What He Fears Page 9

  “This is my private oasis. Even Nicky doesn’t come out here often, but I want to share it with you.” Rory’s slender fingers wrapped around the railing and he looked out at the view. Rory’s house was a bit out of the way, but the extra privacy was nice. Instead of looking out into other backyards, there was nothing but trees. “Sit.” Rory pointed down to a couple of yoga mats that were stretched out on the balcony.

  Andrew did as he was told and sat on the mat. He watched in awe as Rory sat, folding his legs into the lotus position.

  “Doesn’t that hurt?” Andrew’s legs ached just looking at him.

  “Not at all. You don’t have to do it. Sit however you’re comfortable.”

  Andrew shifted around until he was as comfortable as he was going to get and stared out at the trees. Summer fled slowly this year, but Fall was now edging its way in and the trees were turning from green into various shades of yellow and gold.

  “It’s nice out here.” Where they sat they were bathed in the morning sunlight and it took the chill out of the air. It was quite comfortable.

  “I do all my best thinking out here.”

  Curiosity won out. “You said Nick doesn’t come out here. Why not?” Rory ran his fingers through his hair, he seemed to need a moment to gather that particular answer so Andrew went with an easier question. “Why blue?”

  Rory tugged on a strand and grinned. “Oh, this. You see,” he put his hands behind him, his palms flat on the deck with his fingers splayed. He leaned on his sinewy arms. “I am probably completely grey. I don’t know, but I’d guess that, yes, totally grey.”

  “You’re what? Forty?”

  Rory squawked playfully and shot Andrew a mock glare. “I’m thirty-nine, but for my twentieth birthday I got my first grey hair. I thought it was a fluke, but by the time I was twenty-two I’d started dyeing my hair to cover it. One time, I was pushing thirty, and I decided to stop dying my hair, to see how far the grey had progressed. My roots were completely grey.”

  “So you went blue?”

  “Steve bought me a bottle of blue as a joke. He said it would make my hair match my mood. Asshole.”

  “What’s your natural color?”

  “It wasn’t anything special. I wasn’t quite blonde, but I wasn’t quite dark enough to be a brunette. It was this dark blonde mousy color. It was ugly and plain. When I started hiding the grey, I stuck to natural tones. Lots of rich browns, lots of highlights.”

  “I bet you looked good.” His compliment seemed to amuse Rory, but it was the truth. Rory was so flashy, so bold and vibrant and Andrew suspected, without his blue hair, he’d be alluring, maybe more so than he already was. He couldn’t deny that there was something magnetic about the man. Something under the surface, under the blue hair and winsome smile. Something that didn’t need to be dressed up with color or accessorized, something that stood all on its own. A force that demanded attention and respect, but not in a loud, in your face, way. A subtle energy that he couldn’t help but notice.

  “Thank you.” Rory’s acceptance of the compliment, the way his smile widened a fraction and his eyes sparked with amusement, made Andrew want to compliment him again, but he didn’t know what to say. Nothing he could think of seemed appropriate, so he changed the subject.

  “It’s nice out here.” Andrew could use a space like this at home. Somewhere to relax. He had sometimes been tempted to fill Xavier’s vacant bedroom with a roommate, but the idea often seemed like more trouble than it was worth. He supposed he should move into a smaller apartment, the rent would be slightly cheaper and there was little reason for the second bedroom.

  “Do you ever stop thinking?” Rory’s voice lilted in an amused way and Andrew flashed him a sheepish smile.

  “Uh, that would be a no. It never turns off. I run. I climb. I work, and my brain is always going. Sometimes, when I’m with Nick, it’ll slow down.”

  “I want you to try something.” Andrew must’ve given Rory some sort of look because his smile broadened into a grin and he bit back a laugh. “Shit, you’re precious. It’s nothing scary, I promise.”

  He forced himself to take a deep breath. “Okay.” He tried to keep the cautious scepticism out of his voice.

  “Breathe, in and out, not too slow, not too fast. Close your eyes.”

  He closed his eyes.

  “Now think of Nick. Concentrate on him and only him. And whenever your mind starts to drift, and you start thinking about something else, I want you to refocus yourself and think about Nick again.”

  He popped an eye open and looked at Rory. “And I’m doing this because…?”

  “Just do it.”

