On the Rocks: An MM Gay Romance (Tales From Revere's Book 3) Read online

  Back then, he had one tattoo of a half-blown rose on his slender bicep and a pair of music notes above his heart. Looking at him shirtless the night before was like some type of revelation: that someone could change so much and still feel the same. Yeah, that's all it was. I changed, too, of course. Definitely not the same guy I was at nineteen.

  Before my mind slipped further toward other things that changed since I lived with Gabe all those years ago, my dad strode into the room. He took up position next to me and gulped down some of his coffee – black like a real man should drink.

  "That was Bill Petigglio from NC. They're looking for a coaching assistant down there, and I threw your name at him. He might be willing to give you a shot for spring semester."

  I fought to keep the scowl off my face. "North Carolina? Coaching? Why would I—"

  "Coach Himes said your year's over. Doc's spouting off about you not being fit to play." He scoffed and gulped down more coffee. "A bunch of bullshit, but Coach can't risk it."

  "Maybe I could go back next year. I should heal up okay by then." The same fiery ball of lead that always spun in my gut when talking about the chance of my career being over before it even began formed up right on queue.

  Dad shook his head. "Sure, sure you will, but you don't want to just sit around in the meantime. Gotta keep in the game. At least it won't be a total waste."

  I cringed despite the attempt to remain stoic. Strong like my father expected. Echoes of his voice filled my mind. You don't want to waste talent like this. "I'm sorry, Dad. I know—"

  He clapped me hard on my good shoulder before I could finish the thought. "Not your fault, son," he said. "Interview's in ten days. Bill's giving you a shot two days before the rest of the applicants, but don't think this is a shoo-in. I only have so many favors I can call in, Cody." He turned and headed back toward the kitchen. He went into the sporting goods store he owned by ten o'clock every day, and it was quarter to already.

  Not your fault, son. His words echoed in my head. How many times had he said them to me since that afternoon in the hospital with the doctor and the x-rays? There was never any comfort in those words. I knew he didn't believe them.

  "Shit," I groaned before swallowing the rest of my coffee. The scene outside the door, neatly trimmed grass starting to dull as Autumn descended and the maple scattered yellow leaves onto it, never changed from year to year. Would I be in North Carolina by spring?

  "Morning, Cody," my mom said as she staggered through on her way to the coffeepot. "What's on the schedule for today?"

  I followed her into the kitchen, washed out my mug, and leaned against the counter. "Probably go for a jog."

  She tucked her foot up on the chair and leaned over her bent knee. Her ash blonde curls stuck out in all directions. Mom never bothered looking her best until after two cups of coffee. "Take Sandy. He doesn't get enough exercise when it's busy at the store."

  At the sound of his name, the yellow lab ambled into the room. I scrubbed my fingers over his head and gave his ears a rub. "What do you think, Sandy? Up for a run?" He perked up, eyes bright, and I smiled.

  "I have the library thing this afternoon, so I won't be around. You'll have to entertain yourself." Mom tipped her head in my direction and grinned. "Speaking of entertaining yourself, where did you disappear to last night?"

  "Ran into Gabriel Bellamy, the guy I roomed with before my transfer to the U. He just moved back to town." I shrugged, trying to make it look like I didn't care much. In truth, seeing Gabe made me remember all sorts of things other than the good ol' days of college baseball and classes. Another flash of his face and that lean, colorful body swept through my mind.

  "Wow, there's a name I haven't heard in a long time. How's he doing?" She stood up to fetch her second cup and scooped three sugars into it. The spoon clinked rhythmically against the mug.

  "He seemed fine. Got a job DJing in town, I guess." At a place called Revere's, he had said, but I didn't recognize the name. The only nightlife I knew about in town centered on the Bowline at the marina, and that was mainly because it's where my parents and their friends went.

  "Good for him. Definitely doing something he loves then." She nodded and got to work on her second coffee. The unspoken follow-up comment echoed in my brain. Unlike you, Cody. You don't get to do something you love. But that wasn't her voice. It was my dad's. And mine.

