Put a Ring on It (26 page)

“No.” Jax shuddered at the thought. He’d never been remotely interested in the mechanics required to make a child. He was fine with them—kids—once they were of a useful demographic-audience age. But handling a baby? Not on his résumé. Traffic came to one of those screeching halts he’d gotten familiar with on the Island. Everyone dropping from sixty to zero in 1.2 seconds. Kind of like his career.

“So what? Let me know if I’m just wasting my time here, Jax. Because if you’re not even going to take the audition seriously—”

“No, no, I’m in.” After his recent Off-Off Broadway disaster, Jax had been desperate enough to solicit career advice from his dad, Bill Conlon, king of Absolute Auto Parts, now with a third location in Reseda.
Way I see it, we need a win here, son. Sometimes you have to take one for the team.

“Okay, then. I’ll overnight a baby, and you practice with it. They’re looking for the smooth, charming, young-dad type. Not awkward. Dress it in pink.”

Dress it?

“You took Method classes at Columbia, right? Make ’em believe it’s your precious baby girl. This is your stuff, Jax. You can do this.”

His stuff.
Comedies, Hallmark made-for-TV, the earnest scientist trying to warn of an impending disaster who gets killed off before the first commercial in whatever catastrophe the writers at the Syfy network had cooked up. Nothing that would lead to him doing amazing things and changing people’s lives, like his mom had wanted. But
Family Daze
had drifted off syndication, apparently for good, three years ago, and he hadn’t seen a residual check in six months. He wasn’t the type to waste money on a five-million-dollar home in the hills and a garage full of penis enhancers, but he didn’t want to have to start flying coach and renting economy cars.

“I said I’d do it. I want it.”

“I’ll e-mail you the tracking number. You’ve got three days. Sell it.”

IT WAS
full, murky dark before Jax found the closest Baby Boutique in Queens. He had to backtrack out toward Dane and Spencer’s place where he’d just had dinner. A late-October Tuesday didn’t seem to be a big shopping time for essential baby gear. The few cars in the lot could have been employees, but you wouldn’t know it from the complete lack of help anyone offered Jax as he wandered in and around the store. The displays had no logic he could see: some aisles at an angle, some in a semicircle. An interesting gadget caught his eye, and he actually had it in his hand before he realized it was a breast pump. Fumbling, he tossed it back on the shelf and wiped his hand on his jeans as he fought back nausea.

Clothes and diapers, Cliff had said. That, Jax could handle.

He stumbled upon the aisle of floor-to-ceiling diapers and froze. What the hell? How was he supposed to know what kind? Swaddling? Leak guard? Movers? Chlorine free?

“New dad?” A warm, amused voice spoke behind Jax.

Perfect time to practice his new character. Bonus for Jax, maybe the guy would be as sexy as his voice, midrange but with a timbre to vibrate in Jax’s chest.

He turned with a ready smile. “Is it that obvious?”

“The deer-in-the-headlights look is pretty telling.” The guy’s answering smile flashed white teeth—nearly Hollywood white—in a dark brown face. A well-worn Mets cap covered his head.

Jax studied people all the time—studied hard for his craft, no matter what some directors might have said. This guy exuded confidence in his stance, feet a bit apart, weight balanced. He was shorter than Jax, not stocky so much as solid all the way through under his khakis and a windbreaker with a Borough of Queens emblem on it.

As Jax studied, he got cruised right back. Jax couldn’t even pretend his own interest was confined to characterization when his gaze lingered south of the brown leather belt. The man tipped his head, a different sort of smile on his face now.

“You’ll want newborns, then.” He stepped closer, enough to make Jax’s nuts shift and prickle with interest. Reaching around—and there was a thought to make Jax’s skin and dick heat up faster—the man grabbed a package of diapers.

Jax stared at the hand gripping the plastic. Left hand, no ring. Didn’t necessarily mean anything. It was Baby Boutique, and the man had one of those big baby-carrier things hanging from his other hand. Jax snuck a look. It was empty of human cargo, though it did hold a package of baby bottles and other potential purchases.

The fact that Jax had just noticed the carrier was a sure sign he was thinking with his dick. The guy seemed too nice to be the kind to cruise if he had a wife and baby wandering around one of the other aisles. Maybe he was buying the carrier too.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get the hang of one of those.”

“I could show you the trick.”

