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  Then there was something worse that kept popping up in Casey’s mind.

  Casey couldn’t help but wonder if he’d made Hunter angry enough to be kicked out of the house - or worse - to lose him as a friend. He suddenly felt badly about the whole thing and wanted to rewind time to how things were before, but he couldn’t. He’d made that wish thousands of times in his life, listing all of the things he’d have changed. His brother enlisting. Letting McDermott talk him out of going to culinary school. Staying with McDermott as long as he had, while knowing, deep down, that things were never going to go any further. Now he just had one more thing to add to it.

  He sat on his bed, looking down at the notebook he’d bought to use to make lists to keep himself organized. There was one other thing he could try, but the thought terrified him. He’d been a decent student in school, but there had been one class in which he’d always excelled: English. His teachers had always told him that he had an excellent grasp of the English language, and how to put words together in a way that flowed naturally and beautifully. Unfortunately, that hadn’t always carried over to when he spoke, as his recent predicament proved. He knew, though, if he tried writing down his apology, he could make it all clear. He also knew that if Hunter refused to read it, they were done. He’d be out of options. He also knew that while he’d be able to hide his romantic feelings for Hunter, he would have to expose just how much the other man meant to him, even if only platonically.

  “Man up,” he muttered to himself. This was his time to make a choice. He could risk being hurt or he could lose his only friend, and possibly his home.

  Taking a deep breath, he put pen to paper and began.

  Hunter,

  This silence is killing me. You’ve been so good to me, letting me live here and having my back. No one’s done that for me since my brother died. I hate that I hurt you. I never meant to. For as much as I talk, sometimes I can’t get the words to come out right. So, here, I’m going to tell you what I should have said before.

  You are smart. You are one of the smartest, kindest, most sincere people I’ve ever known. I’ve seen how you fix things just by looking at them and figuring out how they work. I’ve watched you figure out how many bales of hay you can fit into the back of your truck without needing to measure either one, and I know it’s not just practice because I’ve seen you do it with other things.

  I don’t want to change you so you’re ‘worthy’ of me or some shit like that. I want to bring out the intelligence that I know you have, because I want us both to walk into that reunion and show those sons of bitches what amazing people we both are. I know it’s not your school and those aren't the same bastards who were cruel to you, but they’re cut from the same cloth. Trust me.

  I want them to see what I see every day when I look at you: a strong, handsome man with a sharp, brilliant mind and a kind heart. If you want to go in your work jeans and flannel shirt, with hay in your beard and dirt on your hands, I’ll stand proudly by your side. The fact that you’re willing to do this for me means more than I can ever say, and I swear that I will never put you in a position where you feel like you’re not good enough. You are. You’re more than good enough. You’re the best.

  _________ o _________

  CHAPTER 22

  Casey lost himself in the rhythm of brushing Dollie’s coat, automatically stepping back as she did her usual side shuffle. It amazed him to think how far he’d come in less than two months. The horse no longer scared him. In fact, during the time Hunter had been ignoring him, Casey had found himself in the barn more and more, talking as he cared for the mare. She didn’t care that his voice was higher than most men’s. Her ears twitched when she heard him speak, and she’d nudge his shirt, looking for carrots and sugar. He almost smiled. If someone had told him two months ago that he’d be on a farm taking care of a horse, he would’ve laughed at them. Now he couldn’t imagine being anywhere else, and the idea that Hunter would make him leave terrified him.

  “So, I been thinkin’.” Hunter appeared in the doorway.

  Casey started, but only for a moment. He was going to take this like a man. No crying or begging. He’d let Hunter say his piece, then go up and pack. Maybe Hunter would let him stay until the morning at least.

  “Yeah?” Casey let his eyes flick up towards Hunter, his stomach twisting in knots as he thought how this would be the last time he’d get to see Hunter like this.

  Hunter shrugged, “S’all right. I wanna do it for ya.”

  Casey froze. He didn’t want to dare to hope. “Hunter…”

  “I read your letter.” Hunter’s voice was much closer now.

  Goose bumps coated Casey’s skin as the familiar smell of Hunter reached him. It was sweat and hard work, and something more masculine than anything Casey had ever smelled before. He’d read Casey’s letter. He hadn’t been sure that Hunter wouldn’t have just thrown it away, and even if Hunter had read it, there had been no guarantee that he’d believe a word of it.

  He turned towards Hunter now, daring to meet those clear blue eyes.“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. It came out all wrong. You’re fine the way you are. I like the way you are.”

  “And I like you,” Hunter said. His eyes caught Casey’s for longer than a minute.

  Casey’s heart raced. “Okay,” he said. “I’m so sorry. I don’t want you to feel like you aren’t good enough. Ever.”

  Hunter shrugged his shoulders and smiled. “That’s what your letter said, and I believe you.” He put his hand on Casey’s arm. “So, what do we gotta do to get started?”

