Wayward Son (9 page)

Jimmy squeezed, and Mikey choked out a gasping “Yes!” He couldn’t say any more, too lost in a haze of arousal, but Jimmy just hummed and lightened his touch.

“I’m not gonna get you off now, baby,” he murmured. “I want you to go home and think about this. Think about me touching you. Think about Cory listening while you touch yourself. And then this weekend, after Cory’s show, we’re gonna take you back to his place and let you tell us exactly what you want us to do to you. And then we’re gonna do it.”

Mikey jerked, so close to coming he could taste it, but Jimmy moved his hand away, and the feeling ebbed to a deep throb.

Jimmy kissed him again, on his cheek this time. “You rest up, honey, and go to school like a good boy.” The car was coming to a stop, Mikey realized. “And when we see you again, we’ll give you anything your horny little heart desires.”

Cory pulled the car up to the curb in front of Riley’s building, and Jimmy helped Mikey out. Mikey’s head spun, and part of him was trying not to be disappointed they hadn’t taken him to bed tonight, but he did get it on some level. Jimmy smiled up at him, soft and open, and Mikey melted in an entirely different way from how Jimmy’s touch had left him feeling.

“Take care, baby,” Jimmy said. “We’ll wait until you get inside.”

Mikey turned and climbed the stairs to the front door in a daze. It took him three tries to get the door open, and by the time he made it upstairs to the apartment and then into his bedroom—Riley and Evan were nowhere in sight, but the door to Riley’s room was closed—he felt like maybe he could sleep.

He was wrong. As soon as he undressed and crawled under the covers, the memories of his phone sex with Cory came flooding back, intermingled with flashes of their threesome date. He eventually gave in and jacked off to the X-rated slideshow his mind provided, but while he was able to fall asleep after that, he woke up an hour later with his body on fire again, unable to remember much from his dream other than that he was in bed with Cory and Jimmy.

He jacked off again, and only then could he fall asleep for good.

T
WO
DAYS
later Mikey had his head buried in another dull chapter on art he didn’t care about and nearly jumped out of his skin when the intercom next to the door buzzed.

Oh thank God—an excuse for a break. He climbed up from where he’d ensconced himself on the end of the sofa and padded in bare feet toward the door. He couldn’t remember where Riley said he’d be today, but he and Evan were going to some gallery opening or something that night, so Mikey didn’t think their visitor would be Evan. And Cory or Jimmy would call or text first.

He pushed the button. “Yes?”

“Package for a Michael Joseph O’Malley.”

Something in the way the deep voice said his name sent up alarm signals. Package? He doubted it. More like papers.

He was about to be served.

His finger only shook a little as he pushed the intercom button again. “Be right there.”

He slid his feet into a pair of Riley’s flip-flops that sat by the door and grabbed the extra set of keys from the hook on the wall. He was in the hall and headed for the elevator before he let himself think. Had he taken long enough to get his own shoes and keys, he might have chickened out. Hell, he probably should’ve let the guy come upstairs. Now the person working the front desk would witness the service.

Come to think of it, though, having a witness might not be a bad thing.

Downstairs, he crossed the lobby to the front door, sparing a quick nod at the woman behind the desk. He couldn’t remember her name, but then he’d seen her maybe three times since he moved in, about the same as the other two people who rotated through the job.

He paused at the door to catch his breath before pulling it open to let the process server in. The man didn’t step inside, though. He just looked at Mikey and repeated his full name: “Michael Joseph O’Malley?”

Remembering his instructions from both Jimmy and Mr. Day, Mikey just answered with, “Yes.”

The man shoved the folded papers he held against Mikey’s stomach. “You’ve been served.”

Mikey barely got a hand on the papers before the man had turned and walked away. Resisting the urge to call out a thanks—damn those Southern manners—Mikey turned back inside, letting the door fall shut behind him. He could feel the woman at reception watching him, but he ignored her, and he resisted the urge to open the papers immediately and start reading.

