Winter Ball (18 page)

“You two have been really patient—would you like to play through?” His voice sounded a little familiar, but Skip was too embarrassed to try to place him.

“I’m so sorry,” he apologized. “We were being loud. We’ll just quiet down and leave you alone—our group should be catching up pretty soon.”

Carpenter guffawed because the distance between them and their group was increasing with every hole, and Skip smacked him in the arm.

And then the handsome stranger blew his mind.

“Schipperke?”

Oh good Lord. “Uh, the nice guy who sent me the fruit basket?”

He smiled and offered his hand. “Mason Hayes, VP in charge of sales.” He blushed. “Thank you for not suing.”

Skip smiled, suddenly embarrassed. “Skipper Keith. Thanks for not being a real douche bag. You were really nice when I was sick.”

“Suing?” said Mason’s golf buddy.

“Oh God,” Mason muttered, covering his eyes. “Please don’t tell my little brother I hit on you over the phone!”

Skip and Carpenter laughed, like they were supposed to, and they were introduced to Dane Hayes, a younger, slightly goofier version of his upscale older brother.

“My brother the sexually harassing douche bag?” Dane said, laughing dubiously.

“Naw,” Skipper said, feeling generous.

“Oh yeah,” Mason contradicted. “I was nervous, uncomfortable, and I’d just broken up with my boyfriend to relocate to Tesko. Everything that came out of my mouth was all lose, all the time.”

“Ouch,” Skip said, and a voice behind them caught their attention. “Oh shit. Carpenter, they’re catching up.”

“Is that your party?” Mason asked, looking at the two of them with amusement.

“Sadly, yes,” Carpenter said. “Don’t let us keep you.”

Dane laughed. “Here, Mace—let them play with us. I’ll go, and we can stay away from whoever they’re not excited about seeing.”

And just like that, Skip was playing with the mysterious gentleman caller, the one Richie had been so jealous of.

Perhaps if Skip hadn’t been so gone over Richie, he might have had cause.

Mason and his brother were funny and warm. Dane was still in veterinarian school, and part of the reason Mason had moved to Sacramento from the Bay Area was to be there for his brother while he finished up at UC Davis.

“Our folks are getting older,” Mason said before making a truly awful swing. “I suspect they’ll be living up in Sun Hills in a couple of years.”

“I still can’t believe I know someone going through that much schooling,” Carpenter said dryly.

Skip waited until Mason’s ball wandered into the rough and they all sighed before he said, “What do you mean? All your friends back there were getting their MBAs and law degrees.”

Carpenter grunted before making his own—expertly executed—swing. He
didn’t
wait for his ball to bounce a few feet from the hole before saying, “Yeah, but Dane’s degree is in something real.”

Dane grinned at him, his front teeth slightly askew, and Carpenter happily beamed back.

“Oh my God,” Mason said with feeling. “Can you two possibly fall in love when we’re done with this hole?”

Skipper laughed and Carpenter blushed. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I’m not actually gay, but I’m just so relieved not to have to play with my high school people.”

Mason groaned. “God, yes. There are
so
many people from high school I will be happy to never talk to again. What about you, Skipper?”

Skip grunted. “Nobody would remember me,” he said, suddenly wishing for Richie. “Everybody back away, let’s see if my luck holds.”

It did, and they continued to play.

They were at the second-to-last hole when Mason brought Skipper abruptly out of the cloud of unexpected camaraderie.

“Wait a minute, Skip—if Carpenter’s not gay, who’s your boyfriend? Didn’t you say something about hooking up over the weekends?”

Skip had been just about to set up for his swing, and he suddenly deflated and cast an unhappy look over his shoulder. “He, uh, had sort of a family emergency.” Skip had checked his phone surreptitiously a few times, and Richie hadn’t been able to respond. Skip figured that if he didn’t get a text responding to
Played golf with Gentleman Caller
, then Richie was either busting his hump or had busted his phone.

“You didn’t go help?” Mason asked, surprised.

“It’s complicated,” Carpenter said for him. “Go ahead and swing, Skip. You might win your first round of golf, and I don’t want to jinx it.”

Skip grinned appreciatively, cleared his mind, and swung.

It was funny, how golf and soccer were such different sports, but there was still that connecting moment, when the club hit the ball right in the sweet spot, or when the foot hit the much bigger ball, and you knew when it was going to be good.

