Hold Fast, page 15
Zack snapped in front of his face and adopted the most fey voice he had, which was only about a hair more fey than he usually spoke. “Oh, honey, I got your fairy dust right here.” He felt silly, but achieved his goal: Val laughed.
“Okay, okay. Was crotch grabbing too much, or what?”
“It would have fit the sentiment, but seemed like it’d take away from the snap. I had to pick one and the snap was more appropriate.”
“You know, Zack, I think he’s good for you. Yoga guy. Everything at the gym is basically going to hell, but you—you seem more relaxed than usual.”
Since this was Val, and Val was made of good intentions, he clearly did not mean the observation critically, but Zack found himself hunching over anyway, as if he was ashamed at even the possibility of feeling relaxed.
“God, man, I didn’t mean—”
“Anyway, I don’t know what we do about maintenance.” He cleared his throat. “I have some time before the end of my shift and we have decent coverage. I can probably get at least one thing started right now. We need to revisit our priority list, though. Everything’s not gonna get done.”
“Yeah. Okay. Let’s come up with a top five and a schedule, then keep everything on our ‘if we have extra time’ list.” Val shook his head. “Zack, I didn’t—”
“I know. It’s fine.” The maintenance list was up on the bulletin board. Zack took it down and slid it between them, picking up his black pen. “What’s our top five?”
They were back on normal terms by the time Val left, which was good. But Zack kept thinking about what it meant that he could afford to look relaxed when the gym was quite literally falling apart. Another tile had come loose in the bathroom. One of the members had approached Val about being a plumber and volunteering to fix the toilet for free—and the worst part was Val was probably going to say yes.
This had gone beyond the members noticing things were a little shabby. They’d also noticed that the staff, even stretched as thin as they could stretch, weren’t able to keep up with basic upkeep, and weren’t able to hire anyone else to do it either.
What if the yoga series worked? What if it actually brought in a flood of potential members to check out the stained glass?
And then what if they saw the state of the gym and vowed to never come back?
* * *
“So what I need is a way to basically steal money from the gym, then hide it in a secret account so I can use it to fix the gym.” Zack raised his third glass of wine. “Cheers.”
Isaiah raised his glass as well. “Cheers to embezzling for the good of the business.”
Zack wanted to laugh, but he couldn’t. A knot of emotion choked off laughter, replacing it with hopelessness. “Oh god. Isaiah. There is no way to make this work. I thought a lot about it while I was cleaning the locker rooms tonight. I already apologized for being late, right? I’m really sorry. I just don’t know how we’re going to make this work…” He subsided into a depressed slump. “And I shouldn’t drink this much wine this fast.”
There was a pause in which Isaiah should have spoken. But didn’t.
Zack looked up. But Isaiah was just…gazing at him. Looking focused and intense and ugh, so hot. Like always, but more.
“Sorry,” Zack murmured.
“For what?”
“I don’t know. Talking about work. Being late. Totally being preoccupied when the whole point of us getting together tonight was—was—you know.” But that hadn’t come out right, and even if he hadn’t heard himself dismissing their dinner like it was a booty call, he would have known it was wrong by Isaiah’s eyes narrowing.
And god help him, that turned him on even more.
Zack swallowed and set his wine aside. “You know what I meant.”
“I know what you said.”
“Just that I…didn’t mean to…” But he was so distracted by the heat between them—surely the temperature had gone up twenty degrees in the last three minutes—that he couldn’t finish his sentence.
“You know what I think, Zachary?”
How did Isaiah make his voice so smoky and deep like that? It wasn’t fair. Was this some kind of aural illusion, a trick of blood rushing in Zack’s ears making him hear things just a little off?
Isaiah leaned forward. “I think it’s time you let me in.”
It wasn’t what Zack had expected. He didn’t know how to parse it. But thankfully, Isaiah didn’t seem to be waiting for a reply. He stood and offered his hand, which Zack took.
