17. Niles

Chapter seventeen

Niles

W e gathered in August’s living room once the kitchen was clean. Constance entertained us—her mood sulkier since dinner. Pointing out her poor behavior had clearly hurt her feelings. Once her ally, I’d now been demoted.

August watched his daughter play with the focus of a world-class musician. He heard the notes and everything in between, fingers moving over his thighs as he subconsciously played along. The advanced piece illustrated Constance’s talent. When finished, she spun and regarded her father with a wrinkle in her nose.

He stared back like a man with a lot to say but whose exhaustion from constant battle prevented him from opening his mouth.

Eyeing me once, Constance pressed her lips together and used her phone to type a message, passing it to August when she finished.

August glanced at the device, clearly scorned as he read the text, then refocused on his daughter. “I thought it was much better.”

She rolled a hand, encouraging him to go on.

“The transition you stumbled over last week was spot on. Watch you don’t lean too heavily on the bassline during the second movement. It smothers the delicacy of the melody and takes away from the overall effect.”

When I expected Constance to sneer or balk at the criticism, she nodded thoughtfully and retrieved the sheet music from the rack. After studying it for a moment, she turned it around and pointed to a section, peering questioningly at her dad.

August examined where she indicated and nodded. “Yes. These dozen or so measures.” He dragged a finger over the bars. “From here to about here. You want the bassline to carry the harmony, not suffocate it.”

Constance moved from the bench and motioned for her father to sit. August did and demonstrated—stunningly and without the need to reference the score—as Constance followed along.

“Do you hear the difference?” he asked.

She nodded, scrutinizing the sheet music.

August played the section several more times before giving Constance another turn. As she performed, he stood over her, talking her through it, suggesting tweaks to her fingering or adjustments to the style. Constance listened and modified her playing accordingly.

This was where the two connected. It was a world different than dinner.

When August had scrutinized my playing, I’d become instantly offended, my nose out of joint. But Constance thrived under his tutelage. It was the first time I’d witnessed a somewhat positive interaction between the pair. Oddly, it was a moment that could have easily unleashed animosity. Both were in their element. With common ground, they flourished.

After the exchange, Constance glanced around her father, smiling in my direction, and motioned to the piano, silently asking if I’d like a turn.

“No thank you.”

She pressed her hands together in prayer formation. Please.

I shook my head. “Another time.”

August’s attention warmed my face, but I refused to meet his eyes or give in to Constance’s request. Of the three of us, I was the least talented and wasn’t in the mood to be humiliated.

Constance submitted and closed the fallboard, moving to sit beside the Christmas tree. Handling the delicate ornaments strung on the branches, Constance twisted and turned them, admiring their painted designs. So far as I understood, she’d refused to accompany her father to shop for a tree or decorations. It was how he’d ended up in the city by himself. It was why he’d texted me while I was at dinner with my family. It was the reason I was sitting in August’s living room on Christmas Eve, entertaining the idea of a clandestine affair.

August rejoined me on the couch, leaving a respectable distance. He motioned to the piano. “It’s me, isn’t it?”

I hitched a brow, feigning confusion.

“You won’t play because of me. Because I constructively criticized your playing on the day we met.”

“I don’t feel like it is all.”

Creases appeared at the corners of his eyes. “You’re a fantastic musician, Niles. I’m sorry I ever made you feel differently. The piece, ‘Gaspard de la Nuit,’ it’s astoundingly difficult. I was amazed that—”

“Please save the attempts at flattery. It’s not coming across like you hope.”

August sighed but let it go. I’d given up drinking wine with the conclusion of dinner. Christmas Eve was not a night to rely on an Uber to get home, and we’d already polished off a full bottle between us. August had made coffee instead, but it wasn’t nearly as effective at numbing the pain of a bruised ego. It needed something harder.

Constance caught her father’s attention. Using simple, obvious hand gestures—for his benefit—she asked if she could open the presents.

“In the morning,” August said. “Or maybe New Year’s Day, as is tradition.”

She shook her head, profusely rejecting the suggestion.

August chuckled.

Constance pointed to the gift bags I’d brought, querying without words.

“No,” I said. “Save them. You and your dad can open them when you wake up.”

She pouted, but I refused to back down. Throughout dinner, I’d lost confidence in the gift I’d bought for August. Initially thinking myself clever when I’d found it shopping earlier in the day, I no longer wanted to be present at its unveiling, sensing it might cause upset.

Submitting, Constance occupied herself with a book, reading under the lights of the Christmas tree, while August and I compared notes on the Christmas concert since we hadn’t had the chance before now. Before long, we were entrenched in a discussion about the spring concert and who deserved to play solos or duets.

Around nine, Constance announced in simple signs that she was going to bed. August wished her a good night.

