Don't Read in the Closet: Volume Four (98 page)

several inches shy of six-foot, he liked to assert his strength and

dominance as often as he could. Or maybe he just liked touching me.

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Mike had told me plenty of times over the years that Tony still had a

thing for me. Maybe I should have let him blow me that night fifteen

years ago. Maybe that would’ve gotten me out of his system. But ten

minutes inside that bar, and I’d had my sights fixated on someone

else. Little did I know the next day I’d be heading into my first long-

term relationship — a monogamous relationship, at that.

Not that I’d go back and do anything differently. Even if it meant

Tony would stop groping me in the courthouse. From day one, Mike

was it for me.

Tony gave a last squeeze to my shoulder and asked, “You and

Mike ready for tomorrow night?”

“Yep. Fifteen years deserves something.” Not that we were

planning anything special. We’d done the same thing every year, and I

wasn’t all that excited about our usual plans this time round. I was

proud of us for making it this far as a couple, though.

“Hell yeah,” Tony said. “I’m looking forward to seeing the whole

gang. I’ll catch you at the bar around ten.” He was backing down the

hall the way he’d come.

I nodded and took off for the elevators again. My head was

pounding more than before talking to Tony. I just wanted to get my

ass to my air conditioned car and then home.

The elevator doors opened and a blast of warm air hit my face.

Great. Maybe the city would get the A/C working over the weekend

and this would be my last ride in the elevator from hell.

My phone vibrated in my pocket. I fished it out and checked the

display as I stepped into the elevator. It was Mike. I hit the answer

button and heard the roar of music and laughter from the bar before

the phone was at my ear. Mike still owned the same place where we’d

met. I called it his “other man.” His other love, to be more precise.

“Hey. You busy already?” I asked. Apparently happy hour started

early for some. Later for struggling civil rights attorneys. Or maybe

never. It wasn’t like I would describe myself as happy these past few

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weeks, even with a few drinks in me. Stress is called a silent killer for

a reason.

“Eddie? I can barely hear you.” He was shouting into the phone,

so I heard him just fine.

“Go into the storeroom.” I said the words louder than my elevator-

ride-from-hell companions preferred if their looks were anything to go

by. Apparently a heat wave this early in the summer pissed everyone

off until we were all a bunch of grumps trudging through our days.

Mike must have taken my advice, whether he heard me or not.

The background sounds of the bar muffled in my ear. “That’s better,”

he said. “How’d it go today?”

“As I expected. The motion was denied. Opening statements on

Wednesday.”

“Damn. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’s not like I wasn’t prepared for it.”

“Still sucks.” He paused for a moment, and I could picture the

expression on his face going from that concentrated frown to his I-

want-your-ass leer. Maybe I’d heard an exhale or something. Or

maybe I just knew him so damn well I didn’t need to see his face to

know what he was going to say next. “Tomorrow night I’ll help you

forget all about it. Me, you, a little celebration.”

And forty of our closest friends. Hell, a few strangers too.

Every year on our anniversary Mike threw a private party at the

bar to celebrate. A way to relive the night we’d met. The same bar and

the same crowd of guys (looking a little older with each year),

bringing along whatever guy they were into at the time.

I’d wear my leather pants and vest with nothing underneath, just

like the first time, showing off the tats that spanned the length of my

arms. Mike was fairer skinned than I, and he loved my darker

complexion and the look of my skin against the black leather. He also

loved my art, but every year at our anniversary party he was

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downright obsessed with the tattoos. He’d trace them with his fingers,

his lips, kiss and lick them all night long. Maybe he’d been staking his

claim, showing all our friends, acquaintances, and those few strangers

that I was his. Which made sense with how the rest of the night

always went. Because at some point we ended up fucking. Not in his

office or in the storeroom. Right out in the bar in front of everyone.

Sometimes he’d bend me over a table in the corner. Sometimes he’d

blow me on the dance floor. No matter where or when, everyone

would stop what they were doing and watch us, cheer us on. We were

the live show they’d been waiting for all night.

It was hot as hell in the beginning. Like that first night. Once I’d

gotten a look at him, I sat at the bar and had a few drinks, talking shit

with him as he worked. Then he’d asked me to join him on the other

side, and without another word, he’d spun me around and fucked me

up against the bar while I faced the sea of men. I couldn’t even

remember his name once his dick was inside me, but I knew I wanted

to see him again.

And every year after, we relived that moment. The bar. The booze.

The crowd of men. The public fucking.

God, I was sick of it. But I didn’t want to say anything to

disappoint him on his favorite night of the year.

We weren’t in the scene much anymore, and his bar was normally

as hetero as the average population. That one night meant a lot to him,

took him back to his younger days, to the leather bars, the excitement

of casual, got-to-have-it now sex, the thrill of meeting me. He always

said the best part was remembering the moment he first saw me, the

moment he’d found something special he hadn’t even known he’d

been aching for.

“Eddie, you there?” he asked over the phone, bringing me back to

our conversation.

