18. Royal

Chapter 18

Royal

And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air… .

Holy shitbuckets! I'm lip-locked with Easton. I'm. Kissing. Easton. Have I died?

Easton's tongue swept across Royal's bottom lip.

I don't care if I have. This… is… amazing.

Royal parted his lips to take a moment… take a breath… take something . Hell, he didn't know why he parted his lips. Perhaps it was instinct, that primal part of human nature that emerges when it's tapped. Whatever the reasoning, it allowed Easton the opportunity to slide his tongue inside Royal's mouth, and he took full advantage.

Advantage? No. Royal was willing. More than willing.

After all this time of knowing Easton and wondering, Royal now had answers—or, at least, one answer. His mind sifted through too many thoughts to count. Many questions would surely need answering later. And consequences to be paid. But not now. For now, he wanted to remain lost in the sweet sensation of Easton's greedy kisses and the feel of his firm, demanding lips that stole his breath and lit him up from the inside out with electric sparks. He tasted like beer and undeniable male sexiness and nowhere resembled the softness of a woman. How odd. How different. Yet it felt natural. Natural but not normal. No, this wasn't normal by any means between friends.

What is happening right now?

Royal's mind struggled to wrap around the reality. However, currently, he didn't give a damn whether it was real or if he'd been whisked into The Twilight Zone . He'd deal with that later. At present, he wanted to enjoy the feel of his best friend's tongue coiling around his and lifting him to some magical place where he floated in exultation. Fuck if it wasn't real. All he needed was….

It stopped.

Easton moved away, his eyes glazed with a hazy lust.

"Y-You…," Royal stuttered, his voice hoarse and breathy. He touched his tingling lips with the tips of his fingers.

Easton nodded. "Yeah, you did too."

Yes, he had, hadn't he? He should be elated. He was elated. Ecstatic, in fact. Over the moon. His best friend had kissed him. So, what was his problem?

His best friend had kissed him.

Fantasy—a far-fetched, inconceivable, or impractical mental image created in response to a psychological need. Oh, did Royal ever have a host of needs. But fantasies were fantasies for a reason, and Easton had now jerked Royal's fantasy into a confusing reality.

"Um…." Pull it together.

A bang on the door jolted Royal, and he bolted to his feet, unsure if his shaky legs would hold.

"East? Roy? Y'all in there?" Wade's voice came from the other side of the door. "Anyone home?"

"Yeah," Easton answered, rising. "Coming." Two steps later, he swung the door open. "What's up?"

How is he so calm?

"That damn Henley locked me out," Wade huffed, stepping inside and hauling a tank the size of a carry-on duffel. "I ran over to Dalton's, and when I came back, he was gone. My phone and everything's inside. I saw your lights on and hoped to use one of your cells and hang out until Henley returns."

No!

"Sure, no problem," Easton replied, moving to the fridge. "Want a beer while you wait?"

Excuse me. Want a beer? What in the Godzilla-versus-Ghidorah catacomb do you mean, he can stay? We have the small matter of your tongue being rammed down my throat to discuss.

"Yeah, a beer would be great," Wade responded. "It's as hot as Satan's asshole on the summer solstice in the rig."

Easton handed Wade a beer. "Your air not working?"

"Yeah, must have quit sometime this afternoon while we were out." He tapped the tank. "It's why I went to Dalton's, to borrow his air compressor to clean the fins."

"At night?" Easton questioned, raising a brow. "In the dark?"

"You try spending five minutes in that Dasht-e Lut without air. Being shut up all day, it's like an Easy Bake Oven."

"Which is it?" Royal asked, finding his voice. "A desert or a kid's toy?"

"Both." Wade made himself comfortable in a chair. "I figure that's why Henley left. I told him I'd only be gone for a minute, but the hose wasn't with the compressor. It took forever to find it." He took a swig of beer before continuing. "I would have gone back to Dalton's to wait, but when I arrived, his face had been all ruddy, and Henriette's hair had been wild and sticking every which way. I figured I'd interrupted something."

You're interrupting something here too.

"What were you two doing?"

Something in Wade's voice made Royal uneasy. Or perhaps it was paranoia and more wackiness of the day that made him question their visitor's tone.

None of your damn business.

"Um… talking?" Royal's face turned what he was certain was meant by the phrase a whiter shade of pale , and he examined his voice. He sounded guilty, like a child who'd been caught swiping his finger in the icing of a cake intended for guests.