Schwing
. Jax’s cock registered the full press before his brain did. “Uh. Yeah.” How much failure could he cram into five seconds of conversation?

Jax wasn’t a fucking monk. He did random hookups all the time. There were three apps on his phone for it. And worse, being able to project the emotion he wanted in any situation was his damned job description. He could sure as hell manage smooth right now.

He reached for the package of diapers, nodding at the question in the man’s raised brows. “I’d like that.”

Their fingers brushed, sending another jolt to his groin.
Damn.
Maybe Jax should give up Grindr and hang out in Baby Boutiques.

“I’m getting this as a gift for friends, but I won’t let you down.”

Jax felt hypnotized, though whether he was being controlled by his dick or the soft, sexy voice he couldn’t say.

“I need to grab a few more things. It’s a Ford Explorer. Black, parked on the side.”

“Okay.” They didn’t owe each other any kind of explanation, and the guy hadn’t given any sign that he recognized Jax from
Family Daze
or any of his lesser-known projects. Still, Jax found himself blurting, “I’m actually going to be babysitting for a friend. Thought I’d need the practice.”

The man stepped backward down the aisle, close-lipped smile suggesting he was fine with whatever lie Jax needed to tell himself. Jax squeezed the plastic until the almost hospital-like scent let him get his erection under control, then he went to look for baby clothes. Pink.

THE MAN
put his purchases on the counter at the cash register as Oz approached the front of the store. The bag of diapers, wipes, bottles, a three-pack of onesies, and two very pink outfits that were going to be too big for a baby under nine months.

Were the clothes guilty compensation for being sent out for diapers and grabbing a little dick before the guy went home to her or him? Oz tried not to care. Tall, fit, and gorgeous with a dazzling smile. Exactly his type. Right down to the man being terrible at lying.

Meeting at Baby Boutique instead of in a bar shouldn’t matter. The attraction was mutual. He’d flirted back. Oz shouldn’t be wondering who might be waiting for the diapers, bouncing a screaming infant in his—her?—arms.

Stupid fucking conscience was going to talk him right out of what promised to be a hell of a hot time. As he swung the carrier up and pocketed Ethan and Terry’s wish list, Oz wished he hadn’t thrown in that innocuously packaged personal lubricant on top. Not now when he was formulating an excuse.
Gotta run. Maybe another time.

The man turned and bumped into the impulse item display, sending a couple of thermometers crashing to the linoleum. As they both bent to pick them up, all of Oz’s best intentions came face-to-cheek with that ass. First thing Oz had noticed: sweet curves for a white boy, jeans not too tight or too loose.

Even Oz’s conscience wanted in that ass.

After the man rehung the thermometers, he signed the credit screen and was out the door.

The steady pulse in Oz’s dick rushed him through his own checkout, and he hit the lot in time to see the guy drop the diapers in the trunk of a Lexus, six slots away from the Explorer.

Rental, and no sign of an infant car seat. Maybe the guy was telling the truth about practice for babysitting.

Oz pressed the remote, and the locks chirped and clicked.

The man turned at the sound, his pretty mouth wide with a sweet smile, dimples sharp enough to show up in the single light over the lot. He pitched his voice lower than he had in the store. “So, you going to show me that trick?”

“You bet.” Oz tipped his head at his passenger door, and the man stepped around to it.

Once the closing doors shut off the dome light, the man turned. “I’m Jax—”

Oz had waited long enough to taste. He lunged across, hand sliding behind the other man’s neck as he pressed their mouths together.

Yes.
Soft and firm and as sweet as he looked. Their breath mingled, and Jax opened his mouth, opened right on up, and Oz knew he was as good as balls-deep in. Oz licked in, moving his hand to stroke a cheek with barely a hint of stubble, brushing his own light beard across Jax’s lips and chin.

Jax’s hand slipped behind Oz’s neck, fingers tipping his cap off, stroking the fuzz on his skull, tentative at first, then working his fingers in a tingling massage.

Even on this damp night, electricity buzzed everywhere between them, a rush of warmth down to the toes, along with the insistent throb making his cock push harder for space in his pants.

Oz lifted his head, drawing away from Jax’s mouth with a last gentle bite on his lower lip. “Let’s take this to the back.”

