Ropes and Dreams (5 page)

His gut kept telling him that Drake was the man to do it. Ian just had to hope he didn’t fuck up when he tried to talk to Drake. To that end, he could practise again, pretend Drake was right there in front of him.

Ian groaned. Damn it, he had to be the dorkiest Dom ever.

* * * *

“Well, it sounds like he was flirting,” Troy said doubtfully despite the words he used. He sounded like he couldn’t believe what he was saying. “I mean, geez, Office McCain was about as articulate as a block of petrified wood. Good-looking, though.”

“Yup,” Will agreed, shifting in his seat as he forked up some eggs. “Those icy blue eyes are killer, too.” Then he frowned. “Kind of creepy. Maybe he’s an alien and he hasn’t learned to imitate human emotions yet.”

“Don’t be a dick,” Troy told him, but he smiled and winked so there was no sting to the chastisement. “That colour of eyes has always been a bit disconcerting to see because it’s so rare and so pure. I mean, you can’t get it with contacts.”

“I was wondering what you meant,” Carlos muttered around a mouthful of food. He swallowed and continued. “But just ’cause someone has a rare eye colour don’t make them any less human. Y’all know how anyone different catches shit for it. What you wanna bet Officer McCain got teased plenty when he was a kid?”

“Well, now I feel like an asshole,” Will grumbled as he set his fork down, the eggs on it uneaten. “That would explain his demeanour.”

“Never saw anyone so emotionless myself,” Troy admitted.

Drake was beginning to get irritated. “Can we just stop talking about him? I hated being gossiped about and doing it to someone else is shitty.”

Troy, Carlos and Will all looked at him with matching expressions of surprise. Drake tried not to blush but could tell by how hot his face was that he failed. He turned back to the dishes he’d been washing while talking about Officer McCain. He hadn’t meant to gossip, he’d just wanted to know if he was reading too much into the police officer’s dinner request.

“I think I’ll have time to answer his questions around dinnertime,” Troy finally said after Drake had washed the same plate three times. “You’re gonna scrub the design right off that dish.”

“It’s plain white,” Drake told him, holding the sudsy plate up high enough that Troy could see it.

“Didn’t used to be,” Troy quipped. “Better look in the water for the flower that was painted on it.”

Drake rolled his eyes, not that anyone could see him do it. He rinsed the plate off and put it in the drainer. “So, is that your way of saying he
was
coming on to me?”

“Hard to say. He might just want a decent meal. Single men don’t usually cook much.”

Drake turned back and glared at Carlos. “Stereotyping much?”

Carlos hitched a shoulder up and down. “Nope. It’s just a fact. Maybe that’s changing, but I think, if anything, women aren’t cooking so much anymore either.”

“Why, when you can get fast food for less than it costs to buy the stuff to make a meal?” Will added.

“Well, whatever. I don’t know anything about that stuff.” Drake wasn’t a particular deep thinker normally. Rigo, however, was changing that. Drake was having to really examine himself and why he did the things he did.

“Just cook whatever you’d planned to for dinner,” Troy advised. “Call Officer McCain and let him know he’s welcome to come eat with us, and he can ask his questions beforehand. That way, if he’s interested, and you want to, y’all can chat after we eat.”

“I don’t know,” Drake mumbled. He’d said no more men. Shouldn’t he stick to that? Then there was the whole HIV scare. How did he go about bringing that up, and when was he supposed to?

Carlos pushed his empty plate aside. “If you’re worried about him catching on to the three of us, don’t be. We won’t be humping on each other in front of him.”

Will groaned and reached back to rub his butt. “I never thought I’d say this, but after what y’all did to me last night, I don’t think I can take anything else up my ass for a day or two.”

Carlos and Troy looked plumb shocked at that. Drake wondered what, exactly, had been done to Will’s ass last night.

“I’m not telling,” Will sing-songed, and Drake flipped him off.

“Like I’d want to know.”
Jackass.

“You know you do,” Will told him. “I’ll give you a hint—”

“No—”

Will kept talking. “It involved body parts inside of me other than dicks. Or tongues. So, you know, hands. Well, one hand at a time. Carlos first, then Troy.”

Drake turned away and clenched his ass cheeks automatically as his stomach dipped. As much as he’d like to say the idea of being fisted didn’t do anything for him, the truth was, his cock had become erect in record time.

