Special Delivery: Special Delivery, Book 1 (15 page)

“So you ran off with a stranger?”

She made
stranger
sound like
axe murderer
. Sam hunched further into himself. “It just sort of happened. I texted Mitch, and I guess he was close, because he said if I got to the truck stop, he’d pick me up.” Okay, this sounded crazy out loud. His hand tightened on his phone. “So…I went, and…” He gave up. “Emma, don’t be mad.”

“Mad? Sam, I’m
scared
. Who is this guy? God, am I going to read about how they find your mutilated body in some ditch?”

“He’s the guy from the alley—you thought he was okay then.”

“Yeah, when he was a casual lay. Sam, do you even know anything about him? What if he’s some sort of pervert?”

Sam started to say Mitch wasn’t, but he remembered the porn and faltered. He was starting to feel a little sick, and he didn’t care for it. “I shouldn’t have called.”

“Why didn’t you call me when this happened?” she demanded, now sounding hurt as well as angry. “I would have taken you in, you idiot.”

“What, forever?” Sam’s stomach hurt. “Forget it, Emma. I’m sorry. I’ll be fine.”

“Come home, Sam.” She was pleading now. “Get on a plane, and I’ll come get you. You can come and stay with me. I’ll talk to my mom, and we’ll find a way to get the apartment. We’ll find you some other job, and we’ll find a way to get you tuition for the fall.
Come home.
”

Sam didn’t know what to do. He’d felt good today, mostly, but there was the awkwardness from earlier in the morning and the fact that Mitch had yet to so much as wink at him since breakfast. Should he go back? Was Emma right? He looked out at the mountains, which appeared more and more ominous.

“Sam?”

Emma sounded worried. Sam jerked himself out of his fear reverie. “I don’t know. I don’t know.”

“Then come back.”

The door to the cab opened, and Sam startled guiltily. “I gotta go,” he said, and hung up. He turned to face Mitch, ready to explain. Mitch appeared unconcerned—in fact, he seemed quite happy.

“Sunshine, get your dancin’ shoes on because we are going to party. I got the fencing load to Cortez—for my
full
rate, and I don’t have to start off until morning.”

“Oh?” Sam tried to sound happy too.

“And I got Fuzzy to lend me his truck, so I can show you around town.” He pointed at the curtain. “Go on—get yourself a shower, if you want.”

Sam did, so Mitch showed him how to use the shower, and the toilet, which Sam was distracted by for a moment marveling how, really, you could use both at once, if you wanted. He hurried through his ablutions. Mitch apparently
did
wash his hair with bar soap, and Sam had to climb out wet and fish his own shampoo and conditioner out of the pack. He fussed and primped as much as he could with limited supplies. When he exited the cab, Mitch, who had been leaning against the front fender as he smoked and sipped at a Mountain Dew, narrowed his eyes appreciatively as he stubbed out his cigarette.

“You look damn fine, Sunshine.”

Sam smoothed his hand self-consciously over his hair. “I should have packed a blow dryer.”

“We’ll stop at a Walmart on the way.” Mitch squeezed Sam’s butt as he came past. “I won’t be long, honey, and then we’ll go eat. Go on inside, though.”

Sam would rather have stayed outside, but he didn’t want to argue, so he followed him in. Mitch wasn’t long, technically, but Sam spent the whole time Mitch was in the shower pacing back and forth in the tiny space, alternately glancing out at the mountains and toward home. By the time Mitch came out,
Sam
wanted a cigarette.

He settled into his seat while Mitch dressed, trying to be polite and not ogle, but he wished he hadn’t resisted when Mitch finally appeared. He looked
good
. He was much the same as he had appeared before, except more scrubbed, and his eyes were bright. He wore cowboy boots, and he had on a cream-colored button-down, but his jeans were the same faded blue. Sam’s only complaint was that Mitch’s hair would look a lot better once it dried and got messed up again. Mitch didn’t seem to care, though, eagerly herding Sam out of the cab and toward a beat-up brown pickup truck near the side of the warehouse.

