Fast Connection (Cyberlove #2) (16 page)

I gaped at him. Sure, George and I were friends, but I’d never realized he was that observant. “Wow.”

“This about the kids?”

I shook my head.

“Nadia?”

“Nah, she’s great. New man and everything.”

“Your boyfriend?”

I snorted. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I froze. I’d never told George I was bisexual. There’d been no need.

Slowly, I released the tension in my muscles, then drained the rest of my beer before asking for another. Whatever. George couldn’t fire me. I was the one signing his paychecks. I risked a glance at him, and he was nodding, his brow furrowed.

“Is that the problem then? You want him to, uh, be your boyfriend?”

This conversation was surreal. “So we’re just going to have a normal conversation about me being into dick? That’s how you’re playing this?”

George’s complexion went a little ruddy, but he didn’t flinch. “Yeah, it’s not like it’s a surprise.”

“How is it not a surprise? I was married to a woman and we have two kids.”

He frowned at me. “Well, there’s a thing called bisexual, where—”

“Are you seriously explaining bisexuals to me?”

George began to laugh. I plunked my head onto the bar, muttering about straightsplaining. I nudged him with my elbow. “How’d you know, though?”

“Remember the son of that lady in Tottenville? The one with the yellow Corvette? We did the landscaping around her pool.”

Ah, yeah. Paul. He’d begged for it and I’d taken him up on it. “Yeah.”

“Come on, you think I’m blind? You two were making eyes at each other.”

Now it was my turn to laugh. “Okay, okay.”

“So what’s got you messed up?”

Relationship talk with George. Never saw that coming.

“Told this guy he could see other people. He’s actually doing it. And I’m not okay with it after all.”

George stroked his beard. “Huh. Well, guess that’s your own doing.”

I gulped my beer. “Yup.”

“And why did you tell him to see other people?”

“So it wouldn’t get serious.”

“I see. And it happened anyway.”

I shrugged.

“So what’re you gonna do?”

I hadn’t thought that far ahead through my green haze of jealousy. “No idea, man.”

George tapped the bar with his fingers. “So the way I see it. You have two options. Don’t stop him from doing his thing and, since you can’t handle sharing, cut him loose. Or put your cards on the table, be honest with him, and be happy. Right now, you’re a real sad sack.”

I nearly spit out my beer. “Am I that bad?”

“I see you every day. I’m used to you. So when you’re off, I feel it. And I don’t like it.”

“You’re a good man, George.”

“You think so? Then go out for beer with me more often so I can escape my house.”

I paid his tab and spent the rest of night the waffling between the two options. Forget about Dominic or convince him I was a better bet than some mid-twenties Staten Island meathead?

Staking a claim to Dominic would mean letting him further into my life. Once my kids found out I was seeing Adriana’s brother, there’d be no stopping our families meshing together. Who knew how that could ripple?

The idea should have caused me to break out in a cold sweat, but picturing Dominic on my couch playing video games with Micah didn’t make my stomach turn.

Was I ready to do that?

Of course the one man I was willing to abandon my principles for was the brother of my son’s girlfriend. Jesus fucking Christ. My situation was Days of our Staten Island Lives.

By the time I got home, I’d half convinced myself I didn’t need the drama. I didn’t need Dominic.

But I knew I was fooling myself.

Dominic

I was pretty sure I was too big to qualify as a twink, but what the hell did I know about Grindr lingo? Nothing. I did know that this dude was fond of calling me his bitch and that during our first sext exchange he’d referred to my ass as a boy pussy. Maybe that was a thing for some people, but it had confused me just enough to take me out of the whole convo.

Not that I’d been in it. While he jacked it and typoed breathlessly, I’d been eating a hero sandwich from Belfiore’s (the better sandwich spot) and watching football. Faking sexting was a new low for me, but my interest was literally in the negatives. Don’t get me wrong—the guy was hot. First of all, his name was Calogero. I was convinced his parents had named him after the character in
A Bronx Tale,
because I’d never met another human with that name. Second, his body was
sick.
He probably spent his every free moment in the gym. He was also covered in tats. And he had long hair. Everything about him should have been right up my alley, but… wasn’t.

He just seemed like a dumb hot guy who would piss me off at the gym by tossing around the dumbbells. And calling me his bitch. What was that about, anyway? Like me wanting to get nailed made me less of a man than him? That was bullshit. He seemed kind of sexist. I bet he was a fucking Republican.

I typed out the question and deleted it. No. It was better not to know until after the date. The date which I was only going on since Luke had offered up absolutely zero resistance. I hadn’t expected him to, but I’d at least hoped for a reaction after I’d mentioned potentially getting some dick a couple days before riding his.