Skipper watched the ball arch up into the November blue sky before plummeting back down on the green and knew it was good.

BUT THE
brief reprieve didn’t stop the story from spilling out as Skip proceeded to birdie. He did win, at three under par for the course, and Carpenter assured him he was some sort of prodigy while at the same time Mason tried to wiggle more of the story out of both of them.

“So… Richie,” Mason said for the fifth time as they were walking to the club. “He didn’t
want
your help?”

Skip grunted. “His dad would probably beat the shit out of me if I showed up there now.”

Mason put his hand on Skip’s shoulder then, and Skip paused while Dane and Carpenter continued into the club. “Skip, do you
want
to help him?”

Skip frowned unhappily. That hand on his shoulder felt
really
good, and Mason had been warm and kind and funny and… well…
gay
. Not in the obvious television way, but in the “I’d totally want you if you weren’t taken” way.

He just wasn’t sure if this was a come-on or not.

“Yeah,” Skip said, stepping smoothly backward. “I really want to help him. I
hate
that I won’t see him until after Thanksgiving. I….”
I’m afraid he’s going to try so hard to forget about us that he succeeds.
“I’m used to seeing him more,” he finished weakly.

Mason sighed and looked at him wistfully from earth brown eyes. “Skip, I don’t want to… you know… intrude, but….” He laughed and dragged a hand through
very
well cut hair. “Look, I hit on you
before
I saw you. You’re… you know. Not bad on the eyes. Just….”

Skip found he was blushing, shifting from foot to foot and uncomfortable in a way that he’d never been with Richie. But his stomach also ached a little from holding it in, which meant Skip wanted this guy to find him attractive too.

“I….” Oh Lord. Men did not say what he was about to say in front of each other. “I really love him. If this doesn’t work out, I’m going to be broken for a long time.”

Mason shrugged, but he didn’t, thank God, look hurt. “And
that’s
why you’re turning my key, Skipper. Because you’d say that about him without reservation. I’ll just have to look for someone I
don’t
work with for me!”

Skip blushed. “Well, you know. Think before you talk, and I’m sure it will happen.”

Mason had a sweet laugh, but it wasn’t manic. He didn’t tilt his head back and bounce on his toes. By the time Carpenter’s friends dragged their sorry asses into the club and got introduced to Mason and Dane, Skipper had stopped sucking his stomach in at all—and he must have checked his phone about six thousand times.

CARPENTER GOT
him home about four in the afternoon, and the first thing he did was mow the lawn and rake before the last of the light failed, and the rain came about a half an hour after that. He spent the evening eating a can of soup and paying bills, and he was falling asleep on the couch watching a really stupid movie on television around ten o’clock. When he asked himself why it was so goddamned important that he finish watching
Route 666
, he realized he was checking his phone every time he jerked himself awake.

Hell.

He had just crawled into bed when he heard a knock on the door. Richie was standing under the porch, his orange hair speckled with rain.

Skip hauled him inside and into his arms without a word.

Ah, Richie… he must have eaten a box of Tic Tacs, because he tasted like mints with a nicotine chaser, but Skip didn’t care. Skip had him backed up against the door and was holding him in place while he ravaged his mouth, hard and possessive and needy, and Richie returned in kind. Richie’s clothes tumbled to the floor, and Skip stepped away to let him kick off his shoes. Richie took the space and ran with it, backing Skip onto the couch until he fell sprawling on it and then kissed Skip while they ground against each other.

Skip’s hands shook in his hair, and his hips thrust upward spasmodically, needing… needing… needing so damned hard.

Richie pulled away for a moment and searched Skip’s eyes. “He hit on you?” he asked.

Skip shook his head. “He wanted to. I told him I was taken.”

Richie nodded, and his eyes got wide and shiny. “You
are
taken,” he muttered. “You’re
mine
.”

He slid off of Skip then and took the two steps across the room for his pants so he could pull lube out of the pocket. Skip got up too, so when Richie tried to bend over, ass up, Skip could yank on his hair and say, “On your back, Richie. Face me.”

Richie stretched out lengthwise on the couch, and lifted his legs, hugging them to his chest. Skip’s whole body quivered—they’d done this enough that his cock didn’t need any pointers for where to go, it just needed
in
.