We listened as she used the bathroom, wandered to the kitchen for a drink, and closed herself in her bedroom.

Finally alone, a shift occurred. Anticipation thrummed like a plucked string. I knew where the night was going and how it would end. The outcome lacked longevity and promise, but it was Christmas, and I loathed the idea of spending it alone.

We faced each other on the couch—had for most of the night—angled so we both rested an arm on the backrest. We both had a leg drawn up and one on the ground. A mirror image of one another. A reflection. But that was where the similarities ended. August’s poised and refined qualities clashed with my free-spirited ways. He was the real deal. I was a fake.

But August’s caution betrayed him. In the few short weeks of our acquaintance, I’d discovered his fatal flaw, the single character trait that would be responsible for our eventual demise. A profound fear of discovery. And because of it, we were doomed from the start.

Closeted men couldn’t give you their hearts. Not fully. Not honestly. They remained guarded and distant. They gave you enough sustenance to keep you coming back for more, but you remained perpetually unfulfilled. Hungry. Alone.

I shouldn’t have cared. Even if August was out and proud, I would ruin us the same. Fixating, overthinking, and comparison were my fatal flaws, and in August’s presence, they flared and burned, devouring any pride or confidence I’d managed to acquire.

For that reason and multitudes of others, I let August initiate contact. If he couldn’t do that much, I was out the door.

But he could, and he did.

It started with a simple touch. He moved his hand to my knee, caressing and watching. Questioning. “I would very much like to take you to bed, Niles.” His usually refined voice came out husky.

“Oh?”

His hand moved up and down my thigh, thumb pressing along the inseam of my pants, dark eyes full of need, lust, and longing.

Accepting August’s offer meant accepting his position and secrecy. I couldn’t get mad when it all turned to shit.

And it would. He was the wrong man. Protecting my heart would be the key to survival. Koa had broken it time and time again. Had I learned nothing? Loving a man who couldn’t love you back was hell. So I decided, then and there, that I would not, under any circumstance, fall in love with August Castellanos.

“Niles?”

I covered his hand with my own, steeling my resolve. “Lead the way.”

Behind the closed bedroom door, bravado fortified, August faced me. Tall, dark, and handsome. Like the living embodiment of a bloody Greek god. I didn’t know if I should laugh or cry at the irony.

I took in the room, the queen-size bed, the dresser, and the covered window, noting the simple décor and neutral color tone. It didn’t scream glorified musician. Nothing about it shouted August’s wealth or superiority. In fact, it whispered, I’m a normal man with normal problems, same as you.

Yet I couldn’t stop comparing our lives.

August closed the distance. We stood about the same height, yet he always seemed taller. Was it the pedestal in my mind where I’d placed him on the day we met, or was it his sudden confidence now that we were safely hidden away from the world?

August knew what he wanted, and he didn’t hold back.

He removed the tie from my hair, dropping the elastic on the bedside table. Long, variegated golden strands tumbled over my shoulders, framing my face.

For a long time, he simply admired them with awe and wonder. “You are uniquely you, Niles, and I admire that.”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

He combed his fingers through my hair, tucking it gently behind my ear and caressing my jaw. “You don’t pretend to be anything more than you are. You don’t let others dictate what it means to be professional or steer you away from your passion. You follow your heart and stay true to yourself.”

And look where it’s gotten me, I wanted to say. Forty-four years old, single, and teaching high school music.

These weren’t admirable qualities. Not only had I failed my parents, but I’d failed myself. I’d reached too high and missed the mark. I’d had my eye on the biggest prize I could imagine. It was no wonder I’d lost.

I didn’t want to talk about me or us or any of it. If we spent too much time inert, I would find a reason to leave. Descending on August’s mouth, I kissed him like I’d done in the kitchen, like I’d done in the dark auditorium, using the power of persuasion to get us past our crippling differences onto safer ground.

It worked like a charm.

August went with the flow, fisting my hair and securing me in place as his fervor matched my own. Tongues, teeth, and lips clashed. The temperature rose in an instant.

Coming up for air, I chuckled. “Repressed certainly doesn’t mean shy, does it?”

“No, it doesn’t.” Backing me toward the bed, August shoved me down on the mattress. He removed his sweater vest before joining me, bracketing his hands on either side of my head, hovering a few inches above. “All I ask is that we’re quiet.”

“Obviously.”

“She’s a nosy girl.”

“She’s a teenager.”

“You keep saying that like it’s a free pass to act petulant.”

“Shut up, August. I don’t want to talk about your daughter right now.”

He laughed as I snagged his shirt in a fist and dragged him down on top of me. His weight and the warm, aggressive press of his mouth were my undoing. Blood surged through my veins. It had been a while since I’d found myself in bed with anyone. A plodding venture through the world of online dating had proven fruitless.