“That’s probably an overshare, Will,” Troy rumbled.

“Probably,” Will agreed. “But it’s cute the way even Drake’s ears turned red. Look at the backs of them.”

“I’m pretty sure this could qualify as sexual harassment,” Drake groused.

“Right, because it’s totally not got your dick as hard as a steel pipe,” Will crowed, cackling like he’d said something brilliant.

“Like I would ever claim sexual harassment anyway. Listening to y’all’s escapades is the only sex life I have.” Drake glared down at his cock where it was pressed against his zipper. He was going to go to the bathroom, beat off then tuck down and to the left after this.

“It doesn’t have to be that way. You could always jump Officer McStudmuffin.”

Drake snorted so hard it made his throat ache and his eyes water.

Will joined him at the sink and pushed gently at Drake’s shoulder until Drake finally gave up trying to avoid eye contact. “The tests have been negative, Drake. You can’t keep living in fear.”

“But—” Drake began. Will held up a finger.

“I’m not saying be careless, ’cause,
duh
, that’s dumb. You can always tell McStudmuffin the truth—that you have a bastard of an ex and want to make sure you’re safe, that you’ve been tested twice and both tests came back negative, but that you are unwilling to take any kind of risks, so it’s mandatory that you both be jacketed up for any coming.” Will lowered his finger only to poke Drake in the chest. “Seriously, dude, you can’t spend the rest of your life beating off. You’re a stud yourself and shouldn’t deny a potential lover the pleasure making love to you could bring you both.”

“Fucking,” Drake clarified, grabbing onto the only thing he could think of to protest in that declaration. “That whole making love bit is for people who love each other.” And while he might end up caving on the sex part, Drake would not let his heart be risked again. Besides, he always fell for jerks who never loved him back, didn’t he?

“Fucking’s good too,” Will said. “So what are you making for dinner?”

Drake raced through recipes in his mind. He didn’t have a whole lot of the ingredients he needed for most of them, and was kind of still learning to plan ahead on menus and buying enough groceries as he went along. The fried chicken he’d been planning would leave him sweaty and stinky from cooking it, but it was one of his better meals.

“Fried chicken,” he got out, but before he could finish his menu plan Troy whooped and Will squealed. Drake barely had time to catch Will as the man flung himself at Drake.

“I love your fried chicken! Oh, and mashed potatoes? Please?” Will batted his lashes.

Drake frowned, looking at them. “Are you wearing mascara?”

Will scowled. “Fucking stuff didn’t come off with soap and water, and I couldn’t find my makeup remover.”

“Yeah, mashed potatoes, mac and cheese, gravy and some kind of green veggie,” Drake said, anticipating the groans that last one would bring. The guys really weren’t much on eating plants, as Carlos called it. Drake still cooked it and made them eat it by threatening to withhold dessert.

“Strawberry shortcake, if you three eat your veggies like good boys.”

Carlos snarled at him and Drake winked. The older man obviously didn’t like being called a boy, and Drake wouldn’t do it again, but he wasn’t apologising. They all needed to learn to take a joke, and if Carlos didn’t like that one, then he could eat his dang veggies.

The rest of the day seemed to drag by. Drake told himself it was because he was nervous and checking the clock every few minutes, but of course he knew better. He was trying very hard not to be excited, not to get his hopes up. No one as attractive as Officer McCain appeared to be had ever been interested in Drake. Why would they be? He wasn’t handsome, and could stand to lose fifteen pounds. He’d lost ten already owing to the stress he’d been under.

At noon, he left a voicemail for McCain letting him know when Troy was available. At the last moment, he tossed in a rather panicked-sounding invitation to dinner. Then Drake took Buddy outside and put him into the pen Carlos and Troy had erected for the puppies.

Salt strode over the minute Drake set Buddy down. Drake tensed, his nerves jangling together like a ring of keys in the washer. He cocked his head and looked at Salt in his peripheral vision. “Hey.”

Salt stopped beside him and Drake had to actually turn to meet his gaze then. “Everything go okay with that cop last night?”

Drake feared his idea of okay and Salt’s were probably two different things. “Yeah, sure, I guess. He’ll be back tonight to talk to Troy.”

