Hanging Loose (14 page)

I stopped, out of breath, and because I’d worked myself into such a tizzy, I forgot what I wanted to say next. So I stood there, shaking my finger into his stunned face.

“Nate—”

I didn’t let him finish. “Look, I don’t know where we’ll end up.” I got myself under control. At least I moved my hand out of his face. “I want to go to bed with you every night and wake up next to you in the morning and do boring, everyday things, cuddle on the sofa and watch old movies, and all that stupid shit couples do. And if you can’t love me back, I’ll deal, but if this is all bullshit and you just want to get rid of me, you better come out with it straight, because otherwise, I won’t let you fuck this up.”

Jez stared at me stupefied, flushed, and blinking like a stunned deer in headlights. Then the tension visibly drained from him, and a wide, silly-happy grin spread across his face. He reached out and tugged me close and kissed me, all tongue and teeth. We came up gasping for air like a couple of divers who’d gone too deep, surfaced too fast, but were finally free of all that crushing pressure.

“How could I not love you?” Jez said breathily. “It’s not like I ever had any choice in the matter.”

I wanted to cry from relief, happiness, or just for the sake of it. I leaned my forehead against his. “You bastard.”

“I’m sorry.” Jez sounded regretful.

“Don’t ever make assumptions about me again.”

“I wouldn’t dare. You’re scary when you’re angry. And hot.” He wiggled his pelvis against mine. I realized I was hard. I guess all that adrenaline had to go somewhere.

“I’m still angry,” I said.

“I know how to channel it,” he murmured.

It had to be the adrenaline still coursing through me that made me drag Jez into the bedroom, tearing his clothes off. It didn’t help that he goaded me on with filthy suggestions. Coming from anyone else, it would have sounded like bad porn, but from Jez, it was blood-boiling hot. We thrashed against each other, rubbing, biting, groping. Lube got everywhere, and we didn’t care. When Jez twisted and wriggled onto his knees, ass in the air like an obscene peace offering, I slammed into him too fast and too rough, but he met me and thrust back for every beat. We came, groaning and crying out, collapsing into a debauched heap.

For a long while, neither of us had the strength to speak. We lay there in a sticky, bruised mess like a couple of overripe peaches squeezed one too many times. I had a possessive limb or two across Jez, heedless of the mix of sweat, lube, and cum that glued us together.

“Did I hurt you?” I asked at last, feeling faintly abashed now that all the tension was out of my system.

“Not in a bad way,” he said and squirmed. “But I’ll remember this for days.” The bastard sounded positively pleased with himself. “You know, I used to jack off fantasizing about you.”

“Oh really?” I perked up.

“Oh yeah. Imaginary Joaquin Phoenix is totally upset about it, by the way. You drive me nuts. I’ve never met anyone with such an impossible combination of sexy and shy, and that wacky brain of yours… I never know what you’re thinking. You kept me off-balance, hitting on me and then pulling back.”

“Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay. I get it. But even after you had your way with me”—I snorted at that—“I’ve been waiting for you to change your mind. I wouldn’t blame you if you decided to be straight, since you have a choice.”

“You’re a dope.”

“Thanks.”

“Joaquin Phoenix. Really?” I teased him.

“What can I say, I’m into dark and handsome. Even when I’m not sure where I stand with them.”

He’d laid it on a little thick with the handsome bit, but he had a point. I couldn’t really blame him. It had taken me a while to process it—not only to figure out what I wanted, but mostly why it was the right thing to want. I rolled off Jez. Just in time; the sticky stuff between us was beginning to set. I tucked his arm under my head.

“I was about six when I first saw
The Wizard of Oz
,” I said. “It confused the hell out of me.”

Jez shook with the laughter he was trying to swallow. He rolled to his side and looked at me. “I know the feeling. This is what I mean about your brain. So what was it? The flying monkeys?”

I poked him in the ribs. “Let me finish.”

“Please, go on.” He laid his hand on my hip.

“As I was saying… I was confused because I couldn’t understand why Dorothy would want to go back to Kansas.”

“I wouldn’t know, never been there.”

“I have. It’s no Oz.”

Jez just stared at me with an intrigued look in his eyes.

