Afternoon Americano (Coffee Boys Book 3) Read online

  I laughed. “I guess I’ve heard worse reasons to pursue a career, but not many.”

  He grinned back. “I was 18, give me some slack. Anyway I asked my new author friend for some tips, and I don’t know if it was just because she pitied me or because she actually saw potential in me, but she sort of walked me through how to get started in the world of gay romance. I threw myself into it, because the only other option was to go to the conservative religious college that my parents had picked out for me.”

  “So, just like that? You decided to be an author, and then you were?”

  “More or less,” he said with a shrug. “I wasn’t successful right out of the gate or anything, but honestly, 90 percent of being an author is just forcing yourself to sit down and write. Teenage rage kept me motivated while I did that.”

  “So, what did your parents do when they finally found out?”

  “They threw me out,” he said, with a too-casual shrug. “But by that point I had made enough connections with supportive people that I was able to crash on an assortment of couches while I got my first few books out and got my feet under me. I haven’t talked to my parents in years, but I make sure to have a copy of every one of my books sent to them when it’s released, just so I can imagine the looks on their faces when they open it.”

  I gave a low whistle. “That’s a hell of a story,” I said, and down the rest of my beer. “I’m sorry you had things so rough.”

  “It wasn’t that bad, honestly. They weren’t physically abusive or anything, and apart from taking a little longer to adjust to real life and figure myself out as an adult, I didn’t suffer any lasting effects. And I am happy with my career—I enjoy the writing that I do, even if it isn’t reflective of my own life.”

  “Ugh,” I said with a exaggerated roll of my eyes, “that’s just disgustingly serene and mature. I’m not sure I can like you anymore.”

  “Mature? Did you miss the part where I just told you I started writing about dicks touching entirely to pits off my parents?”

  “Okay, I take it back. I like you again.”

  He flashed me just a hint of a smile—a quick, subtle thing that disappeared as he turned back to his drink. If I didn’t know better, I might have almost thought we were flirting.

  Stop that, Skye.

  “What about you?” he said, gesturing vaguely with his beer bottle. “We’ve talked so much about me, but I don’t even know what you do for a living.”

  I sighed. Wasn’t that always the eternal question? “I’m a telemarketer, and I hate it. I actually put in my notice two weeks ago, and tomorrow is my last day. I’ve applied a few places, but I’m not sure what I should do next. I’m really spinning my wheels.”

  “Hmm,” he mused, a slight smile tugging at his lips. “Have you considered writing?”

  I snorted. “No, that’s definitely not for me, although I would at least have an advantage you don’t—practical experience.”

  “That’s not as much of an advantage as you might think,” he said. “I have done very extensive research; I feel pretty confident that my writing is true to life.”

  “Oh, really?” I said, leaning forward with a mischievous grin. “How extensive is this research? Practical? Hands-on?”

  He flushed, and somehow that was a direct line to my cock. Damn it. I hadn’t been trying to steer the conversation in that direction, but I’d gone and blurted it out before I could stop myself.

  “I…no,” he stammered, staring resolutely at his drink. “I’ve never—done anything.”

  “Not at all?”

  “I mean…there was one time. A long time ago. But, uh…” he groaned. “Why am I telling you this?”

  “Because I’m personable and instill a feeling of confidence,” I said haughtily. “Go on, spill all your big gay secrets.”

  “I’m not going to go into the details, but I’ve done…you know, stuff.”

  “What stuff?”

  “I just said I wasn’t going to tell you.”

  “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

  He snickered, then looked thoughtful. “I don’t know, sometimes I wonder if there is anything I’m missing from the…you know, full experience. Some little detail or sensation. But it’s not like fantasy authors know what it’s like to be a wizard who rides a unicorn into battle—why are the standards different for me?”

  “To be fair, the fantasy authors can’t experiment with being a wizard. You, on the other hand, have plenty of options.”

  Vincent let out an adorably self-conscious laugh. “Yeah, I kind of doubt that. I have a hard enough time attracting people of the appropriate gender. I don’t think I’d be able to handle figuring out a whole different one.”

