Wilder, Winona - Choosing Love [Coming Out 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour ManLove) (2 page)

Chapter Two

Waylon fidgeted in class the whole hour, his leg maintaining an impatient rhythm. He couldn’t believe the way Steph had called out
Cal
in the diner. The second she closed her big mouth, he could practically feel the tension in the air. Although
Cal
was a master at hiding his feelings, as usual, no man wanted to hear someone talk degradingly about their size—in any department. All Waylon could think about was finding
Cal
and making sure he was okay. Steph was all talk and never thought before she spoke. Surely his friend knew that by now.

The teacher continued to blather on, but Waylon couldn’t concentrate. All he saw was
Cal
’s facial expression at the diner, and he couldn’t focus on the room of students or the teacher standing up at the front blackboard.
Cal
was his best friend, and though he usually laughed off Steph’s comments, he’d been more intense lately. Waylon wouldn’t allow a girl to come between them. If need be, he’d break it off with Steph. It’s not like they loved each other. Their relationship was for show, and they both knew it and had no problem with the ruse.

As soon as the minute hand hit the half hour, Waylon bolted from his seat and made his way to the door. He didn’t care that the class hadn’t been officially dismissed— he had to catch
Cal
before he left the grounds. Nothing else mattered. Of course, the teacher never attempted to call him back or question his actions. He was the crown jewel of the college, bringing victory after victory for their football team. The staff would let him get away with murder.

When he exited the side doors, emerging into the bright light of the afternoon sun, he had to squint to see the parking area.
Cal
was ducking into the driver’s side of his car. Waylon broke into a jog.

“Hey! Where you off to in such a hurry?” Waylon leaned into the open driver’s side window, his hands resting on the roof of the car.

“It’s Friday. I’m going home,”
Cal
said flatly.

“I wanna talk to you for a minute.”

“Look, now’s not a good time, okay.”
Cal
reached to put his keys in the ignition, but Waylon grabbed his wrist and snatched his keys. Once sure that his friend couldn’t escape, he stood back and waited.

Cal
exhaled in irritation, stumbled out of the car, and slammed the door with enough force that several students stopped and stared. Waylon gave them a look that hurried them on their way. “I just wanna talk.”

“Well, talk, because I have nothing to say.”

“I’m sorry about the things Steph said. You can’t take her seriously.”

Cal
crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s the truth. I’m a scrawny loser with no girlfriend…and apparently a child-sized dick.” He wouldn’t look him in the eye.

Waylon didn’t care if anyone watched at this point. He wouldn’t have his friend hurting. “You’re not scrawny.” Grabbing him by the shoulders, he gave him a little jerk. “You’re all lean muscle and handsome as hell. Any girl would be a fool not to go out with you.”

Cal
’s rigid features softened, but his breathing remained labored. “You’re one to talk. You’re every girl’s wet dream.”

“Listen,
Cal
, everyone has different tastes. Some like a bigger frame, but I guarantee you there are a shitload that want an athletic guy like you.”
Cal
could easily try out for modeling. He had that chiseled jaw, straight nose, and fuck-me eyes that made women gaga. If he chose not to date, that was his choice. A lot of students chose not to mix school with pleasure.

“Can I have my keys?”

“Fine. But I’m coming by your place tomorrow, so don’t be getting hammered.” He hesitated in handing back the keys, somehow knowing
Cal
was going to do something stupid. If it were up to him, he’d go along with him, rent a movie, and get a takeout pizza—but he had to deal with Steph once and for all.
Cal
grabbed the keys and, without a good-bye, he sped out of the parking lot, leaving Waylon feeling amiss.

He raked both hands through his hair and felt tempted to slam his fist into something. Stalking back to the building, he had to find his girlfriend.

Steph stood outside the gym with a small group of mutual friends. It was a common hangout area. As soon as she noticed him walking towards her, she broke free of the crowd and dashed toward him. She grabbed the front of his shirt, putting on her sweetest face. The girl was anything but sugar and spice, so he didn’t buy the act. “Waylon, I’m so sorry for what happened at lunch. I feel horrible.”

“You should.”

Her hand traveled lower until she had his belt in her fist, ensuring she had his undivided attention. Considering he stood at least a foot taller and was twice as broad, it would be a futile attempt if he decided to walk away from her.

“I’ve talked with my friend Macy. She’s totally on board with doubling—you and me, and her and Cal. I want to make it up to him, and you.”

What could he say? Maybe getting his friend laid was the one thing
Cal
needed most. It would be an excuse to get him out of his apartment where he’d be wallowing, feeling sorry for himself. A twenty-two-year-old man should be living it up on a Friday night.

“Which one’s Macy?”

Steph grinned, knowing she had him where she wanted. “The dark-haired one standing beside
Tyler
.” They both looked to the girl in question. She was definitely hot, with a nice rack and cute face. He wasn’t sure what
Cal
’s type was, since he never talked about girls, but that chick would be any man’s type.

“I’m guessing you have this all planned out, right?”

“Tonight at nine. That new club downtown is opening, and Macy managed to get four tickets.”

“Assuming I get him to agree to this, we’ll pick you girls up at your place.”

“Excellent.” She reached up on her tiptoes for a kiss. Despite his urge to pull away, there was an audience to appease, so he locked lips with her for moment.