  "I'm gonna take that run." I disappeared upstairs into my childhood bedroom. The baseball trophies still lined the shelves, but at least it had a full-size bed with striped sheets instead of a pattern of cartoon balls and bats they had when I was ten.

  I got dressed, grabbed my cap, strapped the shoulder brace on over my tank, and pulled a blue hoody over top with some difficulty. My shoulder still didn't want to stretch overhead, and it hurt enough that I had to be careful. Even if I never pitched another game of baseball, I didn't want to struggle with everyday life, and I didn't want to go under the knife.

  ~ ~ ~

  Dad played tennis or racquetball at the club with other prominent men of the community when he had time. Mom did yoga and took Sandy for walks every day. No one ran with the dog except me, and I wasn't about to start again with twenty minutes straight to the lake and back again. I hooked him into his harness in the back of my Mustang and slid behind the wheel. I worked my ass off for that car after practice and between games. Minor leaguers made barely enough to stay alive, so me and a few of the other guys did warehouse work on the side. I had to quit that, too, when I blew out my shoulder.

  "You ready for a run, Sandy boy?" I checked the dog in the rearview window as I pulled out of the driveway. He woofed before grinning his doggy smile at me again. I flipped on my playlist for the rest of the ride to the lake.

  Thirty minutes later found us halfway down the hard-packed dirt path that ran along the edge of the lake from one of the recreation spot parking lots. We left the families with kids behind and outpaced the strolling seniors and couples. A few other joggers moved through the morning sunlight, and a bicyclist or two called out "on your left" before they zoomed past.

  The official path ended where the trees took over from the sandy part of the shore, but people had worn down the undergrowth and twisted a wilder path into the trees. Two of the cyclists stood there, gulping from sports bottles and looking out over the water. The woman tipped her head and looked at me, her gaze skating down and then up again with casual interest.

  I slowed to a walk and led Sandy around the barricade and into the cooler shade under the trees. He sniffed around almost every tree and pulled on the leash a bit, and I let him explore without disrupting our forward progress. My shoulder ached from the jouncing of the run, but the sturdy neoprene brace the doc gave me helped. It also made me sweat like crazy. I pulled off my hoodie and tossed it over my good shoulder before reseating my cap on my damp hair.

  Sandy did his own thing while my brain ran over recent events. The required appearance at the Bowline party was annoying, but when those three assholes went after Gabe just like they had in high school… Just seeing Gabe there had been bad enough. Well, not bad, I admitted to myself. Nothing like bad, actually. Surprising? Confusing?

  The mind movie of him strolling across his apartment, shirt off, slim muscles flexing, his long fingers pulling his pale hair free started up again. So many people thought it was a bleach job. I had when I first walked into the dorm room to see this bright slip of a man struggling with a trunk he could have folded himself into with ease. My mind tumbled through those early days rooming together and caught on the moment he told me he was gay.

  Before I chased those thoughts to my dream the night before, Sandy's bark brought me back to the present. He lunged forward and yanked the end of the leash out of my hand before he veered off the path to head toward the lake.

  "Sandy, stop. Get back here!" I followed him between the trees but wasn't fast enough to grab his leash before he launched into the water and started swimming. "Shit," I muttered, visions o
f ruined car seats filling my mind. "Come here!"

  As I stepped onto the thin shoreline beyond the trees, I spied what had attracted the dog's attention. Someone swimming through the still water stopped, lifted their head, and turned toward Sandy, who reached them and paddled around as if trying to figure out what was going on. Maybe it was some kind of rescue mission in his doggy mind.

  "I'm sorry about my dog," I yelled at the pale head bobbing in the water. "Sandy, get your butt over here!" Finally, the crazy dog headed back toward me, but the swimmer followed along. It wasn't until the man found footing and started walking out of the water that I recognized him.

  Gabe. He held Sandy's leash and stood back as the dog shook buckets of lake water all over the place. Shirtless again, black trunks plastered against his thighs, with rivulets of water trailing over and around the trim muscles he hadn't had back in college. My eyes tracked one drop as it slid over his smooth pec and ended up suspended and glistening on the silver barbell through his right nipple. For one insane moment, I wanted to lean forward and lick it off. The thought threw me off balance so much I almost stumbled as I took the leash.

