Chapter 23

CHAPTER

TWENTY-THREE

NATIE

W e Shibas will take any excuse to throw a party. Not only did GBS Games do amazing last week at Nerd Con in Florida, but my brother popped the question! I'm so psyched Firass is going to be my brother. As self-appointed best man—one of them has to pick me, let's be real—I took it upon myself to arrange an engagement party immediately. I place the last of the drinks on one long wooden table lined with a kitschy technicolor disposable tablecloth. I clap my hands together, then I sense a warm body behind me.

"You've really outdone yourself," Santos purrs in my ear. He wraps his arms around my waist and I grin as he kisses my neck. "This party is equal parts solicitous and extravagant. It's so…you."

I snicker. "Firass is my best friend. We've been crafting board games since we were kids." I put my hands on his and lean back. "Of course I'm throwing his engagement party at Harpoon Game Café."

I gaze at the scene before me. Sarah, the chef, is behind the counter with Andres. I have a mini photobooth stationed at the front and two games on the table in the back. Each table has pencils and paper making up the various word puzzles for the guests.

Speaking of which, Santos and I saunter over to a table, and I pick up one paper off the stack. "Thank you so much for printing these out."

"It was simple. What's the point of running a paper production company if you can't craft gifts for your boyfriend and his best friend? And brother for that matter."

I laugh and kiss his cheek, then pat his stubbled face. He smiles, and if I squint my eyes, it's like we're eighteen again. "Still…you came through for me. The Handyman never lets his team down."

He groans; I love to tease him with that. When he wraps his arms around me, he leans in and whispers, "I'm actually starting to like that nickname."

"Oh, really? Then what can I torture you with?"

He nibbles on my ear, and I giggle at the contact. "You wish to torture me, huh? You'll pay for that tonight."

"Is that a threat or a promise, Handyman?"

I put my hands on his, but before we can get frisky in public, the crowd pours in. I greet Johnny, Firass, and all our friends one at a time. Santos introduces them to all the snack areas and gaming stations. We've arranged most of the café all to celebrate my brother and soon-to-be brother-in-law.

Mr. Harpoon has been such a help, but I can tell he's becoming overwhelmed with all of our guests. Several family members and friends who have never been here before are lined up, ready to buy games off the shelves. So, in return for Mr. Harpoon being so cool all these years, I jump behind the counter to help him. I take orders and manage his archaic point-of-service system, making quick work of the line.

"Thanks, Natie," Mr. Harpoon says, once we've handled business.

"Thank you." I turn around to see all the love in the room. The café is filled with nearly everyone I love. "You've been so accommodating for me and my friends." When I spot Santos high-fiving Vil while they play a game against Keisha and Dylan, I swoon internally.

"About that…" he says. I turn and eye him skeptically. Mr. Harpoon bites his lip and taps the table while looking down. "Natie, you've been such a big help this past year, and today has been no different. Sometimes I feel like you know how to sell things at my café more than I do."

I scoff and grin. "It was nothing."

"No, it wasn't." He fixes a serious gaze on me, and I suddenly feel exposed. "Natie, you have this abundance of business and managerial knowledge. Your connections to the board game community make you a valuable asset."

"Asset?"

He shrugs. "I'm old, Natie. And I want to retire soon, but I want my baby, the café, to grow. Because of that, I want you to run the store."

What ?! "Uh…"

"Natie, please think it over. I would love nothing more than to have Harpoon Game Café run by someone who loves it, lives nearby, and can take it to the next level."

I open my mouth, but words don't come out. I did not see this coming. I raise my hand, then turn when I hear Mom hollering. She's beckoning me over to take a group picture with the rest of the family.

When I turn back to Mr. Harpoon, he waves me off. "Go. Have fun with your family. But please, think it over and let me know." He winks and all but pushes me away. It's certainly a lot to think about.