  _________ o _________

  CHAPTER 23

  “Hunter, can you come in here a second?” Casey said. He turned on classical music to aid in his new project. For the past week-and-a-half, he’d been working with Hunter on diction and enunciation, trying not to acknowledge the irony of him teaching someone to speak properly. He’d gone to the library and taken out several books, both classics and newer, popular ones, making sure he stuck with authors who emphasized proper English. Hunter didn’t need to read Mark Twain. He already spoke like Huck Finn. When he’d seen Hunter sitting in his chair, immersed in one of Casey’s favorites, his heart had done a silly-like skip.

  Now, it was time to continue the Eliza Doolittle transformation by focusing on posture and movement.

  “What’s with the music?” Hunter asked, as he entered the living room. “You gonna teach me to dance or something?” When Casey gave him a stern look, Hunter rolled his eyes and said, “Are you going to teach me to dance?”

  “Not exactly. We’ve got to start with the basics. Walking.”

  “Walking? I know how to walk. My mom taught me good.”

  Casey cringed at the misuse of the English language. A glance at Hunter, however, revealed eyes sparkling with laughter. Casey couldn’t help but laugh and shake his head. He kept going. “Here’s the thing. There’s walking and then there’s walking.”

  Casey mimicked and over-exaggerated the country boy way he walked. “That is not walking.”

  Hunter blushed, “Is that supposed to be me?”

  “It’s not supposed to be. It is you. And it’s a definite no-no. A gentleman walks with style, with grace,” Casey said. He walked past Hunter with a touch of flair, but with less swing in his hips than he usually used. He wasn’t trying to turn Hunter into him. “You can still be a man, and a masculine one at that, without walking like you’re carrying a load in your pants.”

  Hunter blushed, and burst out laughing. “Alright.”

  “So ... left, right, left, right, swing your arms, Hunter .... there you go,” he instructed.

  Hunter tried, but his limbs were too stiff and robotic.

  Casey tried a few times, but he just wasn’t getting it. Casey closed his eyes and sighed.

  “What’s wrong?” Hunter asked, frustrated too.

  Casey took a deep breath, wiping his hands across his face to calm himself. How was he going to make Hunter understand? Pro
fessor Henry Higgins hadn’t had this much of a problem with his protégé. A light bulb went off. Maybe that would work. One of the first things that he and Hunter had ever had a real conversation about had been about their mutual love of old Westerns. It was time for a change of tactics.

  “Okay, so you like old movies, right?”

  “Yep,” Hunter answered.

  “So imagine: this is not a John Wayne movie, this is a ... You know what this is? This is a Cary Grant movie.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. Close your eyes now and be Cary Grant.” Casey smiled, pleased with himself.

  He squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them.

  Casey’s smile drooped and he sighed, “You don’t know who Cary Grant is, do you?”

  “Nope,” he said.

  _________ o _________

  CHAPTER 24

  Casey couldn’t keep his eyes off of it. Battling between Hunter’s ruggedly handsome looks and the big bowl of buttered popcorn lodged in the other man’s crotch, Casey didn’t know where to look. He forced himself to focus on something else—anything else.

  But it was so hard.

  His stomach sank as he saw this man, this perfect man, just inches away. Being cool with the fact that he liked other dudes was one thing, but Casey knew better than to cross the line. He could never risk losing this new friendship with Hunter.

  Hunter lifted a handful of popcorn and popped it in his mouth. His fingers slid out of his full lips, while his tongue was licking his fingertips, sucking slowly. Casey was so turned on in that instant, all he could think to do was throw the popcorn to the floor and lick the butter off Hunter’s fingers.

  Stop. Casey told himself. He doesn’t like you like that. You’re only going to get your heart broken and ruin your friendship. This is a job, a living situation, maybe a good friendship. Nothing more.

  And even though he knew the logic made sense, the more he thought about it, the more it saddened him. He stared at the TV screen and soon his mind drifted. It was a comedy, and even though the film was practically ancient, it was hilarious. He blurted out a laugh and Hunter laughed back. His eyes drifted Casey’s direction.

  Hunter didn’t know what it was about Casey, but he wanted to be around him all the time. Most people had failed or disappointed him in one way or another, and Hunter only hoped Casey wouldn’t be the same. He didn’t want another failure to add to his list, although he couldn’t say why it mattered to him so much that it was Casey who succeeded while others had failed.

  Through the wafting smell of buttery popcorn, Hunter couldn’t stop looking at Casey. His heart thudded wildly in his chest, but he didn’t know why. It’d be one thing if it was another chick on his couch. He would have banged her by now, legs up in the air, moaning the night away.

  But it was another man.

  Another man whose lips he was picturing wrapped around his finger, sucking off the butter and salt from the popcorn. What would it feel like, to have a man’s mouth traveling down his chest, licking every inch of it? Would it be different to have a man go down on him rather than a woman? It would be hot and wet, but would Casey’s mouth feel different than… hers?

  He pushed her name away before it could form, and then realized that his thoughts had made his cock hard. He shifted it in his sweat pants, hoping Casey wouldn’t notice. He didn’t want to have to explain himself, especially since he wouldn’t feel right lying, not after being so adamant about it.

  He didn’t know what to do. He’d never been with a man. Hadn’t even fantasized about one, not really. Sure, there had been a couple times in his life when he’d looked at a particularly good looking guy and thought he was attractive, but he’d always reasoned that was just an appreciation of beauty. It wasn’t sexual at all. Now, though, with thoughts of the young man next to him dropping to his knees and slowly peeling down...

