Handcuffs and Lace 27 -Brass Balls (4 page)

Oak approached Saturday with sourness. He felt like the conversation the night before had been something of a break through. At least the captain hadn’t hung up on him. On the contrary, Oak had been the one to disconnect first,
after
wrangling the admission that Wyatt was attracted to him.

Sure, there’d been that moment on Tuesday where he’d felt the other man’s interest, but nerves and taboo could’ve played into that moment just as easily. A kiss was a kiss. A grope was a grope. It felt good no matter who delivered it and though he’d hoped that’s what the rise between Peterman’s thighs was all about, he’d been hesitant to attach more meaning to it. Then he’d played it for all it was worth to get Peterman to admit he was gay.

Thank God, because a little curiosity was very different from out-and-out interest. Oak was betting on it.
Unfortunately, so was his mom and the guy she was setting him up with. What kind of dweeb was named Owen Murphy, anyway? Probably some round-gut who was too out of shape to tie his own shoes. Thinning hair and watery eyes. Yeah, that’s what an Owen looked like.
Oak watched through the patio doors as he checked the ribs on the grill, while his dad and Peterman laughed in the kitchen.
“This is going to fucking suck,” Oak muttered.
He plastered a smile on his face and stepped back into the house.
“How’re they coming?” his dad asked.
“Fine. I’ll start saucing in about thirty minutes,” he told them.
“Right about the time Owen is supposed to get here.” His dad clapped Peterman on the back. “Hope you don’t mind younger men. I think you’ve got about eight years on him.” Oak tried to catch Peterman’s eye, but failed.
Peterman smiled warmly at John. “I’m sure it’s fine.”
“If you two wind up getting married, I’m going to say I told you so,” Sheila chimed in. “It’s a blind setup, Sheila. The chances of that are slim to none,” Peterman told her.
“Well, there aren’t many of you running around out there. You might have to take the best guy available,” she said.
Peterman coughed through a laugh. “There are more of my kind running around than you think.”
“But none great enough to catch your eye,” she challenged.
Oak stared at his profile, willing Peterman to look his way, give him any kind of sign that he was thinking about him while discussing his dating prospects. Peterman gave him nothing.
The doorbell rang.
“Goodie,” Oak muttered. “He’s early.”
He wanted to get a good look at this guy before any of the others did. He stormed through the room, edging out his dad on the way to the front door.
His dad held his hands up in mock surrender and backed away, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Okay, okay, it’s yours. I didn’t realize you were so protective of Wyatt.”
Oak didn’t bother to answer. Protective? Not particularly. Territorial? Abso-fuckinglutely. He swung the door open. Oak’s hopes took a dive. Owen Murphy was one smokin’ fire chief. Cropped strawberry blond hair, clear blue eyes, and a ruggedly impressive jaw made him downright sexy.
He was definitely younger than Peterman, more in Oak’s range, actually. Oak forced a smile, refusing to scope out the other man’s impressive arms and lean body.
“Hi. Oak,” he said thrusting out his hand.
“Owen.” The guy offered his hand in return, a curious smile on his face. “John’s kid?”
Oak dropped the smile. “If by kid you mean his son, yeah.” He stepped aside to let him enter.
“That’s what I meant,” he agreed.
“Owen, c’mon back. There’s someone I’d like you to meet,” his dad called.
“That’s a shame. I was kind of hoping I’d met him,” Owen said loud enough for Oak to hear.
A slow smile spread over Oak’s face. This was almost too easy. If Owen was interested in him, then hopefully there’d be no contest for Peterman.
A delusion which evaporated the minute Oak walked into the next room and saw the look on Owen’s face when he held out his hand to Peterman. Peterman seemed receptive, too. Oak took the bowl of barbeque sauce he’d made earlier off the counter top, picked up the application brush and retreated to the patio.
Fuck it. This night had just gone to hell, and it was all wrapped up in a pretty beau called Owen.

It was really hard not to grin at the sullen expression on Oak’s face. He didn’t pout. No, instead he wore a look of someone who’d just had his day royally shat upon and it had all started with Owen greeting Wyatt.

