What I needed was some advice.

  And there was only one person I could think of to ask.

  The minute I was back in my parents’ guest room, I locked the door and pulled up the endless thread of texts Hunter and I had been exchanging.

  With my heart in my throat, I wrote out, Hey, any chance I can book you just for a FaceTime call?

  As soon as the message sent, I felt like a tool. Really? Really? For one thing, it was late as hell, though Seattle was an hour behind Rexburg. Also, it was bad enough I had to depend on escorts for paid-for sex because they were the only ones who would be discreet and who wouldn’t expect a connection beyond the night. Now I was hitting one up to chat? Why? Because I was a grown-ass adult who was fumbling harder over his sexuality than a kid getting his first inkling he was into guys?

  Not that my first inkling had gone over well. Sitting here now, I shuddered at that memory. I’d been in the stands at the local fairgrounds with my family, watching my sister’s horse show, and I hadn’t even realized I was looking at a guy riding past in tight jeans and navy blue chaps. Or, well, I hadn’t realized why I’d been looking at him.

  Then my dad had cuffed me upside the head and told me not to stare. “You want someone to think you’re queer?” he’d hissed.

  I’d been mortified and horrified; that was what being queer was? I’d heard him rant and rave about it all my life, but I’d never quite understood what queer guys were or what they did, only that it was bad and disgusting. Then I’d watched a narrow-waisted guy sitting in a western saddle, his hips tilting left, right, left, right in time with the horse’s slow, steady jog, and wait, that was what queer was?

  Dad had taken me out behind the barn that night, lectured me, and bloodied my lip for good measure. He’d grilled me all the way home about wanting to kiss girls like a normal boy. I was pretty sure he was the one who’d “accidentally” left a couple of Maxim magazines in my room a few days later. All because a guy had caught my attention, and I hadn’t even understood until years later why I’d looked or what my dad had been thinking when he’d made all those accusations.

  I was eleven.

  Hell, maybe I did need another adult, escort or not, to talk me through this shit. God knew I’d never known what was normal about myself, about being gay, about… about anything. And now I was offering up an ear if my cousin needed someone to talk to? Like okay, I was probably one of the only people in the family who wouldn’t flip out on him, but that didn’t mean I necessarily knew what to say or what to do if he made that call. I was just barely getting the hang of being gay myself.

  Right then, my text notification lit up.

  I’m on my way home. FT in half an hour?

  I exhaled, more relieved than I probably should’ve been.

  Sounds great. Ping me when you’re ready.

  And I silently begged Hunter to drive faster.

  Chapter 20

  Hunter

  The float tanks were getting addictive. The pain relief without side effects, not to mention an hour of doing nothing but relaxing, was amazing. I’d even let Rachel and Leo use a couple of my free floats (I hoped Scott didn’t mind), and they both said it was great on their necks and backs.

  Mental note—prepaid float cards would make great Christmas presents for both of them.

  The relaxation hadn’t lasted long today, though. Sitting in extra heavy traffic thanks to an accident had made my back start knotting up again, though some ibuprofen helped. And then I’d needed to take my daughter out to get some school clothes (which we could actually afford thanks to my nights with Scott, holy shit) before coming home, feeding her dinner, and then getting a call from Rachel that Leo’s car had crapped out again. We’d just gotten it back, for fuck’s sake. Fortunately, we had AAA now, so at least getting it towed wasn’t a big deal, but she’d driven his car to work and needed a lift home after her closing shift. I’d been the one to come get her because Leo had barely been able to move after his own shift (apparently today’s job had involved hefting a lot of decorative bricks and rocks—he wasn’t injured per se, just sore).

  And now Scott wanted to FaceTime, and since tonight had been that wedding he’d been dreading, I had a funny feeling it wasn’t because he was feeling horny or frisky.

  Needless to say, by the time I got back to the apartment, I was stiff all over from stress and too much moving around, not to mention absolutely exhausted.

  But like hell was I going to leave him hanging if he needed me.