I fumbled with the buttons on his shirt as he tangled his fingers ever deeper into my hair.

“You’re obsessed,” I said against his mouth.

He hummed. “Love your hair.”

Freeing a hand, he helped remove his shirt. Mine required August to haul me upright since I’d worn a sweater that needed to go over my head. An entwined mess of clothing found its way to the floor. Hot skin connected with hot skin. The hard press of August’s arousal rubbed against my inner thigh with the rock of his hips. I thrust against him, seeking similar friction, stoking the fire I’d built on the night of the concert when I’d decided to seek August in the darkness.

All the while, our mouths remained fused, tongues knotted as we explored.

I couldn’t stop touching him, blindly mapping every inch of his body. The higher the intensity of our make-out session, the more assertive August got. It was not the neat and tidy affair I’d expected from a professional classical musician. It was rough and demanding. Desperate in a way. Like a lifesaving breath of air after having been underwater too long. This was what happened when you repressed something.

Taking hold of his ass, I used it for leverage as I pushed against him. The taut globes clenched and moved with me. Grinding. Taking us to new heights.

But it wasn’t enough.

A new lover meant a path of unknown pleasures to discover. August seemed bold, but was he daring? How much experience had his self-proclaimed repression allowed him? Did he suck cock? Was he vers? I needed to find out soon before he drove me out of my mind.

Afraid we’d get stuck in an unending teenage make-out session and rut our way to completion, I used my weight to roll us and take the advantage. Short of breath and with bruised lips, August looked drunk on lust.

“Do you have condoms? Lube?” I asked.

A flash of panic. He glanced at the dresser and cursed. “No. I didn’t think… Shit. No.”

“Didn’t expect to show up at your daughter’s boarding school and end up in bed with her music teacher, huh?”

He chuckled. “Not exactly.”

“We can make do.”

My hair hung on either side of August’s face as I kissed him gently and passionately before moving down his body. August was not overweight, nor was he especially trim and muscular like the profile pics I’d seen on those apps when I’d browsed men in their twenties who spent half their lives at the gym. He was lean but soft with the onset of middle age. Dark hair covered his chest and stomach, and I took my time, venturing lower, tracing a path with the tip of my nose and planting kisses on a journey leading south.

When I checked in, his parted lips and heavily lidded eyes spoke of enjoyment, of desire. When I took him into my mouth, he cursed and arched his back. My name had never sounded so pure rolling off a lover’s tongue. August turned it into an aria.

Every word that proceeded was not English, but it didn’t matter. Their sentiment fueled me onward. They gave me the confidence and power I lacked, having August’s bold presence in my classroom and life. He outshone me in every way. Maybe here, in the bedroom, we could find common ground.

I stroked his thighs, the coarse hair rasping against my palms. I fondled his balls, tugging once, eliciting a moan. Taking my time, I drew out August’s pleasure until it was so taut his entire body sang with the need for release.

His fingers found their way to my hair again, knotting, tugging, guiding my movements as he thrust into my mouth, chasing a pleasure he’d denied himself for far too long.

When he came, smothering cries into a pillow, his whole body shivered and rippled.

I reversed course, kissing his skin on a return journey north to his mouth, stopping momentarily to inhale midchest. The lingering hints of cologne remained, but it was August’s natural essence that captivated me.

We ended up kissing again. Tamer and satiated, August explored with languid appeal, like he could linger on my mouth the rest of the night until our saliva dried up or our lips chapped. His hand found my length, and he lazily stroked, keeping me engorged and on edge.

“I want your mouth on me,” I said when I came up for air. “Do you do that?”

“Yes. Roll over.”

I obeyed, and August didn’t bother with preliminaries. He settled between my thighs and got to work. The hot glide of his tongue along my already stimulated cock was too much and not enough. I chased the pleasure, driving up into his mouth over and over until I came without mercy, holding him in place as the disorienting pleasure commanded my senses.

August didn’t shy away like I feared he might. He took it all. Eagerly. Hungrily.

After, we lay side by side, facing one another, legs and feet entwined. He traced a finger down the length of my forearm. “I’ll have condoms next time.”

“Will there be a next time?”

A divot appeared between his brows. “I hope so. It wasn’t disappointing, was it?”

“God no.”

August found my hand, and our fingers naturally wove together.

“I should head home.”

“Stay a bit longer. Let me lie with you a while.” He moved so we shared a pillow, noses touching. “I don’t want it to end. Not yet.”

“This won’t work. You and me. Not like this.”

“I know.”

“I refuse to fall in love with you, Auggie. So don’t you dare think differently. You’re heartbreak waiting to happen.”

Sadness pulled creases at the corners of his eyes. Quieter, he said, “I know.” Then he pulled me into his arms and held me.