As far as blind dates went, this one wasn’t so bad. Owen seemed like a genuine sort. He talked job as they all did, and he had a good head on his shoulders for handling his team. Those were all traits Wyatt respected.

It was after dinner, as Wyatt shooed Sheila from the kitchen and Owen came to help, that he finally had a minute to talk privately with his date. Oak had been suspiciously quiet the whole evening, answering only when spoken to. Even now, he was absent as he tended to the grill clean up with a wire brush and the garden hose outside.

“You know Oak’s got it bad for you, right?” Owen said quietly.
He turned on the kitchen sink and soaped up a sponge. “I do.”
“He’s been shooting daggers at me all night.”
“He’s a kid. He’ll get over it,” Wyatt told him.
“
He
might. Will you?”
Wyatt glanced at the good looking man leaning against the counter beside him. “He’s a

little young for me.”
“No, he’s not. He’s also not a kid.”
“Could’ve fooled me with the way he’s been acting,” Wyatt argued.
Owen scooted closer, keeping his voice low. “He knows you want him. That’s why he’s

Wyatt sighed, rinsed the dish he’d been scrubbing and set it in the drying rack. “It doesn’t matter what he knows. He’s off limits in every way.”
“Sure, and that’s why you’ve amped up your game with me here. Look, I know I don’t know you well, but it’s pretty clear that all the flashy smiles are meant to piss him off.”
Wyatt laughed, knowing he’d just been pegged. “You don’t mind?”
“Hell, no. It’s kind of funny. Not that either one of you aren’t a catch, but I think you and I are too similar to work.”
“And Oak?” Wyatt asked.
“Oak’s another story,” Owen said, looking away.
He absently handed Wyatt another plate, before throwing a kitchen towel over his shoulder. Switching sides of the sink, he started hand drying the plates.
“Oh?”
“He’s beautiful.” Owen shook his head in apparent wonder, a small smile on his lips. “He moves like sex. A guy could wrap his fist in that inky hair and get lost in his eyes. And that mouth—”
“Mind if I stop you there?” Wyatt asked tightly.
Owen chuckled. “Not at all. I need to be able to leave here without embarrassing myself. Besides, I don’t have a chance with him. He’s too busy looking at you.”
Wyatt relaxed a little. He drained the soapy water out of the sink and cleaned it down. Then he wiped the counters before rinsing out the sponge and drying his hands on Owen’s towel. Owen caught his wrists as Wyatt began to move away.
“But if your pride won’t let you date Oak, and all you’re interested in is some—
relief
— I’d be more than happy to buy you a drink some time.” Owen moved in, his lips parted as his hands curled on Wyatt’s hips.
It had been a while since another man had expressed interest in him. In one week, he had two. Or maybe he just hadn’t noticed before because dating didn’t seem like a viable option. Owen was an attractive man. He had no strings attached to him that would cause drama with John and Sheila. He also didn’t work in the precinct. He’d be a good choice even if the relationship never really developed.
Owen’s lips feathered over his. God, help him, Wyatt
wanted
to be kissed. He wrapped his fist in Owen’s shirt front and yanked. Their lips met hard and hot. Wyatt settled his mouth better, battling Owen’s for dominance. Both men parted, tangling their tongues in a heated exchange.
Owen clutched the back of Wyatt’s head and Wyatt reached around for a handful of fireman ass. Wyatt’s cock had begun to fill, but he didn’t feel right about kissing Owen. He wanted to, God, it would make everything so much simpler, but in the back of his mind he saw Oak.
A close sound surprised him from the kiss, and he stepped away from Owen. Oak wordlessly washed and rinsed the barbeque sauce bowl less than a foot from him.
“Can I call you?” Owen asked Wyatt as though Oak weren’t standing there.
Wyatt flushed, feeling guilty, then angry because he shouldn’t feel guilty. “Yeah, you can call me.”
Oak walked away. Wyatt watched him go.