Two hours later, most of the guests have left. Meanwhile, us boys are finishing up a final game of Elysium. Our boyfriends— and one fiancé, of course—are avidly chatting near the front of the store. It seems the Single Gamer's Society has inadvertently created another quartet of friends. I smile at the sight of my boyfriend being so buddy-buddy with my brother.

Turning back around, my three besties are calculating their point totals.

"And, I think I won," Firass mutters, pushing up his glasses.

"Bro, you forgot that card deducts points," Hamadi points out.

"Oh, shoot," Firass replies. "You're right."

"You've been engaged for five seconds and you've already lost your competitive edge," Dylan teases. That earns a howl of laughter from all of us.

"Speaking of major life changes…" I say. The boys gaze at me curiously, and I take a deep breath. I succinctly explain to them that Mr. Harpoon wants me to take over the café, but that I'm hesitant.

"Woah, that's heavy," Hamadi says. "As a small business owner, I'll tell you, it ain't easy."

"If you became manager, we would need to have fewer SGS group sessions," Dylan adds.

"Still, I can't think of anyone more knowledgeable to run a board game store." Firass pushes up his glasses. "Other than me, of course."

We all snicker, and Hamadi shoves Firass's shoulder.

"I have no idea what I'll do," I say.

"You said you wanted a clear next step in life," Firass says.

"True," I reply.

"Starting a new job can be scary, but if you take it, we got your back," Dylan says, and Hamadi nods with a smile.

"Yeah, I'll mull it over." I smile at my best friends. These three dudes really are my rock. Speaking of friendship, I pick up our ratty, beaten-up cardboard box. "Hamadi, you won, right?"

"Heck yeah!"

"So claim your victory," I say, handing him the box.

He beams while the rest of us clean up. "Um…" He rotates the box around in his hand.

"What?" Firass asks.

"Guys, there's no room for my tally."

The three of us lean in. He's right; after all these years, we've finally run out of space. All of the games, weeks of victories, are logged in black ink, each a joyous memory. But now, Hamadi can't write another word.

"Crap," Firass mutters. "I guess this means one thing."

"I write in teeny-tiny letters?" Hamadi asks in a high-pitched voice.

"No, H-Modd, I think we should get a new box," Dylan says, taking the old box in his hands.

"Or we could record in a journal like normal people," Firass remarks.

A scary thought ignites in my brain, so I say it before I can overthink it. "But what if we don't?" My three best friends turn to me in silence. "What if…we stop recording?"

"Huh?" Firass asks.

I gulp. "What if we end the Single Gamer's Society?"

They all look like they want to argue, so I stand up. "Now hear me out." I take the box and the others get up.

The energy in the room shifts, and I take a deep breath. I fixate on the old cardboard box and the ink lettering scribbled all over it. "I love you guys. But we're not single anymore. We'll always be best friends, but we're moving in different directions. Marriages, new jobs, house-hunting…" I point to each of them in sequence. "The Single Gamer's Society did what it was supposed to, keep each other company until we weren't lonely anymore. Mission complete."

As if on cue, our boyfriends move in, each cuddling close to their nerdy counterparts. "What if we let this old box stay as it is?" Santos wraps his arms around my waist, and I lean back. "It's a memento of a time when we only had each other. Now…"

"You're stuck with us," Vil mutters, kissing Dylan behind the ears. We laugh, and I gaze at the scene. Johnny looks at me expectantly with his arm slung over Firass. Andres has one hand wrapped around Hamadi's waist. Vil looks like a giant, amorous, blanket-of-a-man draped over Dylan. Santos holds me tight, and I feel so blessed.

"How about we retire the Single Gamer's Society?" I ask.

For a tense five seconds, my three best friends share skeptical looks. "Just the box," Hamadi says, quietly. "I can't…lose my best friends."

"You won't!" Firass says. He turns to me and adds, "We wouldn't do that."

"You guys saved my life," Dylan remarks, meekly. "I can't imagine a world where we don't chat with each other."

"You won't have to. But this…" I spin the box in my hands. "Let's retire this old thing." With that, we spend the rest of the night chatting and cleaning up the café for Mr. Harpoon. I tuck the old box away with every intention of laminating it.