They did stop at a Walmart, where Mitch made Sam pick out a hair dryer, and more food and drinks too. They didn’t have any sparkling water, only the name brand San Pellegrino, which while it was Sam’s favorite wasn’t very economical. When Sam tried to stop at one, though, Mitch put four more in the cart. They poked through the clothes but didn’t get anything, and after paying, they were back on I-25 and heading into downtown Denver. Mitch gave him a small tour as they drove.

“They have this mall that’s closed to all traffic but a shuttle bus, which is nice. The Mint is here too. They hold a Grand Prix race through the downtown once a year, though I’ve never been here for it. And they have the stadiums, of course. Anywhere in particular you want to see?”

“I don’t know.” Sam rubbed his arms. Emma’s warnings kept swirling in his head. “Wherever. Whatever.”

“Are you cold?” Mitch started to roll up his window.

“I’m fine.” Sam put his hands in his lap.

“Hungry? You only had that peanut butter sandwich for lunch.”

Sam thought if he tried to eat he would throw up. He might anyway. “No, thank you.”

Mitch’s concern faded to tension, which was just as well because Sam wasn’t exactly calm. God, he felt so stupid.

After awhile Mitch cleared his throat. “Do you…want me to take you to the airport?”

Sam shut his eyes, hung his head and drew his knees up onto the seat. “No,” he murmured.
And yes.

More silence. Sam was dimly aware they were driving through a residential area now. God, he
should
go home.

“How about,” Mitch said after awhile, “we go somewhere and have a drink?”

“Okay.” Sam kept his body tucked in tight against itself.

Mitch turned the truck around at a boulevard and headed into the downtown, and all the while Sam sat swimming in chaos. He tried to lose himself in a sense of history, to imagine he was on some wagon train, but he kept coming back to how ridiculous he felt, and how childish, and how he wished he were already drunk.

He was momentarily distracted as they parked in front of what could only be a gay bar, given the rainbow signs hanging in the windows, and he felt a little better, thinking it would be nice for a change to go into one of these places with a partner. Then he remembered how stupid he was being with Mitch, and he fell back into his awkwardness as he followed Mitch through the door and up to the bar.

“Two tequila shooters,” Mitch said to the bartender. He turned to Sam. “What for a chaser?”

Sam’s head swam. “I don’t…” He bit his lip.
So stupid.

“A beer,” Mitch answered for him, and he picked something random off the tap.

“I’m sorry.” Sam flattened his hands on the top of the bar so they’d stop shaking.

“Drink.” Mitch shoved the shooters at him. “Then we’ll talk.”

Sam downed the first tequila shot and gagged.

When he’d recovered, Mitch took his hand and turned it over, exposing his wrist. “You’re supposed to lick it.” When Sam stared at him in confusion, Mitch lifted his arm and aimed Sam’s wrist at his mouth. “Lick, Sunshine.”

With only a moment’s hesitation, Sam’s tongue stole out to lick his own skin. When Sam tried to withdraw, Mitch shook his head. “More.”

Sam licked again, more slowly, and heat built inside of him, especially when Mitch lowered his arm, salted the wet spot and brought it back to Sam’s mouth.

“Lick the salt off.”

Sam did, making a face all the way until Mitch pressed the second shot glass into his hand.

“Drink.”

Sam did, and as he lowered the glass, Mitch came at him with a wedge of lime, which he tucked gently into Sam’s mouth.

“Suck.”

Sam did, shutting his eyes against the tang and the watery way the two shots of tequila made him feel. When he opened his eyes, Mitch took the lime out of his mouth, pushed his beer at him and nodded to the bartender and said, “Two more, and a second Coors.”

“I can’t do two more,” Sam protested, but he did so weakly. He felt calmer. Maybe this was the answer: stay drunk.

“One of them is for me.” When the bartender brought back the next round, Mitch put one glass in front of Sam and the other in front of himself, licking Sam’s wrist before salting it. By the time he sucked the lime, Sam’s dick pulsed, not hard but getting there, and when he did another shot, chasing his lime juice away with a swig of beer, he felt much better than he had when he’d come in.

Mitch, though, looked worse. He stared into his beer. “I’m sorry.”

That threw Sam. “What?”

