Time Out of Mind (Suncoast Society #43)(12)

And that’s what it felt like, that Doyle was some uber-excellent tennis player, calm and poised, and here he was scrambling and tripping all over himself and hitting the pavement face-first while trying to return every verbal shot.

It didn’t help that there was just…something about Doyle drawing Mevi in.

“So why didn’t we take the 10? Wouldn’t that have been a more direct route?”

“I don’t want to go through Phoenix. Too big. Too much a risk of someone recognizing you. We’re going to take the scenic route. When was the last time you were able to go on a road trip and relax?”

Mevi stared at him for a long time. “You’re serious?”

“Yep. If there are any places you want to see along the way, speak up. We’ll try to fit them in.” He unzipped a bag and started going through it, looking for something.

“Why?”

Doyle didn’t look up from what he was doing. “Why what?”

“If you want to hide me, why are we sightseeing?”

“Because once your tour starts, your anonymity ends, and your stress begins in earnest. You just spent sixty days in a highly structured environment where you couldn’t help but succeed because you couldn’t get access to alcohol. Now you need to adjust to this and get your feet under you if you want to hold on to your sobriety. You need time out of your mind to regain direction.”

“Ah. So this where you get preachy with me, right?”

“Nope. No preaching from me.” He had come up with a shower kit and what looked like a pair of shorts. “You need a shower? I had one before we left LA.”

Mevi blinked, staring at him. “Yeah, I guess.”

“I’ll only be a minute and then the bathroom’s all yours.” He stood and headed to the bathroom, where the toilet and shower were located. The sink was on a vanity counter outside the bathroom, open to the rest of the room.

Mevi waited until Doyle had closed the door behind him to sit on his own bed. Yeah, that was definitely a chub in his pants over the guy. He couldn’t quite pin him down.

He thought back to Doyle’s comment about not getting involved with clients. That Doyle thought he was good-looking, but…

That meant…

Shit.

That meant the guy was gay.

Fuck. Me.

Mevi swallowed hard. He’d been determined he wouldn’t reveal that secret to anyone.

Now he’d be spending the next two months with a guy he was attracted to.

When Doyle emerged from the bathroom, he’d changed into loose shorts. He stopped at the vanity to wash his hands and brush his teeth and Mevi snuck a look.

From what he could make out, the guy had a nice ass.

Not wanting to get caught, he grabbed his stuff and headed into the bathroom to shower, locking the door behind him. While he hadn’t intended to, now he really needed to rub one out in privacy.

Ironically, it was the first time he’d felt anything remotely like physical attraction in several months. Definitely the first time he’d felt like masturbating since before rehab.

Instead of wasting brain cells on thinking about it, he opted to jump into the shower and take care of it. It also provided him with a desperately needed mental diversion.

Taking his cock into his hand, he fisted it and closed his eyes as he rested his head against the wall. His mind quickly spun through a wide variety of sexual fantasies he’d used in the past with good success. Even though he hardened, he realized that none of the usual fare would do the trick.

Fuck it.

He conjured Doyle’s intense brown gaze in his mind and…

There we go.

It didn’t take him long to stroke himself to a fairly intense orgasm, one that left him breathless and shaky in a good way.

Okay, then. If he needed to get through this experience using Doyle as really hot wank fodder, he would. Not like anything would ever come of it. Had to be some professional code prohibiting it, right?

Right.

He finished his shower and threw on a pair of sleep pants. When he emerged, he found Doyle stretched out on his bed and working on his laptop, the TV tuned to the Discovery channel. After Mevi finished getting ready for bed, he climbed in without comment and lay with his back toward Doyle.

“Night,” Doyle said.

Mevi finally grunted. “Night.”





Wasn’t the most auspicious of starts, but Doyle would take the win. Mevi had apparently resigned himself to the situation.

For now.

Doyle expected at least one raging bout of pushback at some point, probably sooner rather than later. Maybe once they reached Florida and weren’t on the road any longer.

It would happen.

It always did.

How severe the episode, and what response he used, depended on the client, their personality, and how long they’d been sober. Doyle was hopeful with sixty days in rehab under Mevi’s belt, and a pressing desire to maintain his sobriety, that Mevi’s pushback would be easily managed.

Doyle was familiar with the facility Mevi had been at. High-end, private counselors, similar to The Compound, although they had slightly looser intake criteria and they took insurance. Still, a good place run by good people.

Once he finished catching up with his e-mail, he shut the laptop down and set it aside. After putting the TV on timer mode to shut it off, he took one last look at the portable door alarm he’d placed while Mevi was in the shower. Wedged low in the door, it would let out a piercing shriek if the door was opened before it was deactivated.