Keeping Sweets (17 page)

Bran shrugged. He wasn’t used to any of the guys actually talking to him much outside of what was caught on camera. Without many guy friends besides Les, who was more like a father or uncle than a buddy, he wasn’t used to this. Wasn’t sure what the protocol was.

“I dunno. Just the way it turned out I guess.”

“Well I’m not saying it wasn’t fuckin’ hot. Just that you oughta be careful. That kid looks at you like you hung the fuckin’ moon. Just don’t wanna see him, or you, gettin’ hurt is all.”

Colt’s voice was filled with unease, but not judgment. Bran believed him when he said he really was just concerned.

“I know. In good conscience I can’t tell you I know what I’m doing, but I promise I’ll be careful.”

“Careful may not cut it, boss. The kid is half gone on you already and we’ve only been here a coupla days. You fuck him again and you risk him fallin’ full on, head over heels in love with you.”

“I don’t know about—”

“Trust me,” Colt interrupted, his voice hard. “Seen it happen before. Innocent kid, doesn’t know which way is up an’ some guy hotter’n fuck comes along with a charming smile an’ a talented mouth. Before the kid knows it he’s packin’ his bags, ready to travel clear across the South to be with him, only to be left standing at the end of a dirt road, homeless and broken.”

Seemed pretty specific, but Bran thought it best not to mention it. “I won’t hurt him, Colt. I swear it.”

That seemed to satisfy Colt for now. He leaned back in his chair drinking from the glass bottle every once in a while. They sat for a while, silence comfortable between them.

“I like it here,” Colt offered with a quiet sigh.

“Yeah? It’s pretty nice. Peaceful.”

“Yep. And different from what I’m used to.”

“Oh yeah?” Bran urged. Colt had been pretty tight-lipped about where he came from and his reasons for moving from Texas. Bran didn’t want to pry. If Colt wanted to talk about it he would, but Bran was a little curious. Most of the guys in the industry were outgoing, extroverted, and a little wild. Most enjoyed the notoriety that came with the job and the majority had a tendency to become arrogant after a while. Colt seemed different. He reminded Bran of Evan in that way. They were both more soft-spoken, introspective, and restrained. Their modesty and sincerity were refreshing.

“Well, kinda. I’m from a small town, so I’m used to the quiet, but it’s been a long time since I’ve had a chance to just sit and do nothing for an afternoon. Been workin’ my whole life up until a month ago. Now I’m not really sure what’s gonna happen next. Suppose once this is done I’ll head back into the city and try to find a normal job for a while. Been kickin’ around the idea of goin’ back to school maybe.”

Bran commiserated with Colt. He felt a little lost too, unsure of what to do next, though heading back to the city held less appeal for him now than it had a few days ago. He could get used to this, being out and away from civilization. No hectic schedules to keep, no deadlines or postproduction crises. He was getting pretty old for porn. Maybe he should start thinking about retirement, or a change of career at least.

“School’s always a good option. You’re young too. Lots of time to figure out what you want. You know what you would want to major in?”

“History, I think. Been entrenched in it my whole life. My family comes from a long line ’a cattle farmers. Helped to establish the industry in our part ’a Texas. Grew up on stories of American heroes. ’S a part of my soul now.”

“Sounds like you’ve got a lot more figured out than you think.”

Colt shrugged. “I guess.” He let his head fall back against the slats and closed his eyes.

All the guys in the house seemed to have their lives more together than Bran did. He had wasted so much time just existing, moving from one day to the next with no set direction. He hadn’t realized how stagnant his life had become until he was thrown into a situation where he was supposed to be the leader, the one to look up to, and instead he was floundering to understand a barrage of new feelings and lost as to where he was headed.

The feelings he had stumbled on with Evan had awakened more than just lust and affection in him. He wanted more out of life, expected more out of himself. If he couldn’t deliver on that, how could he ever hope to be enough for someone like Evan?

Evan deserved someone who could provide for him, protect him, and love him the way he should be loved. He didn’t need a broken shell of a man whose only skills consisted of mind-bending blowjobs and smooth as honey anal sex. Christ he was a mess.