  “Dude, are you kidding? Have you looked at yourself?” His eyes widened, and I suddenly felt incredibly awkward; was that being a little too open about how badly I wanted to jump his bones? Oh well, I might as well roll with it. “Believe me, if you batted for Team D, I’d have invited you back to my place about a dozen times by now.”

  He ducked his head, but he was smiling. The tips of his ears were pink, and I just wanted to lick them. “Well, that’s very…flattering. For what it’s worth, if you were on Team V, I probably would’ve said yes the first time.”

  I gave him a long look, weighing my words carefully. My heart was thudding in my chest; I felt like we were standing on the edge of a precipice, the possibilities stretching out below us, if only someone had the courage to jump.

  “Maybe…I could invite you back to my place anyway?”

  He choked on his beer. “I, um—” he cut off in a coughing fit.

  “I mean, feel free to say no,” I said, feeling super proud of myself for how casual I made it sound, like I’d be in no way disappointed if he refused. That high school theatre experience was really paying off. “But I find you attractive, and if you’re curious about the practical hands-on field research, I could certainly help you out with that.”

  I felt like I was watching from outside my body as my mouth did its own thing. Just what the hell was I doing?

  I was bluntly hitting on a straight guy, that was what I was doing. God, you’d think I would have learned my lesson on this by now. But no, put a cute face and a nice body in front of me, add a charming personality, and bam—one Skye puddle, incoherent and socially inept.

  “I don’t know if I—um—I can’t believe I’m considering this,” he said, shaking his head.

  He was considering it? My cock practically did a victory dance. And—ouch, I was wearing really tight jeans. That wasn’t pleasant.

  “There’s no pressure. Just, you know—a nice mutual getting off. I’m not expecting anything more.” Hoping for, maybe. But not expecting.

  He fell silent for a long time, then finally he slammed back the rest of his beer and dropped it on the bar. “Okay,” he said, like he’d just made a momentous decision. “Let’s do it.”

  Holy shit, really?

  I nearly tripped and fell on my face as I got up from my chair. “Um, I only live about two blocks away, if you want to just…”

  Vincent raised an eyebrow. “Were you planning this all along?”

  “No, I—” Huh. Had I? “Not…consciously, I guess. Maybe I was.”

  He puffed out a soft laugh and shook his head. “Fine, lead the way.”

  CHAPTER 4

  VINCENT

  O h my god, I can’t believe I’m doing this.

  I still wasn’t sure why I was following this guy home—I wasn’t drunk enough to be making totally out-of-character decisions, but the drinks probably helped a little. Maybe I could blame it on just being horny. I mean, an orgasm is an orgasm, and this guy was offering me one with no strings attached.

  Even if I wasn’t into guys, it’d still be better than my own hand, right?

  We didn’t really talk as we went back to his place, and I found myself watching his butt whenever he pulled a little way ahead of me. It was…objectively, yeah, I guess it was a nice butt. Very round and firm. Probably good for grabbing. It wouldn’t be all that different from grabbing a woman’s butt, would it? And I sure as hell liked doing that.

  We got to his apartment, the upper unit in one of the neighborhood’s myriad cute brick two-family buildings, and I noticed that his hands were shaking a bit as he fished his keys out of his pocket. The keys jangled together with a cheerful little tinkle—sort of a warning bell announcing the ill-advised gay sex on the menu for tonight.

  It was kind of gratifying to see that he was nervous, though—to realize that I wasn’t the only one. I’d kind of assumed he was a pro at this—I mean, he had the guts to flat-out proposition a straight guy, so he had to have confidence.

  Maybe in a way that confidence was what had convinced me. Like maybe he’d be a good guide or something. If I was going to experiment with a guy, I might as well make it one who definitely knew what he was doing. That way I wouldn’t have to do it again just to make sure the first time wasn’t a fluke.

  Yikes. Why was I even thinking about doing it again? Doing it once was weird enough.

