12. Tate

CHAPTER 12

TATE

Dylan caught up to me on Wednesday.

I’d managed to avoid him most of the week on account of him sleeping most of the time while I was at work and me doing anything I could except be home when I knew he was going to be there. I was on the couch reading back through the texts with Brooks from earlier in the day with a stupid and undoubtedly googley-eyed expression on my face when the front door opened.

“You’re home,” Dylan said, closing it quickly behind him.

He was in his spot on the couch before I even had time to think about getting up and fleeing to my bedroom.

“Have you been avoiding me?” he asked.

“Not exactly.”

“That’s not believable.” He raised both his eyebrows at me like a disappointed parent. “Was that man from The Black Door your unicorn?”

Brooks had been my unicorn, but now that he was back in my life, he was proving himself to be very, very real. Even though the fingerprint-shaped bruises were all but gone, I knew the touch of his hand, the press of his mouth. Brooks was no longer just a figment of my imagination.

“Yes,” I answered, because it was close enough.

Dylan’s face twisted with the most excitement I’d ever seen and he practically bounced up and down on the cushion like an over-eager toddler.

“And you left with him on Saturday?”

“Yes.”

“Was it everything you hoped it would be?” Dylan asked.

To say yes would have been another understatement.

“More than,” I admitted with a soft smile. I set my phone down beside my thigh and thumped my head against the exposed brick wall behind me.

“I don’t know if I should be mad you’d been to that club before and you didn’t take me with you. And I don’t know if I should be mad that you didn’t tell me you met the man of your dreams at a fucking sex club.”

A week before, the comment would have made my cheeks flush with embarrassment, but for some reason, I didn’t see the shame in it anymore. I used to worry there was something wrong with the kind of men I’d tried to pursue in Brooks’ wake, but when I was with Brooks, I knew that couldn’t be the case. There wasn’t a single thing wrong with the way our bodies moved together, and I never wanted to find shame in sex ever again.

“Don’t worry about me meeting men at a sex club.” I pointed a playful and accusatory finger in his direction. “Let’s talk about you going through the whole interview process and never telling me. ”

“I didn’t interview!” Dylan threw up his hands and laughed, tucking his legs beneath him and leaning toward me.

“How did you get the job then?”

“A guy I know from Tryst,” he said. “He’s that friend of your unicorn.”

“And he just…got you a job at a sex club?” I asked.

“It’s not like I’m having sex there. I’m just a bartender.”

I squinted at him, feeling like there was more to the story, but also feeling confident that I wasn’t going to get any answers out of him. Dylan was far too fixated on Brooks to entertain my line of questioning.

“Did you go back to his house when you left?” Dylan asked next, changing the topic back to me as I expected. “Actually, answer that while I’m changing. I have a gig tonight.”

“Where at?” I asked, watching him get up and shuffle into his bedroom. The apartment wasn’t big and there wasn’t going to be any problem continuing the conversation no matter what room either of us was in.

“Some little coffee shop, nothing big. Answer the question.”

“I went back to his house,” I said, a smile flickering across my face. “His penthouse.”

Dylan stuck his head out from his bedroom, eyes wide. “Shut up.”

I shrugged helplessly. “He has a huge penthouse apartment with the most amazing views of the city. The bathroom and the bedroom are all windows.”

There was the burn in my cheeks, thinking about the dildo Brooks had suction-cupped to the window for me to fuck myself on .

“Did he fuck as good as you remembered?” Dylan stepped back into the hallway dressed in a light wash pair of jeans and a tight black t-shirt.

“Better.”

“Love that for you.” He grabbed his guitar and case, bringing them both out to the couch to get everything packed up and ready. “Are you seeing him tonight?”

“Not until the weekend.”

“Did you want to come with me to this gig?”

I checked my phone. There really wasn’t anything for me to do besides sit around and pine over Brooks, and I didn’t want to text him or call him and make things weird a clingy. We’d talked about being together like being together , but I didn’t know what that looked like for him and I didn’t want to fuck anything up by being a stage five clinger right off the bat. It wasn’t like I could fuck that way every day, but I wouldn’t have said no to the rest of the things he liked.

“Is it far?”

“Brooklyn.”

I sighed, and Dylan laughed at me.

“Come on. It’ll be an adventure.”

“Alright.” I shoved up from the couch, needing to change out of my work clothes if I was going to some random coffee shop in Brooklyn for the night. “Let me get changed.”

In my bedroom, I managed to find a clean pair of jeans and a band t-shirt I’d picked up at a concert a few years before. There wasn’t any help for my hair, still sticky with product from when I’d styled it in the morning, so I shoved my feet into a pair of Vans and waited for Dylan to finish getting his shit together for the gig.

