Braden settled himself between Wes’s legs. He leaned on one of his arms, which was on the outside of Wes, wrapped around behind him. Their faces were close, Braden’s legs over Wes’s left one and the other knee angled up.
Wes could never imagine doing that, just putting himself in someone’s space like that, but Braden did it, and Wes didn’t push him away.
Braden grinned up at him, his fingers tickling the back of Wes’s waist. “You like me.”
Wes rolled his eyes. “I like fucking you.”
“Nope. You like me. You like that I get under your skin and never stop talking. I think you might even like it when I call you Wesley.”
Wes tried, though not very hard, to get up, but Braden didn’t let him. “I don’t like it when you call me Wesley.” He’d never really liked the name.
“But you like me?” he asked.
Wes let the smile slide off his face. He looked down at Braden, who held his eyes intensely. “Braden—”
Braden leaned forward and pressed his lips to Wes’s. And Wes let him. Let him kiss the hell out of him before he pulled back, but didn’t move from his spot, wrapped up in Wes.
He was letting Wes off the hook. He knew that. And Wes allowed it. “What did you used to paint?”
“Whatever came into my head.”
From there they went to sports. Wes talked about playing baseball in high school and Braden talked about soccer, which he actually still played, and his time playing football, too. They spoke about their jobs next, then more of Braden’s adventures, Noah and Cooper, and on and on. The whole time, Braden was always touching, fingers brushing over Wes’s back, his leg, his stomach. His leather bracelet rubbing against Wes’s skin, too. It was around eleven thirty that his phone rang, Lydia telling him Jessie was ready to go home.
After they got dressed, Braden walked him to the door, saying he had to let Jock out again.
He stood in the driveway as Jock ran around and Wes climbed into his car. “See ya Wednesday.” Braden grinned at him.
“See ya.” Wes closed the door, turned on the car...then rolled the fucking window down. He wasn’t sure what he planned to say until the words just came out. “Thanks...for leaving last night. That’s probably a shitty thing to thank someone for, but... yeah. There it is.” Braden wouldn’t have left. He didn’t work that way. He’d done it to be fair to Wes.
“And for the coffee this morning.”
“No problem.”
As Wes drove off, he realized Braden was right. He did like him, he just didn’t know what the hell it meant, or if he’d actually do something about it.
Chapter Sixteen
Braden sat in a chair at the firehouse, arms crossed and his feet kicked up on a table. He expected it when three guys walked up to him, had seen it coming all day, but still didn’t look up at them when they stopped in front of him.
“What’s up, Roth?” Fred asked him. It was the first time Braden had seen him since the night he’d danced with Wes.
Braden leaned back so he could see their faces. “Not much. Was thinking about texting my buddy Wes to see if he wanted me to bring him something for dinner tonight. You know him, right? I was at the bar with him the other night. He’s pretty impossible to miss though, right? I mean, at least for me.”
Yeah, he’d never been known for being real subtle. He knew what they wanted to talk to him about. Fred had always been a homophobic asshole. Coop had told him some shit he’d said before as well.
He didn’t give a fuck how they felt about his life. Now they knew where he was coming from, too.
“What the fuck, man?” Fred asked. “You’re a fag now, too? First Bradshaw and now you?”
Braden ignored his rapid pulse, stood, and bit back the urge for his fist to meet Fred’s face. “I’ll let you get by with saying that once, and once only. I don’t give a shit if I lose my job or not. You say that again and we’re going rounds.” He shrugged. “Plus, you don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve been fucking guys much longer than Coop has.” With that, Fred charged at him. Gus and Rick both grabbed his arms to hold him back, Rick saying, “Christ, Braden. Have some fucking tact, would ya?”
“Tact? You guys just surrounded me like the fucking mob or something, like it’s any of your goddamned business who I’m dating.”
Dating? But I’m not really dating him, am I? Not if you asked Wes.
With that Fred jerked out of their grip. “Stay the fuck away from me, Roth. You and Bradshaw both. Fucking queers.” And then he stormed away.