Salt narrowed his eyes and glared at some point past Drake’s left shoulder for a second before looking at him again. “If he makes any unwanted advances…”

Drake was shaking his head immediately and he held his hands up and out. “No, nuh-uh, Salt. I don’t know what’s going on here, but I can take care of myself. I don’t need you chasing off anyone on my behalf.”

“But he’s—” Salt stopped and huffed before speaking again. “Damn it, he ain’t the kind of guy you think he is, Drake.”

Drake turned fully to Salt and glared right back at him. “How do you know what kind of man he is?”

Salt rubbed at his temples, then lifted his Stetson up with one hand so he could run the fingers of his other hand through his salt and pepper hair. Drake wondered if Salt was called that because of his hair. Had to be, otherwise why not just call him by his real name, Saul?

“I just do.” Salt sighed and set his hat back on his head. He cupped the back of his neck. “Okay, see, here’s the thing. I know I seen him before, thought he looked familiar when he got out of that cruiser. Then by the time I walked over, I had it. Shit.” He closed his eyes for a moment, opening them again quickly.

“Just tell me.” Geesh, he’d never have thought Salt was a drama queen.

“Fine,” Salt ground out. “Saw him at a leather club in Bozeman a while back. He was whaling the tar outta some poor sucker, whipping the shit out of him, okay? That the kinda thing you’re into?”

Drake’s head spun and he felt a bit wobbly. He reached for the pen and held onto it as shock flooded him.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so. A guy like that, he ain’t gonna go all vanilla,” Salt continued. “That sub didn’t bleed, but he was screamin’ something awful. I know he had a safe word and all that, but maybe he was hurtin’ too bad to holler it out.”

“Or maybe he really wanted it,” Drake said faintly.
Jesus, what is going on with me?
He’d gone hard in an instant again, and he didn’t know why. The idea of being whipped scared the hell out of him—but obviously his cock thought it was hot. The skin on his back burned with phantom lashes and Drake cleared his throat. “I don’t like gossiping, Salt. I just don’t, not when it’s people we know.”

“Yeah, well, that ain’t gossip,” Salt informed him. “That there’s the God’s honest truth. He’s into the heavy stuff, and you can’t tell me you are.”

Drake gaped at him until he managed to speak. “Uh, Salt, I don’t have to tell you anything. I don’t know what horse kicked you to make you think you own me, but you don’t, and you won’t.” Drake knew it was bitchy, but he wasn’t perfect and he lost his temper at times.

Salt gave him a curt nod and walked off, his broad shoulders stiff-looking.

“Geez, Buddy, I feel like an asshole.” Drake’s temper cooled as quickly as it had risen. He watched Salt disappear into the horse barn. Drake kicked at the ground. He would have to apologise to Salt, but not yet. If he did it now, Salt might think Drake was interested.

“God, this is too complicated.” Drake hadn’t had two guys interested in him at the same time before. Not that he’d known of, at least. But was Salt right? Had he really seen Officer McCain whipping someone? Drake didn’t think he was lying, but maybe he’d just seen someone who looked a lot like the police officer.

Except Drake doubted that was the case—belatedly, he wondered what the heck Salt had been doing in a place like that. Why was he casting stones in Officer McCain’s direction for being there and doing something that must have been fine with the club owner and the sub? Drake knew enough about BDSM, since it’d been all over the dang place owing to a certain book’s popularity, to know that safe words were used and the sub was supposed to be the one in control.

He also knew both of those rules were violated at times, because some people just sucked. Whatever Salt’s reason for being there, he couldn’t cast aspersions on McCain for being in the club, too, or for whipping someone if both parties wanted it.

Would McCain want to do that to him? Drake’s legs quivered as desire swirled in his groin. Rigo had slapped him a few times, and Drake had hated it.

But Rigo was mad at me. The last time, when I left, especially. That’s not the same thing as agreeing to be hurt. Rigo took away my choice in the matter.
Drake had expected a true beating when he’d told Rigo he was out of there. A slap that had jarred his brain was less pain than he’d bargained for, and he’d left before Rigo could take another swing.

A slap had to be less painful than a whip, though. Drake took a few steadying breaths. Was he interested in being hurt? He couldn’t figure the answer out. Part of him was afraid that he was, and that it was a form of self-loathing. Another part of him was afraid he wasn’t—and he didn’t know what the heck was wrong with that part of him!