An hour later, we found ourselves at a coffee shop called Beans, and I leaned against the wall in the back while Dylan busied himself getting situated on the stage that looked like it had been built out of plywood and dreams. My phone vibrated in my pocket and I juggled my coffee into my other hand so I could pull it out. The screen flashed with a text message from Brooks, and across the room, Dylan strummed his guitar to check the tuning.

Brooks : Is it bad to say I don’t know if I can wait until the weekend to see you?

I smiled, thankful that we were apparently on the same page about that.

Me : I was thinking the same thing.

Brooks : Did you want to come over tonight?

“Hey everyone,” Dylan said, his voice amplified through the small microphone in front of his face. He tapped it a couple times to check the feedback before speaking again. “I know I’m a last minute addition, but I’m happy to be here to play some songs for you tonight. My name is Dylan Rivers, by the way.”

Dylan immediately started with a song I recognized as a cover of a late nineties pop song.

Me : I’m in Brooklyn.

Brooks : That wasn’t an answer.

Me : My roommate has a gig and I’m here with him.

Brooks : Still not an answer, Tate .

Me : Of course I want to come over.

Brooks : Then come over when you’re finished in Brooklyn.

He sent me his address next, and my phone went silent.

Dylan finished his first song and went straight into another cover. Some people were singing along, which was good for him. One song later, he finally lapsed into some of the pieces he’d written himself. Those were the ones I knew the most and liked the best. Still against the far wall, I hummed along and finished my coffee.

His set was just under an hour, and I helped him pack up so he could make room for whoever was coming after him. Money exchanged hands, and then Dylan and I were on the way back home. He always had a great afterglow around him when he had a good gig, and the happiness practically rolled off of him the whole way back to our apartment.

“I’m going to head out,” I said, after helping him up the stairs and making sure everything made it home in one piece. Dylan bent over the fridge, a beer already in his hand and a knowing look on his face.

“Your unicorn calls?”

“He’s not…yes.”

“I don’t blame you,” he said, twisting the bottle top off and tossing it into a mason jar on the counter filled with a rainbow of other bottle tops. “Be safe.”

“Always,” I said, even though it might not have been the truth.

I checked my pockets for all my things, realizing how late it was when the time flashed on my phone. I fired off a quick text to Brooks again.

Me : Should I plan on staying over?

Brooks : If you want.

Me : That’s not an answer.

I smiled at the screen, apparently my new favorite hobby.

Brooks : I want you to stay the night.

Brooks : If you can.

I could. It just meant I would have to pack clothes for work, which took about ten minutes to get all my toiletries together. Dylan smirked at me from the couch when I came out with a bag slung over my shoulder, but he didn’t say anything.

The trip to Brooks’ penthouse went quick enough, and the doorman let me in before I even had a chance to tell him my name. His massive size was just as off-putting as it had been the first time, but he must have had a photographic memory if he remembered me. Or maybe Brooks had called down and let him know I was coming. Either way, a weird tangle of expectations and promises festered in the pit of my stomach.

It wasn’t unwelcome—just new.

The elevator raced me up to the right floor, and when the doors slid open, Brooks was in his doorway, leaning casually against the doorframe with his arms folded in front of his chest, one leg crossed over the other at the ankle. His hair was messy, falling down around his face, and when he saw me, he pushed it back and smiled at me like I was the sun after a long winter.

“Hey,” I said nervously, suddenly feeling like I should hide my bag even though he was the one who said he wanted me to stay over.

He reached his arm out, and I knew what he was asking.

I gave him the bag and followed him into the penthouse, door closing behind me with a soft latch as the lock automatically slid into place. Brooks carried my bag into his bedroom and I followed behind him up the stairs like a puppy. He dropped the bag in his closet and then turned back toward me, closing the space between us and taking my face into the cradle of his hands. He pulled me down to his level and slanted our mouths together with the most satisfied sigh I’d ever heard in my life.

“I missed you,” he whispered against my lips.

I curled my fingers around his wrists, groaning. “I missed you.”

“Friday is a lifetime away.”

“I’m here now.” I said, chasing after another one of his breathtaking kisses.

Brooks kissed with the same level of practice and attention he’d shown through everything else we’d done together, using his tongue to wipe all sense of practicality and propriety out of my mind.

We had started in the doorway of his bedroom, but he used his body to move me to the bed, and the backs of my knees hit the mattress. I fell onto his sheets, just as soft and cool as I remembered, and Brooks climbed on top of me, the burning heat of his body quick to set everything around him on fire. He was only wearing that sinful pair of gray sweats again, and his cock stabbed through the material, poking a wet and instant spot against my hip that had me riled up for him like it was our first encounter again.

By the time he broke for another breath, my own cock was hard and hot, pressing against the fly of my jeans and weeping with want. Brooks reached between us and palmed my dick with his hand, giving my shaft a rough squeeze when it pulsed against his fingers.

“Yes, darling. You most certainly are.”