  Would I do this for any other client?

  I was pretty sure the answer to that was no. All I knew for sure was that tonight, I was going to be there for Scott, and I wasn’t going to think too hard about why.

  I checked in with Leo, who had already tucked Ginny in for the night. With my ex-wife safely home, Leo’s car at the shop awaiting an estimate, and my daughter sleeping soundly, I went into my bedroom, shut the door, and lay back on the bed.

  Okay, I wrote. I’m home. Still want to FT?

  The FaceTime request came in seconds. When he appeared onscreen, Scott was in bed too. Probably his parents’ guest room. The top of his shirt was unbuttoned, and if he’d been wearing a tie at the wedding, it was gone now.

  “Hey.” He looked utterly drained and didn’t sound much better. “Thanks for chatting.”

  “Any time. Sorry it took so long.”

  “Don’t worry about it. How are you feeling?”

  I doubted that was what he wanted to talk about, but I ran with it for now. “Not bad. I did another float today.”

  “Yeah?” He brightened a little. “Is it helping?”

  “It is. A lot. I, um…” I hesitated. “I let my ex-wife and her husband use a couple of the prepaid floats you gave me. I hope that’s okay.”

  He gestured dismissively. “Of course. Don’t worry about it. Did it help them?”

  “Oh yeah. They’re definitely sold.”

  “Good. Good.” His expression turned distant again.

  Cautiously, I asked, “So, how was the wedding?”

  From the long, defeated sigh he released, I could put at least a few of the pieces together. “It was a great wedding, but being around my family… It’s just exhausting.” He rubbed his eyes. “I swear, every time I’m here, it’s like ten steps back into the closet.”

  My heart jumped. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, being around these people, knowing both how much they hate gay people and how much I don’t want to lose them…” Sighing again, he shook his head. “It doesn’t just make me want to stay in the closet. It makes me want to be straight.” His voice shook a little as he added, “I’m finally starting to get comfortable with being gay, but I don’t want to be gay in this family.”

  My God, my chest literally ached as he spoke. “I’m sorry. That has to suck, feeling that way.”

  “It does.” He wiped his free hand over his face and sighed, “Fuck.”

  “If it helps, they’re in the wrong here.”

  He looked at me.

  “The thing is,” I went on, “you didn’t choose to be gay. None of us did, but you especially. Think about it—you’ve fought hard against it your whole life, so you of all people didn’t choose it. But your family? They’re choosing to be homophobes. They could change. You can’t.” I paused, then softly added, “Is it right that the only way for them to love you is if you change something you can’t change?”

  “I could hide it,” he said flatly.

  “Either way…” I shook my head. “That’s not love, Scott. It’s abusive bullshit, and you shouldn’t have to fight so hard against yourself because they won’t get their heads out of their asses.”

  Scott’s eyes widened.

  I realized a second too late I might have spoken a wee bit out of turn, given that I was an escort and he was my client. I cleared my throat. “Sorry. Sorry. This is just… It’s something that really bothers me. When people don’t accept their kids for who they are.”

  “I just wish I could get through to them.”

  “Yeah. I bet.” I watched him for a moment. “What about your cousin? The one you said might be closeted?”

  Scott pursed his lips, and the exhaustion seemed to sink even deeper into the crevices between his eyebrows. “I talked to him. Just, you know, did what you suggested—told him I didn’t think it was right, the way our families act. And if he wants to talk to someone, he can always hit me up.”

  “Good. How did he take that?”

  “He was receptive, I guess? He said he’s got friends at school who are gay. So maybe that’s all it was—he’s not gay himself, he just feels weird listening to the family basically trash-talking his friends.”

  “I mean, that could be. But you aren’t sure?”

  “I just don’t know.” He sighed, sliding a hand behind his head on the pillow as he shifted a little, probably trying to get comfortable. “My gut tells me there’s more to it.”

  “Maybe there is. But you let him know there’s an open door. That’s about all you can do.”

  “I just hope it’s enough.”