Still, he remembered his manners, remembered to stretch, to ask permission, and Richie’s harsh breathing and half-whimpered begging filled his ears.

“You like this?” Skip asked, two fingers sheathed and scissoring inside Richie’s body. “You think this is awesome?”

“Yeah,” Richie breathed. “C’mon, Skip… want!”

“All you gotta do is
be
here!” Skip snapped, and then he mounted his lover’s scrawny, fighting body and drove inside.

Richie let out a moan and wrapped his legs around Skipper’s hips and screamed, “Fucking
hard
!”

Skip fucked him so hard he couldn’t make any more words. Fucked him so hard and so fast he couldn’t even beg. Skip’s hips got numb from banging against Richie’s bony ass, and Richie sobbed for breath but he didn’t ask for it harder because Skip loved him just as hard as he could.

Richie’s shriek of orgasm probably echoed down the street, but Skip didn’t care. Richie shot without touching himself, the come spattering across Skip’s chest, even under his chin, and Richie let out breathless little moans with every thrust after that.

“Please,” he managed, no wind left. “Please, Skipper….”

The begging broke Skip, tore his climax right out of him, his entire body exploding into white light before he could even cry out.

He came to with his face buried in the hollow of Richie’s neck, trying hard not to laugh and cry.

“Skip,” Richie whispered. “Skipper, I’ve got to go.”

Skip pushed up on his elbows and thought about getting mad. “You’ve got to do
what
?” he asked in disbelief. His arms tightened around Richie’s shoulders, and for a moment, Richie didn’t fight him.

“I told my dad I was going out for beer,” Richie said apologetically. “I told you—he’s been checking for me at night—”

“Richie!” Skip buried his face back in the hollow of Richie’s neck and then said the obvious. “You’re twenty-five years old!”

Richie laughed helplessly. “Yeah,” he said, nuzzling Skip’s ear. He had quite a bit of stubble—had probably gone without shaving for a week. “Took me that long to figure out what I want, and apparently I’m not supposed to have it.”

“I don’t see why not,” Skip muttered, feeling sulky. “Seriously, why the crackdown?” Richie made an uncomfortable sound and Skip pushed up. “Am I crushing you?”

“Don’t you dare move,” Richie said huskily. “No. It’s… so, you know how I told you that the vandalism ended up being a lot of useless junk?”

“Yeah,” Skip said. That was easy to remember because a deep and terrible suspicion had started in his stomach at the time. “You said you thought most of the valuable stuff had been taken already.”

Richie nodded and then looked so lonely Skip wanted to cry. “Well, Dad didn’t listen to me the first couple of times I said it, but then the insurance people came out and started looking around.”

“And?”

Richie closed those infinity-pool green eyes and almost melted into the couch beneath him. “And they agreed with me. Someone had been taking shit for a month, and the vandalism was to cover it up.”

Skip didn’t say anything for a moment. He knew where this was going, but he was pretty sure Richie needed to say it anyway. “The alarms were disabled.”

“Yeah,” Richie said.

“What do they say?”

Richie’s eyes opened, and they were shiny and red rimmed. “See, the insurance people came by, and they had officers with them, and they asked to talk to Paul and Rob, and… and nothing. Dad couldn’t get them on the phone, Kay couldn’t get them on the phone—and then Kay ran into their room in the house and their stuff was all gone.”

“Oh no….”

“So the cops searched the place, and then they searched
my
place, which was
hilarious
because I don’t have anything—they actually asked me how much I paid for rent. I swear to God, a cop turned to my father and told him he was robbing his own son blind.” Richie’s lip curled up slightly. “That was sort of awesome, actually.”

Skip’s lip curled in an entirely different way. “Swell,” he muttered. “So you’re going back why?”

“Because….” Richie’s voice sank thoughtfully, which was good—it meant he was really giving some attention to the idea. “I don’t know,” he said at last, and Skip’s heart lightened. “He’s just… you know. My dad. My mom left him and all he had was me. For a few years, it was just… you know, us. I mean, he’s got a flaky sister, but I cooked the dinner and cleaned the house, and we were a family.” His voice cracked for a moment. “Some of that went away with Kay, but I don’t… he hasn’t been a monster, you know? Don’t you owe it to family?”