TAKE ME HOME

TAKE ME HOME

Sloan Parker

www.loose-id.com

Take Me Home

Copyright © December 2011 by Sloan Parker

All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

eISBN 978-1-61118-687-1

Editor: Antonia Pearce

Cover Artist: Marci Gass

Printed in the United States of America

Published by

Loose Id LLC

PO Box 809

San Francisco CA 94104-0809

www.loose-id.com

This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Warning

This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Loose Id LLC’s e-books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

DISCLAIMER: Please do not try any new sexual practice, especially those that might be found in our BDSM/fetish titles without the guidance of an experienced practitioner. Neither Loose Id LLC nor its authors will be responsible for any loss, harm, injury or death resulting from use of the information contained in any of its titles.

For all who have fallen in love with their best friend.

Acknowledgement

Many thanks to the following:

To Antonia and all the wonderful folks at Loose Id for helping this story find its way. To Connie, Patrice, and the rest of the MV-BIC/coffee groups for your invaluable support and insights on this book and its title. To Johnny Miles for helping me to land on a title and for the wonderful encouragement and friendship when you didn’t even know I needed it most. To S.J.

Frost and Johnny Miles for teaming up with me to tackle part of the mysterious aspect of this business we call author promotion. To all my writer friends and the many writers in this genre and others who have taken the time to share their knowledge and expertise about writing, publishing, and promotion. Your willingness to give up your own writing time to share with others is greatly appreciated. To all the readers, authors, and editors on Twitter, Facebook, and my blog who gave me much-needed support and encouragement.

To my mom, dad, sister, brother, and the rest of my family for helping brainstorm ideas one night at a holiday get-together.

To Rosie, who continues to silently suffer behind the scenes through my crazy writing life and offers her unending support in everything, every day.

And lastly a special thank-you to my dad, the former locomotive engineer, who answered every annoying train question with patience and care as though this story was as important to him as it was to me. Thank you!

“Have you guys done it yet?”

“No!” Kyle Bennett rolled his eyes at the camera on his laptop and sank back against the couch cushion, wondering how long his sister would go on about it this time. “Jeez, Lorrie. I’m sorry I ever talked to you about it.”

“It was Mom’s spiked eggnog talking, not you.” She laughed, and her image in the video chat window shook. She was two thousand miles away in the bathroom of her mobile home, sitting fully clothed inside the empty bathtub with the laptop Kyle had given her last Christmas perched on her lap. He wasn’t sure if she was hiding out from her husband or her kids. Maybe both. A bright red shower curtain, covered in images of footballs and the Ohio State University emblem, was pulled around the bathtub, creating a pink glow across her face. It didn’t camouflage her dark hair and eyes, though, a perfect match to his own, or the excited look on her face.

Kyle loved seeing the smile that wasn’t always there, loved her laugh, but he wanted to kill her for bringing up the same topic she always did. He’d been doing good all day, not thinking about Evan, not thinking about everything he’d been dreaming of doing to his best friend’s body—or vice versa, to be more precise.

Lorrie raised her eyebrows repeatedly in a playful look. “So?” She was a nut. She never could stop herself from asking. Probably because her life hadn’t quite turned out as she’d dreamed when they were kids and she’d danced around the house with her pillowcase draped down the back of her head, calling it her wedding veil. He doubted she’d been picturing the shotgun wedding at the local courthouse she’d ended up with. A ceremony that had lasted less than five minutes. No veil. No declarations of eternal love in the wedding vows. No bouquet of flowers or music. Just the sound of her soon-to-be father-in-law spitting chaw into an empty Mountain Dew bottle.

Kyle stared at the ceiling of his West Hollywood apartment, not sure what she wanted to hear. No need to keep staring at the ceiling, though. He’d long ago memorized the perfect swirls of textured paint. The side effect of working—or, in his case, not working—from home.

Still, he stared at it every day. Something to pass the time.

Hell, he might as well turn in his Mystery Writers of America’s Best Novel award for that level of creative thinking. He focused in on the laptop screen again. Lorrie’s dark eyes had gone from wide-eyed excitement to a squinted judgmental stare that reminded him too much of the one their mom gave their dad.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said. “I told you I wasn’t going to do anything.”

“And why not?” she asked.

“Evan’s not the kind of guy who fucks and forgets it.”

“So you’re saying you’re usually forgettable in bed?” She laughed again.

2

Sloan Parker

“Shut up,” he said, also laughing. It was hard to resist her good mood. He loved his big sis, and if he was honest with himself, it was nice to finally have someone to talk to about his attraction to Evan Walker.

For the past ten years, his best friend had been off limits, but then six months ago, Evan’s partner had dumped him. Now that Evan was sleeping in his spare room, it was driving Kyle crazy, being so close to the man and not making a move.

Which explained his recent fascination with ceiling paint rather than his latest manuscript.

Too bad he didn’t write romances. Or erotic-as-hell romances, for that matter. Most days his imagination had been focused on one thing: sex. Pretty specific sex too. And not his usual brand of fucking at all.

He never took it up the ass. Not anymore. He’d only done it three times in his life. The most recent had been seven years ago. He’d been drunk on more Jack and Coke than he’d ever had since, and he’d agreed to bottom because the other guy wouldn’t do anything otherwise. It was over before Kyle had a chance to react to the sound of his own voice saying, “What the hell.

