Out (Out, #1; Camassia Cove, #6)

by Cara Dee

I’d found Topaz Pages sitting here all alone. Actually, there was a pastry shop too. That was it, though. The two businesses shared a two-story building and a small parking lot. Expansive hills were their backdrop, and the ocean was across the road—well, down a cliffside. It was hot as hell, and cars whooshed by, upsetting the yellow dust. Mansions and beaches weren’t far away, maybe a minute or two in each direction, yet this…this looked like a place God had forgotten.

There was a ground-level porch that snaked around the two shops, and someone cared about this place. The stucco building with a flat roof didn’t look like much on its own, but with the fresh coat of white paint and all the potted flowers, at least the joint was taken care of. Two Parisian tables and four chairs stood outside the pastry shop. Outside the bookstore was a welcome mat that read “Shhh, I’m reading.” The old-fashioned sign inside the door said, “We’re open sometimes.”

“I’ll be right out,” a voice called. A warm, soulful voice. Would this be Henry Bennington, the man I was here for? He was my little brother’s best friend’s estranged uncle and guardian, and all I had to go on was this address, a phone number I couldn’t use, and his name.

The nerves were back. Totally unrelated to Mr. Bennington and all about my other reason for being in this state. Item number two on the list. I fingered the spines of a few old books. Stop thinking about that party. Do something about it instead. I was fucking trying, wasn’t I? Los Angeles had a big gay community. Before I left, I’d go to a gay bar and see if I really was into guys.

Half the time, I still convinced myself it was in my head. Then I’d pass a guy on the street and find him sexy. Time would fly by, and I’d forget him. Gay porn held no interest whatsoever. Straight porn did, while dating an actual woman didn’t—anymore—so one could say I was confused and frustrated. It summed up the past two years of my life.

I was right in the beginning of the aisle, so I had a good view of the counter by the door when a man appeared from a back office. I kinda froze, aside from a gulp that tightened my throat. Don’t swallow your tongue. The man was flipping through the pages of a thick book, and he was fucking gorgeous. In some rugged, strange way. I wasn’t sure. Did I find him beautiful? Maybe that was the wrong word. My mouth ran dry. He looks like how a sucker punch feels.

As I paced the floor of my overpriced motel room, it all became clear. This weekend had been too highly anticipated, and the appearance of Henry Bennington had thrown me. There’d been a block caused by information overload. I hadn’t registered everything when I saw him; it’d lodged itself somewhere and made me tongue-tied.

The Benningtons were old money—way old—and the banker thing implied there would be an expensive suit and a fancy car. Right there was the first glitch. Because in that little bookstore, he’d been sporting cargo shorts and a T-shirt. His hair, while only a couple inches long, was unkempt, and he was far from clean-shaven. Nothing about him screamed old money. Then, yeah, his looks. Goddamn, I hadn’t considered that, ’cause why would I? Why would I head down to California and wonder if my brother’s best friend’s uncle was handsome to the point where I kind of wanted to come in my jeans?

Asking Henry didn’t seem like an awful idea anymore. If he could just guide me through some basics, perhaps I wouldn’t look like a fool when I entered my first gay bar. Of course, this would be after I explained to Henry that I thought he should return to Camassia Cove and slap some sense into his nephew.

“So you don’t wanna talk about what got you upset, huh?” Me and my stupid mouth. He gave me a narrow-eyed look, only to sigh and gesture toward the pastry shop next door. “What gave you that idea, young man whom I don’t know?” For that one, he only got silence from me, and I stifled a smile. “It was my nephew’s birthday last week,” he admitted, visibly uncomfortable, and fuck, now so was I. “We are, sadly, not on good terms, so it was upsetting to see the photos he uploaded from his birthday party.”

The man was fucking torn up about not being in Ty’s life, and I was being a selfish dick because I wanted five minutes alone with his holy hotness to explore whether or not I was into men? Clearly, I fucking was. On some level, anyway.

“My name is Zachary Coleman. My younger brother—Matthew Coleman—is your nephew’s best friend.”

It was clear as day Henry and his brother had been very close, though. Because when Thorne and Shelly died in a car crash, Henry was given custody of Ty, who was twelve at the time. Yet, somehow, Ty ended up living with Henry’s parents. Whoever had made that decision needed to have his kneecaps blown off.

“So tell me what’s going on with Tyler,” he requested. “Shouldn’t be too hard to figure out,” I replied. “Your parents are raising him. Who do you think he’s turning into?” Henry flinched and kept his back to me. “I know your folks don’t accept you ’cause you’re gay,” I revealed, “and if you don’t intervene soon, Ty will be just as ignorant.”

