32. Tate

CHAPTER 32

TATE

The rest of the drive, I told Brooks everything about my life that I could remember. From growing up as an only child and playing baseball until junior high, to making the decision to come to New York for an out-of-school internship that I was sure would be my ticket to a six figure desk job. I told him how I met Dylan and how our roommate relationship had blossomed into the closest friendship I’d ever had, and Brooks stroked his fingers through my hair, telling me the same facts in return. Most of his friends had met in college, the rest of them coming along soon after. He told me about the fifth friend in their group who had moved to California and how much that had affected Kale. Hearing the chain of events that had led up to our meeting put a lot of things into perspective for me, and I wasn’t sure if I liked Kale Sheffield, but… Brooks did.

Hours after leaving the city, we arrived at his friend’s farm. The town car turned down a long gravel road in the middle of nowhere, driving up to a sprawling farmhouse with what had to have been acres of trees and farm spreading out toward the horizon. Based off what he’d told me on the drive, I’d expected a mass of cars in the drive, but there was only one.

Brooks grabbed our bags from the trunk and dropped them on the porch. Light filtered through a glass cut-out in the door, and he didn’t even have time to knock before the door swung open. I recognized Ford immediately, even dressed down in a pair of soft looking jeans and a faded NYU hoodie. His feet were bare and he had a knife in one hand, which should have been more alarming than it was, but the smile on his face was sincere when he saw his friend.

“You’re early,” Ford said by way of greeting, smiling at Brooks, then at me. “Good to see you again, Tate.”

“I’m surprised you remember my name,” I admitted. “I don’t think you even asked for it.”

“Guilty as charged, but Brooks hasn’t shut up about you. Come in, come in.” He gestured toward the interior of the house with the knife, and we followed him inside.

I didn’t think I’d ever been in a farmhouse, so I didn’t know what to expect, but Ford and Boston’s farm looked like just any other house. There were two matching pairs of dirty boots inside the door, but beyond that, it looked like a normal, open floor plan home. Ford gave us a quick—and unnecessary—tour, considering everything was exposed on the main floor. His boyfriend, Boston, was in the kitchen, surrounded by vegetables, a smear of dirt on his cheek.

“Your first guests have arrived,” Brooks announced.

Boston glanced up at him with a crooked smile, using the top of his wrist to push a pair of black glasses up his nose.

“Not quite,” a voice from behind us said, and Brooks turned so quick, he almost fell over .

“Holy shit,” he said, brushing past me to the tall blond man who had appeared in the hallway. “You actually came.”

The two men embraced in a hug, Brooks clapping his hand against the other man’s back and hugging him so hard they both stumbled into the wall.

“That’s Beamer,” Ford said to me, folding his arms in front of his chest, eyes trained on his friends.

“Who names their kid Beamer?” I asked.

“His name is Carter Emerson Royce IV,” Ford corrected himself. “Kale has always called him Beamer. His husband calls him Ivey.”

“What am I meant to call him?”

“Whatever feels right, I suppose. But his husband doesn’t enjoy when other people call him Ivey.”

“So, Beamer,” I said with a laugh.

“Safe bet.”

An equally tall, dark-haired man with dark five-o-clock shadow pushed out from behind the tangled friends, hovering to the side until Brooks and Beamer had finished saying their hello’s.

“Good to see you again, Dalton,” Brooks said, extending his hand for a shake.

Dalton looked like he wasn’t sure he believed it, but he returned the gesture with a curt nod.

“This is Tate,” Brooks said, hauling Beamer toward where Ford and I stood half in the kitchen. “Tate, this is Beamer and his husband, Dalton.”

I shook both of their hands, trying to swallow back the varying levels of nervousness and discomfort that had begun to bloom around the base of my spine. They’d all known each other for years, and I felt like an interloper in their space. My history with Brooks was a short one, and these men had decades between them. Beamer said something to Ford, who pointed at him with the knife before heading around the counter to resume whatever he’d been chopping when we arrived.

“They’re more manageable on their own,” Dalton said, giving me a cockeyed smile. “Together they’re a lot. My friends are the same.”

“Am I that obvious?” A weak laugh bubbled out of my throat.

“How long have you and Brooks been together?” he asked.

“Not long. A couple months almost.”

Dalton swiped his tongue across his lower lip, mouth twitching into a smile. “When you know, you know, right?”

“You could say that,” I rasped.

“Don’t let any of them bully you about it,” Dalton warned. “Or him.”

I nodded.

“Tate,” Boston called out to me from the kitchen. “Can I get you something to drink? Or eat? Or did you want to take a quick rest after the drive?”

“I’m good,” I said, flexing my fingers to stretch my hands out of fists.

“You look like you want to throw up.”

I glanced at Brooks, who was enthralled with whatever story Beamer was telling him. Ford stood beside them, amusement coloring his features as he listened to the story. We’d talked so much in the car about his life and my life and our life, and this was far from the first time I’d seen him with his friends, but for maybe the second time it seemed like I was seeing Brooks in his element. The first, of course, being the night I met him at The Black Door, sitting on that overstuffed chair like a goddamn king. Here, though, in his best friend’s kitchen, he looked like an uncovered version of himself. And when I’d thought it impossible to love him anymore, he caught my eye from across the room and winked.

