Page 61 of Stupid Dirty

Sky is sitting on the floor, wrapped in so much tinsel I can barely see her under it. She’s gleefully playing with some kind of paint-your-own-ceramic kit that I know Cade spent a long time agonizing over whether to buy her. If he asked me one more time whether I thought she would prefer dragons or dinosaurs, I was going to scream.

I don’t know a lot about kids, but dragons are objectively cooler than dinosaurs. Judging from the rapturous look on Sky’s face right now, I was right.

Cade and Maddi are sitting together on the floor, their backs against the couch, messing with some archery supplies she got.

The tree is a sickly-looking sapling that I helped Cade get a couple of days ago. We hacked it down with a hand ax, then shoved it in a bucket full of gravel to keep it upright. But with the amount of tinsel on it, even that looks festive.

Kris is on the couch. There’s a large glass of wine in her hand that’s definitely not her first, but the warm smile she gives me when I walk in tells me she’s keeping it in check. And as she watches her kids mess around with wrapping paper and examine their presents, the whole scene seems like a pretty fucking normal Christmas.

Which is a first for me. At least since I was little. And probably hasn’t happened for them very often either.

Warmth runs right through me and I sink down to the floor between Cade and Sky without waiting for an invitation. Cade’s eyes light up as he watches me sit down and he leans over to kissme hello, but before I can say anything, Sky is grabbing my arm to get my attention.

She’s very insistent that I look at her present haul immediately, so Cade just smirks at me before turning back to his conversation with Maddi.

Twenty minutes later, I know way more than I ever needed to about both dragons and glitter. It’s amazing. The sense of belonging is so thick in the room I can almost wrap it around myself like a blanket. It chases away the lingering guilt I have over leaving everything unresolved with my dad at the house, as well as the fractured memories of my mom.

There’s only one thing tugging at my happiness. It’s starting to feel weird that we’re not talking about what this means. The more free we can be here, the weirder it feels when I see Cade outside the house and we have to pretend to be nothing more than friends. It feels like an itch I can’t scratch.

Cade and I had agreed not to do presents this year. I provided most of the chocolate and booze for the day, which Cade said was much appreciated, and I wanted him to spend his money on the girls.

As we go to sleep later, overstuffed and fucked out, I can’t stop thinking about next year. I don’t see myself leaving Cade’s life anytime soon. But I also don’t know if I can keep this thing a secret for another year. I used to find it easy to mask my emotions, because I was already so numb to them.

Every day I spend with Cade makes me more vital and alive. My blood is pumping and my heart is full of something other than the weight of all that numbness. But it’s making the mask harder to wear. Every day it becomes more ill-fitting, and I’m worried that if this goes on much longer, it will suffocate me.

Something has to change.

Whenever we’re around Wish or his family, I can touch Cade however I want. Well, not however I want, we’re not animals, but close enough. I don’t have to put energy into stopping myself whenever I feel like reaching out or keeping track of the expressions I’m having. The longer it goes on, the more draining it is to pretend to be just good bros whenever we’re in public. It’s like I’m using that same fake smile-for-the-camera, pretend-to-be-normal publicity muscle that Dad worked so hard to strengthen, but it’s even worse this time because I’m using it to hide something I’m not ashamed of. It hurts.

But the option of being more than just friends in public feels nebulous and confusing. I have no idea how people will react, or if they’ll even care. But even if they don’t care, they’ll ask questions like‘Are you in a relationship?’or‘Does this mean you’re gay?’that I don’t know how to answer. I’ve looked at girls before and thought they were cute. I might have done the same thing with guys if I thought that was an option. I’ve never really been into anyone before, though. How do I tell a bunch of nosy strangers that Cade is the only person to ever make me feel this way?

Even if it gets out. Even if times have changed like I hope they have, and no one gives a fuck about two dudes getting naked together. Even if everyone minds their own business and doesn’t ask me questions I can’t answer. It will still get back to my dad.I don’t know if he’s specifically homophobic, but I don’t have a good feeling about how he’ll react.

It’s all a good reason to keep things quiet. But not touching Cade whenever I see him is driving me fucking insane, especially whenever Cade goes on nights and we have to survive days and days between sleepovers.

I have no idea how I went twenty-two years without ever having sex, and only occasionally jerking off. The second I sunk my dick into Cade’s warm, tight ass, I was a changed man. Now I’m hooked.

Waiting for him to pick me up from work today, I feel like an addict looking for their next fix. Against my better judgment, I have lent Dad my truck, because his is here getting work done. Work that I’m doing at cost, also against my better judgment. Cade is pissed about all of this and not keeping it a secret. The only upside is that I have an excuse to make him drive me around, so I see him twice a day.

When he pulls up, instead of getting in the car and going back to the trailer like a normal person, I lock up the shop, pull him over to where my bike is, lean him against it and unzip his pants.

I’ve never thought of myself as someone who gets hot and bothered over machinery. But something about Cade plus bikes really does it for me. I couldn’t pass up the opportunity. I kiss him frantically while I stroke him to hardness, then undo my own pants and lean my weight against him.

He’s pinned in between me and the bike, and as soon as I wrap my hand around both of us and stroke, he lets out a moan so goddamn filthy I almost choke.

For the next few minutes, the shop is filled with the sounds of skin on skin and wet, open-mouthed kisses while we rut against each other. Just me and Cade and the smell of motor oil and arousal. I want to suspend time so I can be in this moment forever.

Until I hear a door clicking open and heavy boots step inside. With Cade’s tongue still in my mouth and both our dicks in my hand, I’m able to look out of the corner of my eye and see Ford stepping onto the shop floor. He’s calm, but his eyebrows are raised and he makes a show of looking the two of us up and down.

A couple weeks ago, I found out that Ford is fluent in American Sign Language and used to communicate with his dad in ASL, which makes sense. It also means that he hadn’t had a non-written conversation since his dad died. I felt a stab of empathy as soon as I realized it and downloaded an app to learn a few signs.

When I first showed him what I’d learned, the warm, unguarded smile I got in response fueled my good mood for days. It was awesome.

Right now, I kind of regret it. Because it means I have to hold eye contact with my boss while he looks at me and Cade—pants down and dicks out—points to me, then slowly and clearly makes the sign forclean up,thenwhen,thenfinished.I feel like a busted teenager as I get one more pointed look. Then he turns around and sweeps back out of the garage.

Mortified is not a strong enough word. If blushes were an alternative fuel source, I could run my bike off how red my face is right now. Cade hasn’t noticed, and his desperate noises are drawing my attention back to him.

There’s time for my embarrassment to cripple me later, because I am never going to live this down.

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