  I shook my head and met his gaze. "I'm sorry about that. I guess he thought you needed rescuing or something." I wrapped the leash around my fist.

  His smile lit up his entire face. "What a good boy," he said and leaned over to scrub Sandy around the jaw just the way he liked.

  We stood there silent and awkward. Sandy sniffed around Gabe's legs, also decorated with tattoos, and I stared out at the water.

  "Well, I should maybe…" he started.

  "Can I drive you home?" I asked at the same exact time.

  "I'm soaking wet." He looked around pointedly. "Is your car hiding behind a tree?"

  The laugh surprised me. "Back at the rec lot, but it's not a long walk. Sandy has to dry before he gets in the car, anyway."

  Gabe looked down at his own bare chest and swim trunks before peering up at me again. He looked like he was on the verge of another joke.

  "Here," I said. "Wear this." I shoved my hoodie at him and tried not to let him see how much I wanted him to come with me. Casual. Didn't matter at all. Bullshit.

  Chapter Three

  Gabe

  When the dog showed up between strokes, I almost swallowed lake water, but the owner standing on shore took my breath away in a whole other way. Was it fate that kept throwing me and Cody together? He stood there, muscles bulging, tank top stuck to his chest with a wedge of sweat, well-worn ball cap shading those magnificent eyes, and with a smile lighting up his entire face. I couldn't help but mirror it back.

  The invitation for a ride home – for any more time spent in his presence – was a major bonus. I'm all sweaty from my run. I need a shower. Wanna scrub my back for me?

  Despite the cool breezes over my wet swimsuit, when he pulled the hem of his tank top up to swipe sweat from his face, all my blood rushed south, and I got hard. As hard as that six-pack with a trail of dark hair that led below the drawstring of his shorts, or those round biceps, or… ugh. I tried to remember the chilly water in an attempt to stop the front of my swim trunks from giving away all my secrets.

  I gulped in a breath and took the hoodie he offered, mentally cursing myself to get a grip, Gabe, before pulling it over my head. It smelled like him, clean sweat, and something spicy. Probably his deodorant or body wash. "Cozy," I said and smiled up at him as I tugged it down over my hips to hide the bulge in my shorts.

  The adorable lab sniffed me and begged for more ear scratches before leading the way through the trees. With every careful step, sand and dirt clung to my damp feet. I frowned down at them.

  Cody followed my gaze. "They have a spigot at the rec lot. You can rinse them off before getting in the car. I probably have to do Sandy's feet, too."

  "Good, we can get these puppies clean." The instant the horrible pun escaped, my lips twisted, and I mentally yelled at myself again. Way to impress him with my stellar wit.

  His laugh did something to my insides, though, and I found myself trying to come up with more idiotic jokes. "How long are you back for?" I asked instead.

  He led me around the barrier at the end of official path before he answered. The lake spread out to our left, gleaming blue in the morning sunlight. An expensive-looking, black and white speedboat lazed across the water thirty yards out.

  "I'm not sure," he said at last. His jaw clenched tight for a moment before he continued. "The injury's worse than it was at first. Six months at least."

  "How does an injury get worse?"

  "I first injured it in the spring. Doc said I just needed rest, but Coach wanted to get his money's worth, I guess. Put me back in the pitching rotation too soon." He shrugged and winced. "So, now I might have to get surgery if it doesn't heal up well enough. If not…" He turned to look out over the lake.

  I fought the urge to give him a hug or at least a companionable pat on the arm. Celia, my best friend from the first club I ever worked at, made me take one of those love languages quizzes online, and I blew the physical touch score out of the water. Sometimes it felt like I went through life actively trying not to touch people so I didn't creep them out.

  "If not?" I shook my head. "I'm sorry. I'm being nosy. You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to, Cody."

  A pair of cyclists passed us in the other direction, and Cody reeled Sandy in close. He didn't speak until they were well past us. "It's fine. I mean, it's not like some big secret or anything. If I need surgery, it's still not going to get me back on the field. My dad says maybe coaching, though." He let the leash out of his fist so the dog could sniff across the path again.

