41. Dylan

CHAPTER 41

DYLAN

It took a month and a half for us to find a date to go to the farm that worked for everyone. In the meantime, life went on. I quit The Black Door, my guitar finally showed up, I’d played two shows, and things were starting to get back on track. Alex and I had settled into a routine that involved eggs for breakfast every day, and I’d only ended up in the corner with one held between my nose and the wall on one occasion.

It had been my own fault—my fears and my ingrained beliefs getting the better of me one night and I’d been particularly unfair to Alex during an argument. I couldn’t even remember what had set me off, but I remembered the miserable embarrassment of finding myself in the corner again, naked, with that egg smashed against the tip of my nose. The only difference from before being I knew Alex loved me and I knew how to cook the egg at the end. He hadn’t eaten it; instead he’d chosen to hold my stare as he slid the over medium masterpiece right into the trashcan, then he’d taken me on the floor of the kitchen until all of my frustration over the whole thing was nothing more than a whisper of a memory.

In the days leading up to our trip to Boston and Ford’s farm, Alex had been cagier than normal, and those doubts and worries had fought hard to take hold of me all over again. It shouldn’t have been a big deal to go. It wasn’t the first time I’d met his friends. In fact, after quitting The Black Door, I’d joined them there for a night out. If it was awkward for me to watch Tate and Brooks, I couldn’t imagine what it was like for Kale to find out his brother was involved with Ford, but at the end of the day, we were all adults.

Grabbing my suitcase and my guitar, I found Alex in the kitchen, frowning down at the crossword he’d been fighting with for the past two days. He didn’t hear me walk in, only looking up when I dropped my bag and carefully propped my guitar against the wall.

“You’re staring at that newspaper like it insulted you.”

Alex clicked his pen closed and dropped it on top of it. “Tárrega teardrop,” he said.

I smirked, huffing out a laugh. “Lágrima.”

“What?”

“Lágrima,” I repeated. “It’s…pretty famous.”

Alex clicked his pen open and looked down at the crossword, counting out the letters before filling in the answer.

“What is it?” he asked.

“A short and sad little love song,” I said. “Tárrega is pretty famous for it.”

“Do you know it?”

“Of course.”

I’d learned it my junior year of high school and while it was far from the hardest song I’d ever played, it wasn’t easy either. I appreciated it was a whole piece in a two minute window, and I’d always liked the way the second part hurt my heart to play, so it had been committed to memory for years.

“Play it.”

“We’re already running late,” I reminded him.

Alex stood from his spot at the island with a tired sigh. “The farm isn’t going anywhere. Now do what you’re told, Dylan, or you’ll be making eggs for everyone tomorrow morning.”

Something that should have tasted like humiliation rolled over me, but it was too tangled with pleasure and release to make me feel as uncomfortable as the idea should have. With a half-hard cock, I took my guitar from the case and situated myself on the bar stool Alex had just vacated, checking the tuning before launching into the surprisingly complex series of notes of “Lágrima.”

When I finished, Alex scratched the side of his nose just beneath the pad of his glasses, then patted his pocket and nodded.

“Thank you,” he said, swallowing hard. “Pack it up, then. The car is here.”

Alex was giving me whiplash, but I chalked it up to his nerves about bringing me around his ex-boyfriend for the first time. Beamer—as the rest of their friends called him—had been a last minute addition to the weekend, invited by Brooks. Judging by the wariness that had washed across Alex’s face when Brooks gave him the good news, it wasn’t necessarily a welcome change to the weekend. I wasn’t worried about my place in Alex’s life, but I was worried that Beamer being around would remind Alex of the argument we’d had back before we were even anything relevant to each other.

“Yes, Sir,” I said softly, latching my guitar back into the case and taking it to the door.

Alex rolled his eyes at me, and I knew he was particular about my usage of the word, though I did sometimes use it to let him know the dominant parts of him were leaking into uncharted territory for me. I wasn’t against the choices and the decisions Alex wanted to make for me—for us—outside of the bedroom, but it was the inconsistency of the actions that always got me. I wanted him in or out, not half.

Never halves.

I’d decided to talk to him about it on the drive upstate, but as soon as the car doors closed, Alex rolled up the privacy screen and was on me. Mouth slanted against mine, hot and wet, he speared his tongue into my mouth so aggressively I choked. But after the gagging, I melted beneath him, clutching at the front of his shirt as he softened and settled into something easier to maintain.

We made out like teenagers for almost twenty minutes, my dick leaking a solid wet patch against the front of my jeans by the time he decided we were finished. Panting, I sucked in desperate breath after breath, grabbing his thigh to steady myself as he eased himself back into his seat.

“What was that about?” I asked, after blood returned to my brain.

Between my legs, my cock was hard, trapped between my leg and the inseam of my jeans.

“I didn’t think I needed a reason.” He adjusted his glasses, then his own erection.

“You don’t.”

I traced the tip of my tongue across the underside of my top teeth, letting out a breath and turning my attention toward the window. It wasn’t long before the buildings of the city gave way to green, and Alex blurted out the absolute last thing I ever expected him to say.

“I want to marry you.”

There was no way I’d heard him correctly.

Slowly, I rotated my entire body away from the door. Our knees knocked together and my hand was still splayed open across the top of his thigh from when we’d left his house.

“What did you say?”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black box, holding it on the flat of his palm. “I want to marry you.”

“Why?” I asked, which in hindsight was a stupid thing to say, but it was also the first thing that popped into my head.

Licking his lips, he flipped open the lid of the box, a simple platinum faceted band nestled in a cushion of black velvet.

“Because I want to,” he said with a casual shrug, but the smile on his face was quick to turn serious. “Because I love you. Because I want to make sure you never want for anything again?—”

“Besides you.”

His lip twitched. “Besides me.”

“Why else?”

Alex pulled the ring out of the box, holding it up between us, his fingertips barely touching the metal.

“Because I like the way you cook eggs.”

I hummed, nodding and swallowing and trying not to cry all in the same breath.

“Those sound like pretty good reasons,” I said softly.

Instead of giving him my finger, I held out my hand, and he carefully set the ring down in the center of my palm. It was heavier than I expected, the facet cut of the band shiny even in the tinted darkness of the back of the car.

“They’re all I’ve got,” he said, snapping the box closed. “You don’t care about my house or my money.”

We both laughed at that, and I handed the ring back to him.

“No, I don’t,” I agreed, turning my palm down and spreading my fingers. “All I want is you.”

Alex’s glasses slipped down his nose as he glanced at my hand before looking back up at my face. He moved slightly, holding the ring near the tip of my finger the same way he teased my asshole with his cock.

“Green, Dylan?”

I pulled my lips together between my teeth and nodded quickly.

“Very fucking green.”