Mitch took a long drink before answering. “For yesterday. Last night. I went too fast. I tried not to, but I did, didn’t I?”

Sam frowned, thinking the tequila must have already made him too fuzzy. “Fast? You mean the…spanking?”

Mitch nodded grimly. “And what came after. I’m sorry if I scared you. I’m trying so hard not to screw this up. You were just so…” his fingers tightened visibly on his glass, “…hot.”

“Scared me?” Sam couldn’t believe this. “No, you didn’t scare me. Not until…”

“Yes?” Mitch leaned forward. “When did I scare you?”

Sam blushed, partly from the alcohol but mostly from a complete panic over how he was supposed to answer this. He couldn’t very well admit he’d been nervous after Mitch
didn’t
fuck him.

Mitch watched him intently. Sam’s face was beet red now, and he knew the bartender was listening. “I was scared when you stopped.” He stared at the top of the bar, into the empty shot glasses. “I thought I’d done something wrong. I probably did.” Sam’s face burned so hot it felt distended. He looked up at the bartender. “Can I please have more tequila?”

The bartender grinned and grabbed the bottle. Sam gripped his beer, let out a sigh and drained the rest of it.

When he set his glass down, another shooter sat in front of him. The bartender winked. Wincing inwardly, Sam bent over and pressed his forehead to the top of the bar. He stilled at a gentle touch at his neck, and he shut his eyes and exhaled when Mitch brushed his lips against Sam’s ear. “Are you telling me you weren’t scared off, but upset because I didn’t do
more
to you?”

“You know,” Sam said to the top of the bar, “if you want to have them leave me a bottle and give me a quiet corner, I could stay here for a few hours, get insanely drunk, and then you could pour me onto a bus.”

“Sunshine.” Fingers slithered through his hair.

The next thing Sam knew, Mitch hoisted him upright by the collar of his T-shirt. Sam watched his wrist lift from the table, but when Mitch turned it over and applied his own tongue to Sam’s pulse, Sam lost the little air left in his lungs. Sam kept his eyes on Mitch’s as the other man salted Sam’s skin before licking it off. He caught Sam’s finger and thumb as well before drawing away, and he kept their eyes locked as Mitch tipped the shot into his mouth before reaching for a lime. When Mitch sucked hard on the fruit, Sam had to close his eyes, the intensity of the moment and the volume of alcohol in his system more than he could take.

Mitch tossed the spent lime into the bowl with the others and pulled his wallet out of his pocket.

“We’re leaving?” Sam asked, confused and a little concerned.

“We’re taking a walk.” Mitch pushed several bills toward the bartender. “We’ll be back.”

“We’ll be waiting for you,” the bartender said as Mitch slid a hand around Sam’s waist and took hold of his ass.

Chapter Eleven

Sam felt nervous but hopeful, fairly sure there’d be sex now. He was loose enough thanks to the tequila to not care about much else. Mitch took them past the truck to the street, where he discreetly held Sam’s arm as they angled toward a park. Once there Mitch aimed them at a bench, and they both sat down. Mitch leaned his elbows on his knees and stared at the ground. Finally, he spoke.

“So.” His fingers rubbed over each other before lacing together to still the nervous movement. “I guess we need to talk.”

“Okay,” Sam said, drunk, lost and confused.

Mitch held himself rigidly in his posture. He seemed so nervous, and it was odd to watch. “I had it all worked out in my head how I was going to take it nice and slow, and then the next thing I knew I was offering to spank you, and then—my God, Sunshine.” He ran a hand over his face.

Sam felt somehow he was missing something important. “That’s…okay. It was different, but I liked it.”

This did not console Mitch. He rocked on his heels, ready to vault off the bench, but then he stopped and stared down at his hands as he twined his fingers together between his knees.

“I told you I used to…do stuff. Kinky stuff. It ended badly.” He puffed his cheeks full of breath and blew the air out. “I don’t want this to end badly too.”

Sam didn’t either. But he didn’t understand how being all awkward was going to help. “What happened?”

“There’s this guy. The one you remind me of. We used to…do things. We traveled together.” Mitch’s fingers tangled. “We were real good friends, but we fucked it up. Bad. And we did it by letting games get away from us.”