Authors: Mercy Celeste
“A hat. I left a hat in here last weekend before they impounded us. And I haven’t seen it since we picked her up this morning.”
“What kind of hat?” Creed realized he hadn’t seen Eli’s signature Stetson since he’d come to Florida. Eli never rode an event without the brown felt hat. He didn’t have it on last Saturday, now that he thought about it.
“Just a ball cap, nothing fancy, but it was my favorite.” Eli leaned between the seats to search, his jeans-clad ass uncomfortably close. Creed popped his seat belt and opened the door. He had to put some distance between them, get some air, something, because the thoughts going through his head right now would get them both arrested. “Aha,” Eli cried out. “Found it. How the hell did it get under the damned seat?”
When Eli emerged from the back Creed had to suck in a deep breath; the victorious smile Eli wore shot straight through him. Not to his dick—okay, maybe just a little. It slammed him in his chest. Made it difficult for Creed to catch his breath. The hat was a beat-up old team hat, probably local, and it looked as if Eli slept in it. A memory assailed him. Eli was wearing that hat the very last time Creed had seen him before this trip to Florida. Three years ago. In Vegas.
And then Eli assaulted him. Right there in the middle of the Waffle House parking lot.
Eli smiled that same smile, except it turned sensuous as he leaned forward. Creed only had a second to prepare before Eli’s mouth attached itself to his. Rain pattered on the windshield. A cool breeze came in through the partially open door. Creed let Eli push him back against the seat and slip his tongue inside and … he pushed Eli away. His chest thudded. He rubbed his lips and looked everywhere but at Eli.
“Okay, no kissing in public.” Eli leaned against the door on his side of the truck rubbing an elbow. “A simple ‘not right now, honey’ would have sufficed. Damn, I hit the steering wheel. Shit, Creed, you look spooked. What is it, and please don’t tell me you don’t kiss.”
“I don’t.” Creed gripped the door handle as he glanced at Eli before looking straight ahead. His hands shook. “Ever. And don’t call me honey.”
* * * *
Eli watched as Creed and his gorgeous ass sauntered across the parking lot. He wondered what the hell had just happened. It was just a kiss. One small kiss; a taste of tongue, a tiny gasp of breath, and then he was bouncing off the steering wheel and landing against the door. Murder seemed to enter Creed’s eyes before he shut the blinds and looked away. “Okay, no kissing. Check. I’ll remember that. Damn.”
He untangled himself from his truck and followed the man inside, catching up just in time to see a hostess seat Creed in the farthest booth from the door.
He made to follow but the “Hey Eli, Eli, I thought you’d be in Texas by now, how’s it hanging, Eli,” greetings slowed him down.
“My, aren’t you popular.” Creed didn’t look up from his plastic-covered menu when Eli sat across from him.
“Curse of being the orphaned son and grandson of pillars of the community. Sad thing is, I don’t even know most of those people.” Eli drummed his fingers on the table; he didn’t need a menu. He needed to figure out what had happened in the truck. But it was more than the kiss in the truck. Creed had been quiet and withdrawn all day. Since this morning when he’d awakened. There was fear in his eyes for just a moment before he closed the shutters. Hot and cold. There was no warm setting on Creed. And for some reason that made Eli drum the table harder. “Look at me, damn it.” Eli slammed his hands on the table, rattling the condiments; if that was all there was to Creed, he would much rather have the hot over the cold.
Creed glanced up, his green eyes cold, hard, completely dead. His face passive, the exact face he always wore before Eli lost his temper. And Eli lost his temper. Eli wanted to reach across the table and … do what? Punch him? Kiss him? What? Anything to get him to show even the slightest bit of emotion. “You are one cold motherfucker, Creed, you know that, right?”
Creed put the menu back in the holder under the window, a tilt of his lips into a humorless smile his only reaction. “Are you out here, Eli?”
“Are you threatening me?” was all Eli could think to say. A part of him didn’t think that was in Creed’s nature. But with men like Creed Dickson you never knew; one minute kissing and the next a fist to the face. He’d met too many like that over the years, and here he was again, chasing the same tail he always chased.
“No, but if you don’t shut up you’re going to out yourself. People are staring,” Creed said, his gaze never leaving Eli’s. “Stop this possessive bullshit. I’m not your boyfriend, Eli. All we’re doing is fucking around. Making the best of a bad situation.”
Eli was on the verge of protesting the possessive accusation when their waitress walked over. “How are you doing, Eli? You want the usual?”
