Wayward Son (8 page)

“Perfectly. Brings out your eyes.” Riley headed for the door. “I’ll hold down the fort. You finish up and come on out when you’re done. Take your time.”

He pulled the bedroom door shut behind him but didn’t close it completely. Mikey blew out another long breath and walked over to grab his shoes and sit on the side of the bed to put them on and tie the laces. Finished, he stood and checked himself over in the full-length mirror on the back of the door. He ran his fingers over his hair, which had gotten a little messy from his shoe search, and then smoothed his palms over his shirt, a blue button-down he wore with the pants from his one suit—the same pants he’d worn to his job interview.

He studied his reflection. He knew he was cute, but he wasn’t convinced he had enough going on to keep the attention of two older men as confident as Cory and Jimmy.

He shook his head.
They know what they’re getting
, he reminded himself.
It’s not like this is a blind date.

The attempt at self-reassurance didn’t do much to steady his nerves, but at least when the door buzzer sounded, he didn’t jump out of his skin.

T
HE
RESTAURANT
looked like something out of a movie: low lighting, soft music, quiet voices in intimate conversation. Mikey let Cory guide him forward with a hand at his lower back, but despite Riley’s assurances, he felt underdressed. Flanked by Cory and Jimmy, who wore similar outfits but somehow ended up looking suave and worldly, Mikey felt like a little kid playing dress-up.

“Lassiter, party of three, for seven thirty.” After giving his name to the hostess, Cory turned to smile at Mikey. “Smells amazing in here, doesn’t it?”

Mikey’s nerves had kept him from noticing much beyond the opulent appointments of his surroundings. He took a deep breath, both to calm himself and to get a whiff of the restaurant’s offerings. Heavy on the garlic—no surprise for an Italian restaurant—overlaid with the sharp tang of red wine and a rich smokiness that reminded Mikey of barbecue. “Smells like… a cookout?”

“That’s the brick oven,” Jimmy said, standing close by Mikey’s side but not touching him. “They serve pizza at lunch, but at night they use it for bread and the baked pasta dishes. The manicotti is particularly good.” Jimmy said the word as “manicot,” as if the final two letters weren’t there, and Cory gave a soft laugh.

“Jimmy’s grandmother was Sicilian, so he knows his
manicotti.” He raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me. ‘Manicot.’”

A hostess appeared just then, three large leather-bound menus tucked into the crook of her arm. “Gentlemen, I’m Janie. Your table is ready. If you’ll follow me?”

They did, Jimmy in front, Mikey in the middle, and Cory behind, once again with his hand at Mikey’s lower back. He’d had a hand on Mikey just about the entire time since they’d picked him up from Riley’s, starting with taking his hand at the door to helping him into and out of the car. Jimmy, in contrast, hadn’t touched Mikey except for a quick peck on the cheek when they’d gotten into the car outside Riley’s building, where Jimmy had waited for them at the curb.

When they reached their table, which was tucked into a corner out of the main traffic areas, Jimmy pulled out the chair nearest the back and nodded toward Mikey. “C’mon and have a seat, babe.”

Mikey did, and Jimmy did touch him then, but just a soft brush of his fingers across Mikey’s shoulder. Jimmy and Cory took the other two seats, Cory on his right and Jimmy on his left, and then the hostess handed them their menus.

“Nina will be your server tonight. She’ll be with you in just a few moments.”

“Thank you, Janie.” Cory gave her one of his winning smiles, and she returned it with a nod before leaving them alone. Mikey shook his head at Cory.

“I didn’t even catch her name,” he said, and Cory chuckled.

“It’s kind of my job, honey. Working in advertising, it’s amazing how much good it does to remember someone’s name like that. It’s all about making things feel personal.”

Mikey smiled and opened his menu. “Well, it sure
impressed me.”

He’d told himself he wouldn’t pay any attention to the prices. Cory had insisted it would be his and Jimmy’s treat, and they would know what was in their price range. But he couldn’t help his reaction to the numbers along the right side of each page. Jesus, he could buy a textbook for what they charged for pasta.

He shook his head and concentrated on the descriptions. Everything looked good, but Jimmy had mentioned the manicotti specifically, so Mikey decided he’d do that. It fell about halfway down the price range on the menu too, so it wouldn’t stand out as being particularly cheap or pricey.

