L. A. Witt - Rules 1 - Rules of Engagement (9 page)

“Yeah, it wasn’t pleasant.” I absently drew tiny circles on his chest with my fingers. “I thought she was cheating and figured out that she was spending an awful lot of time online, so I made a fake account, found her on some site or another, and responded to an ad she’d put up.”

“Wow, she had an ad up?”

 

I rolled my eyes. “Yep. Said she was single, looking for some hot action, the works.”

 

“Now that is brazen. And fucking cold.”

“You’re telling me. Anyway, I thought finding the ad would be enough, but even that didn’t convince me that she was really doing it, so I responded to it. We kept e-mailing for a while. A long time, actually. I don’t know, I guess I was just in denial, kept telling myself I needed more evidence that she was really doing it. Or maybe I could figure out from her e-mails what she was missing. What I was doing wrong. And honestly….” I trailed off, and my thumb went to my ring finger again.

He squeezed my hand. “What?”

Taking a deep breath, I said, “In a way, I guess I kind of enjoyed flirting with her again. Even though she didn’t know it was me, and I knew what she was doing—” I cut myself off, swallowing hard. “It’s pathetic, I know.”

“Understandable, I think,” he said. “After that long, I’d probably have done the same thing in your position.” We were both quiet for a moment. Then he said, “So did you eventually call her on it?”

“Not exactly.” I closed my eyes for a second. “She wanted to meet up, so I….”
“Jesus Christ, Dustin,” he said.
“I agreed to meet at a hotel. Told her to wear something sexy.” I laughed bitterly. “You’ve never seen a more stunned expression on a woman’s face than when she opened that door.”

“I can’t even imagine.”

 

“The really sad part was that I showed up a little bit early, and another guy was leaving the room as I was coming down the hall.”

Brandon’s eyes widened. “You’re shitting me.”
“Nope.”
“Damn. I know what it’s like to be cheated on, but that….” He

shook his head.

“Yeah, not the most pleasant day of my life. But it gave me the balls to finally get the fuck out.” I freed my hand just long enough to scratch the back of my neck, then laid it over his hand, letting our fingers lace together. “So there’s my sob story. What happened with you?”

“When I was cheated on?”
“Yeah.”
Rolling his eyes, he grumbled, “Which time?”
“Ouch.”

He shrugged. “It’s life. Happened a time or two in my early twenties. The last one, though….” His eyes took on a somewhat distant look for a moment.

I ran my thumb along the side of his hand. “What happened?”

“One of my ex-girlfriends came to stay with me for a while. Going through a nasty divorce, needed a place to stay. We were still friends, so I didn’t think much of it.” He clicked his tongue and his lip twisted into a scowl. “Then I came home early and caught her with my boyfriend.”

My jaw dropped. “You can’t be serious.”

 

He nodded. “Dead serious. Last I heard, they’re still together too.”

“That’s fucking brutal.” “You’re telling me.” He sighed. “I mean, he and I were probably on the way out anyway. I was getting ready to defend my dissertation, so I was wrapped up in all of that. Wasn’t really putting the effort into the relationship.”

“That doesn’t justify cheating, though.”
“No, definitely not,” he said.

The arm supporting my head was falling asleep, so I moved onto my back. Brandon followed, putting his forearm on my chest and resting his chin on it.

I ran my fingers through his hair. “Sounds like our women—and men—were cut from the same cloth.”

 

“Yeah, no shit.” He was silent for a moment. “I assume this all went down fairly recently? With your ex?”

 

“About six months ago.”

 

He pursed his lips. “So then it’s probably a safe assumption that you’re still on the rebound.”

“You could say that.” It took me a second to figure out where he was going with that train of thought. Then guilt tugged at my gut, as if I should have told him all of this sooner. Running my fingers down the side of his face, I said, “I’m done with her, but yeah, still on the rebound.”

“I can only imagine,” he said.
“I guess I should have told you sooner, but—”
“Dustin, you don’t owe me any kind of explanation. Up until last

night, this was just a one-night stand.”
My heart pounded. “And after last night?”
He grinned. “Now it’s a two-night stand.”

I laughed and lifted my head to kiss him. “I wouldn’t mind going for a three-night stand.”

Moving a little closer, he kissed me and pressed his hips against mine, silently letting me know that we were very much on the same page. “Another night like last night and I might need medical attention.”
“We could play doctor.”

He laughed as his hand slid under the covers, his fingertips drifting down my side. “Or we could just see how much we can fuck before neither of us can move.”

I started to come back with something witty, but he wrapped his fingers around my cock, and I forgot how to speak.

G
UILT
tugged at my gut as my cell phone beeped on the counter while I stretched before my morning run. I told myself I’d read the new message as soon as I was done with this stretch. Okay, after this stretch. Definitely after
this
one.

I didn’t need to look to know that it was from Brandon. The knot in my stomach grew each time the phone beeped to remind me that his text was still unacknowledged. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to talk to him. Quite the contrary—every time his name showed up on the screen, my heart jumped.

That was the problem, actually.

I wanted to be with him so bad it hurt, but I’d never been this wrapped up in someone before. The fact that he was a man—the first man I’d ever even considered in a sexual fashion—only complicated matters. I wanted him. Badly. I just wasn’t sure if I
wanted
to want him like this.

