From his silver sports car parked near the chiropractor’s office, Tanner witnessed the passionate kiss his two new obsessions shared.
It left him equally annoyed and hard.
He’d been waiting for Paul to leave his office to see if he could catch him in a weak moment and talk him into a quick suck and fuck. Hell, it worked once with Ace; Paul couldn’t be that much different. Blowjobs were like Tanner’s calling card — a friendly sample of his skills. It was really only polite to accept once offered.
Instead, it appeared that the two secret lovebirds had made up. Both their faces had the blissed-out look of the freshly fucked.
That sucked. And not in a good way.
But that didn’t mean he’d lost. He didn’t lose. Didn’t believe in it.
Losing was giving up. And he didn’t like to give up when he had a chance of winning.
Tanner still had a couple of options left. Doc Z didn’t look all that thrilled at the idea of being out and proud — and Tanner believed all fags should be upfront about it. When he met a guy who was in the closet, he wanted to forcibly drag him out of it.
Tanner would just have to keep his eyes open. He’d find a way to squeeze between Ace and Paul.
Chapter 16
He had no idea where to put his hands.
Of all the things that were on Paul’s mind as they walked along Eighth Street toward Drayton’s, the thing that bugged him most was that he couldn’t decide what to do with his hands.
This was a date. A date-date, as Ace called it that day at the ballpark. Paul was on a date. With a man. In public. In his hometown. On a Friday night. He even made reservations, like you do for a date-date.
He had struggled over what to wear, what to do, where to go — but his hands were tripping him up.
Oh, he knew where he wanted to put his hands. Answer: anywhere on Ace. But that old bogeyman of fear tickled at his periphery and made him doubt himself.
Paul thought he was getting past that old kneejerk reaction. He and Ace had spent three glorious nights in Ace’s house, hungry for each other’s touch as if it had been a year they were apart, not just a week. And it was perfect, it was home, it was exactly what he wanted.
But it wasn’t what they needed. What his boyfriend needed.
Paul had thought all the bandages were good and ripped off, but he had forgotten the big, unwieldy bandage called “everyone else.” Everyone as in his patients, his neighbors, random people on the street.
Those random eyes he felt boring a hole in him Eighth Street.
This should be basic stuff, stuff that other guys learned to do in their teens and twenties. How to walk next to a date. When to casually hold hands. But he didn’t even know how close to walk next to Ace. Should their shoulders touch? Would it be weird for them to hold hands? Would people stare? And judge?
And there was that bogeyman again. His brain was warring with his heart, and the battle was sending conflicting messages to the nerves in his hands, which twitched at his sides.
Ace noticed. He playfully bumped against Paul’s side.
“Relax,” Ace said, “your tenseness is contagious.”
“Relax, he says,” Paul muttered under his breath. “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve been on a date? A date-date? I’m pretty sure there was a corsage involved.”
“Well, I feel cheated,” Ace pouted. “I didn’t get a corsage. And I’ve already put out and everything.”
This time Paul bumped him. “I’m trying to do this right, you know? I’m just so completely without practice.”
Ace smiled softly. “You don’t have to hold my hand, you know.”
Paul blinked. “How did you –”
“You’re sending a kind of sign language there,” he said, pointing to Paul’s still-twitching hands.
Paul stuffed his hands into his pockets to try to calm the tremors.
“Stop worrying that you’re doing this wrong,” Ace continued. “You’re doing it. Period. You’re incredible.”
Paul stopped them in the middle of the sidewalk and stared into Ace’s smiling, deep eyes. That bogeyman was being disarmed, blade by blade.
“I want to kiss you right now.”
Ace grinned. “You do like to skip ahead, don’t you?”
“The theme of our relationship,” Paul grinned.
Which was an understatement. I fucked him before I knew his full name, and suddenly holding his hand is the big scary step.
“Well, you have my permission to kiss me or hold my hand or anything you’re comfortable with,” Ace said.
Paul nodded, determined. He pulled his hands from his pockets and took Ace’s right hand in his left as they continued toward the restaurant.
Instantly, Paul was aware of two things: one, how perfectly right Ace’s hand felt in his. How warm and living and anchoring it was. After all the dirty things they had done to each other with their hands (among other things), this simple touch was knocking his senses out.
And two: he could feel a thousand eyes pounce on him. Which was an exaggeration, of course. But he did catch some stares. Mostly, they were from smiling people, college girls who ran their eyes over the pair of them and sighed in appreciation. Old married couples who grinned at a display of love. Another pair of men who smiled at them as comrades.
But a few eyes came with frowns, and those, of course, only added to Paul’s nerves.
Ace caught those same eyes. “Just ignore them,” he murmured. “What did Eleanor Roosevelt say? No one can hurt you without your permission?”
“Something like that,” Paul said. He stopped looking out for any more judging eyes and concentrated instead on the pleasant if foreign feeling of walking hand in hand with his man.
They walked past Drayton’s outdoor seating area, and Paul caught the eager look in Ace’s eyes. He wanted to sit outside tonight, Paul could tell.
Yet another test to pass.