A tall, slim woman with dark curly hair and olive skin approached. “Good evening, gentlemen. I’m Nina, and I’ll be serving you this evening. Would you like to start off with a bottle of wine or something from the bar?”

“Wine would be excellent,” Jimmy said. “We’ll take a bottle of your house merlot, and could you start us off with the antipasti?”

“Absolutely.” Nina smiled, and Mikey noted she didn’t have an order pad. “I’ll have that out to you shortly and will be back to take your order. Did you have any questions about the menu?”

After they assured her they didn’t, she disappeared again, and Jimmy leaned toward Mikey. “They have a sommelier on staff, but he mostly chooses the wines, rather than serving them. Their house wines have always been excellent.”

What Mikey knew about wines could fit on a postage stamp, but clearly Jimmy knew what he was talking about. “I don’t drink wine often,” Mikey admitted. “I don’t drink a lot at all. I never really got in the habit.” He shrugged. “I can’t stand beer, and that’s what most people had when I was younger. Or Boone’s Farm.”

Jimmy laughed at that. “Boone’s Farm is a teenaged rite of passage. Along with cheap beer and smokes.” He gave Mikey a side-eye. “You didn’t pick up that nasty habit, did you?”

“Smoking?” Mikey made a face at the memory and shook his head. “Tried it when I was fourteen. Tasted like something died.”

“Good description.” Jimmy sighed. “I did it for five years because I was stupid and thought it made me look cool. I got over it. Though I’ll still pick up a stogie now and then.”

“Cigars are different,” Cory put in. “Well, I mean, the smell and all. They’re still bad for you, but one now and then isn’t going to kill you any more than eating an occasional cheeseburger.” He turned his attention back to his menu. “Or pasta with cream sauce and enough cheese to choke a horse. I do love their spinach and mozz ravioli.”

“And everything else on the menu,” Jimmy shot back, though he tempered the tease with a soft smile. Cory caught his gaze and returned the look, full of emotion, and Mikey’s heart ached at that tenderness. So much of the time, Cory and Jimmy spent their time together exchanging jabs and jokes—all meant in fun, of course. But they were clearly on their best, most romantic behavior for the date, and that extended to each other, not just to Mikey.

Jimmy turned that smile on Mikey, and he felt it in his stomach—and points south. “What looks good, honey?” Jimmy asked, and Mikey could only think
you
.

“I… I was thinking about the manicotti,” he choked out around the lump in his throat. “You said it’s amazing.”

“It is.” Jimmy moved as if he were going to touch Mikey but then pulled back, though his smile drifted toward the dirtier end of the scale. “Lots of garlic, but that’s okay. Everything they serve has lots of garlic, so don’t worry about your breath. We’ll all taste like it.”

The sensual promise behind his words went directly below Mikey’s belt, bypassing both his brain and his heart. Jesus. Between the romantic touches and the sexual commentary, his body was going to be on overload in short order. He hoped he’d at least get to enjoy his dinner a little before his systems went into shutdown mode.

As it was, everything turned a little hazy for a while. The server brought their wine and appetizer and took their dinner orders, and Jimmy poured Mikey a glass and fixed him a plate of olives, roasted peppers, and mozzarella balls from the antipasti platter. Mikey ate and drank and even participated in conversation, but he couldn’t have said later what they talked about. It all flowed over him like a gentle beach breeze, soothing and stimulating at once.

When their dinners arrived, they all made the proper “oooh” and “that looks delicious” comments, and as Mikey took his first
bite, he had to agree “delicious” was right. “Amazing” would
probably be more accurate.

Three bites later a hand came to rest on his thigh, just above his knee. Jimmy’s. Mikey turned his head to meet his gaze, and the simmering heat in his eyes set Mikey’s body humming.

“How’s the manicot?”

Jimmy’s voice was a low purr that undercut the other noises in the room and shot straight to Mikey’s dick. With a shaking hand, he reached for his wine glass and took a small sip. “It’s wonderful,” he whispered. “Just like you said.”

Jimmy squeezed his leg. “I’m always right,” he replied. “Might as well get used to that now.”

Where Cory normally would have snorted and snarked, instead he smiled widely. “He does know his pasta. We’ll need to wheedle him into making some for us one night. He doesn’t do it often because it’s a lot of work, but it is totally worth the trouble.”

“And he’s usually the one doing the cleanup, so he knows.” Jimmy gave Mikey one more squeeze and a lingering caress before bringing his hand back to his own lap. Mikey’s leg tingled from the touch, but he tried to ignore it, concentrating on his dinner instead.

