Page 9 of The Bairwick Witches
“He said a lot of the right things, and like our chats, the convo was easy and fun, and we talked about love, loss, and what we wanted in the future. I felt comfortable. I felt I matched what he was bringing to the table. Like second date material—definite after dinner oral.”
“Our son is a whore, Marshall,” Beau said, leaning heavily into his southern accent, sipping some tea.
“Guess we raised him right.”
“I like to think of myself as a very go-with-the-flow type soul. Anyway, we continued the date after the restaurant, walking around downtown aimlessly. Stopped for a sweet treat. I deliberately lingered a few steps behind him cause his ass in those tight jeans was borderline criminal.”
Their flirtation had grown stronger until they were in the parking garage, in the back seat of Dylan’s truck. His kisses were heavenly—deep and passionate—and Schuyler had enjoyed the simple make-out session. But Dylan wanted more, pulling offhis shirt, showing off the body the hard work his country-boy lifestyle assisted in creating.
“I ran my hands over those abs, and I was like ’where’s my gingham shirt, Pa? My own pair of Wranglers. I mean, all thisassin those?! I’d be unstoppable. Give me a cast iron skillet and point me to the stove, ’cause I was down to be a pioneer homo.” Schuyler had stripped his shirt off as well, the cab getting steamy with their body heat as they made out more.
Schuyler, who felt he’d normally complain about such cramped quarters, especially being forty, was glad that they had a place they could fuck in; he found himself immersed in the moment, always up for a good time. And he’d given in to Dylan’s request that their pants had to go as well; Schuyler enjoyed feeling the cool leather under his ass as he encouraged Dylan’s oral prowess. “The farmer knew how to sweet-talk some cock, mmkay.
“And then,” Schuyler added ominously, once again preparing to relay the turn the date took, “while in the middle of servicing me, he looks up at me, smiles, and says,I love you.Like, with his full chest, he said this. I thought, maybe he’s joking; was he talking to me or my dick?”
Dylan had never tried to course-correct or cover up what he said, leaving his words hanging in the air between them, waiting for a response. “And… five minutes later, he doubled down, started discussing a fully committed relationship, meeting his family, us living together, even dropping hints about marriage. And all of this is being said into my dick like it was open mic night. All I could do was stare at the beige ceiling of the truck and will myself to come so I could leave. He filled every moment he didn’t have his mouth full of my cock with pleas for a life together and a constant string ofI love you’s.
“After I raced to my finish line, I’d offered to reciprocate, because if I’m anything, it’s a gentleman. He refused, though, and said he was only in the mood to give, and I could get him next time. And I was like ‘okay, I’m outta here.’
“He kissed me goodnight and then threw anotherI love youat me. And I mean, it was a full forceI love you. Who tosses those words out so easily? I can’t wrap my head around where he was coming from. Who proposes a lifetime commitment after one dinner, with a mouth full of cock, in the back of an extended cab Chevy Tahoe? Are we in Florida?”
“Lonely, maybe,” Marshall interjected, “someone over the games, the trying, the daunting aspects of finding true connection in a distracted world. A person ready to have a life with someone.”
Schuyler had felt the same for years, tired of dating and men who wasted his time, until he met his ex. “I can’t see myself moving as fast as he appears to want to go. Maybe he would have been a great partner, and maybe dates two, three, and four would have been amazing. But how could I casually continue to date him, knowing he’s already picked out our matching burial plots? I want that, I think, still not sure, eventually though, not from the jump. Haven’t heard from him either. A bummer because I wanted to eat that ass like a buffet.”
Marshall stood, ready for bed. “Well, that was nightmare fuel and the main reason I don’t divorce your annoying ass uncle. You’ll have better luck with the next one, son. Have fun till you find him. I’m off to bed.” He hugged and kissed them both and made his way upstairs.
Beau lingered, “That’s a run of bad luck, Monkey. We can improve things, you know.” He offered, raising his hand, ruby colored energy flowing around his fingers. “A little Love Whipple never hurt anyone.”
“Absolutely not,” Schuyler snapped playfully. “There’s nothing to be done, so unless we’re going to Frankenstein me a partner in the lab, I’ll leave this up to the Goddesses.”
“If only.” The energy flared on his hand. “Even they would suggest you seek professional help.”
“I’m serious. Magic isn’t going to help this mess. All myformershave seemingly moved on to their forever people, and it seems I can’t attract anyone who isn’t crazy, apparently, so I can either keep trying or revisit that spinsterhood idea. No magic.”
“While I don’t like when you speak to me like one of those Darrins fromBewitched.Your wishes will be respected nonetheless.” Beau rose from the table. “Chiaro,” he commanded, sweeping his arms upwards and then swinging them down until his palms came together before he swiped his arms outwards, cutting a line through the air. The table was cleared in a blink; not a speck nor a crumb left behind, except for the empty cup still in Schuyler’s hand. “I wish I could say something that would give you some comfort, but it’s one a.m, and I’m tired and don’t have the will to lie to you.
“Your uncle is right, the next one will be better, might not betheone, might not even be close tothe one,but they’ll be better.” Beau headed to the door but then turned back with a quizzical look on his face. “I just thought of something that could be contributing to your dilemma.”
“What?” Schuyler sat up, curious. A curse? A hex? Had he pissed off an ancient deity without realizing? They were an incredibly moody bunch.
“Ever thought about how the issue might be—you? You’re kind of awful.” Beau couldn’t hold it in and left the kitchen laughing, proclaiming he was only kidding.
“Pincer,” Schuyler swirled his left hand in the air counterclockwise three times before clamping his fingertips together and snatching them inward to his palm rapidly.
“Ow! Dammit, that’s assault,” Beau yelled from the hallway. “Notusing magic, my ass! Ow, you heffa!”
“Goodnight,” Schuyler yelled playfully, knowing the pinching would continue for five minutes. He threw his cup away and made his way to his room. While they drove him crazy, his uncles were his anchors, and they kept him grounded.
Maybe they were right. Possibly the next date would be better, whomever the next date turned out to be. An issue for another night. He set his phone down on his desk, away from his bed, leaving the Do Not Disturb on, happily silencing the men waiting for an invitation, a confirmation, a late-night chat started off by a simple “hey.” Happy instead for the evening ending with his family and not him, alone in his room, replaying the events of the evening in his head. The men on his phone could remain unanswered within that liminal space for the evening. There were far better things to dream about.
Chapter Four
How?
The intrusive mantra of the morning. The bothersome question that haunted him.
How had all his former lovers evolved from the messes he knew them to be, to become solid people in happy, functional relationships? He was happy for them, of course, but how? Six bad dates in two weeks. How? He rarely ever had a bad date. Rarely had trouble finding someone to spend the night with. How had life turned out so oddly for him? Even though he was still unsure of the direction he wished to go next, where he would land, or what he would do. Having someone to spend those days with was a nagging need requiring attention. Someone to watch TV next to him in bed, as annoying as they could be sometimes.