“I’m fine, sweetheart, and that sounds great. Oh, make it a sweet tea instead of a coffee, okay, darlin’?” Eli noticed that her gaze flicked to Creed with curiosity. Too much curiosity. Creed smiled and nodded. Then he tucked a strand of his hair behind his ear and leaned his jaw on his hand. A hint of the night before came back; just the movement, so unlike Creed. More feminine. More overgrown club kid. Something Creed Dickson couldn’t possibly be. “This is Creed. He’s staying out at my place while the judge decides if he’s going to prison.”
“Yeah? I heard about that dustup last weekend. Kitty Branch. That’s the one; she’s been running around saying y’all were fighting over her. No one believes her. Well, most no one.” She turned to Creed, her pencil poised over her pad. “What’s your poison, honey?”
“Three eggs, over easy, bacon and sausage with toast and hash browns. Glass of milk,” Creed said, and the waitress smirked.
“Uh-huh, Eli, looks like you’ve got a keeper here. So what exactly were the two of you fighting over, if I can be nosy?” She tapped her pencil on her pad, her eyes bright, her smile eager. As if she might actually get the real scoop straight from the horse’s mouth.
“Same thing Creed and I always fight over.” Eli leaned back in the booth and spread his arms over the back. He propped his feet on the other seat right beside Creed’s thighs. With a sly grin across the table he nudged Creed. “Which one of us is prettier. Drives the buckle bunnies crazy. I usually win. Because all this just can’t be contained.”
The waitress pressed her lips together and tapped the back of his hand with her pad. “Eli, you’ve always been full of shit. Fine, don’t tell me, I’ll find out one way or another.” She leaned over and motioned him closer, to whisper in his ear, “Not to hurt your feelings, sweetie, but that boy isn’t pretty, he’s gorgeous. You’re not even in his league.”
When she left Eli couldn’t look Creed in the eye. Because Creed was fucking gorgeous and that was the problem, wasn’t it? Eli wasn’t in his league. Never had been.
*
The Waffle House was located too close to the interstate for Creed’s liking. The gas station next door was a full-service diesel stop with shower facilities. Too many truckers were seated in the restaurant. It made him edgy. Eli’s aggressive sexuality already had him close to the breaking point as it was; he didn’t need—He tucked his hair behind his ear while Eli and the waitress talked. It was a habit from years of having long hair. His hair was growing again, long enough to tuck back. He should get it cut.
Creed realized he was fidgeting under the continued gaze of the waitress. He propped his elbow on the table and leaned on his hand to stop the jitters. Didn’t help the other hand. He clutched the fabric of his jeans to keep still. And then Eli’s big foot—he was wearing flip-flops—eased into the seat beside him as he stretched out. Shit, Creed nearly bolted out of his skin at the touch. Why exactly was she still looking at him like that, and what did she whisper to Eli that made his face go all Eli-ish? And what had he ordered to eat? He couldn’t remember.
Creed watched as a trucker walked past the window to cross over to the gas station. His skin felt tight. Like it had when he was a kid and he couldn’t control anything. His dad’s habit. Most of the time Creed sat on the floor in the bathroom of whatever dive motel they stayed in until his dad had passed out. Sometimes he hoped that that night would be the one he’d end up orphaned. Somehow the idea of going into foster care had to be better than the monster he lived with. The trucker climbed into a rig with a sleeping cab, a big one. The foot nudged him again and this time Creed reacted. He found skin just above the ankle and under the hem of Eli’s jeans. Aware that Eli flinched and gasped at the same time helped settle him. Or maybe it was just the barest touch of Eli’s flesh that eased his jitters. Creed couldn’t tell.
They were alone again, and Eli was watching him with narrowed eyes. Creed felt the question behind the stare. He wanted to avoid the question at all costs. Old habits came back. He played with his hair. Bit his lip. Licked it after to soothe the bite. He relaxed the hand on Eli’s ankle and let his thumb stroke the section of hairless skin just behind the bone. And he watched Eli’s eyes go from bright with questions to smoky with lust. Problem was, Creed let the way Eli look at him affect him. He was hard. He wanted to get out of here. Away from the truckers and all these people who knew Eli. He wanted to drag him into the bathroom and take the edge off.
