Saugatuck Summer (Saugatuck, #1)(35)

“Done with work for the day?” I asked, grabbing a bottle of beer out of the fridge for myself and a fresh one for him. Because, pizza.

“Well, I had to send some stuff to my editor and I’m waiting for feedback that I probably won’t get until Monday, so it seemed a good time to take a break from working on it twelve to fourteen hours a day.”

“Ah.” I set the beers down on the coffee table before him and he twisted off the caps while I grabbed plates and napkins for both of us. I slid a hesitant glance at him under my lashes. “Did Mo call you?”

He nodded, his expression sobering. “Yeah.” He blew out a slow sigh. “We dodged the bullet there, I guess.”

“Guess so.” I handed him his plate and sat beside him.

We fell silent, eating our pizza and sipping our beers. I wondered if Brendan was pondering the same question I was: when and if we’d finally find the strength to stop this insanity the way we should have done a week ago when it’d first started. That was the worst part of it. He wasn’t using me. He wasn’t taking advantage of me. If he had been, I’d like to think that something would have pinged me the wrong way and I’d have been able to pull back and call a halt to it. But he genuinely did like me. Care about me. He didn’t want to hurt me; he just didn’t know how to stop, and neither did I. Every time it looked like one of us might be almost ready to try, the other pulled him back in.

That sounded stupid, didn’t it? I always thought so, whenever I watched a movie or read a book that had someone committing infidelity, miserable because they didn’t know how to stop. I’d scream at the character to just f*cking stop already. I didn’t understand how two people could meet such a deep-seated need within one another that they kind of became addicted, contrary to all reason, no matter how destructive the situation.

I think for Brendan, I satisfied that long-suppressed aspect of his sexuality that he’d never allowed himself to experience. I didn’t know how to put into words what need Brendan fulfilled for me. It was his kindness and understanding and acceptance—things I’d never had before. At least not from someone like him.

But moments like this, when we couldn’t ignore that this was an awful thing we were doing and it was destined to end in misery, not just for us but for people we loved, were why the affair couldn’t ever make us happy. It might meet certain needs within us, but joy would never be one of them.

When the pizza was gone and the dishes put away, we sat side by side on the sofa and I told him about the possibility that I’d found an actual job in town. As we spoke, his hand drifted closer to me, his fingers brushing up and down my neck and jaw until I forgot what I was speaking about and began to grow warm, pliant, hard. My eyes turned to him, asking the question we asked ourselves every single time.

Are we really going to do this?

Accepting the answer was easy, now. Too damn easy.

Yes.

Someday the answer would be no and that would be the end of it. But not yet.

Not yet.





Pulled to you like waves to the coastline

I can let you go, I’m sure I’ll be fine

I keep telling myself those comforting lies

To get through the longest night

—Casey Stratton, “Cruel Hand of Fate”

I could smell coffee and toast as I emerged from the shower after my swim a couple days later, and heard water running in Brendan’s bathroom. Since I didn’t have to be in town to start work for Geoffrey until noon, I let myself into his bedroom and watched from the bathroom doorway as he shut off the water. He turned to see me standing there, and a smile spread over his face. I just couldn’t help it; I stepped into the bathroom to greet him as he emerged from behind the glass slider.

“Good morning.” There was an invitation in his eyes and he drew me in, leaning close to claim my mouth.

I sank into the kiss, humming, letting my hand trail down his body—still dripping wet from the shower—to his groin. Here, Brendan’s age sometimes told; he was still soft. Quickly, I pulled my hand back up, pressing my clothed body closer, creating some friction, waiting for him to firm up a bit.

His hand captured mine and urged it down again.

“Touch me, Topher,” he whispered against my neck, his hair dripping on my shoulder. I tried to flinch out of his grasp, but his hand tightened on mine, pushing harder. “Please . . .”

Suddenly my heart was racing and I couldn’t breathe. My hand was getting closer to that wet, malleable flesh and my stomach started to twist, sending up a wave of nausea.

“No,” I gasped, pulling away as much as his arm around my back would allow. I tugged, trying to reclaim my hand, but he wasn’t getting the hint.

“Damn it, let go!” I snapped, twisting my wrist and jerking away hard. I nearly stumbled when he released me in his surprise, his deep blue eyes astonished.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.” I was shaking, still queasy. The skin around my wrist stung. I looked anywhere but at his body. If he was still soft, I didn’t want to see it. But then, considering what had just happened, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know if he was hard, either. “I need to get ready for work.”

I spun on my heel and raced for the stairs. Brendan charged after me, snatching a towel around his hips.

“Christopher, wait!”