  “Are you liking it so far?” Casey asked, the question almost sounding shy.

  Hunter wondered how Casey could read his mind. He stuttered. “Liking what?”

  “The movie.”

  Hunter readjusted again, spilling popcorn all over his legs. “Oh, uh, yeah.”

  “Are you even watching it?” Casey snapped.

  “I’m sitting here, aren’t I?” Hunter brushed the popcorn onto the floor.

  Casey scowled. “This is important. I’m just trying to show you how a gentleman carries himself. If you don’t even care, we’ll just turn it off.” He started to reach for the remote, but Hunter snatched it away.

  He stared deeply into Casey’s eyes. “I do care. I’ll pay more attention.” He forced his direction back to the film and hoped the comedy would move his thoughts elsewhere. It didn’t work. He spent the entire rest of the film trying desperately not to be aware of how close Casey was sitting, where Casey’s hands were, if Casey was looking at him.

  By the time he finally mumbled an excuse about being exhausted, he had to hold the popcorn bowl in front of him to hide his erection. He was still half hard when he got into bed and stretched out, working his hand down the front of his boxers for his nightly jerk off session.

  For most of the past two-and-a-half years, there had been only one face in his mind when he’d gotten off. It had hurt to think about her after what she’d done, but he’d loved her and hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her. He’d tried reminding himself about how he’d caught her in bed with his former best friend. In their bed. Fucking next to their engagement picture, her ring in front of it. The lies they’d both told ringing in his ears. He hated liars.

  No matter how many times that scene and their lies had replayed in his mind, she’d still been the first person who came into his head, and even when he’d tried to push her away, she’d always show up just as he’d climax.

  For the past eight months or so, he’d managed to keep her out of his head, choosing instead other fantasies, some drawn from other points of time in his past, some from things he’d watched. Over the past month, however, he’d had a more difficult time finding images of women who turned him on. It didn’t seem to matter how horny he was; he’d have to search his thoughts for several minutes before he could settle on someone to get the job done.

  Now, as his hand closed around his hardening shaft, he concentrated on a pretty brunette he’d seen on a commercial before he and Casey had started watching the movie. He closed his eyes and began to stroke himself, letting his imagination wander.

  She was kneeling in front of him, reaching for his cock. She touched him, stroked him, tried to get him hard. She whispered that she wanted him to touch her, to fuck her.

  Hunter frowned as his body failed to respond. In fact, he was pretty sure he was losing his erection. He thought harder, trying to think of something that would work. Bending her over the couch. Fucking her on the kitchen table. Taking her to his bed and removing her clothes…

  Even as he imagined it, her body shifted, morphed, and changed. Lean, strong muscles with just a hint of softness. A face almost too pretty for a guy. A soft voice that said it was okay to look. Okay to touch. Hunter groaned, feeling his shaft swell under his fingers. He didn’t try to stop himself, instead letting his mind keep going, bringing forward the fantasies that had been creeping up on him for weeks.

  Those pouty lips wrapped around his cock.

  Legs over his shoulders.

  That voice pleading for more, begging for harder and faster.

  “Casey.” The name fell from his lips even as he came, his body shaking with the force of his release, his stomach twisting as he wondered what this meant.

  _________ o _________

  CHAPTER 25

  When all was said and done, Casey felt badly about snapping at Hunter like he had. He’d never lost his temper like that and felt like shit over it. He knew why he’d done it. No one could put up with that amount of sexual frustration and not feel like they were ready to pop. He’d refrained from jerking off the whole time he’d been at the farmhouse, not wanting to risk H
unter catching him and freaking out. Straight guys tended to think that gay guys were always getting off thinking about them. In this case, that would’ve been accurate. Last night, however, Casey hadn’t been able to contain himself any longer. He’d taken an extra long shower, biting his lip to keep in the moans as he imagined Hunter running his hands all over Casey’s body. While the climax had felt amazing, it had just added to Casey’s guilt. He’d never fantasized about a straight friend before, and to do it to Hunter seemed worse somehow. Because he couldn’t confess that part of it, Casey decided to make it up to Hunter by cooking his favorite Mexican-style omelets.

  Casey couldn’t help but smile as he approached Hunter with the biggest smile on his face and a steaming cup of strong, black coffee.

  “Good morning,” Hunter said pulling out the solid oak chair for Casey, then himself. He didn’t meet Casey’s eyes.

  “About last night,” Casey said. Hunter’s eyes darted towards him and then back down to the table. “I’m sorry for snapping at you. I was just tired.” Not exactly the right word, but it would have to do.

  “Well, I’m sorry I didn’t pay more attention to the movie,” Hunter said. “I was tired too.”

  “Alright then,” Casey said, as he went to the stove. “Hungry?”

  “Sure,” Hunter said, leaning back against the wood. “So, what’s up?”

  “I was thinking we should work on getting the tile taken care of in the upstairs bathroom. It’s supposed to rain most of the day, so it’d be a good day for something indoors,” Casey said, dishing out the tortillas.