He headed back toward the elevators, wishing he’d thought to grab his phone so he didn’t have to wait until he got back to the apartment to call his lawyer.

“A
LL
RIGHT
.”
Mr. Day’s voice sounded a hell of a lot steadier than Mikey felt, but he did this shit for a living. “Here’s what I want you to do. I have a client consult in fifteen, but that should take less than an hour. Can you be here with the paperwork in an hour and a half? Quinn will be here to meet you if I’m not free by then.”

Mikey nodded before he realized that was stupid when he was on the phone. “Yeah, I can do that. Do I need to bring anything else with me?”

“No, just what the process server gave you. We’ll go over it together, and I’ll get some copies made.” He paused. “Are you all right?”

Mikey choked out a noise that could have been a laugh. “As much as you’d expect.”

“Which is to say not really.” Mr. Day chuckled, but it was a warm sound, not derisive. “It’s a common reaction and completely understandable. But this doesn’t change anything, except it does start the clock on our response. We’re already ahead of the game there, though, so you’re in much better shape than most.”

That was mildly reassuring at least. “Okay. So… I guess I’ll see you in an hour and a half?”

“We’ll be ready. Take care, Mikey.”

Mikey ended the call and stared at the papers sitting on the coffee table for long enough that his eyes burned. He forced himself to blink and then get up off the sofa and head for the bathroom. He needed to shower, dress, and probably eat something to go with the cup of coffee he’d been sipping, even though his stomach roiled at the thought of food.

One step at a time. He shut himself in the bathroom, stripped off, and started the shower running.

Q
UINN
MET
Mikey at the front desk and ushered him into Charles Day’s office. “He’s just finishing up and will be with you in a minute,” Quinn said as Mikey sat in one of the leather armchairs facing Mr. Day’s desk. “Can I get you anything? Coffee?”

Mikey’s mouth felt like he’d been eating sawdust. “Water?”

Quinn winked. “Coming right up.”

Mikey leaned back in the seat and fought to keep from crumpling the papers in his hands as he’d been doing since he got out of the car in the parking lot. He wanted to clamp down on them, ball them up, compress them into nothing until they never existed.

Fat lot of good that would do, even if it were possible.

A couple of minutes later, Quinn was back with a bottle of water, Mr. Day on his heels.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Mr. Day said as he sat behind his desk, even though Mikey had been in the building less than five minutes. He nodded at the papers in Mikey’s lap. “Let’s see what we have.”

Mikey handed over the papers gladly, happy to have them out of his clutches for a while. Mr. Day slid on a pair of reading glasses and opened the sheaf, running his gaze down the page quickly. It took him only a few minutes to make his way to the end of the document. Mikey couldn’t imagine how he could read that quickly, much less the kind of legalese he knew it contained.

Mr. Day set down the papers and took off his glasses to look at Mikey. “All right. This seems pretty straightforward. Quinn.” He held out the papers to his intern. “Please make three copies while I chat with Mikey. That way we’ll each have one while we go over the lawsuit, and the original can go into the file.”

“Of course.” Quinn stood and took the papers before leaving the room, closing the door behind him.

Mr. Day gave Mikey a small smile. “I know this is overwhelming,” he said. “But the good news, from my initial quick read, is that the scope of the lawsuit appears to be small. The accusations are limited, and the amount being requested is lower than I would have expected. Lawsuits of this type often ask for exorbitant damages, expecting a settlement of a much smaller amount. The plaintiff, a Rhonda Donaldson, has requested only twenty-five thousand dollars in damages.” He glanced up at Mikey. “Do you know Rhonda Donaldson?”

Mikey shook his head in response, but he was still stuck on the dollar amount.
Only?
That was still twenty-five thousand dollars more than he had. “Um,” he managed. “What would a larger amount be?”