  Andrew suppressed a sigh and closed his eyes. He concentrated on Nick, on the way the corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled. He thought of the way Nick’s arms moved when they ran together and the way their footfalls seemed to sync. He thought of the way Nick looked all soft around the edges whenever Rory looked at him a certain way, or whenever Rory touched him, or called him Nicky. Their bond was something special, Andrew could see that. That they brought him into their relationship and wanted him here, it was thrilling and terrifying. Exhilarating and excruciating and he couldn’t quite pinpoint why.

  “Andrew.”

  Andrew snapped his eyes open and stared at Rory. Rory had untangled his limbs and moved closer, he had his hand on Andrew’s knee. “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah.” Andrew shrugged. “I don’t think I enjoyed that, though.”

  Rory sat back on his bottom and rolled his shoulders. Despite the fact that Andrew suspected Rory might be feeling a little awkward he was still the epitome of fluid grace, it wasn’t a wonder why Nick liked to watch him dance. Andrew tried not to think about it, but then the image was there in his mind and he couldn’t shake it.

  Rory, light strobing off his skin as he danced. Rolling his hips, touching people, being touched. It wouldn’t bother Andrew because he knew Rory liked rules, he liked limits, he wouldn’t cross any lines. Sweat would bead on his skin. In Andrew’s mind a droplet ran down Rory’s neck onto his collarbone. It traced the sleek slant.

  He stilled. Rory was still talking but Andrew couldn’t hear his words over the rush of his blood in his ears, the rapid beat of his heart, his too-tight chest, which could take air in, but wouldn’t let any out, and the surprising feeling of the suddenly too-hard cock between his legs.

  Andrew shoved himself to his feet, ignoring the look of shocked confusion on Rory’s face he stumbled backward toward the door. “I need to go. Thanks for, uh, everything. I’ll see you later.”

  He stumbled backward through the door, turned and made a beeline through Rory’s room, making a point of looking at the floor, and not the galaxy bedspread. He tried to get out the front door before Rory caught up to him, but it was no use, he barely made it out of the bedroom before Rory darted around him in the hallway. He held his arms out, blocking Andrew’s path.

  “Andrew, wait. What did I do? Please. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  Andrew wanted his dick to go down. He wanted to look at Rory and not feel that thing, that energy, that pull, that invisible string that tugged at him whenever Rory was near. He shoved his trembling hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “It’s not you… well it is… sort of, but it’s not. You didn’t do anything. I need to go. Please? Can I?”

  Rory dropped his arms, and Andrew saw fear flicker through his expression. “Andrew, you need to talk to me. Please. I can’t have you run out of here scared out of your mind. I can’t explain that to Nick. I don’t want it to seem like I’m using him as emotional blackmail, and maybe I am, but we’re a unit, if not a circle, a triangle. If this is going to work, you can’t leave. We have to talk this out.”

  Andrew didn’t want to talk, but he never wanted to talk. He didn’t want to talk to his mom about his dad leaving. He didn’t want to talk to Xavier about how unfair his expectations of him had been. He didn’t want to talk to Everett when he’d fallen for
him, and all that had ever done was make things worse.

  “Okay.” He sucked in a deep breath. In front of him, Rory visibly relaxed.

  “What happened, Andrew?”

  He couldn’t find the words, so he looked down and gave his pelvis a little thrust. His erection had started to flag but was still obvious.

  Rory looked down, then back at him, his expression blank and unreadable, but not uncaring, he thought. It seemed to be blank in a non-judgemental way and some tension eased out of his shoulders.

  “Let’s go have a drink and a chat in the kitchen. I have some cookies that Everett brought over the other day, would you like some?”

  He shook his head. “He brought me two dozen.”

  “That boy does like to feed people. Do you want coffee or tea?”

  “Coffee, please.”

  Andrew sat at the table and folded his hands together in his lap. He twined his fingers, fidgeted, untwined them, ran his sweaty palms down his pant legs. He watched Rory flit about the kitchen, and after a few minutes of silence, Rory set a cup of coffee down, and sat down across from him.

  He sniffed the air. “What’s that?” He asked, staring at Rory’s cup. It smelled a little spicy, and almost sweet. He wrapped his hands around his cup to keep himself from fidgeting.