The thoughts of blowjobs brought him back to Evan and the way he had felt under Bran’s touch. He may be noble enough to want to walk away from Evan, but his body had other ideas.

Colt broke into Bran’s train of thought before it had gotten too far away from him.

“I’m gonna head in. You want another?” he asked, tipping his beer bottle toward the house.

“Nah, I’m good. I’ll be in in a few minutes.”

T
HE
rest of the afternoon passed uneventfully. By five o’clock it was almost time for supper, but Bran hadn’t been able to quiet his mind all afternoon. He needed to man up. Colt was right. Things could go wrong if there was any sort of attachment building for either him or Evan. Not knowing where Evan stood, he was speculating on things he shouldn’t. He would have to talk to him, gauge his reaction to things.

He decided to wait until after dinner and then get Evan alone to talk to him. He felt a bit better, more like his old self. He was convinced he could approach this with the same sense of detachment he had always used before. So what if the kid had gotten under his skin a little? It wasn’t too late to distance himself from both Evan and the way he felt about him.

Bran walked into the kitchen. It was his turn to make dinner and he needed to concentrate on not poisoning the boys with his cooking. He searched the cupboards for inspiration, but in the end, sighed and reached for the box of spaghetti noodles. Who was he kidding? He only really knew how to make one thing. They’d had lasagna already, but with his options limited, he searched the remaining cupboards for a jar of tomato sauce.

He was dumping the crimson colored liquid into a pot when Evan walked in. Bran felt like the air had left the room and someone had turned the thermostat up about 40 degrees. So much for remaining cool and detached.

“Smells good already,” Evan said with a grin.

“Thanks. Just started, though. Nothing fancy, just canned sauce and pasta.”

“Comfort food sounds good to me. Want some help?”

“Definitely wouldn’t say no to help in the kitchen. I’m pretty useless when it comes to cooking.”

“You seem to be doing okay so far. You want me to make meatballs to go with it?”

Bran’s eyes lit up. “Yeah, that’d be great. I love meatballs. Mine always fall apart or burn, though.”

“There’s a couple of tricks I use. Here, I’ll show you,” he said, walking to the fridge to retrieve the ingredients he would need. Next, he grabbed a large bowl and the remaining ingredients from the cupboards and set them next to the cutting board that had already been laid out.

“First, you need to chop the herbs and garlic. Basil always works well with Italian food.” Evan reached into the greenery bag and pulled out a large sprig of the leafy herbs. He deftly removed several of the broad leaves from the stems and piled them up on the cutting board. Rolling them together, he ran his knife expertly through them, resulting in long, thin strips. Rocking the blade back and forth, he chopped them into smaller pieces before moving the pile to the side. Next he attacked the garlic, smashing the cloves with the side of the blade before removing the skins and mincing it finely.

“That smells amazing,” Bran commented.

“Yeah, a little seasoning goes a long way. You wanna add some of this to the sauce?”

“Sure, sounds good to me.”

Evan scooped some of each pile into his cupped palm, dumped it into the heating sauce, and stirred everything together.

He moved back to his cutting board and opened the package of ground beef. He dumped it into his mixing bowl and added the basil and garlic. Next he cracked an egg into the mixture and added breadcrumbs and parmesan cheese. “Helps keep them from falling apart,” he explained.

Bran nodded. He discovered that he loved to watch Evan cook. It wasn’t just because he knew now the meal would actually taste good, but in the kitchen Evan was confident, relaxed. The nervousness and uneasiness that had wrapped itself around him from the beginning seemed to disappear.

“You’re good at this.”

Evan just shrugged. “Lots of practice. It’s not that hard really. Cooking is a lot like science actually. I guess it’s always just made sense to me.”

He began tearing two slices of bread into tiny pieces and adding that to the bowl as well. Lastly he poured a bit of milk into the mix before rolling up his sleeves. With a determined look, he plunged both hands into the meat, mixing and mashing everything together. He began to roll chunks of the mixture into medium-sized meatballs and placed them on a clean plate. His hands moved quickly, expertly, and soon there was nothing left in the bowl.

He held his hands up, revealing the gooey mess covering his palms and fingers.