  We got in the door, and he shut it behind us. I had a quick flash of irrational worry—I’d heard so many bullying horror stories that some part of me wondered if this was an elaborate setup, if a bunch of guys were going to jump out of the darkness and beat me up for having the nerve to be seduced by a man. That would be just my luck.

  I was suddenly reminded of the cliche about how cops have to tell people they’re a cop if they’re undercover—which I knew wasn’t true, but it still made me have to hold back a laugh at the idea of giving Skye a suspicious look and saying, “You’re not a homophobe, are you?”

  But no, the apartment was definitely empty, and he was looking at me and shuffling his f
eet like he wasn’t sure what to do. This wasn’t what I signed up for at all.

  I cleared my throat. “So, uh…how does this usually go?”

  He scratched his head. “Well, usually if I bring a guy back to my place, it’s because we could barely keep our hands off each other on the date. Generally one or the other of us gets slammed against the wall and kissed senseless the second we walk in the door.”

  I felt heat rising to my cheeks, and I was glad the apartment was dim so he couldn’t see how easily I blushed. The weird thing was, kissing sounded…well, kind of good. Weird and awkward, maybe, but I hadn’t made out with anyone in so long that even the idea of doing it with a man was pretty appealing. Men still had lips, after all, and Skye’s were pretty nice lips.

  I glanced around. “This wall?” I said, pointing to a fairly clear area behind me.

  Skye let out a thin, self-conscious laugh and nodded, so I stepped back a bit and put my back against it.

  He blinked silently at me, but didn’t move.

  I raised my chin, fixing him with my best “I dare you” look, and he laughed again, this time a real laugh that was a relief to hear.

  “Well, I’m not doing the slamming,” I said haughtily, “since I obviously have no idea what I’m doing. I’d probably give you a concussion, with my luck.”

  “Okay,” he said, stepping toward me. “I can…yeah, I can probably take over that side of things.”

  He was standing a few inches from me now, so close I could feel the presence of his body next to mine. Something about it was strangely electrifying, like there were little jolts of sensation passing through the air between us. I had to fight to keep my breath steady.

  The fight got more difficult as he put his hands on my hips. The touch was light, not exactly grabbing or pushing or anything, but the simple fact that he was touching me there in an intimate place was exciting. It gave the clear impression that yes, stuff was about to happen here.

  He moved in a little closer, like he was trying to calculate angles for a kiss—it reminded me of awkward dates I’d had as a teenager, and somehow I found it charming. What had happened to the suave guy who propositioned straight dudes in bars without a second thought?

  “I don’t see any slamming,” I said, because I just couldn’t help myself. It was hard to take this seriously and be seductive when he was so hesitant, even though having another body this close to mine was starting to get my engines running, so to speak.

  “Well, you’re already against the wall—that’s your fault,” he snarked back.

  “I could move, but I’d better see some first-rate slamming here.”

  He let out an exasperated sigh. “Oh would you just—here.”

  And then his lips were on mine.

  For a second, it didn’t feel like anything. It was just touching—no more exciting than resting my hand on someone’s shoulder. Lips on lips.

  His lips were dry but soft. I suddenly flashed back to my writing, where I’d always described mens’ lips as “firm.” Especially in my first-time stories—it was always this black-and-white comparison: women were soft and gentle and all curves, and men were angles and firm planes.

  But Skye was…well, not soft, exactly, because his body was definitely lean and firm against mine—no curves to be found there—but there was nothing vastly different about his mouth from what I was used to. It was just a mouth—just lips.

  Lips that were on mine, and…oh yeah, we were supposed to be kissing.

  I had another moment of panic, not sure what I was supposed to do. I almost always took the lead when I kissed—it was what my partners usually expected—but I had no socially-constructed roles to fall back on right now. Skye had initiated the kiss, so was he supposed to take the initiative for the rest of it? Whose tongue was supposed to do what?

  Oh god, was I about to have another guy’s tongue in my mouth? For some reason, that thought was the one that jarred me—what was that all about? I’d been entirely nonchalant about the idea of having my dick in his mouth, and that was a lot gayer than a kiss, right?