“He uses the word fag like a joke,” I added to the list. “He dumped a girl because she drove a shitty car.” “Jesus.” Henry had given up on the coffee-making, and now he was standing still with his head hanging low, his hands planted on the counter. “I never wanted that for him.”

“This little shop is mostly for me. The money comes from deliveries, online orders, and my other location. But there’s nothing quite like a roadside shop that doesn’t look like a truck-stop glory hole, is there?” I coughed and looked away quickly, and I had to force a laugh. Two minutes with this man and I already knew more about his business than Henry’s, and he’d uttered the term glory hole.

I’d never so much as kissed another guy. I touched my lips, wondering what it’d be like to kiss him. He was larger than me. Would I feel surrounded? Enveloped? I gusted out a breath as a rush of arousal flooded south. Oh boy. Definitely not straight, though I’d suspected that for a while. Now to find out how far I wanted to go with a man.

“I mean it, Martin. Let him sleep.” “He needs to eat. He’s so cute, I just want to keep him as a pet. A pet that’s fed.”

Martin picked the decorative piece of lettuce from his roll. “I have a question, Zach.” “You can’t buy me new pants, man,” I said. The two men shared a stunned expression before amusement took over, and I felt bold. Comfortable, most of all. I smirked and shifted in my seat, then dug back into my food. After the chuckles had died down, Martin faced Henry with a serious look.

Martin patted my hand. “Hon, is this new to you?” “Very.” I managed a weak smile, and my heart pounded. “I don’t want to suppress it, though. I’ve had these thoughts for two years. I wanna find out.” If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he looked proud.

“Henry’s right, Zach. If you want sexy go-go boys and a round of Dude, Where’s My Car when you wake up not knowing where you are, the clubs there are perfect.”

I’d never heard of Silver Lake. We had a Silver Beach. Maybe it was close? “Not far from Hollywood,” Martin answered. Oh, so it was a neighborhood here in LA. “I grew up there. It’s very gay-friendly. And full of special people.” The way he said special… “Hipsters, artists, snowflakes who burst up in flames if you’re not politically correct.” Henry snorted. Okay, so I wouldn’t visit Silver Lake. I didn’t wanna step on any toes and offend someone.

“Mariella, I want you to meet Zach. He’s visiting from Washington. Zach, this is my niece and ballbuster, Mariella. She handles all the boring stuff so I can make pretty treats all day long.” She laughed at him and stuck out her hand. “Nice to meet you, Zach.”

“Don’t look so glum,” Martin chided. I’d use the term shell-shocked. I had a serving of petulant anger reserved for Henry too. Because the bastard had bowed out of shopping, and I was sure he could’ve saved me more than once. Shopping with Martin was awful.

God, once he’d figured out my sizes and measurements, he’d been a hurricane. He’d held up item after item in front of me, hemming and hawing, never once listening to what I said. Our three-hour outing resulted in five shopping bags, and I wasn’t sure I had the energy to go to a bar anymore.

Tonight is a test. I will let you dress yourself, but if it’s an utter disaster, expect me to stop by before brunch tomorrow.”

Bad didn’t come close. Being as crappy as I was when it came to picking clothes, I didn’t know what colors I liked, much less what cuts and fabrics I preferred. Somehow, that’d given Martin carte blanche.

“One thing, Zach. I have suffered through one shopping spree too many with Martin. And yes, there is, without a doubt, much you’ll end up returning. But keep this in mind: he doesn’t shop for your body. He shops for your personality.” His next smile held traces of fondness—the affection he carried for Martin. “Even if a shirt looks ridiculous, please try it on. You might surprise yourself with what you see in the mirror.”

If I concentrated really hard, I could picture a warm kiss on my neck. His breath gliding over my skin, lips soft yet demanding. I swallowed hard, the image too enticing. If he cupped my junk, I’d blow in a minute. “Shit.” I stared into the mirror again. My eyes looked darker, wilder. I liked it. I wanted to see the same indecency in his. Because I didn’t only want it kind and gentle. I fantasized about filth that made me flush. I wanted to be exposed and revealed and vulnerable and, and, and fucking taken. Swept off my feet, out of control, ravaged.

I needed a new list. A list for coming out as…whoever I was. A list of things to explore and discover. Or, fuck that, I needed a diary where I could gush about all the new things. Not that I’d gush about shopping.

“No worries—” He stopped short and looked down at me, at my clothes, and he cleared his throat and averted his gaze. “Is it not okay?” If I’d fucked up, I was gonna need some serious help.