They’d eaten lightly, and two and a half glasses of wine had smoothed the edges of the world until Zack could feel the pressure of Isaiah’s bed against the back of his knees. Could almost enjoy the sensation of falling backward on the mattress.
“I’m not drunk enough to feel this good.” Which he’d apparently said out loud. “Um.”
“I know. We drank more than this at your place and you were practically sober.” Isaiah knelt to remove his socks, to coax his belt buckle open. “Enjoy it, Tiger. Let me see you come apart.”
He didn’t want that. Zack Scherzo did not come apart. Not for anything.
But Isaiah’s hands felt so damn good sliding his pants off, and even better on his skin, slipping up under his shirt.
“Off. I want all of you.”
“Don’t know what you mean.” Zack pulled the shirt over his head and dropped it somewhere. Didn’t matter.
“I think you do know what I mean.” Then Isaiah was there beside him, also naked, on his side looking down. One of his hands caressed Zack’s chest and Zack caught his breath. “I’ve been thinking about this all day. You in my bed.”
“Yeah. Me too.” Zack curled fingers around the back of Isaiah’s neck and drew him down for a kiss. “I wish I didn’t like you so much.”
A huff of laughter against his lips. “I’d be offended except I totally know what you mean. Bad timing, right?”
“The worst.” Zack used his leg to tug Isaiah against him. “Worst timing ever.”
“Maybe not the worst. Mmm. This is good.”
Good was an almost offensively mundane way to refer to what they were doing now, the glide of hands over skin, of lips brushing eyelids, soft gasps and the occasional moment of heady eye contact. Zack sailed across waves of sensation, the wine buoying him up without letting him crest. He only knew the rasp of stubble across his ribs, the taste of salt and Isaiah on his tongue.
“Zack.”
There was something sharp about the way Isaiah said his name, and it made his toes curl. “What?”
“It turns me the fuck on when you let me in. That’s all I’m asking for. Nothing else.”
“I can…” He kissed Isaiah lightly, but didn’t close his eyes. “I think I can do that.”
Time may have frozen while they experienced one another without speaking. Usually Zack’s mind insisted upon a plan, a to do list, a goal he could meet by executing a sequence of tasks. But tonight, as much as he’d assumed the handwritten star next to Dinner would lead to sex, and that sex would be a somewhat rushed event designed to get both of them off, he couldn’t focus on the objective.
Objectives belonged in a world of black and white, when this was clearly a place outside such considerations. Zack closed his eyes and pressed his cheek to Isaiah’s thigh, inhaling the scent of him as Isaiah’s lips traced a trail up his own inner thigh. He held on, digging fingers into what must have been Isaiah’s ass, thrilling to the rhythm of lips and tongue, breathing harshly as Isaiah teased his pleasure out like taffy.
And if Zack had a regret it was that he couldn’t watch, that he couldn’t see Isaiah’s lips close over his cock, that he couldn’t see those fingers tenderly caressing his balls like Zack was precious, like his enjoyment was to be treasured.
Not that he had regrets.
His orgasm was not a steep peak, but a steady climb, a gradual ascension. He cried out and came in Isaiah’s mouth, squeezing his eyes shut so hard that he saw sparks. And in the next breath all he knew was gratitude for the body over his, the man who kept touching him, whose lips whispered meaningless words like good boy and sweet boy as he came down from that plateau.
Now was not the time for declarations of love, especially since he didn’t even know that’s what he was feeling. Maybe it was just endorphins or something.
He managed, mouth dry, to murmur, “Please kiss me.”
Then Isaiah was right there with him, looking into him, and warmth moved out from Zack’s core to his limbs, to his toes and fingertips. He reached out, searching for Isaiah’s cock, wanting to see the heat in his eyes at the moment of contact.
Yes, yes, yes. His let his fingertips drift up that hard length and Isaiah’s lips parted in a silent breath.
No gentle slope here; within moments Isaiah was thrusting into his hand and biting down on his shoulder. The flash of pain felt like approval, like hunger for more, and he gave Isaiah everything he had, hooking an arm around Isaiah’s back to draw him even closer. Isaiah shuddered and came, moaning into Zack’s skin.