  Maybe it was something about being penetrated. There was a sort of intimacy, of vulnerability in the act of letting someone inside. I found myself wandering down a side alley of introspection, wondering if this was what women felt all the time.

  And wow, this was not the right time to be second-guessing every date I’d ever had, because all of a sudden I seemed to have forgotten how to kiss entirely. I just…stood there, my lips pressed tightly shut, my body rigid, as he tried and failed to coax me into more action.

  Skye pulled back and gave me a curious look. “Look, if you’re not into this, we don’t have to do it. Honest. No hard feelings or anything.”

  My brain finally came back online. Hey, wait—I remember kissing!

  I clumsily dove forward and crashed my lips against his. There was a sharp clack of teeth, and I winced as my lip was pinched between our clashing mouths, but then I shifted around a little and figured out how our mouths could fit together. I tipped my head, my lips locking in against his, and pressed forward even harder.

  Skye let out a soft little noise—part surprise and part something else, and I felt a fierce joy rush through me. I made him do that.

  I wondered what else I could make him do.

  My tongue flicked out experimentally, sweeping across his lower lip, and he shuddered, his body rolling against mine and his hands tightening on my hips. I did it again; this time he parted his lips for me, and I dove inside on instinct alone.

  Right, kissing. Kissing was awesome.

  His mouth was—oh, it was fantastic. Wet and hot and moving gently, yielding to me as I explored him and tasted him. Every sensation was incredible, lighting me up inside.

  Skye seemed to find his own feet then, and he moved his hands to my shoulders in a quick snap. A second later, he pressed them roughly against the wall, and I narrowly avoided cracking my head against it.

  He followed my mouth with his, never breaking the kiss, but as he held me tight against the wall, the slow exploration turned into more of a battle—or not a battle, exactly, but playful sparring. He thrust his tongue into my mouth, forcing my tongue back, and I let him for a moment, enjoying the shivers that went through me at the wet slide of it against my lips. As soon as he seemed convinced he was in control, though, I nipped gently at his tongue and fought back, diving back into his mouth.

  Both of us were wrapped up in it, our breath coming quicker by the second. It was the kind of intense, greedy making out that I hadn’t done in years, both of us hungry for contact. I nipped at his lip and he made a muffled noise, then he did the same thing to me and a helpless moan burst from my throat, low and filthy and wanting.

  I might have been embarrassed about it if I hadn’t been able to feel that his cock was absolutely rock-hard against me. Maybe he was quieter, but he was definitely just as affected by this as I was.

  I let my hands wander to his hips like he’d done to me, still feeling hesitant, like this was forbidden territory. I didn’t know the rules—I didn’t know what was expected of me or what he liked. But he sighed as I touched him, squeezing my shoulders even tighter, and I got a little more bold, rubbing my thumbs against the jut of his hip bones.

  He moaned this time under my touch, and that was what finally broke through my shell of awkwardness and unease. This wasn’t unfamiliar, uncharted territory. It was just another body to explore. I knew how to do this—how to find the buttons that made someone turn to putty in my hands. The gender of the person involved was irrelevant. Maybe it put me at a slight disadvantage just from having to figure out a different shape with a few different erogenous zones, but I’d always been good at thinking on my feet.

  I gave the skin of his hips a little pinch, and he gasped, catching my lower lip between his teeth. There we go—I’ve got this. I worked my fingertips further under his shirt, feeling the heat of his skin and the slight rasp of hair under my fingers. Goosebumps rose up under my fingertips as I explored, and I traced their patterns and bumpy texture, learning them because they were a part of him.

  Skye’s hands slid down to my chest, thumbs brushing over my nipples. I could feel the heat of him through the fabric and the friction of the fabric between us, and I let out a helpless little sound into his mouth. My nipples had always been remarkably sensitive, but most of my partners hadn’t spent too much time on them. Women often didn’t realize just how sensitive men’s nipples could be.