  “I wish I could tell you it will be,” I said softly. “But you can bet it’s more than what he’s had before. That has to count for something.”

  “True. Except what if he calls with questions about stuff, you know?” Scott grimaced. “I’m barely getting my head around being gay. What if he wants advice, or—”

  “Scott.” I shook my head. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. You don’t have to have all the answers for him. Or any of them. Just be someone he can talk to without being treated the way your family would treat him.”

  He closed his eyes and exhaled. “Yeah, I can do that.”

  “That’ll do him more good than you think.”

  “I hope so.” He sighed, and he fell quiet again, but then he said, “What I do know right now is I’m definitely looking forward to getting home. I love my family, but…”

  “But you’re ready to go back to where you feel safe?”

  “Yeah.” He swallowed hard. “And it’s tempting as all hell, but I do not want to let them shove me back into the closet again.”

  “Well, if it helps,” I said cautiously. “I’ll be here when you get back. I’m pretty sure I can entice you out.”

  Scott looked right at me, and I had a heartbeat to think I really had overstepped or read him wrong before he grinned. He was still tired, still obviously wrung out from the time spent with his family, but he was slowly coming back to life. “I’m looking forward to seeing you.”

  I grinned back. “I’ll be waiting.”

  I’d barely walked into Scott’s house before we were wrapped up in each other’s arms. He pressed me up against the door and kissed me like he’d been gone for months instead of a handful of days. He was still careful—still obviously mindful of my limitations and not manhandling me or anything—but the raw need in his touch and his kiss were undeniable.

  “God, I want you,” he panted against my throat.

  “Anything you need,” I whispered.

  “You.” His voice was hoarse and not quite steady. “Just you. I don’t care about the rest.” He met my eyes. “How do you feel? I don’t want to hurt you.”

  I ran my hands up his powerful arms. “Just go slow. Same as always.”

  “Yeah?” His forehead creased. “You up for bottoming?”

  Ooh, I so wanted his dick, and I’d been trying all day to get my back to stop its nonsense so I could take Scott tonight, but… Damn it. Sighing, I shook my head. “Maybe not. My back’s a little…”

  “Okay.” He brushed his lips across mine. “Then we won’t.”

  “But you’re—”

  Scott claimed a kiss, and he broke it just enough to murmur, “I want you. That’s all. I don’t want you to be in pain just so I can get off.”

  Some tension I hadn’t even noticed left my shoulders. Scott had never once made me think I’d have to suck it up and take it even when I was in pain; it was just a habit because I’d done it for so many clients before him.

  “Let’s go upstairs,” he whispered. “If your back’s bothering you, the bed might be more comfortable.”

  Good idea.

  His bed was more comfortable… especially when we were naked and lost in a deep kiss. The mattress gave my back the support it needed, and I was determined to give Scott the support he needed. I kissed him. Held him close. Ran my fingers through his hair the way I knew he loved. Dragged my nails up his back to make him shiver and gasp.

  He wasn’t kidding about being needy tonight, either. His hands shook. His breath stuttered. Goddamn, what did those people say to him? Except I knew. They didn’t have to say a word to him—they just had to casually lay out all their usual homophobic bullshit and obliviously chip away at him.

  Scott’s lips left mine, and he started down my neck. I tangled my fingers in his hair as I squirmed under him. He was so damn good at that. He’d been so uncertain in the beginning, and he was still kind of tentative today (probably because his mind was a mess), but he seemed to know exactly where and how to kiss my skin to make my spine tingle and my toes curl.

  “Jesus Scott…”

  He laughed softly, sending a warm gust of breath across my collarbone.

  And he continued down. He stopped at one nipple, teasing with his lips, tongue, and even teeth. Then he moved to the other and did the same thing.

  When he continued even farther down, I thought I was going to lose my mind. Not just from anticipation, but because I knew he had to be fighting back all kinds of demons who wanted to shame him away from touching me, never mind blowing me.

  That’s it, baby. Get into this and don’t apologize for it.