  "Is that what you want?" With one simple question, I got a lot more personal than just asking about his injury. It had been eight years since we saw each other last. Eight years was a long time to form some genuine distance. I didn't know his world any more than he knew mine, but I knew how important baseball had been to him. The desire to know more, to actually know Cody again as much as I knew him back then, or better, thrummed through me. It didn't hurt that he still looked like my ultimate wet dream jock.

  The parking lot came in sight before he answered, and I tried not to sigh too loudly. A few of moms and their kids scrambled around near the playground, and two runners stretched next to their SUV, but things were pretty empty now that autumn made playing in the lake less interesting.

  "Spigot's over here," Cody said, and led me and Sandy over to the knee-high faucet. He bent down to hold the dog's paws under the flow of water and rubbed the dirt off them.

  I bit back a laugh at the thought of holding my own foot out and letting him wash it off with those big hands of his. I didn't have a foot fetish or anything, but the idea of him on his knees touching me was just too enticing. My teeth clamped down on my lower lip as I waited for him to finish. I scrubbed the dirt off my own feet as best I could and followed him to his car.

  Cody spread a big towel over the back seat and gave me another one to sit on. I didn't blame him. Nice ride. As he turned toward my apartment, the silence spun out almost uncomfortably long. Just as I was about to pull out some random observation about the stores we passed, he glanced over at me and spoke.

  "You said you were DJing around here somewhere?"

  "Oh, yeah." I turned toward him. "At Revere's. It's down the lake road, past the marina. The guys who own it are awesome, Paul and Houston. You should come down one night and grab a beer or whatever you drink now. I start Friday." The thrill of landing this full-time job so soon after getting to town blew my mind. After years of temp work and one-time gigs, having an actual job at a very cool place was like a dream come true. Just when Cody's dream is ending. The thought deflated me, and my smile vanished.

  He didn't seem to notice the change in mood, however. His smile widened. "That would be cool. Maybe I'll stop by then."

  I babbled about music until he pulled into the small lot outside my place. "Thanks for the ride," I said as I scr
ambled out.

  "Any time," he said with a nod.

  It wasn't until I flopped on the couch with a dramatic sigh that I realized I still wore his hoodie. Well, good. It smelled like him, all man and some type of woodsy deodorant. And it gave me another reason to see him again. I hoped a time would come when I didn't need an excuse. Cody lodged himself in my mind and in my fantasies just as firmly as he had back in college.

  ~ ~ ~

  The ripped black jeans made my ass look great, and the charcoal henley was the most conservative option of shirts that worked with them. I buckled my belt and tucked the front hem into my waistband. Plenty of time to hang out socially, but since Revere's was my workplace, I wanted to get a feel for how to dress and act before I showed up on Friday. Always better to opt for conservative at first, just in case a harness and leather hot pants were too much.

  Not that I owned a harness and leather hot pants. Well, not anymore.

  Twenty minutes later, I weaseled my way up to the bar and ordered a rum and coke with lots of ice. Paul waved Whitaker, the blue-haired bartender, off and came to serve me himself.

  "Hey, Gabe. Good to see you here on an off-night." He finished my drink with a wedge of lime.

  "Revere's is my new favorite place. Expect to see me here a lot even when I'm not working. Thought I'd get a feel for the crowds."

  He smiled and reached for two glasses for the man standing next to me. "I knew you were the right choice for the job. Already doing homework."

  I sipped the icy drink. "I'm very serious about helping people have fun."

  "Well, go have some fun yourself tonight."

  When he turned away to help other patrons, I took my glass and headed off into the room. The music, some club mix with a heavier rock vibe, pulsed through the speakers. Men and a few women filled the dance floor and most of the tables and booths around the room. Many glanced my way as I passed. My pale hair drew eyes even if they had no interest in someone like me, but I wasn't there for a hookup. Not sure how that would go over with my new boss, but if Paul expected me to turn into a monk to keep my job, this would not be as much fun as I thought.