I continued. “I mean, Oz is all colorful and exciting, and Kansas is drab and gray, and she didn’t seem to have a particularly good time there. It didn’t make any sense. I wanted her to stay in Oz. I would have.”

Jez squinted at me. “I hate to ask who I am in this story.”

“You’re not in it, and I’m not Dorothy. Don’t be silly.”

“Sorry, I got lost.” He rolled his eyes.

“Then when I got older, I found out that the guy who wrote the book wrote more of them, and in them Dorothy keeps going back to Oz and eventually moves there completely. The whole ruby-slipper thing is a red herring.”

“So what about the whole ‘there’s no place like home’ thing?”

“That’s exactly it, but they got it all wrong! Once you get going, you can’t go back.” I took a deep breath. “What I mean to say is that for the first time in my life, I feel at home—not specifically in this house, and not particularly in Venice, but with you. I think that means something.”

Jez gave me a big, soppy smile. “I think so too.”

Epilogue

I looked up from my drawing as the shop door opened with a
ding
. It was Jez, grinning, sexy as ever, and wet as a seal. My heart made a startled thump against my rib cage. Backlit in the doorway, Jez looked so much like he did the first time I met him walking out of the ocean with the sun at his back. I pulled myself together.

“How’s the water?” I asked.

“Glassy.”

He came around the counter and draped his arms around me.

“You’re getting me all wet,” I complained without conviction.

Sea-scented wet hair brushed into my face as he nuzzled my neck.

“Your pants are buzzing,” he murmured.

Well, of course they were. Oh wait, he meant my phone.

“I’ll go change.” He winked and took off to the employees’ lounge, the tiny little room off the main storeroom. I savored the lewd innuendo of that wink before pulling out my phone. I squinted at the unfamiliar number.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Nathan?”

Fuck, I knew that voice. “Mark? Mark Stevens?” I sounded about as wary as I felt. It had been a while since I saw Mark in person, but I’d caught a few glimpses of him on TV since. I didn’t ever expect to see him again in the flesh or even hear his voice on the phone, however. How did he get my number? Then I remembered: he was friends with Sandy, and I’d kept in touch with her even after moving away from Venice. The important question was, what did he want?

“Long time, no see,” he drawled on the other end of the line in a seductive tone that instantly tingled my Spidey senses.

“Eh, how are you doing?” I asked cagily.

“Very well, actually. My character on the show really took off. Didn’t you know?”

“Sorry, wasn’t watching.”

“You always know how to cut me down to size.”

“It’s been a busy year.” I drummed my fingers impatiently on the counter.

“Yeah, I’ve heard. Sandy told me. Look, I have a favor to ask.”

“No.”

“You don’t even know what it is.”

“I do, and the answer is no.” I considered hanging up, but ingrained good manners didn’t let me.

Mark went on with more urgency. “Listen, I know exactly how ridiculous it sounds, but you’ve brought me luck twice already. Actors live and die by superstition. I’m auditioning for a pretty big movie role. I need my lucky charm.” He laid on his charm pretty thick, but it wasn’t working on me.

“Every time your lips touch mine, I get into trouble.” Maybe that wasn’t 100 percent true, but close enough.

“I’ll make it worth your while…”

“You better not be offering me money!” I growled into the phone. I kept my voice low, even though I was pretty sure Jez was out of earshot.

He changed gears. “I’ll do anything you want. I’ll be at your mercy!” He was all camp, but I could hear the edge of desperation in his voice.

I didn’t like to be a jerk with someone who didn’t deserve it, and to be fair, Mark Stevens had never done anything directly and purposely hurtful to me, our last run-in notwithstanding. There had to be a way to solve this conundrum.

“Nathan?”

“Hold on. I’m thinking.”

“I hate to be pushy, but it has to be soon. The audition is next week.”

There was only one way to handle this.

“Okay, on one condition: you come to dinner with us this Saturday. Bring a friend.”

“Thank you!”

“I’ll text you the time and the address. You better not be a vegetarian.”

We said our good-byes. I locked the shop door, hung up the BACK IN 20 MINUTES sign, and went after Jez. He was lounging on the beat-up sofa, only half-peeled out of his wet suit, all honey tan skin from the waist up and black neoprene from the waist down. The bastard knew how damn sexy he looked like that. I knelt in front of him, reached behind and under him, and grabbed a hold of the suit to tug it down.

