Paul shook his head to clear it. It didn’t matter what that man smelled like or how addicting his touch was – last night was just like every other sexual encounter he’d had with men. One night only. Get in and get off. Scratch that itch.
But his hands twitched to keep scratching.
For some reason, he felt guilty about leaving without a word once they had both come so explosively. That was new — usually, he forgot their faces the second his balls had emptied.
Not this time. He remembered everything about Ace — the taste of his sweaty neck, the delicious shape of his ass, the impossibly tight home his dick had found there.
They hadn’t exchange more than first names and orgasms. And Paul wasn’t about to start hanging out at Sparks on a regular basis just to look for him. So it was best to stop wishing what if.
Once his lust had been slaked — if only temporarily – Paul realized with a sickening thunk in his gut that he needed to get out of there. Fucking so close to home was expressly against his own number one rule, and he had broken it almost as soon as he had broken rule number two: don’t go to gay bars in Kansas City.
So he took off, no pleasantries, no promises. Not that he could have made – or kept – any promises. It was for the best.
But the whiskey he guzzled back at his condo to make him forget all his broken rules wasn’t exactly the best idea. Especially since the whiskey decided to stick around for the morning.
Or what was left of the morning. Paul held still for a moment to let his eyes slowly gain some focus on the clock. Nearly 11. Shit. Steven will be here soon.
For as long as he had memory, Paul and his brother had gone to a baseball game for his birthday, even if it meant ditching school or making travel plans during college. And the Royals were playing at the K this afternoon, which meant an afternoon in the sun watching his beloved team more than likely blow an early lead by the eighth inning.
Nothing’s better for a hangover than loud fans, a sunburn and overpriced beer.
Paul surveyed his condo to see if he needed to do anything last-minute cleaning. His drunken birthday binge had only resulted in one spill, though it was a doozy — right on to his computer keyboard, of course.
Other than that and an empty bag of chips, his home was as it always was – clean and sparse. The big-ass sixty-inch LCD television dominated the living room and was the only thing on his wall. He didn’t technically need such a large screen, especially when he and his brother were the only ones around to watch anything. But one test game of Resident Evil 4 on the showroom floor convinced him to lay down two grand.
The walls were beige, the carpet was gray and the TV was black. That was the extent of his home’s color palate. This was primarily a place to sleep, to work out and to watch sports and play Wii. Other than that, Paul didn’t put a lot of effort into his space. Paul had chosen a condominium because it came with included maintenance and no hassles. He spent most of his time at his office in Lawrence or at Steven’s house in south Kansas City, anyway.
Paul made quick work of the small mess, then showered and regained the use of some of his brain cells thanks to that restoring spray. He didn’t want Steven to catch of whiff of his hangover. Didn’t need anybody knowing what he had resorted to last night.
His hair still a little damp, Paul came downstairs just in time to hear the pounding at the door.
“Open up, old man!” His younger brother never let him forget the four years that separated them in age. “Gotta watch our boys bite it again!”
Paul shook his head and smiled. One of the few consolations of rooting for a perpetually lousy team was the ability to mock it, lovingly, mercilessly.
Paul opened the door to his brother’s grinning face. Steven McDonnell was a less stocky version of Paul – lighter hair, thinner, smooth shaved, but those same eyes and almost exactly the same height. They were a striking pair who always turned heads when they were out together.
Not many people found a best friend in their brother, and Paul knew how lucky he was.
“So, think our boys can put together a win for your birthday present?” Steven asked.
“The world of sports is full of all kinds of miracles,” Paul said. “Besides, they’ve done it before, just for me.”
“In this decade?” Steven scoffed.
“Historically, May is not their month,” Paul defended.
“Historically, summer is not their season,” Steven countered. “But we love them anyway. Such masochists, I tell you what.”
“My car or yours?” Paul asked.
Steven looked longingly at Paul’s sleek black Acura, then sighed. “Mine. It pains me, but mine. I’m all gassed up.”
“You know, I should have met you at your house,” Paul said as they pulled on to K-10. “It’s ridiculous for you to drive forty-five minutes out of your way just to pick me up.”
“Yeah, but I felt bad about ditching you last night,” Steven said. “The least I can do is chauffeur.”
“Does that mean you’re going to skip the beer during the game?” Paul teased.
Steven twisted his mouth. “That doesn’t qualify as the absolute least I could do, bro. I’ll be good, but not that good.”
Translation: Your drunk ass will be sleeping on my couch. Sounds about right.
“You won’t believe the tickets I scored for us,” Steven said. “One of the parents in Holly’s class has season tickets in the Diamond Club section and a parking pass that gives us a space practically next to the building.”
“Wow. Remind me to be nicer to Holly.”
“You’re always nice to Holly.”
“I’m scared to be otherwise,” Paul said. “She can be – what’s the word I’m looking for? Fierce.”
“In all the best ways,” Steven sighed happily.
“Agreed.” Paul really did like his future sister-in-law. Holly Shipley was exactly the kind of woman his brother needed. Someone who could give him some direction and make him smile like an idiot. In fact, if Paul went for girls, he’d pick her.
But try as he might, he gravitated toward men. Men with solid muscles and strong hands and lickable skin and blond hair that was starting to curl at the ends –