When we walk out, Santos holds me close, like he's afraid to let me go. "How you feeling, sweetheart?"

"I'm good. The Single Gamer's Society will never die, but it's a bit of a misnomer now."

He nods. "Thanks for always including me. Your friends are cool, and now I have six n-n-n-new guy friends."

We laugh and make it to the car. "Of course, Handyman. I'll include you in all my events." Possibly forever, but it's way too soon to let him know that.

Santos leans in and kisses me, gently at first, then it ramps up in heat. Our tongues tangle together, and sparks cascade up and down my spine. "So…there is something…else I wanted to include you in."

His words are drenched in innuendo, and my pants are getting tight. "Like what, Mr. Hand?"

He bites his lip, then leans in. His next few words whispered in my ear give me chills. "Natie…let's go do s-s-something…kinky."

"See, when you said kinky, I was hoping for something more like…ropes?" I follow Santos to the back couch of the Shiba's Seaside home theater. It seems like ages ago when we were here with my parents. That was an embarrassing pseudo-double-date, but it all worked out in the end. "Maybe a lasso? Ooh, a roleplay! You could be a cowboy!"

Santos laughs and pecks me on the lips. "Perhaps another time. Right now, I merely want to share this movie with you."

"But you'd look hot only wearing blue jeans and boots," I whine with a faux-pout. He snickers and places a single kernel of popcorn between my lips.

"Just start the film, Shiba."

I grin and turn on the projector. It's another black-and-white monster movie, some generic old-timey flick. He lays his head on my shoulder, and I snuggle him in. I munch on popcorn with my left hand while I hold Santos's shoulder with my right. My soul settles in contentment. I kind of get why he wanted this—no parents, no friends, nobody else. In a year, we might not have unrestricted access to this theater, but tonight, it's all ours.

After a few minutes, Santos's snuggling turns…different. His hands won't stop moving up and down my chest. When he reaches into my button-down shirt and grazes my nipple, my eyes roll back. Looking back down at him, he's still watching the movie.

"Santos…" I murmur. I need to adjust because my pants are feeling two sizes too small.

"Keep watching the movie, Natie," he whispers. He sits up and puts his hand on my thigh. Damn, that was sexy . When I reach over to his crotch he bats my hand away.

"But—"

"You're not paying attention to the movie." He smirks as he stares at the film.

How can I pay attention to anything when his hand is so close to my—oh.

Oh .

He wants to reenact our kinky public date. His hand trails up and down the inseam of my trousers, getting my blood pumping faster. When his touch finally lands on my crotch, I nearly jolt. I huff and look at Santos—nope, he's still staring at the screen. I try to relax, but his fingers, the devilish things, travel up and down my body. They gradually undo my shirt, graze my nipples, grab my crotch, and play with my balls. He won't stop teasing me and he isn't even looking my way, still staring at the screen.

And I'm so hard I can't stop squirming. His naughty hands are skilled.

I'm so on edge, burning with need, so desperate for more contact, for release. I don't want Santos to stop. I want more, more skin on skin, firmer grip, more everything. I thrust against his hand, but then he moves it up to my neck and chest. Every part of me is an erogenous zone right now. This is definitely payback for teasing him the first time. And I'm his willing victim.

I'll never be able to walk into his theater again without getting rock-hard.

After what feels like decades of edging, my swollen cock can't take it anymore. I'm about to say "screw it" and undo my pants to jerk myself off, when his hands pry off my shirt completely. Santos tweaks both my nipples, rendering them hard, sensitive peaks. I bite back a moan. "Santos," I rasp.

I notice him smirk in the darkness of the theater, then he leans in closer. Before I can ask him anything, he makes quick work of undoing my belt. The sound of my zipper going down is like a racer's pistol. And off we go.

He strokes me through my boxer briefs, and a chill goes up my spine. I'm in orbit, already so damn close to busting. I had no idea Santos's fingers were capable of such hungry finesse. When he reaches in to grab my hardness, my head tips back. It's like an electrical charge passes from his palm straight to my dick. This is ecstasy.