“He’s fine,” Dalton said, knocking into my arm with his shoulder. “Aren’t you?”

I smiled back at Brooks, heat burning my cheeks. “I’m good.”

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” Boston said, pushing a cutting board away from him. “My brother gets here in the morning.”

Beside me, Dalton grumbled.

“He’s better than before,” Boston said, but Dalton’s expression indicated he didn’t believe it. Boston must have read the confusion on my face because he sighed, then explained, “My brother is a prick who thinks he’s in charge of everyone he knows and it’s been a steep learning curve for him to learn he’s not.”

“That’s polite,” Dalton murmured.

Boston rolled his eyes. “He’s more than welcome to stay in the city.”

“He wouldn’t miss a chance to see Ivey,” Dalton said, gazing fondly at his husband.

Whatever conversation Ford, Brooks, and Beamer were having wrapped up, and all three of them turned their eyes in our direction. The intensity and the weight of their stares was nearly uncomfortable, but the corner of Brooks’ mouth quirked into a smile and his gaze flickered down to my fly. I moved quickly, covering my zipper with my hand. It was done up, but the weight and the press of my hand might as well have been a vibrator for how fast the pleasure shot through me.

In the noise of our arrival, I’d almost forgotten the torture Brooks had inflicted on me in the car on the drive from the city, but the heat of his stare sent me straight to the back seat, seatbelt knotted around my wrists while Brooks rutted against me to get himself off.

“Drinks on the back porch?” Ford asked, which earned an eye roll from Boston.

“They’re something else when they’re all together,” he said, even as he pulled a bottle of gin out of a cabinet.

“Trophy Doms,” Dalton said with a laugh. He moved around Boston to get glasses, already familiar with the kitchen. “At least, that’s what my friend’s boyfriend calls us back home.”

“Ford’s head might explode if he hears that one,” Boston said.

I scratched the back of my neck, trying to not be in awe of how perfectly the name fit. Brooks had filled me in about enough of the history that I knew from their friend group, Beamer had been the exception to the nickname, but Dalton…the man was beyond intimidating, yet anything but scary. He only had eyes for his husband, and Brooks…

He broke away from his friends, watching me like I was a prize. I swallowed, stuck in place as he reached me, taking my hand and dusting a kiss across the tips of my fingers.

“You look like a deer in headlights,” he said softly just to me, while the rest of his friends poured and mixed drinks in the kitchen.

“It’s a lot,” I admitted .

“I’m sure having so much blood between your legs isn’t helping.”

“I was fine until I touched myself,” I whispered.

“Then I didn’t do a good enough job in the car.” He smiled, then raised a hand toward his friends. “Ford, we want to wash up before we settle in. Where’s the guest room?”

I knew Brooks wanted to do anything except freshen up, but I also knew better than to protest. Ford took a quick swallow of his drink then headed back for us, grabbing our bags from where Brooks had dropped them on our arrival. He led us down the hallway Beamer and Dalton had appeared from, and I realized the farmhouse was far larger than it looked from the main room.

The guest room was the same size as my bedroom at home, but it was more than enough for the weekend. The oak bed was made with navy sheets, and two matching nightstands on either side held modern-looking black iron lamps. It was a unique juxtaposition of city life outside the city limits.

“We’ll be on the back porch,” Ford explained. “Bathroom is across the hall.”

“Thank you,” I said, stepping away when he and Brooks exchanged a quick look that I couldn’t make sense of.

Ford closed the door behind him, and as soon as the lock latched in place, Brooks was on me, backing me against the wall and sliding his hands up underneath my shirt. He kissed the curve of my neck, and I bit back a groan, immediately falling back into the same headspace from the car.

“I liked seeing you aren’t intimidated by my friends,” he said, nipping his way up to my ear.

“I’m very intimidated,” I told him, bracketing my hands over his hips so I didn’t fall over. “By them and by you. ”

“I’m a church mouse,” he teased, moving quick and slanting our lips together to kiss any potential protest right out of my mouth.

“Please, Brooks.”

He tweaked my nipples, a little bit harder than was nice.

“Please what, darling?” He smiled against my mouth. He sucked my tongue, and my knees gave out entirely. He used his body weight to push me up against the wall so I didn’t fall, his knee lodged between my legs.

“Please can I come?”

“Of course you can come, Tate.” He pressed his knee against my balls. “Later.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

I huffed out a breath that sounded a whole lot like a sigh, and Brooks stepped away, using those cruel and skilled fingers to tuck my erection away so his friends wouldn’t be able to see it, though I doubted that much mattered. They were the way they were and we were the way we were. None of them hid the things they liked when they were out at the club, so I didn’t imagine they would bother hiding it in the privacy of their homes.

“I love you,” I said.

“I promise that I’ll give you the best orgasm of your life before bed tonight, darling.” Brooks brushed my hair away from my face. “You’re so patient and perfect. I’ll make it all worth it, I swear.”

Screwing my eyes closed, I nodded.

I believed every word.