“Up,” I commanded, and he lifted his hips.

His cock bounced out, looking perky as one can be. I gave it one leisurely lick from root to tip, but then returned to the matter of the suit. I pulled it off, one leg at a time. Still on my knees, I scooted forward till my face was only inches from Jez’s crotch. He stared at me, blue eyes growing dark with anticipation. I teased him a little before swallowing him down. He threw his head back, and his fingers got lost in my hair while I licked and sucked his cock to my heart’s content. When those fingers curled into a tight grip, I let go with a wet
pop.

“We’re throwing a dinner party on Saturday,” I said.

“Huh?”

“Mark Stevens is coming, with a date.” I sucked in two of my fingers.

“What?” he growled. But I was back on him before his eyes could properly focus.

My fingers invading his ass distracted him completely.

“Oh, you bastard!” He thrashed between my fingers and mouth. With a smug move, I took him down all the way to the root. My jaw ached, but the desperate whimpers he made as I worked him were worth it. He came sweet and salty, crying my name out. I was so hard for him that a few rough jerks on my cock finished me off.

* * *

On Saturday evening we set up the table on the deck. Sandy and Janelle hung up a string of lanterns, and Scoot lit citronella torches to keep the mosquitoes away. The new house sat along one of those winding canyon roads north of Malibu, hidden from sight by trees and shrubbery. To get to it, you had to cross a little wooden bridge stretching over a creek. There was barely a trickle of water in it during summer. Jez and I called our new home alternately rustic or run-down, depending on our moods. Like an aging diva through a soft-focus lens, the house looked its charming best in the warm, diffuse light of dusk.

“I really love your house,” said Sandy.

“Needs a lot of work,” I replied, thinking of the new roof we needed before the winter rains started. At least that could be done relatively cheaply.

“Nathan decided to do the whole roof himself,” Jez interjected, reading my mind.

“Not by myself; you and Scoot both volunteered to help. And roofing is at least something I’m good at.”

“Not the only thing,” he said with a sly smile.

“Oh really? Do tell,” said Sandy.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “There are more lanterns in the living room that need hanging.”

The bridge creaked, and the sound of a car engine drew closer. All heads turned to the direction of the road.

“That must be Mark,” said Janelle, doing a poor job of hiding her excitement. She actually watched the show Mark was on, and like a large part of its female fans, had a crush on Mark’s alluring villain. It hadn’t swayed her one bit when I’d told her that Mark was gay. According to her, hypothetical availability had nothing to do with it. Obviously I still didn’t get women.

“Son of a…” I cursed under my breath as Mark and his company spilled out of the car, because the other guy was no date—not unless Mark Stevens was into incest.
Ew
. The family resemblance between the two men was unmistakable. I tucked my displeasure away and greeted them as the gracious host I was supposed to be.

“This is my brother George,” Mark said, pushing the other guy forward.

George was a toned-down version of Mark: handsome, but not quite as outrageously so. Also, he was straight, judging from the way Sandy batted her eyes at him. The girl knew her straights and gays.

“Are you also an actor?” Scoot politely inquired.

“God no. I’m a podiatrist.”

“Nice, respectable profession,” I commented. I didn’t mean it as a dig at thespians, but it earned me a couple of dirty looks anyway.

After the initial awkwardness washed away with velvety Chilean wine, we all started to have a very good time. Of course, Mark was at the center of attention, but not in bad way. I watched him. He was a real pro and subtly seduced everyone present. Mark was quick-witted, told funny anecdotes, and shared Hollywood insider gossip, but he also prodded the rest of us to talk about ourselves, and when we did, he genuinely listened. He managed to simultaneously flirt with Janelle and have an insightful conversation with Scoot about medical marijuana. He was unmistakably “on,” but it wasn’t fake. I was impressed. If Mark’s acting was half as good, he’d be a star. The only person not paying him any attention was Sandy, who only had eyes and ears for George. I wasn’t sure if I should be happy or worried for him.

“This is a nice place. How long have you lived here?” Mark made his move to pull Jez into the conversation.

“Only since spring,” Jez said in reply.

“It was an impulse buy,” I added.