  “Cinnamon and Orange Blossom. It’s my favorite.” Rory brought the mug to his mouth for a sip. “So, are you going to tell me what was so alarming about an erection? We’re both men, Andrew. It happens to everyone.”

  Andrew looked down and stared into his coffee. He wet his lips and turned the mug, concentrating on the sound of the ceramic sliding on the wooden surface. “Not to me, not really. I’m not really a pop-random-boners kind of guy. Like,” he sucked in a breath and tried to gather his thoughts. “Okay, it’s hard to explain, and no one gets it. Hell, I don’t get it, but usually, people, yeah, they’re attractive, but they don’t do much for me, that way, unless I like them.” He rushed through his explanation, then sighed. “Unless I like them like that.”

  Without missing a beat, Rory chimed in. “Oh. Are you demi?”

  He looked at Rory. “Am I what?”

  Rory kept his cup cradled in his hands as he answered. “Demisexual. It means you aren’t sexually aroused by someone you’re not emotionally invested in.”

  “I—don’t know.” He turned the phrase over in his head. The idea that there was a word for it, stole his capacity to think clearly. “That’s a thing?”

  “You bet it is. Sexuality works different for everyone, Andrew.”

  Not broken. Not frigid. Not holding things back or keeping people at a distance. He clung to the possibility that he wasn’t the cold and broken person he’d at times felt like. It would explain so much. Why he didn’t like cruising the bars to pick up random strangers for one-night stands. Why he couldn’t get physically close to people as easily as his friends always seemed to be able to.

  “And I—I could be that? Be demi?” Letting go of his coffee cup, he wiped his sweating palms down his pant legs.

  “It’s a possibility, only you can decide for yourself what you are. I was merely curious.” Rory set his tea down and looked at Andrew. “Now I have one more question, Andrew, and I want the truth, because none of this works without it.” Rory waited a beat and continued after Andrew gave him a small nod. “Did you get hard because of me?”

  He didn’t want to answer. It felt disloyal to Nick. He nodded anyway.

  “That’s allowed, you know. You didn’t do anything wrong.” He chuckled, and Andrew watched him clap a hand over his mouth. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t laugh, but… I thought you hated me. Unless that was an unfriendly erection you had earlier.”

  He shrugged a shoulder. “I only hated you briefly, when I thought I was in love with my best friend. When he leaned on you when I wanted him to lean on me. I thought, for a long time, actually, that you’d end up together.”

  Rory shook his head. “Everett is like a baby brother. He’s sweet, and gorgeous, but not my type.” He raked his gaze over Andrew. “If you didn’t notice, my type is a little different. Like Nick, he’s my type. Tall, handsome, broad shoulders, killer smile, great ass, dark hair, though sometimes I do go for the dirty blonds.”

  Andrew swallowed a lump of trepidation. He liked Rory. He was handsome, all sleek and sinewy, shorter and slimmer than Andrew, but strong.

  “It’s okay to like me, you do know that, right Andrew?”

  “But… Nick?”

  Rory smiled at him with a thousand secrets in his eyes. “It will be okay with Nick. Stay until he gets back, you’ll see.”

  Andrew, for lack of any other possible response, nodded.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Nick

  Rory texted him at work, something he seldom did. He wasn’t the clingy, eighty-seven-text-messages a day sort of guy, so when he did text, Nick knew it was important. And today’s text had been especially cryptic. He wanted him to come back over after his shift, something Nick had every intention of doing, anyway.

  He used his key and unlocked the front door. “Rory?” He called as he shut the door behind him.

  “We’re in the living room.”

  Nick toed out of his shoes and set them off to the side, noticing that Andrew’s shoes were still there where they’d been this morning. Their morning together had obviously turned into an entire day. Nick scrubbed his hand over his face and took a deep breath. This was either really, really, good, or colossally bad.

  He steeled himself and headed to the living room. Not knowing was always worse than knowing. The absence of knowledge led to speculation, and that often led to fear. Nick took a breath and reassured himself that, no matter the outcome, Rory would be there.

  He forced a lightness to his voice as he swept into the room. “Honey, I’m home.” He stopped dead in his tracks. Not only was Andrew still there, but he was sitting on the couch next to Rory, and they were holding hands.