* * * *

The club was dark, with colored beams highlighting the dance floor in the distance. Glitz and glam with a collective energy that pulled you in.
Cal
couldn’t believe he agreed to come along, but he felt the need to prove his hetero status, and saying no to Waylon wasn’t easy. The man was a god, and his smile could melt
Cal
on the spot.

“There’s a booth,” Macy said, pulling him along behind her by the hand. It would be good to be seen with a hot girl like Macy, even if nothing could ever come from it. Waylon and Stephanie followed close behind.

“This is fun!” said Stephanie, cuddling up to Waylon once they were seated. He wore a long sleeved blue shirt, slightly unbuttoned, and his usual body-hugging Levi’s. With his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his muscled forearms were something to look at—firm and powerful, an expensive silver watch hanging loosely from his wrist. Waylon’s family had money. His dad was a cattle rancher and paid for most of his living costs while in college.

Once they all had their second round of drinks, everyone loosened up a bit. Even with Macy hanging off his neck,
Cal
could only focus on the man across from him. Every time Stephanie made a move, he cringed, reminded of what he could never have.

“So how long have you been friends with Waylon?” asked Macy, playing with the buttons on his shirt.

“A long time.” He shifted out of her reach and stood at the end of booth. “I’m grabbing another drink. I’ll be back.”

Cal
weaved in and out of the many patrons of the club. Glitter and sweaty flesh stared back at him from every angle. Once at the bar, he ordered three shots, hoping it would be enough to numb him. Fuck, he was in love with his best friend and had to carry on this charade, which wasn’t fair to anyone. He hated himself, hated the world, hated God for making him what he was.
Cal
downed each shot in succession, feeling the burn all the way down his throat to his stomach. Numerous lust-filled eyes focused on him, sizing him up as a potential bedmate. The new club was worse than a cattle auction, but as the alcohol leached into his brain, everything looked brighter. A surge of excitement jolted through him a while later, and he wanted to become one with the party around him, revel in his numbed state.

By the time he made it back to their booth, half an hour later, he had difficulty walking, having rode the wave of bodies back to his seat. He didn’t enter the booth beside Macy, but pulled up a metal chair and sat at the end of the table.

“Where’ve you been?” Waylon leaned over the table, assessing him, no doubt knowing exactly how wasted he was. The concern on his face wrinkled the corners of his eyes.

“Bar.”

Macy looked a tad flush herself. She slipped out of the booth and straddled
Cal
’s lap. He hugged her around the waist, peering to the side to gauge Waylon’s reaction. Why did he assume his friend would be jealous? He was his friend, and he’d set him up with Macy in the first place. The only person suffering was
Cal
. Despite the lack of desire he felt for the woman clutching to him, he pulled her closer and kissed her. Her lips were soft and tasted of liquor. This was what everyone wanted, wasn’t it?

When she started pulling at his shirt, sending a couple buttons skittering away, he checked out his friend one last time. Stephanie had followed Macy’s lead and was busily groping and necking Waylon. It was the sign he needed to truly let loose. He stopped holding back, closed his eyes, and allowed his date to have her way with him. Her soft lips peppered kissed down his neck to his chest, and her hands massaged his tense muscles. Maybe he could pretend it was Waylon, or even that hot history teacher, that was touching him.

As the alcohol pulled him deeper into oblivion, the weight on his lap lifted. He opened his eyes only to meet the angry glare of Waylon. “You’re drunk.”

“And?”

“I’m taking you home—you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“The fuck I don’t!”
Cal
stood, nearly as tall as Waylon, and pulled the girl against the hardness of his body. He grinned menacingly as he planted a kiss on her neck while eyeing Waylon. “My date ain’t complaining.”

Waylon pulled Macy, or whatever her name was, out of his arms and gave him a shove towards the exit. He stumbled, too sloshed to maintain balance. The whole world spun, lights zinging past his vision, along with nameless faces. Every eye judged him. Accusing fingers pointed, and worst of all—Waylon hated him.

Too many hands tried to help him to his feet. Anger, bitterness, and jealousy leaked from every pore, and as he stood he pulled back and punched Waylon in the gut. His friend groaned, quickly righted himself, and wrapped a heavily muscled arm around his neck as he escorted him to the side exit that led to the alleyway. Could things get any worse? He’d probably alienated Waylon as a friend. Who else in the world did he have now?

The next thing he knew, the sharp evening chill pulled him to the present. The metal door boomed shut, and he was alone in the dark alley with a very pissed Waylon.

“What the fuck’s wrong with you? You’re better than this!”

“Is it a crime to get drunk in a bar now?” He nearly lost balance and Waylon’s hands were quick to reach out and steady him. “Get your hands off me!” Every touch from his friend reminded him of what he could never have and the kind of freak he was for craving his best friend in carnal ways.

“What’s your problem?” Waylon pushed him against the brick wall of the club.

“You! You’re my fucking problem!”
Cal
forced all his weight into pushing his friend backwards, which was a foolish move considering how solid he stood. It was like pushing against an oak tree. Waylon laughed, which only ignited
Cal
’s anger. He swung and missed, and swung again. Slightly bent over to maintain balance, Waylon grabbed the back hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head, hockey style.

Cal
struggled to free himself of the material, tossing it to the ground. “Hit me! Come on, hit me!” He raised his fists, ready to fight a superior opponent and not giving a shit that he’d lose. Today everything came to a head. The alcohol only acted as a catalyst for him to vent all the years of pent-up emotions he held back. He hated Waylon because he loved him—and couldn’t.