Our messages were getting fewer and farther between, which was mostly due to moments just like this, when I hemmed and hawed for ages about even reading his message. He’d suggested getting together a few times but had mostly let the subject drop a day or so ago after I gave a few non-committal replies and half-assed excuses.

I was an idiot. Of course I wanted to be with him, so why the fuck was I putting him off?

 

With a sigh of resignation, I gave in and flipped my phone open, trying to decide if I was more nervous or excited to hear from him.

His message was a benign response to an equally benign message I’d sent the night before. The conversation had dwindled to the point where it was obvious we were only sending messages to keep the interaction going, even if we really had nothing to say. There was plenty to say, of course. We just weren’t talking about any of that. The messages were exchanged to keep the connection, small talk that had long since run its course but continued anyway, as if we each waited for the other to say, “Let’s get down to the nitty-gritty subjects.”

I was fairly certain that he was waiting for me to break the ice, that he was following my lead. Every response was an opportunity either to move forward or let this dwindle into silence.
Your shot
, each message said between the lines.

With neither the balls to move it forward nor the stomach to just let it disappear, I again sent back something non-committal and bland.

I considered carrying my phone with me on my run but thought better of it and left it on the counter. If it beeped with a response, which it likely would, I’d probably trip over my own feet.

Jogging around the lake beside my apartment as I did every other morning, I let my mind wander to Brandon. There wasn’t much point in resisting; ever since I had met him, my mind’s default state was Brandon. Anytime I didn’t have to focus on something—and sometimes even when I did—he was on my mind.

This client probably needs to work on her core a bit more, so I’ll put her on this program. I wonder what Brandon’s doing right now. My attorney wants more money. What else is new? Christ, how did Brandon learn to kiss like that?

To do today: Grocery shopping. Pay bills. Brandon.
Every time he suggested getting together, I balked. It didn’t make sense to avoid him when I wanted him like this, but the very fact that I did want him like this scared me. I’d never experienced such easy intimacy with someone, this kind of instant connection.

Though he seemed comfortable with the fact that I was on the rebound and he didn’t push for any kind of relationship right off the bat, I couldn’t deny that part of me wanted this to be more. I wasn’t ready for a relationship. Was I?

And, as much as I didn’t want to admit it, I balked at the idea of being gay. I had always been the one to call people out, particularly one of my brothers, for being homophobic, but I had never dreamed that I was defending myself when I defended gays and bisexuals. I wasn’t sure what to make of this whole thing.

Clearly, I was attracted to Brandon, but that attraction to him—to a man—came out of left field, and it unsettled me. If anything, it was just strange to be reconsidering my sexuality at this age. It was one thing to be confused and bumbling through all of the idiosyncrasies of sexuality at fifteen; it was another thing entirely to be looking down the barrel of thirty and going through all of that bullshit
again
.

It wasn’t Brandon I was avoiding. It was myself.

 

Movement beside me caught my attention just before a voice said, “Morning, Dustin.”

“Hey Sharon, Bill,” I said, smiling politely. They were old family friends and lived in the condominiums across the lake. Like clockwork, we usually ran into each other on our morning jogs.

“You know, I meant to tell you,” Sharon said. “I was talking to your mother about this lovely girl that works for Bill.”

Deep inside, I cringed but tried not to show it.
She went on, “She’s a sweet girl. I think you’d like her.”

“I appreciate it,” I said.
About as much as I’d appreciate a root canal with no anesthetic
. “I’m just… I’m not really looking right now.” “Really? But your mother said—”

“I know, I know.” I tried not to roll my eyes, tried to stay polite. “She means well, but I’m just not quite ready for anything yet.”
Anything except for Brandon. Oh, what you two would say if you knew about that little tidbit of gossip.

“Oh, Dustin, that’s too bad,” she said. “Are you sure? I could give you her phone number.” There was genuine sympathy in her voice, but it still set my teeth on edge. I was so damned tired of everyone trying to hook me up with their daughter, niece, granddaughter, landscaper, and parole officer.

“Come on, now, Sharon, leave him alone,” Bill said, rolling his eyes.
Thank God, someone’s on my side.
“Besides,” he elbowed her playfully, “maybe he’s already got a girl and just isn’t telling anyone.”
Fuck you. Fuck you both
.

I really couldn’t hold it against them, so I just smiled. “Nope, not seeing anyone right now.”

 

“Well, if you change your mind, just let me know,” she said. “I will,” I said through my teeth. Fortunately, their condos were coming up, so we said our goodbyes and I kept jogging alone. And as soon as they were gone, my mind went right back to Brandon, where it remained for the rest of my run.

When I walked into the apartment, I gave my phone a wary look but didn’t pick it up. As I went to the refrigerator for a bottle of water, I listened, waiting for the inevitable beep.

Nothing.

Leaning against the opposite counter and taking a long drink, I didn’t take my eyes off the phone.
Silence.

As I went about my day, my attention kept drifting back to the phone. For the last few days, that damned beep had set my nerves on edge, driven me crazy.

Now the silence was killing me.

O
N MY
way to work on Friday morning, my mother called. I groaned and put on my Bluetooth. “Hey Mom.”

“Hi, sweetheart.” The whine in her voice underscored her cheeriness, and I gritted my teeth, wondering what I was in for this time. The divorce? Her lack of grandchildren? The color of my damned car?

“What’s up?”

 

“I’m just calling to see how you’re doing. I’m worried about you.”