All right.”

The time before had been with a D-list actor who worked out at the same gym and who Kyle had pursued for weeks. A guy who’d told himself he was straight and would only do another guy up the ass. No getting fucked for Mr. D-list. No intimate touches. No kisses. And no sucking, probably because he didn’t want anyone asking him to return the favor.

The first time for Kyle had been when he was sixteen. His first time in a lot of ways.

Before then, he’d messed around with other boys, even college guys, but the first man who’d given Kyle the chance to do more than a quick BJ or a handjob had been a forty-three-year-old, twice-divorced dentist who also didn’t want anything but the fucking. And he’d been the one doing the fucking, no question about that. Kyle’d been the one on his hands and knees in the back of the guy’s minivan.

Kyle had done it, his forehead scraping along the carpeted floor of that minivan with each shove of the guy’s dick into him. The carpet had smelled of urine, old fast food, and hay. Sort of like walking into the barn on his grandpa’s farm as a kid, minus the petrified, over-salted fries.

He hadn’t hated the experience, but it had left him feeling used and powerless. He didn’t go for that. Even at sixteen, that night with the dentist—who must have been paying a shitload in alimony what with state of the reeking van—had taught Kyle two things: he wanted to feel in control, and from then on, he’d be the one doing the fucking, with the occasional slip due to Jack and Coke and D-list actors.

Then what the hell was up with his dreams lately? Well, not just his dreams. His every fantasy. Awake. Asleep. Staring at the damn ceiling swirls. Thinking about him and Evan together. Evan sucking his cock, his balls. Evan licking his ass. Evan ramming into him from behind, thrusting Kyle face-first into the black sheets of his own bed.

He drew in a deep breath and spoke to Lorrie again. “Evan doesn’t do the casual thing. Not even with a friend. I’m not going to lead him on.”

There was a long pause, and then Lorrie said, “You’re in love with him.” Kyle bolted upright and smacked his knee on the edge of the solid wood coffee table. The laptop skidded backward six inches, stopping just short of falling off the table. Which was good.

He didn’t need another excuse not to write.

Take Me Home

3

“Ow.” He rubbed his kneecap. “I am not in love with him.” He sounded like the time he and Lorrie were fighting over whether he’d left the barn door open, which led to the escape of their grandpa’s prized horse. Only love and sex were not something he and Lorrie had ever argued about during their teen years. Which was fine by him. Catching her making out with Carl Babcock, her tits hanging out of the top of her bra as Carl fondled her on the couch in their living room, had been enough.

He didn’t want to think about tits, his sister’s or any other woman’s.

He’d rather give up on the ceiling swirls and spend the afternoon dreaming about cock—

Evan’s cock. He’d seen it a number of times over the years but had never had the pleasure of touching it, with hands or mouth or anything else.

There he went again.

He gave another rub to his knee and sighed. “I just want him.” God, how he wanted him. Since before the night over ten years ago when they’d been driving across the country to go to college and he and Evan had ended up fumbling around in their shared room at the Motel 6 off Interstate 80 in Des Moines, Iowa. It wasn’t about love then.

Still wasn’t. “I want to fuck him. All right?”

“Don’t give me that bullshit,” Lorrie said. “You love him.”

“No… Well, yeah. Like a brother.”

“Ew.” She scrunched her face and looked at the red shower curtain to her left as if she could see through it to know if her two kids and husband had heard what they were talking about.

“What?” Kyle asked.

She whispered, “You just said you wanted to fuck him.”

“Jeez, Lorrie. I really am sorry I ever mentioned it to you.” She laughed again, the sound reminding him more of their childhood in Ohio.

“So what are you going to do?” she asked.

God, she was more excited than usual. Since Kyle had told her about Evan moving in six months before, she’d bugged him about it every week when he called. The iPhone and two-year plan with unlimited texting might not have been the best gift idea for her this Christmas. She’d never let up.

“You’re nosy,” he said. For years, he’d kept his desires for Evan a secret. Until he’d confessed to Lorrie in a drunken stupor last Christmas that he’d been wanting Evan since the first time he saw him in their high school English class.

“I’m not nosy,” Lorrie said. “I just want to know all the details. I mean, if you do go for it, what happens if he turns you down? Can your ego take that?” Kyle didn’t want to think about Evan rejecting him. It was a real possibility, though. Like he’d done to Evan in that motel room.

Or worse yet…Evan might see something between them that wasn’t there. It had been a long time since Evan had been alone. He didn’t do casual sex.

No. Evan Walker fell in love. Hard.

Kyle didn’t. Never had. He liked his life uncomplicated, easy. Just the way he liked his sex.

4

Sloan Parker

“So,” Lorrie said, clasping her hands together in front of her chest as if she were praying for something to happen, “when are you going to, uh…make your move?” A pair of black running shorts was draped over the arm of the couch where Evan had left them the day before. Kyle almost reached for them but stopped before he did something stupid like take them to his room for a sniff during a jerk-off session. “Told you, I’m not going to sleep with him.”

“Why not? He’s not a kid anymore. Neither are you.”

“What does that mean?”

“Maybe it’s time for you to have a real relationship. Take a chance. You know how Evan is. Someday he’ll move on and meet someone new. You might never have another shot.” That left him speechless. Would Evan always be a fantasy for him? Always out of his reach?