  Oh, fuck, he got into it, and he was not apologizing for it. Not with the way he was eagerly taking my cock between his lips. He’d never done much deep-throating, but this time, he took me farther than he usually did, teasing with the tip of his tongue as he bobbed his head up and down.

  Then he looked up at me. “Sit on the edge of the bed. So my hands are free.”

  “Oh, hell yeah.” I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the bed, ignoring the protests in my back, and Scott moved to his knees on the floor, and… No, he wasn’t apologizing for a damn thing tonight.

  And when his shoulder started moving—oh, yeah, he was beating himself off at the same time.

  I stared down at him, loving the view almost as much as what he was doing to my cock. I ran shaky fingers through his hair as I murmured, “That’s it. God, yeah.”

  He groaned, his voice vibrating across my sensitive skin, and it was a genuine miracle I didn’t melt back onto the bed. He was turning me on with everything he did with his mouth and hand, but the fact that he was into it despite everything was heady as hell. I wouldn’t have blamed him if his time with his family had sent him darting back into the closet. But no, he was staying out here with me, throwing himself into this because fuck them, fuck their bigotry, and fuck, yeah, he was going to make me come.

  “That’s so good,” I breathed, still tangling my fingers in his hair. “Baby, don’t stop.”

  He groaned again, and his shoulder was moving faster. His breathing was faster too, and sharper. Ooh, was he getting close too?

  I leaned back on one hand as I kneaded the back of his head. “Jesus, Scott… That’s so… Mmph, yeah.”

  He ran his tongue around the head of my cock in the same instant he sped up his strokes on the shaft, and I shivered hard. Some muscles in my neck and shoulder were protesting, but they could go to hell, because everything Scott did was so damn good.

  “I’m gonna come,” I murmured. “Keep… Yeah… Oh, yeah…”

  Abruptly, he jerked, inhaling sharply as his fist tightened around my dick, and I swear to God I almost slid off the bed as I came in his mouth. He kept me going, too, licking and pumping while we both shuddered and groaned and came.

  When he stopped, I really did melt back onto the bed, trembling all over and so damned satisfied.

  Scott joined me, draping his arm over me, and pressing a kiss to my temple. “You’re so sexy,” he murmured against my skin.

  “Mmm, likewise.”

  I looked up at him, and we exchanged grins before we came together in a long, lazy kiss. He must’ve stopped long enough to wipe off his hand, because when he trailed his fingertips down my cheek, they were dry. Didn’t really surprise me that I hadn’t noticed him pausing to grab a tissue—I’d been too busy letting the room spin to pay much attention.

  Eventually, we shifted from kind of sprawled across the middle of the bed to lying back on the pillows. We kissed for a little while, just enjoying the comedown and the afterglow before Scott shifted onto his back. I propped myself up on my elbow, fidgeting a bit until I found a position my muscles would tolerate, and laced our fingers together on his chest.

  “How do you feel?” I asked.

  “Good.” He slowly drew his tongue along his lips. “It’s so weird, being back from Idaho and in bed with a man, and not hating myself.”

  “They really work you over, don’t they?”

  Scott blew out a breath, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “Without even realizing it, yep. I swear, I’ve spent every off season basically getting as much anonymous, bought-and-paid-for gay sex as I can, like that might actually get it out of my system.”

  “No shit?”

  “No shit. It’s like, I’d go see my family for the Fourth of July—that’s our big holiday gathering—and by the time I’d get home, I’d feel like absolute shit. Then I’d spend a couple of months hiring escorts so I could… I don’t know. Sometimes I’d think I was getting it out of my system. Sometimes I’d tell myself if I did it enough, I’d realize how disgusting it was.” He laughed bitterly and rolled his eyes. “There wasn’t a whole lot of rational thought going into it. I’d just fuck every man I could pay to be discreet, and I’d hate myself the entire time.”

  I slid my palm up his arm. “Did you actually hate yourself? Or did the people who were supposed to love you just leave you no choice but to hate who you are?”