his body, regardless. I notice a faded, puckered scar on his lower abdomen above the waistband of his jeans. My stomach tightens. How does someone get a scar like that?

He laughs. “I can be a good ol’ Georgia boy, like being out in the woods, doing all the manly stuff, and still like men. So I guess there are stereotypes, but there are plenty of people who break them.” He pauses and crosses his arms over his chest, rolling his shoulders in and shifting on his bare feet like he’s not sure what to say next. “You don’t have to stay if that makes you uncomfortable.” He’s looking at the floor as he says it, and I hate that he feels like he can’t look me in the eye now.

“I’m not uncomfortable,” I insist, raising a hand to my chest for emphasis, not sure why it makes me defensive that he would call me out for any discomfort I could feel about this new knowledge regarding his sexual orientation. I’m not homophobic. Everyone should have the right to love who they want without interference. It doesn't bother me at all. I have gay friends, like Knox, Ryder’s husband, and Ryder himself, who’s proudly bi. And I obviously like this news for selfish reasons, even if I haven't quite figured that out yet.

“You sure look uncomfortable,” Tucker remarks, carefully keeping his face neutral. His arms are still across his chest, and I get the feeling he’s using them as a physical barrier against any hatred that could come from me. I don't want him to feel like that.

I cross the kitchen to show him I mean every word, standing in front of him so he has to look at me.

“Just getting used to new information, but I’m not uncomfortable,” I insist.

“You won't hurt my feelings if you don't want to hang out now. I know my way of life isn’t for everyone. I’ve lost enough friends to be used to it by now.” Tucker turns his back on me, but I don't miss the flicker of pain that crosses his face before it’s hidden. He returns to the coffeepot and busies himself fixing another cup, even though I notice his first one is abandoned nearby, still full.

“Fuck no, Tucker. You’re not going to push me away because of who you want to love. That’s the stupidest fucking thing I’ve heard. I don't care about that.”

I move around him and settle my hand gently on his shoulder. He freezes under the touch but slowly leans into the support, so I take a little of his weight. Good, I like him leaning on me, for a change, even in such a small way.

“I like being here with you. I can just be myself, and I’m finally able to breathe without feeling like I have to hold up the sky for everyone else. I won't sacrifice that peace for anything, especially not because of something as small as what you do in the bedroom. Just let me stay. You already let me in, I’m not leaving now.”

He looks up at me with a shy smile. “Suit yourself, City Boy.”

Fourteen

Tucker

It’s a grueling hot day, the Georgia heat and humidity heavy like my thoughts about Sebastian even days later as I work with one of our service dogs in an outdoor training yard. That beautiful, big, strong man melted into me and let me hold him when he opened up about his grief, and it’s a double-edged sword. I felt every slice of his pain deep in my bones, reverberating against my own grief, while silently soaring from his trust and the closeness it allowed. He’s bottled up so many feelings and refused to process anything for four years, yet looked at me like I was his safe place and unloaded when our conversation naturally gravitated there. It was a moment I’ll never forget and a trust I won’t take for granted.

“When’s the boyfriend coming back?” Callum asks, bumping me out of my thoughts as he skips out from the barn.

I look over, giving Ruger the command to stay so I can give my attention to the obnoxious, yet lovable menace as he flounces over to me in a white crocheted crop top and lavender shorts that barely hit mid-thigh and show off his shapely legs. His vanity requires him to spend enough time in the gym to keep his physique looking good, which has resulted in an impressive amount of lean muscle despite his penchant for wearing pastels and accessories. Today, he has layers of necklaces at the open neck of his shirt, and a stack of colorful beaded bracelets that jangle as he throws his arm around my neck and swings his legs up so I have to catch him in a cradle carry.

“Callum, you have to stop throwing yourself at me,” I say, dropping his legs and putting him back on his loafered feet. The man is a walking love bomb that always wants to be held. I’m just the wrong target for his affections, and I hope he’ll find someone who appreciates him someday.

“But you’re so big and strong and perfect for catching me, bear daddy,” he says, using the stupidest nickname he’s ever given me.

I’m not a bear or a daddy, I’m just bigger than Callum, and he wants me to be both. I don't ascribe to any particular label in the gay community because I think they’re dumb. Be who you want to be and like who you want to like.

“What do you want now?” I ask, ignoring the name since calling it out will only serve to increase his usage. I release Ruger from his stay and let him run off to play since this is obviously going to take longer than I expected. The happy golden retriever lumbers off to find a ball in a shady spot where he’ll rest until I call him back.