  Andrew, who didn’t want to be afraid, who only need a push, and Rory, who wanted Nick to give him that push, together, holding hands. If he hadn’t had seen it with his own eyes, he wouldn’t have believed it. “Well, this is interesting.” He sat on the other end of the sectional and stared at the two men. “When I left the two of you this morning, I’d hoped that you’d get along, but this is admittedly more than I imagined.” He licked his lips and tried to ignore his growing erection.

  Rory reached out and patted Andrew’s chest with his free hand. “I told you he wouldn’t have a problem with this.”

  Nick cleared his throat. “This is the opposite of a problem.” He wanted to move closer to Andrew, to join the pair, to examine the curious look of fear-laced excitement in Andrew’s eyes. Instead he leaned back and draped his arms over the back of the couch and spread his legs to showcase the bulge in his pants. “I’d like to know how this happened.”

  “Well,” Andrew’s skin turned a fantastic shade of crimson and Nick cut him off.

  “Later. I want to know later. Right now, I want to know if you’ve kissed yet?”

  Andrew shook his head and glee unfurled in Nick so fast it felt like waking up and realizing that it was Christmas morning and Santa had brought him a brand new shiny toy.

  Rory laughed and his hand stilled against Andrew’s chest. Nick liked the way they looked together. Andrew, with his guarded emotions and his uncertainty, and Rory with his openness and his magnetism. Nick reached down and palmed his cock. Fuck, the idea of the two of them, or the three of them together was enough to make him insane with lust, but he wanted more than sex, more than two gorgeous fuck buddies.

  Once, he’d sat and asked Rory to be his one, his only, and Rory said no. And every moment after that one had been tainted with uncertainty. Then Andrew crashed into him, and Nick noticed him, and he’d have been content to be Andrew’s friend, but knowing he wanted more made him greedy, and now everything he wanted was so close he could touch it, taste it.

  “Do you want to,
Andrew?” He brought his hand from the back of the couch and put it on his cock. He gripped it through his pants and gave it a long, slow stroke. He watched Andrew watching him, aware that Rory watched them both.

  Andrew nodded, and Nick didn’t wait for the words. The words could come later. He’d pull them out of Andrew letter by letter until he understood how this had happened. Nick looked at Rory, who wore a sly expression. Then Rory, with all his fluid grace, climbed onto Andrew’s lap. Nick wanted to pull his camera out and film this moment. He wanted to remember forever the way Rory’s fingers caressed Andrew’s cheekbones and the way Andrew’s eyelashes fluttered against his skin as he closed his eyes, then forced them open again.

  Andrew bit his lip, and Rory used his thumb to tug it free gently. Impossibly, Rory leaned closer and Nick wanted to be there with them, sharing the same space, feeling their skin tremble as their lips touched for the first time.

  Rory’s lips brushed against Andrew’s in a sweet, chaste way, that was so entirely satisfying in its tenderness. He paused, probably gauging Andrew’s willingness, the same way Nick was from across the room. Then Andrew’s hands slid up the outside of Rory’s legs and Rory leaned in and kissed him for real.

  He wrapped his fingers around the back of Andrew’s neck and Nick watched Andrew’s lips part. A flash of tongue, then another. Then Rory pulled away. He smiled sweetly at Andrew as he ran his index finger down the slope of Andrew’s nose. “I’d like to do that again.” Rory slid off Andrew’s lap and nestled in next to him. He held onto Andrew’s bicep and pulled his feet up onto the couch next to him and leaned against him. “But first I think we have some explaining to do.” Rory glanced at the spot next to Andrew. “Sit, Nicky. I’ll explain for Andrew, he’s done a lot of talking today.”

  As Nick stood, he kept his gaze pinned to Andrew. Wide-eyed and blushing, Nick didn’t see a shred of uncertainty in Andrew’s gaze. He sat next to him and reached out, his fingers skimmed up Andrew’s neck.

  “You want this.” It seemed impossible. Andrew, who stumbled into his life not long ago, who didn’t seem to know which way was up, who needed a friend, then something more. Andrew nodded, but that wasn’t good enough. Not this time. Not when Nick could scarcely breathe through his want. He needed this, needed the words, the absolute certainty that he wasn’t going to screw it up if he reached for it. His relationships with both men were a delicate balancing act, or maybe a trapeze, and Nick swung between the two men, needing to catch them both. He was terrified of failing, of everything he wanted slipping through his fingers and crashing down.