Jax’s longer legs had a little trouble maneuvering around the console, but he shifted between the next two seats and knelt next where Oz crouched on the tarp over the cargo space. Oz jerked his belt open, unbuttoned, unzipped. His dick swelled out of the hood, pulsed and stretched, pleasure at the freedom flooding through his ass and thighs, almost as rich as the tail end of an orgasm.

Damn, he wanted those long legs over his shoulders, his cock slamming into that ass. Wanted it now. Except he wanted this to last. Wanted to savor unwrapping this treat. He loved his life, but this kind of opportunity didn’t fall into his lap much these days.

Which was where Jax needed to be. He had stripped down to thin white tank and boxer briefs, jeans still on one leg as he struggled in the small space. Oz slid back against the rear door and dragged Jax down to straddle Oz’s thighs.

Those dimples were out of reach, but Oz ran his hands up gym-hard muscles, ripples of abs, the edge of a pec. If Jax hadn’t been white, he’d could have been Joaquín. Right down to the knowing flex he gave as Oz’s palms pressed on the rigid nipples.

Oz shifted his grip to lightly roll one between thumb and finger. “Do you like that? Want them sucked?”

Other than a few heavy breaths, Jax hadn’t made a sound since Oz cut the introduction short. Now his answer came in short gasps, a deep whine. “God. Yes. Please.” Such a harsh sound from that pretty face.

Jax pulled up his undershirt, grinding forward. Oz spread a palm on his ass to keep him there, to keep the smooth hard muscle close to lips and tongue. He pinched with his fingers, going gentle and soft on the nipple in his mouth. Pebbled skin, just a hint of salt.

Oz shut his eyes to the dim light. Shut out the reminder that they were in the back of the Explorer, on a tarp that not only protected the floor from whatever got tracked in at job sites, but probably hid stray Cheerios and crayons and a lost pacifier. He breathed in Jax’s skin, the spice from his aftershave, sex and sweat building between them. Listened to the endless repetitions of
oh
in that desperate whine. He softened his grip on the nipple, flicking it with his thumb as he sucked hard and used the edge of his teeth to make the sound sharper, interrupt the
ohs
with a tearing gasp.

Jax ground his hips forward, their cocks meeting with just the stretchy smooth material of his briefs to keep the damp flesh from rubbing together.

“Damn.” Jax spat the word out and then panted. “Is that all you?”

Oz gave Jax’s tit one last solid suck and then tipped his head back. “’Fraid so.”

“Mm.” Jax bent down and kissed him, one hand leaving Oz’s shoulder to glide down and find his cock.

He fumbled a second, then his thumb grazed the top lightly as his fingers smoothed down the foreskin. “That okay?” he whispered.

Oz was guessing Jax hadn’t come across many uncut guys. “Harder is okay too.”

“You got it.” Jax sped up his strokes, thumb rubbing the slit, spreading the precome that welled with every stroke, while his mouth hummed along Oz’s jaw, gentle pressure from his teeth making Oz buck into the firm, steady grip.

Jax leaned away to look between them, and Oz hoped the hungry look stretching those perfect cheekbones meant he wanted what Oz did.

Jax slid his hand deeper between them, a featherlight touch on Oz’s balls that still made it hard to breathe without a gasp. “What do you want?”

Oz squeezed the round curve under his hand. “Your ass on my dick.”

“God, I was hoping you’d say that.” Jax’s grin lit up the dark interior like a magnesium flare.

No, not magnesium. Nothing so coldly white. The warmth wasn’t all in Oz’s dick. This tall, hard stretch of man-boy was punching all of Oz’s buttons, and if he didn’t get a grip, he’d be declaring eternal love a second before he shot his load.

Jax scooted back. “I’ve got a condom in my jeans. Uh—” He tipped his head in scrutiny. “—hope it fits.”

“I’ll live.” Oz shut out the grin, crawling to dig out the lube he’d bought. “How do you like it?”

“Usually on my back, but I think with you, I might have to start on my knees if we can fit.”

It was matter-of-fact, technical, reducing it back to what it was, a hot-as-hell hookup in the back of Oz’s Explorer. Exactly what he needed, and he wasn’t disappointed that he wouldn’t be watching Jax’s face when he opened around Oz’s cock.

Jax handed off the condom and reached for the waistband of his boxer briefs.

Oz pushed his hand away. “Let me. Get comfortable.”

Jax’s chuckle as he rolled over made Oz smile in return.