“Numbers in the millions aren’t unusual in cases like these.” The reply left Mikey half boggled and half relieved. “The relatively small damages amount should work in your favor,” Mr. Day continued. “It makes it appear that the plaintiff is seeking a quick settlement rather than a drawn-out case. Not that I think settlement is on the table.” He held up a hand to forestall Mikey’s
automatic protest. “We will be working to have the lawsuit
dismissed.”

Quinn returned then, handed out the copies, and set the original on Mr. Day’s desk. Mr. Day picked up his glasses and settled in. “Now. Let’s go over this point by point.”

A
N
HOUR
later Quinn escorted Mikey back through the lobby. He paused before he pushed open the door. “This isn’t official word from the firm,” he said in a low voice. “But it’s going to be okay. Anyone who talks to you for more than five minutes knows there’s no way you could ever do any of that.”

Mikey could only nod, body and mind numb from the accusations he’d read and the legal language he’d tried to wade through with help from Mr. Day. “Thanks,” he managed before heading to his car.

Once in the driver’s seat, he leaned his head against the steering wheel and just breathed for a few minutes. Damn, this sucked. He trusted Mr. Day to do his dead-level best to clear Mikey’s name, but the stuff he said about precedents and responses and the case law he quoted mostly went over Mikey’s head. Mikey wasn’t dumb by any means, but only someone who’d studied law in depth could have made sense of that stuff.

Someone who’d studied law in depth.

Mikey smacked his head on the steering wheel once before he reached for his phone to call Jimmy.

“I
WISH
I could come now, honey.”

Mikey still sat in his car twenty minutes later, after pouring out everything that had happened into Jimmy’s sympathetic ear. This was at least the third time Jimmy had apologized to him for not being able to get away from the resort immediately, both Shaun and his part-timer having taken the day off and the usual weekend rush starting in the morning.

“It’s okay,” Mikey said for at least the third time. “Just talking to you helps. Mr. Day sure seems to know what he’s doing, so I’ll trust him. And you’ll be here day after tomorrow.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for all the tea in China.” Jimmy’s voice held his usual cheerful tone, underlaid with a layer of warmth that wrapped around Mikey’s insides like a blanket. “And not just for Coco’s show. Can’t wait to get up close and personal with you again.”

The warmth slid lower, making Mikey’s cock throb. “Me too,” he whispered. He knew what Jimmy wanted. What Cory wanted. Mikey wanted it too, even though the thought of sex with the two men left him equal parts horny and terrified.
Push past the fear
, he kept telling himself, and maybe by Saturday night he’d be able to do it.

“Damn. Now I’m all het up, and I gotta get back to work.” Jimmy laughed. “You get home and do what you need to do. Class tonight, right?”

Mikey snorted. “Yeah. All the joys of ancient art. Whoopee.”

“Hang in there, babe. You’ll get through it. Cory said you were coming for dinner tomorrow?”

Mikey had forgotten. “Yeah, he wants me to approve his outfit before the show.” Mikey didn’t know why. He’d been captivated from the first time he laid eyes on Coco, so Cory obviously didn’t need Mikey’s help.

“I think mostly he just wants to see you,” Jimmy replied. “You boys have fun, then, and you call me anytime you need to. Otherwise I’ll see you on Saturday.”

“Saturday,” Mikey agreed, a flash of heat running through his body again at the thought. Whatever Jimmy and Cory had in mind, Mikey just hoped he’d survive it. If nothing else he’d like more than one crack at it.

“W
HAT
DO
you think? Too much?”

Mikey looked up from the dining room table, where he’d been working on the next drawing for class, and nearly swallowed his tongue.

Cory—and it was Cory, without the makeup and wig that completed the transformation into Coco—stood before him wearing a red-fringed dress that clung to every one of his padded-and-spandexed curves. Sleeveless and cut low in the front, the dress ended several inches above the knee except for a cascade of spangles that brushed his calves, which were encased in a pair of tall, shiny high-heeled red boots. Even without the waxing, wig, and makeup that would complete the look, Cory-slash-Coco lit up the room.