Then Cory’s hand landed on his thigh, several inches higher than Jimmy’s had been, and Mikey went as limp as a cooked noodle. Except his traitorous cock, which went from mostly hard to “can cut diamonds now.”

Jimmy’s soft chuckle cut through the sensual haze. “Let’s give him time to finish his dinner first,” he chided, and Cory moved his hand away.

“Yes, do finish your manicot,” Cory agreed. “You never know when you might need those extra calories.”

Mikey told himself he couldn’t help the moan that escaped his lips, but at least it served the purpose of embarrassing him enough that he could get a grip and turn his attention back to his meal. With neither of them touching him and only general, innocuous comments crossing the table, Mikey was actually able to enjoy the food.

As soon as he finished, though, all bets were off.

“Yummy, wasn’t it?” Jimmy leaned in to nuzzle his nose just below Mikey’s ear. “Almost as delicious as you.”

A second later Cory returned his hand to Mikey’s thigh. “I don’t know,” he said. “We haven’t had a chance to taste all of him. Yet.”

It was the emphasis on the last word that drove Mikey over the edge. He leaned into Jimmy, who had his arm around Mikey’s shoulders by then, and moaned against his neck, body on overload. He was no longer worried about walking out of the restaurant with a hard-on. He was worried about being able to walk at all. His legs didn’t seem like they’d want to hold him upright for more than a step.

Jimmy’s low laugh vibrated against Mikey’s chest. “I think our boy has had enough for now.” He shifted Mikey back toward his own seat. “Let’s behave ourselves until we get out of here so we don’t have to carry him.”

Cory’s huff would have made Mikey smile if he hadn’t been lost in a sensual haze. “Okay, okay.” Cory pulled his hand away. “Where’s that server so we can pay the bill?”

Mikey paid little attention as they waved down the server and settled the check. He concentrated on breathing. Once again, without Cory and Jimmy’s joint attention focused on driving him out of his mind, he was able to gather himself to the point that he could at least get out of the restaurant in one piece.

He would
not
think about the car ride home.

J
IMMY
HAD
driven them to the restaurant, but as if they’d planned it—which Mikey supposed they had—Cory took the driver’s seat on the way home. He soon found out why, when Jimmy took Mikey’s hand and pulled him into the backseat.

“Fuck seat belt laws,” he growled as he manhandled Mikey into his lap, back to Jimmy’s chest. “My arms will just have to do.”

Except he didn’t just wrap his arms around Mikey and hang on. Sure, he anchored one arm around Mikey’s waist, but that was probably just to keep him from sliding onto the floor, because Jimmy let his other hand wander everywhere. He skimmed his fingers over Mikey’s nipples, tweaking and rubbing, then down his body to brush over Mikey’s crotch. Jimmy lifted his knees between Mikey’s legs and used the leverage to splay Mikey’s thighs wide open, giving him more room to explore. He kept his touch light but ran his fingers deeper, sweeping them over Mikey’s balls and even farther back, until he pressed against Mikey’s hole through the cotton fabric of Mikey’s pants.

“Want in here,” Jimmy muttered against Mikey’s neck, where he nipped at Mikey’s skin. Mikey stiffened, but Jimmy kept talking. “Want you ready for it, ready for me, begging to feel me deep inside.”

Oh, holy shit
. Mikey was almost ready to beg right then for something,
anything
. Jimmy never stopped moving his hands, touching and teasing but never long enough or hard enough to get Mikey off. Some dim recess of his mind knew that might end up messier than it was worth anyway, but he didn’t much care.

“Jesus fuck, you two are hot,” Cory said. “I swear to God, I’m about to drive off the fucking road trying to watch in the rearview.”

“Wait your turn,” Jimmy shot back before pulling back the collar of Mikey’s shirt to lick his collarbone. “You told me all about what you two got up to on the phone the other night. I’ve got some catching up to do.”

The memory of their aural sex flooded Mikey’s mind, and he moaned, the sound loud in the close space of the car. Jimmy’s laugh was wicked. “Oh, I think he liked that reminder.” He closed his hand around Mikey’s cock, or as much of it as he could with Mikey still dressed. “Did you have fun? Telling Cory all about what you were doing to yourself? Knowing he could hear every little moan and gasp? You like someone listening in on you?”