“Yeah.”

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The elevator doors opened, and I made my way through the

courthouse lobby and outside. The humidity level rose with each step

I took toward the parking garage. I didn’t bother ditching the suit

jacket. What was the point now? My shirt had to be soaked

underneath. I’d strip as soon as I got in the front door of our place,

and maybe I’d just burn the damn suit when I was done with my

shower.

“God babe, I’ve missed you lately.” His voice had taken on that

low rumble that matched the leer I’d been picturing. “I’m really

looking forward to tomorrow night.”

“Me too,” I said. That was partially true. I missed him something

fierce. Missed the way we’d been six months earlier. Before I’d taken

this case. Before he’d made the decision to expand the bar and add on

a restaurant. Before we’d both started working all hours of the day

and night.

I was so damn tired I doubted I’d even get it up at the party.

Nothing like forty guys staring at you, waiting for your dick to get

hard. Once upon a time that had been a thrill. Now, I just wondered if

they were all going to judge my technique, or lack thereof.

I used to worship Mike’s cock through the longest blowjobs I’d

ever given, teasing and sucking for all I was worth, easing off

whenever he got close, until he was begging me to let him come. I

hadn’t done that in a long time. It all just seemed like too much effort.

Most days we were too exhausted to do more than get off quick and

hit the sack. Hell, I hadn’t even blown him in two months. We were

pretty much jerking off together in the shower or in bed before we’d

both collapse for a few hours sleep.

I wanted those jaw-exhausting blowjobs back. I wanted him to be

so hot for me he couldn’t wait till I got undressed to have me, maybe

even taking me up against his bar after closing. Just not with the live

audience watching us.

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“Listen,” he said. “I gotta go. The contractor’s meeting me in a

few. That was the other reason I called. Could you pick up Steven at

the airport? I can’t get away from here for a couple more hours.”

Steven. So much for spending the night naked on my couch with a

cold beer. I could probably still go for the beer, but no way in hell was

I sitting around with my balls hanging out while Steven — Mike’s ex -

- stared at me.

They had remained friends from the day they’d broken up, even

though Steven now lived in New York. He’d been at the bar the night

I’d met Mike, and every year he flew back to attend our anniversary

gig. Some traditions really needed to die a miserable death. Not that

Steven was a bad guy, just one more reason in a long list why I was

finding our usual thing tiresome.

“What time?” I asked.

“His plane lands in half an hour.”

So much for getting out of the suit. And the cold shower. “All

right. I’ll take care of it.”

“Great. I told him I’d meet him at baggage claim.” The sexy voice

was gone. He was in work mode again. “Thanks, Eddie. I owe you

one.”

****

Airport slid open, and the cool air gave me a jolt, some kind of crazy-

ass high that only people melting to their deaths must feel. I didn’t

want to move a muscle. I’d had to park in the long-term lot and walk

what felt like three miles in my suit jacket. I had taken the damn thing

off for the ride over, but my shirt still wasn’t dry by the time I’d

gotten to the airport. No way was I meeting Steven sopping wet from

my own sweat. I might still stink in the jacket, but at least I wouldn’t

give the impression I’d run to the airport while Steven strolled off the

plane looking (and smelling) fantastic, as usual. Not like a guy who’d

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been marinating in his own stink all day. Hell, I doubted the man even

sweated during sex.

I headed for baggage claim and checked my phone. I was late. The

crowd grabbing their luggage at the baggage carousels was pretty thin,

but Steven was nowhere in sight. Ten minutes later I confirmed with

the closest arrival board that his plane had landed on time. Still no

Steven.

At least the airport was air conditioned. I waited by a vending

machine selling frozen yogurt push-up pops in the various flavors of

the rainbow. If Steven didn’t hurry his ass up I was going to get naked

and rub one of those yogurt pops all over my body. I really didn’t

want to get arrested. The way my luck was going, by the time I got to

the jail someone would’ve probably had the brilliant idea to transfer

the A/C unit from the jail to the courthouse, and I’d be left sweating

all night, still wearing the damn suit. My head throbbed again.

Maybe Steven had missed his flight. How very un-Steven-like of

him.

An elderly woman with a walker shuffled toward me. She stopped

in front of the vending machine and stared up at me. “It doesn’t look

like you’re having a good day.”

I gave her a smile. “I guess I’m not.”

“Eddie.” That voice. Definitely not Steven. I turned around.

Mike was standing ten feet away holding two bags, one in each

hand. He was a few inches short than I, but no one would argue the

fact that he had an even more dominating presence. Maybe it was the

way he carried himself, holding nothing back, his chest out, arms at

his sides but not relaxed, ready to engage in whatever activity was

necessary at any moment. He was in a T-shirt, shorts, and a pair of

leather sandals. I’d never seen him wear sandals before, no matter

how hot it’d gotten outside. Was Mike changing, and I wasn’t even

noticing? That hurt too much to contemplate.

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I made my way to him. “I thought you wanted me to pick Steven