Which brought to mind questions of my own—was
he
fucking with other dudes? There was no way. Unless… I was his Friday night and he’d had a Saturday night date with someone else this whole time. The thought had never crossed my mind until now. I’d have to do some scoping next weekend.

And now I was planning to spy on him. As if trying to see if he’d get jealous wasn’t bad enough. Especially since I hadn’t started talking to Calogero with the intention of using him as a big dumb ploy in a grand scheme to get a reaction out of Luke. I’d really wanted to hang out with someone who wouldn’t mind being seen in public with me. And that had been the first thing Mr. Bronx Tale had suggested. Not a handjob or a quickie. A date.… Followed closely by a handjob and a quickie.

Yet here I was, using the poor bastard and internally mocking him at every given moment.

Why couldn’t he just type “better”? Jesus.

Scowling, I switched messages and stared at Luke’s profile picture. He was online.

Now that was an interesting response…

I slumped on the ratty armchair in my basement haven and stared at the words. He was either getting annoyed, or he knew I was trying to get a rise out of him. It was probably a combination of both, which meant it was time to cut the shit.

Holy hell, how the hell had I gone from wanting to make him jealous to textual vomit about my messed-up family? And how the hell was someone so taciturn so good at making me comfortable enough to spill my guts? It was a phenomenon. An unheard-of plot twist. Made no sense. Especially since it was my family, and my lack of… anything, that had me convinced me and him would never work out in the long run. He was a real person with a real life, and I just sort of… existed in the world and took up space.

He was making me feel things that I had no business feeling when I was about to go on a date with another guy. Every time I tried to give him space and take a step back, something happened to pull me even closer. This back and forth was a dangerous game that I couldn’t keep playing. Especially not when I figured I’d come out with a loss.

I closed out Grindr but kept staring at my phone.

This was the opposite of a good idea, but there was no way I was going to be able to stay away.

Luke had me whipped, and I couldn’t do anything to stop it.

Luke

I stared at my phone in horror long after I closed out Grindr. I’d… invited him over.

Before a date with another guy.

I was either into masochism or sabotage and I wasn’t sure which would win. I’d told myself all day I’d let him do his thing. Meet other people. Quit hanging onto hope that my complicated ass would give him more than a fuck every weekend.

There was a knock at the door, and I considered for about point-two seconds pretending I wasn’t home. But it wasn’t time for trick-or-treating yet.

I placed my hand on the doorknob and took a deep breath. I could do this. See him all hot and send him on his way with another man. I was an adult. Dominic wasn’t mine.

I opened up the door, and the mantras I’d recited all day went right out the window.

Dominic stood on my front porch, blond hair sticking out from underneath a black FDNY ballcap. He wore a pair of boots, bunker pants, and red suspenders over his bare chest.

Bare.

All that Dominic flesh I’d mapped with my fingers and tongue, that body I’d felt under mine for the last couple of months, that goddamn smirk I’d dreamed of, was all right there on my front porch.

For someone else.

The rush of blazing heat roaring through my body culminated in one single thought: No. Fucking. Way.

I gripped a red suspender, tugged him inside the house, and threw the door shut. I probably looked lust-crazed if I judged by Dominic’s jaw-dropped expression. All my thoughts mashed together with protectiveness and possessiveness and emotions I hadn’t felt in… ever.

He wasn’t like Jake—a man who’d gone to terrifying lengths to keep me from drifting away. And had ultimately only pushed me away even faster. And I wasn’t the same man who’d let Jake take it that far. Nadia was right. I didn’t have to be like this.

Within a few seconds of him being in the house, I was gripping his face and digging my fingers into his skull as I kissed the living fuck out of him. It was the only way I could communicate when I had this traffic jam of pleas in my throat.

And Dominic… he kissed me back, warm and alive and so fucking him, grinding against me without hesitation. I was such a prick for doing this to him, but I couldn’t stop myself. It was one of the few times I’d been out of control in the nearly four decades I’d been alive.

All because of him.

He tugged down my sweats and gripped my cock. No finesse, just rough strokes. I managed to tug down his suspenders so the bunker pants pooled around his ankles along with his boxers.

Maybe he tripped over his boots, or maybe I tackled him, because in the next second Dominic was on the floor beneath me, his pants off, with his knees back and my cock nudging his hole.

His hat was long gone, sweaty blond hair everywhere. “Let me feel you.”

“Condom.” Oh, there was a word. It was a grunt, but it was English.

“We don’t need one if you’re cool with it.”

I froze as idea of being inside him uncovered caused precum to bead at the tip of my dick. I’d fantasized about this for weeks, and here was Dominic, ready to go. Was I? “Why?”