Page 70 of Beneath the Stain
Grant softly breathing smoke into his mouth, and all of those things he’d been silently yearning for singing through his skin….
“Fourteen.”
“How did you know?”
The almost soothing pungency of marijuana, the lower tones of cut grass and rain, Grant’s aftershave and his body surrounding Mackey….
“I was kissed.”
“By whom?” Doc’s eye was twitching again. Good. Mackey’s whole gut was clenched into cannon shot.
“My brother’s friend.”
“Did your brother know?”
Grant dropping to his knees in Mackey’s bedroom, shaving his crotch so he could wear those damned pants, taking Mackey’s cock in his mouth while Mackey’s brothers ran around in circles in the living room….
“No,” Mackey said softly. In spite of himself, his breathing started to quicken like it did before a fight or after a fix or in the middle of fucking.
“Did he ever kiss you again?”
Grant showing up with the McDonald’s bag and need in his touch, face alight as he took Mackey’s ass in the back of his mom’s minivan after Mackey had cut school; the feel of his shivering body after that first time in San Francisco; stolen kisses; hands in the dark; the sound of the river; the full lips, golden eyes, straight-bridged nose, self-loathing smile….
“Mackey?”
Mackey ran a shaking hand over his mouth and yearned—yearned—for a Xanax, or the bitterness of coke on his tongue, or the burn of liquor, or his guitar in his hand.
“Mackey?” Cambridge was no longer sarcastic or irritated or kind. He was firm and relentless and—
“Can I get my guitar?” Mackey begged, a cold sweat popping out over his chest and his back.
“No,” Cambridge said, and he meant it.
“I’ve got to pee—can I go pee?”
“No.” His voice got a little softer, but not less adamant.
“I really gotta go,” Mackey complained. “I mean, I’ll wet my pants—”
“Good, then you might change your clothes and shower.”
Mackey cringed. “I was trying for casual,” he muttered.
“Well, the effect was ‘depressed and recovering from addiction.’ I’ve seen your concert footage—it’s not your best look.”
“You’ve seen my concerts?” Mackey smiled, feeling pathetic. Oh God. Suddenly it was really important to him that this guy who wanted to know all his secrets had seen him when he was all together and fucking dominating the stage.
“I own your CD too,” Cambridge said gently. “I owned it before you showed up on my door. Now answer the question.”
Mackey stood up and paced. “I….” He laughed, because it was true and he felt stupid. “I honestly can’t remember—”
“How long did you keep kissing this guy that your brothers didn’t know about?”
Oh.
“Five years,” Mackey said. He started bouncing, clenching and unclenching his ass muscles, making his stomach hard as a rock—anything to try to stave off the need.
“Wow!”