Oak kept walking, right out the patio doors, through the gate at the back of the property. He wove between the trees on the wooded lot and climbed the stairs to his deck. He stared sightlessly at his keys, willing himself to make sense of them. Finally he spotted the right one, unlocked the door and went straight to his bedroom where he flopped backward onto his mattress.

He felt numb, except for the aching organ which continued to beat in his chest. His phone rang. The ringtone told him it was his parents. They probably wondered why he hadn’t said goodbye. Or that he’d been rude to walk out on two guests instead of hanging around to chew the fat over coffee. It didn’t matter. He was useless in conversation after what he’d just seen.
It was a cruel mix of hot and devastating. There was nothing like seeing the man you’d been in love with for years kissing someone else, just as you got yourself noticed. And yet, watching him kiss, the way his mouth moved, his body reacted—
that
had been sexy as hell.
He stared up at the ceiling. He’d thought about the day he’d tell Peterman he wanted him. In his mind it had gone a lot differently. In his mind, Peterman had smiled and told him he’d been waiting for a sign from him before they could be together, waiting for him to grow up.
Reality had been nothing like that. It had been a fight from the first blundering kiss when Peterman told him it wouldn’t happen again, to watching an oral orgasm shared with someone else.
His phone rang again. This time it was the chorus, “I wanna do bad things with you,” that had him rolling his eyes at his own stupid infatuation. He shouldn’t have answered it, but his pulse had kicked up and his thumb had already depressed the call-accept.
“I got the message,” he said before Peterman could talk.
“How much did you hear?” Peterman asked after a minute.
“All the groaning, slurping details, thanks for asking.”
“Any of the conversation before that?”
Oak snorted softly. “I’m quite happy to have missed the discussion about which of you wants to pitch first and how hot you both are.”
“You think he’s hot,” Peterman said. “That’s interesting, because he thinks the same of you.”
Oak sat up. “I know you missed the very subtle memo to you, but I’m interested in you. Apparently that’s something else Owen and I have in common.”
“Not exactly.”
“I’m done talking. G’night, boss.”
Oak hung up. He felt a little churlish for doing it, but he’d just had his emotional ass kicking. His number was closed for business tonight. To make a point of that, he turned off his cell when Peterman tried to call him again. Maybe he was just a kid. He didn’t think so. He didn’t think any man would lay himself out for another round after the last one was so unsuccessful.
He got up, pulled off his shirt and threw it in the clothes basket. Kicking off his shoes first, he then took off his socks and dropped them in too. He unbuttoned his jeans and stopped to look at himself in the mirror.
“You look tired,” he told his reflection.
A noise downstairs caught his attention. Had he locked the back doors? He couldn’t remember anything beyond getting home and going upstairs. He listened again. Oak moved silently to his dresser and withdrew his gun. Cocking it, he eased down the stairs, careful not to hit the squeaky step.
He turned the corner, ready to shout
police
, when he saw Peterman standing in the lower hallway. Peterman’s gaze raked over him slowly.
“Good form,” he murmured.
“Fuck,” Oak clicked the safety on and tucked his gun in his back waistband. “I could’ve shot you. Haven’t heard of knocking?”
“I knocked. You didn’t answer. I also called and got hung up on.”
“I turned off my phone. Most people recognize that as a clear hint to piss off.”
Peterman smiled the captain smile. The one that said he’d just delivered an assignment he knew the guys would hate, but they’d have to do it anyway.
“What do you want? Oh, wait. I know. You’re out of condoms.” Oak said.
He reached into his back pocket, pulled out his wallet and retrieved a foil packet. He raised his brows and held the small square up between his first two fingers before flicking it at Peterman’s chest.
Peterman caught it. “I came to
talk
. I haven’t done much of that and I think I’ve been unfair.”
Oak lifted an eyebrow. He folded his arms across his chest, using one of the captain’s favorite stances when he waited for an explanation.
“We could sit down,” Peterman suggested.
“Or stand here. I think it encourages a speedier resolution and keeps you from getting too comfortable when I’d rather be alone.”
