Page 34 of This or That
Braving the freezing wind whipping around us as we leave the restaurant, we agree to head back to my place.
“Can’t your mom go with you?”
“Terrible idea! My mom’s second marriage is falling apart. That’s why she needed a break and came here with all sorts of bullshit excuses. My manipulative father is a master at reading people. I can’t put her through that.” His expression turns apologetic. “That’s okay, though. I’m spending more time at Troy’s. As for my mom, she’ll be better off without Christopher. She has the worst taste in men!”
“Thank God you’re breaking the cycle in that department.”
“Words of wisdom.”
I grin at him and his reply first comes in the form of a wink at my matter-of-fact comment. Then, he can’t help but add a playful conclusion.
“Of course!”
Chapter 22
Late Night
Troy
Coming down from my high, I untie and kick off my Dr. Martens in haste as the door of my hotel room slams behind me.
Oops!
When I got ready hours ago, I debated on putting cowboy boots on for this gig, but Portland, Oregon’s frigid October weather didn’t give me much of a choice. As long as I sport my signature hat, nobody could care less about Monster Hunter’s shoes. I shiver.
Exhaustion creeps in, and I strip down to my boxer briefs before heading to the bathroom to brush my teeth with a single idea in mind: hitting the sack. The quivering doesn’t subside, and my head bops to bits and pieces of tonight’s mix that buzz inside my head. Looking at myself in the bathroom mirror, the evidence of my sleep deprivation is clear. I don’t mind the dark circles under my eyes; they’re part of the life I chose.
Meandering to close the curtains, I mindlessly stare at the full moon that casts a faint glow. I make a wish, then remember that the moon isn’t a shooting star and shrug at my own stupidity, knowing that it’s time for me to call it quits. Head still tilting from side to side to the nonexistent rhythm, I automatically swivel to set my phone on the nightstand. Monster Hunter needs to vacate my body so that I can catch up on my beauty sleep. Although most people wake up to go to work at this indecent hour, I pine for recovery time. Shifting my weight from one foot to the other, I stare longingly at the inviting bed, then fall into it and slide under the covers.
I love the feeling of fresh sheets. Stretching my aching muscles that resulted from countless hours spent standing while mixing, I realize that I forgot to set my alarm. Reluctantly, I extend my arm, blindly reaching for said phone.
My initial reluctance turns to amusement when I notice a text from Mike. Maybe the full moon does grant wishes after all.
Mike: This or that? Pick one.
This: phone call now. That: video call now. Miss ya.
Mike sent it three hours ago, which would have given us ample time to talk before he had to leave for work.
My tired brain does the math to figure out his potential whereabouts, considering that it’s already past nine in New York.
Troy:I pick YOU. Any way I can have you works for me. Sorry 4 the late reply. Just got back.
My fingers can’t type fast enough. Though the sound of his velvety voice is a major turn-on, texting is a safer bet than calling.
Troy:Awesome & exhausting gig. My muscles are sore from standing/entertaining the guests. Miss U so bad. Let’s catch up later.
My phone vibrates four times before my tired brain grasps that there’s an incoming call.
“Later.” One word from Mike, and my dick stirs to life, getting harder with every breath I take. My right hand grips my package over the fabric of my underwear and squeezes. The unbearable distance is killing me softly. On autopilot, I stifle a pained sigh once I’m comfortable. “Even miles away, I can hear your longing, baby.” How has he become so acutely attuned to me in so little time? Another loud sigh ensues, and I swallow the aforementioned longing the best I can. Another rush of heat courses through my body, and I’m on fire in no time. Another firm squeeze only whets my appetite. This man…
“I… miss you so fucking bad.” My voice comes out strangled. I don’t even care that I’m wearing my emotions on my sleeve, although I’m shirtless. The Vegas trip definitely marked a turning point in our relationship. I acknowledged that we are a couple. He acknowledged that intimacy with a man doesn’t scare him. We acknowledged that the line between love and hate is thinner than we originally thought. Well, I’m not sure where he stands as far as love is concerned; I know I’m far from ready to say the words, but who needs words when it’s this good anyway?
While sipping on his morning coffee, he updates me on his late start, assuring me that talking to me is more important for now; and just like that, my grogginess dissipates. “I miss your face.”
Since when have we expressed such desperation? “Not to be rude, but to be honest, it’s not your face I miss the most.”
“Oh, really? Didn’t you say you were haunted by my cowboy hat?”