I sent a message to Nan too. Sending hugs from a scorching hot LA. (Saw this curse online and thought you’d like it: twatnozzle.)

I was ready to have some fun and see what was out there. Though, to be honest, I had a hard time believing anyone would catch my attention more than Henry had. The man in question appeared a few seconds later, and I nearly swallowed my tongue. Again. Sweet Jesus on a pogo stick. Flip-flops and cargos had been replaced by charcoal dress pants and a simple white button-down.

“A smile and eye contact will be enough for you,” Henry told me. “You’ll be fine.” Yeah, for some reason, I didn’t think that would be enough for him. He was beginning to strike me as a man I’d have to beat over the head with my advances before he got it.

“What is this?” I laughed and stared at my concoction, served in a tall glass with two thin straws. It was purple—not burgundy or dark like my shirt, but light purple. “Try it,” Martin encouraged and took a sip of his own drink. I took a tentative taste and felt the flavors of violet and raspberry and vodka exploding in my mouth. It was fucking delicious. I’d dump beer for this treat. I’d marry it. The aftertaste of ice cream made me register vanilla too.

LA was doing something to me. I got careless. I lost track of time too, and the atmosphere kept me energized and ready to go. I paid for my next three drinks myself, and I danced for the first time since junior high.

though I ended up having the most fun when I stumbled into a bachelorette party in the corner of the dance floor. Surrounded by drunk, giggly women, I could relax and spread those wings Martin had talked about.

“I gotta pee!” one of the girls exclaimed. I had to go too, and that was how I ended up in line for the bathrooms with tipsy Teresa and shit-faced Sharon.

“Come on, let’s take a picture,” she suggested. I groaned. Even in my drunken stupor, bathroom selfies were stupid. But you want to see the glitter on your face. I hesitated, which Teresa took advantage of. She told me to show the camera attitude and then puckered her lips in a kiss to the phone. My mouth twisted up, and before I knew what I was doing, I raised my chin, offered a cocky expression, and smirked a little. With a streak of glitter gel on my cheek.

“I’m horrified by my thoughts. I thought I would let you know.” “What’s horrifying about your thoughts?” “I was thinking…I could trip you and land on top of you in your bed.”

“You didn’t answer—” Before I could finish my sentence, I was pushed up against the wall in the stairway. Shock flooded me and caused me to gasp. Then I had Henry looming over me, and he grabbed my hand and put it over his crotch. I whimpered. He’s so fucking hard. “This is on you, boy,” he whispered angrily. “You better behave, or I’ll—” I reached up and slanted my mouth over his, kissing him firmly.

“Oh, fuck.” I pushed my hips against his and felt his erection tight with mine. And it was everything I craved. Cocks together, male musk, muscles, all things firm and masculine. It was the headiest moment I’d lived through, not to mention dizzying and electrifying.

Henry didn’t say anything, but when I caught a glimpse of his eyes, I saw the wild and crazed need I’d wished to see all night. It evened the score, if only a little. To see him desire me…I needed it.

“Oh God…” I threw my head back as he nipped at my jaw. I wanted to feel him at my neck and my throat. “More, Henry. Please…” He hummed and pushed up my shirt. “Let me see this perfect body of yours. It’s been haunting me since you walked into my life.”

“I guess I always figured coming out was something you did for friends and family, and maybe it is, but it’s personal too, you know? The person I was last night is new. I wanna get to know him.”

Henry Bennington had all the hotness and none of the confidence. Not about his own appeal, anyway. No worries. You didn’t live the life I’d lived and quit as soon as the going got rough.

“I guess Martin does nothing simple,” I muttered. In a glance in the mirror, I’d caught the print on the back of my shirt. In subtle gold, it said, “Let Me Be Perfectly Queer.”

“Don’t treat me like I’m new.” Maybe I was naïve, but I wanted this. “If I can explore myself and this—” I gestured between us “—with you and not some random stranger, I’m all in. I feel safe with you.” “I’m flattered,” he murmured and dipped down for a quick kiss. “You truly don’t regret anything from last night?” “The opposite. I want a repeat as soon as possible.”

Did Martin tell you how we met?” “No.” He grinned, pulling into a spot. “I should let him tell the story. He uses it as a conversation starter or icebreaker sometimes.” “Who made a fool of himself?” I chuckled. “That’s usually how it goes.” “Oh, it was me. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be so quick to share it.”

“If you arrived together, it means you stayed in Santa Monica last night, Martin.” “He called me at ten and told me to fetch him.”