“Would you? I could leave,” Peterman offered.
Oak frowned.
“That’s what I thought,” Peterman said. He continued. “Owen and I aren’t together. I know what it looked like, but that was just a kiss.”
“Some kiss.”
“He was suggesting a hook up. It’s tempting. He’s a great-looking guy, and there aren’t any complications with him.”
“This is going to feel like less of a taunt in a minute, right?” Oak wondered.
“I should start over.”
“So I can hear how stimulating Owen is again? No, thank you.”
“Stop snapping long enough to hear me out,” Peterman barked. “I wasn’t expecting you, ya know. You kind of came out of left field. One minute you’re John’s kid—kinda cute, a little scrappy, a total snark-ass. The next minute you’re this man I’ve known forever who’s kissing me and asking me to risk everything. You didn’t give me a lot of adjustment time.”
“A snark-ass?”
“Shut up,” Peterman told him. “I’m talking here, and until I’m done, you’re going to hear every word I say. Got it?”
Oak stubbornly stood his ground, glaring at the captain in stony silence. Oak really wanted him to leave and let him sort out his thoughts. The kiss with Owen had been a stinging reminder than the captain didn’t want him.
“Yes, sir, captain.” Oak pressed his lips together to keep from saying more. He wanted to make the captain squirm. As apologies went, he wasn’t sure this was a good one. It sounded a hell of a lot more like a permanent dismissal.
God, how many years had he been crushing on Peterman? Since he was sixteen and just figuring out that girls didn’t make the cut? It had been one of those moments of realization that sounded like a romantic movie scene, the kind tough guys didn’t admit to having.
Peterman had been over for the weekly dinner. He’d passed a bowl of mashed potatoes and their hands had brushed. It had actually felt like little electrical currents tickled his nerve endings. Oak had looked up, but Peterman had been oblivious. Busy talking to Oak’s dad and laughing, he’d missed Oak’s reaction.
Oak had spent the rest of the night shooting him sidelong glances, finding reasons to linger downstairs with the adults and then he’d listened at the top step out of sight as the man’s heady baritone said goodnight.
“Forget it,” the captain said. “I shouldn’t have bothered. It’s evident you’re in no mood to listen.”
“You dragged me down here as I was getting ready for bed. Say what you gotta say and then get out.”
Peterman’s hands dove into his pockets. He was probably clenching his fists to keep calm. Oak had seen him do that before. He knew every unconscious movement the man made. After this many years, he ought to.
He’d gone to Peterman as an advisor and friend when he had trouble talking about things with his friends. He’d interviewed him in college for his criminal justice class. He’d squirreled away pictures of him in his bedside table—something he’d only stopped doing when he came back from college because it felt creepy.
Infatuation? Okay, sure. Crush? Uh huh. In love? Oak thought so. There’d never been another man he knew better or another man he wanted to get to know better on a more intimate basis. He thought he’d finally caught a break when he realized Peterman was gay. Was that only a week ago?
“Say something,” Oak snapped.
Memories crashed around in his head. He could already feel his resolve softening and it pissed him off to be so weak. He wanted to turn off his attraction to the man who’d been best part of his family friendships, his mentor. But he couldn’t. He could only love him and wish Peterman loved him back and storm through his own frustration that whatever it took to make Peterman want him, wasn’t under Oak’s control.
What had been unattainable before was suddenly made more unattainable because they’d kissed, however briefly, and Oak had still been shot down. At least thinking the captain was straight had divided them with a virtual razor wire of a do-not-cross zone. A week ago that fence had been taken down and yet Oak couldn’t get any closer to the man than he was right now because of the very history that had woken Oak up in the first place.
“No,” the captain said quietly as wariness became firm determination. His jaw tightened.
Oak had seen that expression before, too. It made him want to rage against the emotional wall he’d just put up, crack it a little. See if the man would rise to the bait and just fucking say what he’d come to say. His chest already stung with loss, why not crack it open and rip out what remained of his beating heart? Once and done, damnit. Finish it for all time and then leave Oak the fuck alone.