"Keep watching the movie," he whispers. Huh? There's a movie?

He strokes me, and my eyes clamp shut. His palm is soaked with precum, and he smears it up and down in the most delicious way. My chin juts up as I grip the sides of the couch for dear life. I huff, almost hyperventilating with my mouth wide open. Santos literally has me in his grip. Everything I am belongs to him.

I would make a joke about him being the Handyman, but right now, I have no blood in my brain.

He leans in and sucks on my neck, sending a shiver down my spine. "Santos…" I hiss.

When he moves to nibble on my ear lobe, I sigh. He whispers, "You want me to suck you off, Natie?"

Fuck, more than anything . I shiver, then nod. "Then drop your pants," he says in a quiet, demanding tone.

Santos is nearly growling in my ear, and it only makes his commands sexier. I comply, lifting my hips up and getting my pants and underwear to my ankles. The heat on my neck disappears, and I miss his presence there.

Then I feel warmth on my cock.

"Ah!" I hiss in a whispered, urgent tone. His mouth, those velvety soft lips and wet tongue are on my dick. He's engulfed only my cockhead, and I nearly jump in my chair. I try to maintain my composure and not burst—in a record of the shortest blowjob ever—but Santos feels so sweet, so delicious between my thighs. When he cranes his head from his seat and swallows my entire length down, my brain bursts like a firework.

The universe collapses and is reborn in my mind as his mouth does wonders down there. His lips feel exquisite, phenomenal, a testament to oral sex, and I'm curling my toes in unbridled pleasure. I gasp and squirm in the seat as he maintains that perfect rhythm, sucking me and pulling off to lick the head, then back down again. My eyes are screwed shut as strangled moans leave my throat. I tweak my own nipples and thrust my hips up, but Santos keeps riding my cock with his mouth.

Not to sound dramatic, but my dick is in paradise. How did I not know he was this good at giving head?

When my balls start to hitch up, I drag my hands along his scalp as he bobs up and down. "Santos," I whisper. I pull on his neck, but he's not stopping. "Santos, seriously, man, you need…need to…"

I moan, but he doesn't slow down. He keeps giving me the best blowjob of all time and I try to form the proper words for warning. My voice goes higher when I mutter, "Santos, baby…I'm about to bust… I'm about to bust …"

He pulls off for one brief moment to look at me. His mouth is a mess, but he grins and with a low growl, says, "In my mouth, Shiba. I want it."

Then he dives back down and my eyes roll back. "Fuck," I rasp. My thighs tremble and he sucks me faster, giving me that perfect wet pressure.

At long last, I thrust my hips into his mouth, and it happens. I swear my consciousness leaves my body as I orgasm. Shot after shot is unleashed right into my boyfriend's throat. Every nerve ending bursts then dies out, rendering me a satiated mess. Santos continues to suckle me long after the climax, just to make sure every drop is claimed.

After I pass out for a few seconds, I wake up to find my boyfriend staring intently at me. He wears the satisfied smile of a man who did a job well done—a spectacular job it was—and I lean in and kiss him.

"I love you," I whisper against his lips.

"I love you, too."

"That was amazing." We chuckle between kisses. "We ought to watch black-and-white movies more often."

He leans back and laughs, and I notice his hand over his groin. Without saying a word, I undo his zipper. His gorgeous cock is burning hot, and I know how on edge he is. He undoes his shirt as I stroke. I don't tease him, opting to gradually amp up the pace of my strokes. I'll never get bored of giving hand jobs to Santos. It takes not even a whole minute of me jerking him before my boyfriend shudders and shoots all over himself.

We clean up as best as we can and cuddle closer. Drained and satisfied, Santos and I fall asleep on each other's shoulders as the movie finishes. The credits roll, signifying the end, but I can't help but notice the irony—this is our new beginning. I have Santos Hand in my life, and with him, I'll be content for the rest of my days.