Second Chances (7 page)

“Good. Now get your ass up and we can switch places.”

Oh God. Ohgodohgodohgod.

I eased off the table. He straightened the sheet and put a fresh towel on the head thing, and laid facedown.

“The oil’s next to the computer,” he said, his voice muffled through the hole. “Don’t use much, a little goes a long way. Start on my neck, right between my shoulders, just like I do with you. You’ll be fine.”

I squirted a little of the oil on my hands and rubbed them to warm it up. It had the light smell of almonds and something like vanilla—I’d always liked the smell of it. I looked down on the feast spread out on the table and said a little prayer for strength and sanity. And put my hands on him.

I think I worried so much about screwing up that it took me a good fifteen or twenty minutes to even appreciate how good his body felt. He was hard as a fucking rock, but not skinny and lean like so many vain guys were. He had heft to him, and I appreciated it.

I worked the oil into his back and down his shoulders, massaging one side, then the other. I was careful to keep one hand touching him at all times; he’d explained that trick to me one time. It makes you feel grounded and connected and never alone. Nice feeling.

As I moved up to stand at the top of the table to rub the back of his neck and across his shoulders and arms, I let my gaze wander down his body and took it all in. It was really beautiful, if you can call a man that. I felt close to him, but somehow the energy was sensual but not… sexual. Erotic, yes, but I didn’t want to fuck him. He looked totally relaxed, his breathing even and deep.

I moved around, down the side of the table and worked his back, arms, and down to his hands. He started moaning when I picked one up and squeezed hard. Now
that
got my attention.

“Oh, man, harder, tighter. That feels so good on my hands. Press as hard as you can,” he panted out. Fuck, that made my cock twitch.

I grabbed his hand and worked it as hard as I could and really started to get into the noises he was making. I put it down and started on his lower back and hips. And that amazing ass. I oiled up my hands, then rubbed and groped and squeezed and spread those glutes and ran my fingers down the crack. My knuckles brushed against his balls and my cock twitched a little again.

I stroked down his legs and worked those muscles with long, strong strokes. Moving around to the bottom of the table, I picked up one foot, then the other, all the time looking up at his ass. I worked my way back up the other side and ended up back at his shoulders.

I coughed a little. “Turn over,” I managed to rasp out.

He flipped over and settled back down, his eyes closed. I didn’t know where to start, so I squirted some oil on his chest. It must have been cold because he jumped a little. I rubbed it in and was careful not to touch his nipples. They crinkled, but I ignored them.

I was able to make out more details of the tattoos that decorated him. There were Japanese letters and symbols running down his neck, ending on both forearms. The word “Jason” was in delicate blood red lettering across the left part of his chest. There was a small handprint on his right pec, in the same red ink. I ran my fingers across it, outlining the fingers.

“Jason’s handprint when he was one year old,” he murmured without opening his eyes.

I moved my hands across his stomach to his hips and down his thighs. That heavy one-eyed snake stared at me but lay there quietly. Thank God.

When I got to his feet, I patted the sole of his foot. “All done. Get your lazy ass up.”

He stood up and we faced each other for a long moment. “Happy birthday, baby.” He wrapped me in a bear hug and kissed me right on the mouth.

When I got home, I woke Brian up by fucking him, as they say, right through the mattress.

May 2002

I
PULLED
into the parking lot at the City Athletic Club at six in the morning. I really, really hated that time. But in order to get in any kind of workout, I had to get to the gym that early. My office hours started at nine, and this was the closest club with a heated pool that I could find. An hour of cardio, some weight training, maybe a little basketball, and then finish in the steam room. A quick shower and I’d be ready for work.

Antonio met me here a couple of times a week and was coaching me on my workout routine. I had absolutely no inclination to be a muscle god. Hell, I couldn’t if I tried, but keeping that extra couple of inches off my waist was worth it. That and it allowed me to eat pasta and pizza and mu shu shrimp. And beer and wings.

“Good morning, Mr. Jennings. How are you today?” the perky little piece at the reception desk asked. I didn’t do coffee, but I was seriously considering it so I could deal with Little Mary Sunshine four mornings a week.

“Fabulous. It’s 6:00 a.m. and my bed’s calling me. Maaaark, come baaaaack,” I deadpanned.

A bright Stepford smile greeted me. It was
so
not going to be my day. “Antonio’s here already and asked me to tell you he would be on the basketball court,” she chirped. I swear.

“Thanks,” I said, moving off away from her and her fucking rainbows and unicorns. I went to the locker room and put my clothes and toiletries away, and grabbed a couple of towels. If we were going to be on the court, I knew it’d be a sweaty morning.

There he was, baggy shirt, fatigues, and Doc Martens. The man never paid attention to the signs saying “Sneakers Only,” and nobody had the balls to say anything to him. Although I do think Mary Poppins tried once. He probably fucked her to get his way because she never brought it back up.

“Jennings, get your ass in here, boy. Where you been?” he yelled. Thank God we were the only two on the courts that time of morning, because he had absolutely no shame.

He tossed the ball to me, and I started dribbling down the court slowly. It was too early and I wasn’t warmed up enough to do much serious running. So I took a shot at the goal and it went in.

“The king, the undisputed ruler of the universe,” I chuckled and did a little fist pump and dance.

“Shut the fuck up and get your ass in gear,” he shouted, passing me the ball again.

I made that bucket, too, then did a little reprise of the dance. My blood started to flow and I woke up a little more. I could see the dark circles under his eyes and the clenched jaw. The yelling and trash talk was just a front, I’d learned. This was how he got when something was on his mind. Sure enough, Antonio started yelling. “Move that tired old ass, man,” he threw at me as he ran down the court in front of me. I sped up and went in for a layup that rolled around the rim before falling out. Antonio grabbed it and sprinted down the lane, dribbling the ball so hard I expected it to bounce away.