They didn’t speak. There wasn’t any point. Creed moved his hand up Eli’s leg, keeping him distracted. Eli’s head lolled back a little and he slid farther down the seat, his gaze never once straying from Creed’s. The hair on his calf was crisp; Creed loved the feel of it. He petted Eli, running his finger along the muscle. He wished the table had a cloth; Eli could move his foot between Creed’s legs and—
“Here you go, boys.” The waitress set plates in front of them followed by their drinks, and Eli jerked his leg away; he sat up straight in the booth, blinking as if he’d been half-asleep. “Three eggs over easy, bacon and sausage, hash browns, and toast. Enjoy.”
Creed had no idea what to do. His appetite was gone. Replaced by something else. “The faster you eat, the faster we get out of here,” Eli said, his voice low and husky. “Jesus, Creed, hot and cold man. Hot and cold. It’s getting…” Eli shoved a bite of link sausage into his mouth and looked out the window, “…out of control.”
They didn’t talk about anything in particular as they ate. Eli liked to dip his toast into his egg yolk, Creed noticed as he mixed his into the hash browns. Same breakfast tastes, different styles of eating. There was too much about them that was alike but different. Their choice of sport. Both dangerous, same rules, different animals. Eli was clumsier on a horse, Creed knew nothing about cows, but they worked well side by side in the stable and in the pasture. It was unnerving. He needed to get out of here. He glanced out the window, watched another semi rig pull out of the gas station lot, and wondered if he was to beg a ride how far would he get before the law caught him. Would it be before or after he lost what little self-respect he’d gained in the last three years?
Probably not, and probably not far. The judge seemed to be keeping close tabs on them. He wouldn’t make it to the state line. He probably wouldn’t make it out of the parking lot.
“You want anything else?” Eli asked when Creed pushed his plate away, appetite completely gone now. Hard-on as well.
“No.” He knew what would happen when they returned to the house. He’d be on his knees for Eli. God, he wanted to be on his knees for Eli. God, he hated Eli.
“Then let’s go.” Eli’s voice was hushed; he pulled a fifty out of his wallet and left it under his plate for the waitress. Fifty was about forty dollars too much, but Creed wasn’t going to point that out to him.
The waitress called out her thanks just as they reached the door. “Anytime, Jolene,” Eli called back, practically pushing Creed out the door and to the truck. “Anytime.”
Creed felt a shiver race through his body. Now would be as good a time as any. Parking lot be damned. He climbed into the truck trying to stay calm and in control. Eli put the truck in gear and pulled out of the lot. And for the first time that morning Creed relaxed. He could wait if Eli could. He let Eli drive them back to his ranch in silence.
Chapter 9
Silence stretched between them as Eli drove through the now pouring rain. He didn’t need to see the man sitting beside him to know he was there. Eli could feel Creed. He couldn’t explain that. It was more than anything physical. More than anything Eli had ever experienced. His body knew Creed was only inches away. His body craved contact. Now. Then. In the restaurant when Creed sat across from him seducing him. Jesus. If he could have inhaled any faster they’d have made it to the house before the deluge.
“Where are we going?” Creed asked when Eli pulled off the main highway onto a two-lane road that wound through farmland for a mile and then through a small forest of trees to emerge in a clearing alongside one of the many lakes in the area. This one happened to be part of the city park system, and thank God it was deserted because of the weather.
Eli didn’t answer; he parked near the water and turned off the truck. That trick Creed did with his hair and his lips. Oh God, didn’t the man know what he looked like when he did that? Eli couldn’t take his eyes off him, and when Creed slipped his hand up his pants leg in the restaurant Eli nearly came in his pants, just from the slightest touch. “You’re driving me fucking crazy.”
“So you’re going to dump me in the lake?” There was actually a note of humor in Creed’s voice. “Come on, Eli, you can do better than that.”
“Sure I can,” Eli hissed under his breath. He popped his seat belt and climbed over the seat divider to straddle Creed’s legs and popped that seat belt as well. “Gonna roll you over and fuck you. Would that be better than drowning you? Because right now it’s the only two options. What the hell is that you do with your hair? Why’d you cut all of your beautiful hair anyway? I used to think about strangling you with it.”
“But never about running your hands through my hair or wrapping yourself in it. That’s what most men wanted. To pretend I was a girl while they rolled me over and fucked me.” There was pain in Creed’s eyes. Jesus, was that why he flirted like that, because his lovers had wanted that? “Not without a condom, Eli. You can fuck me. I want you to fuck me.” He unbuttoned his jeans and tugged them down. His cock, hard and long, reached out for Eli. He leaned the seat back, causing Eli to fall over him, face-to-face now. He smelled like rain.