Then he collapsed.
“My lovers regularly pass out from my handjobs,” Zack said, far more softly than he’d intended. Crack a joke, extricate himself, think about the deeper ramifications of how close he’d come to saying I love you, and how little being called boy bothered him in the context of afterglow, and in Isaiah’s low, almost admiring voice.
“Believe it. I should probably get off you so you can breathe.”
He should say, Yes. And I should go home.
“I can breathe.”
“Mmm.” Isaiah picked up his head and kissed Zack again. “You know, you’re incredibly handsome.” He brushed a chunk of hair back.
“Right after you fuck me?” It was an attempt at distance, at subtracting love and tenderness from whatever it was they’d just done.
But Isaiah only smiled. “All the time. Though I’m pretty biased. The way you look right now makes me happy, man. Makes me want to keep smiling without stopping, but I won’t.”
Zack traced Isaiah’s lower lip with his thumb. “Why not?”
“Aw, you know.” Isaiah kissed his thumb and rolled to the side. “Man, I’m fucking thrashed now. I can’t believe you’re gonna drive home.”
Good point. Really good point. Zack had to drive home. First he should probably get out of bed and put on his clothes.
“I’m not kicking you out. But I’m not pressuring you to stay, either.”
Zack turned on his side and leaned down to press his lips against Isaiah’s shoulder, not entirely sure he could resist staying right where he was if he got too close. “I should go. When I wake up at the crack of dawn tomorrow I’ll be glad I’m at home.” Probably.
“Then I’ll see you Thursday. Sorry about the ‘boy’ thing earlier, by the way. Again.”
Obviously he should just accept the apology. He probably shouldn’t be shaking his head and tracing designs on Isaiah’s chest with a finger. “No, it…was okay. It felt good that time. Anyway, I have to go. Thanks for dinner.”
“Yeah. Anytime.”
Isaiah pulled on his boxers and a shirt for the walk to the front door and kissed Zack goodbye looking so damn sleepy and disheveled it took everything in Zack to resist pushing him right back into the bedroom for round two.
Thank god the fresh, cool air cleared his head.
Bad timing was an understatement. His priority was to finish school and get established in his career. Ideally at Crux, though with things the way they were right now it was harder to believe in that future than it used to be. Which was all the more reason that he, Zack, activities and marketing director, degree seeker, could not be currently mooning after a man who had his life way more together (if just as busy).
Three times in a week wasn’t bad if he was merely dating a guy he kind of liked. But it felt like not nearly enough to see a guy whose eyes he wanted to stare into as he came.
Fuck.
The whole thing was hopeless because Zack had gone and fallen for the yoga guy. If he’d managed to keep it casual, it would have been fine, but he hadn’t.
He started his car and drove with a sense of cold finality. Another week of the trial. Then they’d have to break it off, hopefully before either of them was in too deep.
For a second he was tempted to believe that he was the only one whose emotions had come into play, but it took no time at all to remember all of Isaiah’s long looks, to remember his tone when he said Let me see you come apart. That was not what someone said to a guy they were casually dating.
They were both fools. Zack needed to sleep more than anything, but he found it damn hard to stop thinking.
Chapter Seventeen
Isaiah was jolted out of sleep Friday morning by his phone ringing.
He’d spent the week writing business plans, doing yoga, and counting down the days, then the hours, until Zack would come over. They hadn’t bothered with sex or food when the man finally stumbled in around midnight, with repeated apologies for being late. Isaiah had given him some water and pulled him into bed.
Zack had slept against his back, one arm thrown around him, each exhale a flicker of warmth on his skin.
They’d had muzzy, sweet sex in the middle of the night—or the early hours of the morning—then fallen back to sleep.
Until his damn phone rang.
And it was a fucking Skype call from his first client.