We’d been friends for long enough now for me to pick up on his moods a little better. Whatever it was, he’d either tell me or he wouldn’t. I wasn’t going to try to drag it out of him, because then he got really pissy, and fuck
that
noise. “Put up or shut up, Hetboy. Looks like I’m up by four already, and all that’s really running is your mouth.” He turned, glared at me, and took a shot for three. It went in, and a flicker of a smile started to show on his lips as he grabbed his crotch and tilted his head at me. “Fuck you,” he growled and took off down the court again.

We played in silence for about another twenty minutes after that, and then the pace started to slow down. “Let’s take a break and go sit in the sauna. I could really use the heat, man,” he grumbled.

He headed to the locker room, and we stripped down, put on our towels, and headed into the hot room. I was used to him being naked around me now and didn’t really bother to steal glances. I flat out looked. He always strutted a little when he noticed. The boy liked being looked at, and I didn’t want to disappoint him.

We settled down, and I poured a ladle of water on the hot grill, making the steam rise up. The quiet time and the steam room were my treats to myself after a hard workout or a bad night. The heat seemed to draw all the tension out of my system, leaving me feeling drained and empty but good.

“I need to ask you a favor. I fucking hate to do it, and you can say no and I won’t hold it against you, but I really, really need you to help me,” he blurted.

Shit. This must be a doozy if he was this worked up over asking me to help him out with something. “What do you need? You know if I can, I will,” I told him. And I meant it.

He sat there, looking down at his boots and not saying anything. I stayed quiet and waited it out. A man had to have his pride.

“I’m behind two months on my child support. Jeanine’s threatening to not let me see Jason until I get caught up. Things’ve been better with her, but she’s only working part-time and needs the money. Business hasn’t been good the past couple of months, and I just don’t have it,” he admitted quietly.

He looked up into my eyes, and what I saw there hurt me. His face looked so scared and resigned.

“I need to borrow some money. I promise you I’ll pay it back. We can sign a note and make installments or whatever. I just can’t not see my son.” His voice cracked. To see this rock of a man broken over not seeing his little boy, it would have taken a better man than me not to be moved.

“I can lend it to you. How much do you need?” I asked.

“Fourteen hundred dollars.” He looked down and winced.

Well, shit. It wasn’t like I didn’t have it, but it was in my savings account. I used a credit union, and I’d have to go there to withdraw the funds. But the bigger concern to me was loaning money to a friend. The quickest way to fuck up a relationship with a friend or family member was to loan them money. Been there. Done that.

You know, the general rule of thumb is don’t loan money you know you won’t see again.

“How about this?” I thought out loud. “I’ll loan you the money, but every time I get a massage, we’ll deduct that much from the balance ’til it’s paid off. We can put it in writing, so we’re both covered, and that way we both feel better about it.”

“Thanks, man.” The relief in his eyes plain. “Let’s go take a shower and get some breakfast. Can we write it up and do it today?” There was hope on his face now, some of that tension released.

“Yeah, but you owe me some damn mighty fine massages. Double massages. Triple! You got to grow four more hands,” I joked to lighten the mood. He looked at me and laughed.

“I can arrange for another guy to come over and give you a four hand massage. Or you can bring your man and I can do you both,” he offered, more like himself again.

As if.

Brian didn’t like anybody touching him. Those years he’d spent in foster care had damaged him in ways that hurt me to see. Made me want to track down some of those motherfuckers who posed as caring, giving foster parents and beat them bloody. So, no, he wouldn’t be joining me.

We’d gotten back together, and he was living with me again. It was good. I loved him. I just wish he could forgive himself, because I had. As hard as it’d been, I’d made my peace with what happened and tried to show him with my words and my actions that I still loved him and wanted him.

But there was just something… broken about him. He’d look at me and flinch sometimes. His mood would change suddenly and he’d get quiet. I’d found myself treating him like he was a child almost, and that was fucking weird. But that just made him mad, and when he got mad he did stupid shit. Like lash out at me. Or not talk to me at all for days. Something just wasn’t right.

I snapped out of wherever the hell my head went and looked at Antonio.

“No, Brian won’t want to come. Maybe a four hand would be nice though. We can talk about it. And I’m buying breakfast, so you, my friend, are having the…,” I started.

“Oh fuck no I’m not,” he yelled, more like himself now.

“Rooty Tooty Fresh and Fruity breakfast. With smiley-face pancakes.” I grinned. He hated ordering that.

“Real men don’t eat that shit. Steak and eggs, man, not some fruity gay breakfast,” he snorted and pushed me toward the locker room.

“Ah, but I am gay, grasshopper.” I nodded wisely, bowing.

“You just ain’t met the right woman yet.” He whipped his towel off, bending over to get his clothes out of the locker.

“And you haven’t met the right man. Or maybe you have.” I smiled evilly and leered at his ass.

He softened and looked at me. “Oh, yeah, I met the right man, all right. A fucking miracle. An angel here on earth.” His voice was soft as cotton and his eyes shone like diamonds.

What could I say to that?

I
TOOK
a long lunch break and went by the credit union to get the cash Antonio needed. Given that he was having such a rough go of it, I went ahead and withdrew an even two thousand dollars. One thing about the way I was raised, my mom always taught me to share as long as I had something. Good things come back to you and all that, she’d said.

God, I still missed her so much. And I really wanted him to be okay.

We met up right after work, before I headed home. It felt like one of those hit-and-run things, or a drug deal. We arranged to meet in the parking lot of the grocery store halfway between my office and his apartment. When I got out and walked over to his truck, I saw he wasn’t alone. Sitting in the passenger seat was a small person. A boy. Oh hell, it must be Jason.