“Want a massage?” he asked with one eyebrow quirked up and a glint of something mischievous in his eye.

“No fuckin’ way!” Bran yelled as Evan began to chase him around the kitchen island, arms extended like a zombie.

Bran felt like a kid again, playing tag in the park. The surge of adrenaline as the person chasing you closed in offset by the wild shrieks of laughter as you ran for your life. Soon they were both tired, and the sauce was beginning to bubble.

“Alright, you win. Turn the tap on for me?” Evan walked over to the double sink and waited patiently for Bran’s help.

Bran sidled up next to him, wary that this was all a ruse to get him close enough to touch, but it seemed like Evan was done playing. He reached toward the tap with his right hand, twisting the knobs to the perfect temperature.

“Soap? Please?”

Bran reached around Evan with his left hand, bracketing him in against the sink. He bent forward slightly to reach the bottle, pouring a healthy amount of soap onto Evan’s hands. Just like that, the air hung thick with sexual tension. Bran was completely out of control, nuzzling against Evan’s neck, breathing him in.

The scent of Evan mixed with the smells of food dancing through the kitchen made the smaller man in his arms smell like home. Evan rubbed his hands together lazily under the water as he leaned back into Bran, bringing their bodies into full contact. He tilted his hips back, brushing his ass against Bran’s groin, and God help him if he could stop himself from angling his hips forward, dragging a low moan from Evan.

God, this kid was going to kill him. He wanted nothing more than to drag the clothes off him and lay him flat on the first horizontal surface he could find.

The sound of water boiling over shook him from his fantasy and he backed off. Evan was blushing, embarrassed by his wanton behavior.

“We should probably get these finished before there’s a gang of hangry boys whining in the dining room.”

“Hangry?”

“Yeah, you know. Pissed off and ornery because they’re too hungry to be anything else?”

Bran laughed, the mood lightened.

The rest of dinner prep went quickly with the two men working together effortlessly to sear the meatballs and boil the pasta. The smell of the spicy tomato sauce brought the other men wandering into the kitchen one by one. Soon, both conversation and wine were flowing around the bar as everyone dug into their dinner with gusto, praising Bran and Evan for their efforts.

After everyone had full bellies and the kitchen had been tidied, Riley, Ryan, and Cooper migrated into the den to play video games, while Kellan retired to the living room to watch a movie. Everyone was a little partied out from the two nights before and just wanted to relax and veg out.

“I’m gonna dip my feet in the hot tub. You guys wanna come?” Colt asked. Bran waited to hear Evan’s response.

“Sure, sounds nice.”

Bran nodded. “Lead the way.”

They shucked their pants and pulled the cover off the hot tub. Plumes of chlorine-scented steam swirled around them as they stood in their boxers. Although the days were warm, the nights tended to have a bit of bite to them. They sat on the smooth wooden deck, dipping their feet into the sunken tub. The hot water was a nice contrast to the cool evening air.

The boys were illuminated from beneath by the lights along the floor and above from the crescent moon that hung in the sky. The forest was pitch dark, the ambient sound muffled by the thick canopy of foliage. Bran felt like he was in a kind of sanctuary.

He remembered having the same feeling when he was about twelve years old. He had lived with his parents on a large property that had backed onto a forest in South Dakota. He and his cousins had cleared an area to build a fort in the trees. They used spare wood they’d found in the shed to construct walls and had woven branches through them, creating a camouflaged little hideaway.

Over time he had moved all his secrets and treasures into a box hidden underneath one of the chairs that he had stolen from the neighbors’ curb. Bran snuck away almost every day after school to hide away and draw or read comic books quietly by himself. Here, the world was quiet and peaceful, distant from the constant noise of a house populated by four brothers and two sisters.

It was a place just for him, and as the youngest of seven, very few things were his alone. He had used it as an escape for almost a year before his father finally discovered where he had been hiding himself away. He had torn it down the same day, telling Bran that having a playhouse was childish and only for girls.

Colt leaned back against the deck, tucked his hands under his head, and sighed, snapping Bran out of his trip back into his childhood.

“Haven’t seen a sky like this one since I was back in Texas. Didn’t realize how much I would miss it,” Colt said.