“Hell.” A quick check of the time showed that it wasn’t nearly late enough for their meeting. Isaiah sat up and hit the icon to answer without video.
Ten minutes later he was in his office, grudgingly turning on his computer and hoping he hadn’t woken Zack. What exactly was the correct response to Hope I didn’t wake you! I was hoping we could move our appointment up. Is that okay? He needed to script something for this. His sluggish sleep-saturated brain had agreed without processing the request because as a general rule he preferred earlier meetings to later ones. And anyway, Zack was dead to the world. If he could get this out of the way, he’d be able to crawl right back into bed.
Of course it didn’t work out that way.
He could hear noises in the apartment as he tried to wrap up the call. The agreement was for an hour long consultation, and okay, so he’d rarely enforced that before (he always left thirty minutes between calls so he wouldn’t have to), but he sure as hell wanted to enforce it today.
And oh god, was that coffee? Had Zack made coffee?
He took a deep breath, waited for a pause in his client’s monologue, and said, “I’m afraid I have an appointment in five minutes. Next week at the usual time?”
It was a lie. But an effective one. He filed it away for future use.
Zack was in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a cup of coffee, reading a book.
Zack. Was in his kitchen. Drinking his coffee. Reading one of his books.
Isaiah didn’t consider himself a possessive man. Or a particularly greedy man. But there was something about this picture that made him want more. He wanted to see Zack in one of his T-shirts, feet up on the coffee table, smiling and arguing about the best type of pen. Or whatever it was Zack would argue about.
Here there be tygers, boy. Get yourself together.
He crossed the living room. “You made coffee.”
“It’s a little strong, but then again, after last night, maybe this is perfect.” Zack flipped the book. “I used to lie in bed at night and read James Baldwin aloud to myself. I carried The Fire Next Time around like devoted religious people carry bibles. My mom was always disappointed that I didn’t go in more for his poetry.”
“Because she’s a poet?” Isaiah poured his own coffee and took up a spot on the opposite counter.
“I think it was more because she considered preferring his prose to be siding with my dad. Action over art. Which it wasn’t, and you really never want to imply to my mother that art isn’t action, but they spent a lot of time dividing the world into two spheres and demanding I choose which one I belonged to.” Zack shrugged. “Anyway, I love Baldwin. Hope you don’t mind me grabbing this.”
“Not at all. Sorry about that call.”
“Work. I definitely understand.”
Of course he did. For a stunning, bright moment Isaiah almost wished Zack would demand his full attention, demand that next time they were lying in bed and the phone rang, he wouldn’t answer.
If Zack made the demand, he’d agree. But Zack wouldn’t.
“Man. This is…” Isaiah ran his hand over his jaw, where he needed to shave, where his skin remembered the feel of Zack’s lips.
Zack closed the book. “I know. It’s not gonna work, is it?”
Part of Isaiah wanted to argue, but a treacherous voice in the back of his mind reminded him that everything was simpler before he was trying to officially date Zack. And he wasn’t fool enough to think they could go back to being casual.
He made his voice steady. “I don’t know. I don’t know if it can work. Not right now.”
“Yeah. That’s what I keep thinking. Maybe later—maybe after I’ve got my degree. And I don’t even know what’s going to happen with Crux, but I can’t focus on anything else while all this is going on. And I know you’re trying to find your next business, and I figure you’ll have even less free time once you do.”
“I’ve pitched seven different ideas to myself in the last week. Three of them got far enough for me to actually cost things out and come up with budgets.” He shook his head.
“No magic?” Zack asked, smiling slightly.
“No magic. They’re good ideas, and I could do them, but there’s nothing really pulling me toward any of them. Which I didn’t used to need in a business idea, but apparently…these days I do.”
They gazed at one another in the pale light of his kitchen and it was tempting, just for a breath, to say, Fuck everything, let’s just make it work. Let’s at least try. We’re smart. If anyone can do this, it’s us.
Except they were far too smart for that. Far too smart to think they’d be the exception to the rule, the relationship that worked out against all odds.