Wade's face twisted. "You asking me?"

"No," Easton replied. "He's avoiding saying that we had a disagreement, but it's forgotten now."

Royal grunted under his breath. Who the hell forgot? How could he?

"About what?" Wade persisted, a leery gleam glowing in his eyes.

Chuckling softly, Easton sat on the sofa bench and crossed his legs. "You think Royal needs anything specific to be disagreeable about?"

Wade nodded in more acknowledgment than agreement. "True dat."

" Parfois, tu montes sur mes nerfs ," Royal growled, leaning against the counter and aiming his gaze at his best friend.

Raising his beer, Easton tipped it toward Royal. "Possibly, but I'm still your bro. Yeah?"

" Oui. "

Easton was right—to an extent. No matter how much he got on Royal's nerves, they were still bros. But had they crossed the line to be more? Sure, it was just a kiss, but what a fucking kiss. And it was… well, a kiss. Sorry, nowhere in Royal's handbook did bros kiss—at least not the way Easton had kissed him. Wade needed to get the fuck out. Maybe he would feel differently later, but at present, Royal couldn't care less if he roasted like a pig in a pit in his camper.

No, that wasn't true. Royal did care about Wade's well-being and comfort. He didn't seriously want him to be hog-roasted. It would be a waste of firewood, as Wade didn't have enough meat on his bones to roast. But Royal did wish he'd chosen another door to knock on. He needed to leave so Royal could talk to Easton.

Wade tapped his finger against his longneck bottle. "Must have been some disagreement to have Roy's cheeks pinked."

Sheesh! Not your business.

Royal took a deep gulp of beer to swallow down his frustration and shifted his gaze to a blank spot on the wall to calm himself. He couldn't look into Easton's eyes—not after what had transpired.

Stop freaking out and calm yourself.

But I'm not imagining it. Wade knows something's up.

Throw him off the scent.

"It's hot in here," Royal rebutted.

"Feels good to me," Wade countered.

"That's because you've been lugging that ten-pound baby around outside." Royal gestured to the air compressor. "Anything would feel good to you." He drained his beer and retrieved another from the refrigerator. Draw him off more. "Where do you think Henley got off to?"

"No telling."

Royal dug into his pocket, retrieved his phone, and extended it to Wade. "Well, as East said, hang out as long as you need. Marcel, Upton, and Cody are on a road trip, so there's plenty of room for you to crash here if you need to."

Wade accepted the phone and texted his missing companion. Without looking up, he asked, "A road trip this time of night?"

"Upton's made off with his bull rope and needs a replacement," Easton informed him with a sigh.

"But how?—"

Royal shook his head and interrupted Wade. "We don't ask questions." And you shouldn't either, dammit. "Do you want to play spades while you wait?" Cards are safe.

Wade twisted his face again. "You can't play with three people."

"Sure, you can," Easton corrected. "Just throw out the clover deuce."

Royal moved to the counter and retrieved a deck of cards from a drawer. "No need," he stated, holding up the box. "New deck. We got jokers."

"Okay," Wade agreed, returning the cell to Royal.

"Cutthroat it is, then," Royal added as he opened a hideaway table.

Royal couldn't remember the age he was when he'd learned how to play spades, although he was certain it was long before he should have been taught any adult card games. But he remembered the where . On a dim porch overlooking the bayou and lit by the subtle glow from an inside lamp next to a window with lace panels, he'd sat crisscross applesauce, chewing fruity gum. It was that night that he'd been introduced to the corruption of cards by a group of older boys working on the ranch for extra money to pay for bull-riding lessons.

"This could lead to gambling," Easton had whispered beside him.

"What's life without a gamble?" Royal had responded.

They were boys then. Now, as men, did Royal feel the same? Did he want to gamble with their friendship? He sighed. Maybe. Then again, as his mother always said, fate interrupts most mistakes to allow destiny to fall where it may. He'd never understood what she meant until now, when some awareness was beseeching him. Maybe Wade's arrival had been a good thing—the fate to interrupt on behalf of destiny.

"Are we playing or what?"

Wade's voice returned Royal to the present. Both Wade and Easton had sat at the table and were staring at him, waiting for him to take a seat as well.

"Yep." He slid into the vacant seat and unwrapped the cards. "I'll deal."

Even in a game of chance, there existed a certain degree of control.