Page 13 of Triple Tidings
Color crawls up Wells’ neck, but his steely look doesn’t waver as he crosses his well-built arms over his chest. “I’m bisexual. I liked fucking your ass, almost as much as your throat. There, I said it. Are you happy? Will you get the fuck out now?”
Almost growling in frustration, I rake my hand through my hair. “Fuck, Wells. It’s been over a decade; can we get the hell over it?”
This question is met with a hard, disbelieving laugh. “I am over it, August! You’re the one who showed up here, demanding to know if I’m dating the bed and breakfast manager, bringing up shit that’s ancient history.” His lip curls. “From where I’m standing, you’re the one who isn’t over it.”
The energy that had me on edge from the moment I walked in here begins to fade.
He’s right. He’s absolutely right. I came back here, to my hometown, looking for something. Maybe I wanted to prove to myself that work wasn’t everything. Maybe a selfish part of me hoped that I’d left some scars in my life, ones that weren’t surgical.
Whatever logic I employed to convince myself that this little visit was a good idea was ass backward.
“Shit.” I swallow back the bitter taste of shame, dismissing the impulse to argue with this. “You’re right. You’re—” My words falter, and I force a noisy breath out through my nose. “Yeah, you’re right. You have every fucking right to hate me. I’m sorry for coming here. Have a good holiday.” With one last, pained grimace, I turn to leave.
Before I can make it two steps, though, a deep voice calls after me. “August.”
Reluctantly, I pause, looking back at the man whom I am clearly not fucking over. Wells doesn’t smile, but there’s less tension in his features as he looks at me. “I don’t hate you.”
It’s as close to an olive branch as I’m getting from him, and I probably don’t even deserve this. Stiffly, I nod. “I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”
“It was a long time ago.” It’s Wells’ turn to look uncomfortable now, shifting on the spot, his brow furrowed. “I understand why you wouldn’t have wanted to wait around for me. It was… I wasn’t comfortable with it yet.”
Something deep in my chest twists painfully. I’ve seen that expression on his face before, when I pushed too hard or asked for things that Wells Davis wasn’t ready to offer.
In the period after I got my residency placement, and the promise of a cross-country move was looming closer by the day, I’d begun pushing our relationship past the secretive arrangement we’d constructed. He hadn’t wanted it, though, and I hadn’t wanted to weather the rejection head-on.
So, without bothering with goodbyes, I left and didn’t see him again until we went chasing after the same woman, twelve years later.
Yet again, I experience the sharp pinch of panic at the prospect of what will happen between them when I leave. What will I find when I come back here a year from now?
Will they be in love? Dating?Married?
Will I be a single line in a story that goes on for far longer?
Shoving aside the panicked, jealous thoughts, I look at the beautiful man standing before me. Wells Davis doesn’t let anyone get too close, but he did me, and it registers that the attraction which once drew us together is still fucking there.
The shock of seeing him again might have distracted me, but it hits me with the force of a truck as we stand on opposite sides of the very room where we met, with nothing but the past twelve years between us.
“How have you been?” I ask, noting the low timbre of my voice, which seems to issue from deep in my chest.
Wells’ eyebrows arch. “We’re doing small talk now?”
“Humor me, Davis.” I chuckle, trying to ignore the way blood is suddenly rushing to my cock. “For old times’ sake.”
The reminder of theseold timesdoes nothing for the state of my dick.
My former fuck buddy merely grunts, shaking his head, as if I’m asking him for an incredibly inconvenient favor. “I’ve been good enough. This place is mine now. We’re expanding, opening an attached coffee shop when our neighbor’s lease is up.” He shrugs, glancing around. After what seems like too long, his gaze returns to me. “What about you, doc? Did you get that shiny career you always wanted?”
“I did,” I admit, shoving my hands in the pockets of my coat.
Wells nods slowly, apparently taking this in. “Happy?”
My response comes before I can think better of it. “Not particularly. You?”
He scoffs. “Nah. Not really.”
Until recently, it had been years since I bothered to consider my own contentment, or lack thereof. Strange, considering how, on paper anyway, every part of my adult life has gone according to plan. I went to med school, got my first choice in residency placements, a prestigious fellowship, and when my currentdepartment head retires in a few years, I will almost certainly take his place.
I should be over the damn moon, and it’s a little dizzying every time it hits me how over the damn moon I’mnot.
