Page 7 of The Bairwick Witches
Schuyler sat on Estelle’s porch in one of the rocking chairs, listening to the insects on the otherwise silent night. Silent, except for the slurping coming from the man between his legs, whose hair Sky ran his fingers through. While the not-unappealing gentleman from the faceless profile did good work, Schuyler’s thoughts were elsewhere.
Everyone had moved on. His entire sexual social circle had paired off. Though they were all happy he was home, wanted to hang out, and even introduce their partners—probably leading to a threesome—none of them were available for what he truly needed that night. And though he was happy for them, he’dhoped at least one of them would have responded with how much they missed him and could they come ride him, right away.
Was that too much to ask?
Except no one did, and he took that personally. Another blow to his ego that Jon—or Sebastian, or whatever his name was, attempted to fix orally. With the vivid memory of Devion still fresh in his mind, he focused on his love’s face. Nameless moaned in excitement as fresh life surged into Schuyler’s erection, giving the suitor something to gag over; it was recounting he and Dev’s sexual exploits that pushed him to the finish line. Thrusting his hips into Nameless’ mouth as if it were Dev’s round, hairy ass.
The suitor wiped his mouth and thanked him before casting a relocation spell and vanishing into the dark; Schuyler remained seated. He’d given a soft goodbye and then sat back and rocked, annoyed at everyone for partnering up and now forcing him to do something he didn’t really want to do—date.
Chapter Three
Schuyler expected his uncles to be asleep when he came in through the kitchen door. He wanted to sit, get some food, and process the nonsense of yet another disastrous date. He found, however, that the two men were very much awake, seated at the small kitchen dinette table covered in treats, including a vanilla milkshake from Hammy Ham’s Ice Cream Parlor—Schuyler’s favorite
Sky slid into the seat with a suspicious eyebrow raised. “What’s all this then?” He questioned reaching for the milkshake and the fresh-from-the-air-fryer fries sitting next to the cup.
“Monkey, you’ve been on like five dates and haven’t told us the first damn thing. So, welcome to our midnight attack zone! Dish.” Beau demanded, clearing the crème from the middle of a double-stuffed Oreo.
“Details are due, son,” Marshall added, tending to his own chocolate milkshake.
Schuyler knew there’d be no getting away. He dipped a fry, which was the epitome of crispy perfection, into the refreshing,cool ice cream and enjoyed the sweet-and-salty duo before launching into the evening.
“Well, tonight’s charming bachelor was Thomas, thirty-two: a visual artist, body like a jungle gym you wanted to climb but a face like a bulldog. The date started okay; we had a few laughs, found we had a couple of shared experiences, and I was thinking I could get over the Bulldog-ness of it all. I mean, yes, the pudgy nose and jacked grill, but his t-shirt fit his arms like they were molded out of fuckin resin.
“The conversation was good, he’s charming in the right spots, humorous in others. I was thinking ‘Okay, maybe a second date is in the cards.Or very least, a nice round of after-dinner oral.”
“Slut,” Beau snapped.
“Mmhmm. So… then the appetizers came.” Schuyler sighed out loud, shaking his head, still in disbelief of what had occurred a couple hours ago.
This is how people with PTSD feel, isn’t it?
“A sample platter as big as a meal arrived, to which Thomas said he had ordered for the table, for us to share.These are important facts that come into play later. Our convo continued, and I helped myself to a spring roll.
“This was the only one I got, mind you.
“And once he started digging in, he didn’t stop! He hoovered the entire plate: the spring rolls, southwest egg rolls, the sliders, mini tacos, chicken fingers, onion petals, and all the Crab Rangoons. I love me a Rangoon—the audacity of this man.
“And the dipping sauces!” An audible groan left Sky as the ordeal came rushing back to the forefront of his memory. “The fucking dipping sauces. There were sauces for each fucking item, and there he was driving the food into these little cups likethey’re H-bombs. Sauce was flinging everywhere, all over his fingers, oozing down his face, and he just licked them fucking clean like a raccoon at a birdbath.
“Truthfully, the whole thing was borderline aggressive, even as he somehow still managed to carry on a delightful conversation. The ordeal was horrifying—a non-stop cycle of food, drowned in sauce, shoved into mouth, the chomping, the repetition. I love a good appetizer sampler as much as the next witch, but gawd damn.” Schuyler grimaced as he took a sip of the extra-thick milkshake. “And then, he ate a full dinner on top of it.
“Needless to say, an offer for oral was not extended. I think maybe he didn’t realize he was doing it? And what do you say that doesn’t come off rude as hell? Am I supposed to Willy Wonka him?Augustus, save some room for later!He certainly didn’t see how unappealing the whole thing made him. Maybe his nerves. But, no second date.”
After a few more fries, which his stomach thanked him for after the appetizer massacre, he’d lost his appetite for the remainder of the dinner.
“Let’s see, before Thomas, there was Callum Wren. You might remember him? We were close in my twenties. He was around when there was a lot of drinking, drugs, and abusing magic. Dealing with my grief, and he’d match me shot for shot, even with Devil’s Nectar.”
Both Beau and Marshall gnashed their teeth and scrunched their faces, recalling the horrors of the strong and enchanted liquor crafted by the reclusive monks who lived outside of town.
“Which I thought hilarious ’cause he complained about the sweetness of his iced tea to the waitress. Aging is a trip. I hadn’t heard from him in a while, and once I was likeon the apps, hemessaged me. I thought to reconnect as friends, but it turned out to be a proper date.”
Sky and Cal had had their fun partying, different clubs, sharing guys, and when there was no one else they fancied, they enjoyed each other. Those were only a handful of times, but once the topic surfaced at dinner, Cal never stopped fishing for it.
Schuyler flopped his head forward on his chest and pretended to sob; that dinner had proved exhausting, constantly steering the conversation away from the few scattered nights of their exploits. Yes, the dorm room sex had been fun. Yes, their hot tryst in the parking lot of the Gaga concert was memorable. There were other things to talk about, to catch up on since those days, but Cal refused to take the hint.
“It was like the movie,Speed; he couldn’t let the conversation change from us fucking, or the table would explode. And listen, I don’t wanna judge anyone’s appearance.”
Both Beau and Marshall sat up and leaned forward in unison.
