He couldn’t say anything to that, because it too closely reflected the freak-out he’d had before. Tightening his arms around Tierney’s shoulders, Dalton hauled himself up until his chest was smashed against Tierney’s shirt, and he could feel both their hearts beating. He traced the shape of Tierney’s lips again, but this time with his tongue. Tierney captured it, sucking it into his mouth and pressing Dalton back into the mattress.
Working his fingers under the waistband of Tierney’s lounge pants, Dalton started tugging them off.
“I need to get ready to go,” Tierney said, but he shifted enough for Dalton to get the sweats down to his thighs, baring his dick. “Gotta take a shower.”
“Do it after.” Dalton took Tierney’s earlobe in his teeth and nibbled.
“After what?” He grinned.
Dalton smiled back. “After I make you come.” He began to run his mouth down Tierney’s neck, tonguing him, then he wound his fingers in Tierney’s hair and kissed him, harder and more explicitly than earlier, grinding against Tierney’s body. Shifting until their cocks lined up next to each other. Sharing pre-cum and friction and pushing away thoughts of them not working out.
Because they had to. He deserved this man.
Sam texted Dalton shortly after Tierney left. We’re going to visit my parents this weekend, so you wanna have lunch today, instead?
Dalton leaped at the chance. He didn’t want to pace around Tierney’s condo for who knew how long, waiting for him to return, because now that he was alone again, his earlier uncertainty was back. So he set the condo alarm by following the instructions Tierney had left him, then took public transit to Simpson. It was a gray day, but not raining. One of those days where the clouds stretched uniformly across the sky like someone had built a roof over planet Earth and insulated it with dirty cotton.
He brought a book onto the bus with him—the one Tierney had given him—but instead of reading it he stared out the window at the buildings and went over and over things in his mind. Was he anxious about Tierney because he had no faith in himself? He’d never managed to pick a decent guy before now, so maybe he couldn’t quite trust what was going on.
Trying to shore up his confidence, he made the mistake of playing the worst-case scenario game. It usually helped—he’d imagine the most horrible outcome to a situation, and it never seemed so bad once he’d studied it from all angles.
Until now. Because the worst thing that could happen was that their relationship would drive Tierney to drink, and he’d end up a penniless, toothless alcoholic living on the streets and dying by forty, and it would be all Dalton’s fault.
Even the second-worst thing was pretty bad. It involved Tierney returning to his former asshole persona, and Dalton one day waking up to realize he was just another possession of a wealthy man again. He truly believed Tierney had changed—he’d meant what he’d said to Andrea—but if Tierney fell off the wagon because of Dalton, couldn’t his personality change back?
By the time he got to Murray’s Bistro and found Sam standing out front, Dalton was desperate to talk to someone about it all. First, though, he hugged Sam very, very tightly.
“What happened?” Sam asked, voice rising in alarm.
Sigh. “I’ll tell you after we order.”
Once they’d been seated at their usual table—the host knew them by now—Dalton didn’t even try to avoid telling Sam everything that had happened, even the parts he’d hidden up until now. All the important details about the night before, and the nights leading up to it. He skimmed over the really personal stuff, but Sam didn’t press him for extra details—he seemed giddy with the amount of information Dalton was giving him, bouncing on his seat and clapping excitedly a couple of times. He even gasped when Dalton alluded to the near declaration of Tierney’s feelings.
But it was when Dalton said, “Oh, and he bought me a gift,” then pulled out The Billionaire’s Baby Daddy that Sam had some kind of seizure and knocked half his french fries into his lap. He’d finished the burger already, fortunately.
“Ohmigod, Ian would never buy me something like this!” he squealed. “He’d buy tampons before being seen with a romance novel.” Then he cocked his head and studied the cover more. “He’d probably role-play it with me, though. Except we’d need to get rid of the baby part.”
So don’t want to know about that. “If Tierney and I were a romance novel, what would you expect to happen next?” Today, Dalton needed some of that romance-novel logic to cling to.
Sam composed himself, holding up a single french fry. “Irrational fear. Something will happen and you’ll both be confronted with whatever you’re most afraid of, then break up for a while.” Sam bit off the end of his fry
“Fear of what?” Not that he needed to ask; there were a million things to fear.
Sam flicked his wrist negligently. “Whatever. Fear is a big motivator in romance novels. It almost doesn’t matter what it’s fear of, but it’s usually about commitment. One character thinks they aren’t capable, or they got burned horribly in the past, or they’re sure no one can love them because of the horrible disfigurement of their soul. Stuff like that.” He wiggled his fingers in the air, illustrating. “Typically, the climax of the novel would come when he realizes he’s madly in love with you, and has to come crawling back begging your forgiveness for being stupid.”
“Tierney isn’t really a crawler. He’s more of a blurter-outer.”
“Po-tay-to, po-tah-to.” Sam seesawed his hand. “It’s all about the big important man admitting he’s wrong.”
“But he’s already admitted he’s wrong. He announced to the whole world he was in the closet for most of his life.”
“Yup,” Sam said, then slurped pop through his straw. “Now comes the heart-wrenching climax.”
Dalton toyed with his fork. “So, what you’re saying is I have a lot of pain ahead of me?”
“I don’t think so.” When Dalton lifted his head, Sam was regarding him seriously. “The thing is, what happens in a book is distilled reality.”
“Distilled reality.” Repeating it didn’t help him understand what Sam was saying.
Nodding vigorously, Sam leaned forward, speaking faster. “Because it’s the written word, not a movie or anything, readers need, like, fortified reality in order to really feel the character’s journey, so the author has to amp things up. Look at all the steps that go into making something happen and then only pick out the important ones, then she has to, like, give it steroids. Make it bigger than it would be in real life.” He beamed. “But you guys? You’ve had more hardships than most couples have when they get together, so I think you’re done with them. This? Is the beginning of your happily ever after.”