Friends and Lovers

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Although Jack Jackson was the son of a preacher, he’d never been particularly religious. Before he’d left home, he’d paid lip service to his daddy’s dictates, but he’d been disillusioned then, and he’d become even more disillusioned after he married Reba. Loving God wasn’t hard, but Jesus had said the second greatest commandment was to love your neighbor. According to Daddy, that meant only if your neighbor was white and Christian.

While Tom Webber was white—you couldn’t get much whiter than Tom’s almost platinum blond hair—he was Jewish, and if Daddy had known that alone, he would have forbidden the friendship, never mind if he’d found out Tom was gay. That was why, when Jack had been young and stupid, he’d pretty much kept Tom’s religion and sexuality in the closet. But Tom stayed in the closet for no one, not even Jack, and he’d left town to finish his schooling in Florida.

By the time he returned, Jack was in the process of getting his first divorce. Tom seemed willing to let bygones be bygones, and Jack swore to himself he’d be the best damned friend he could be.

Now, Tom had asked him for a favor, and although it had surprised him, Jack had said yes without thinking twice about it. And best of all, Tom had promised him a blowjob in return.

As the week progressed, however, he realized he was becoming a total wreck.

If anyone had ever asked him, he would have said he was straight to the core. Hell, he’d been married three times, although he couldn’t really count Truvie, since she’d cried so hard on their wedding night he’d backed off on touching her, and their marriage had ended in annulment rather than divorce. None of the marriages had lasted, although his first had been the longest, and he’d gotten two great kids from it. Tad and Becca had made the last years of misery with Reba worthwhile.

And sure, he’d wondered about…stuff. Well, all guys were curious. Weren’t they?

In the days before their “date,” Jack found himself going over that conversation again and again. Why had Tom chosen him?

Tom was the quintessential leather daddy, testosterone on the hoof, the epitome of aggression, although as far as Jack knew, Tom never showed that side of his personality to his friends. At least he never had to Jack.

Jack was certain—well, pretty certain—Tom had no clue Jack knew of all the buff young men with bubble butts who begged for Tom’s c**k in their mouths or their asses. Jack always listened when Josh, Tom’s gay best friend, talked about their adventures, and while Jack didn’t much care for Josh, he’d learned a lot from the man.

According to Josh, nothing fazed Tom, not homophobic assholes or assholes of the gay persuasion who wouldn’t take “no” for an answer. He was perfectly willing to beat the s**t out of any of them, and more than capable in spite of his short stature.

And yet Jack had never seen his friend as nervous as when he’d asked Jack for his help, or as relieved as when Jack had said yes.

Jack did a lot of thinking about how their friendship had evolved, from that first practice game when he’d crashed into the slight seventeen-year-old, knocking the wind out of him, to the time he’d accidentally snagged a sweaty Tom’s n****e in the locker room after a game and reflexively stuck his finger in his mouth, sucking pure essence of Tom, to when Tom had stood as his best man at his third wedding, never telling him he was letting his d**k make an important decision, which, as it turned out, it was.

After the ceremony Tom had given him a quarter.

“Call me when you need to talk, Jack.” Then Tom had slipped him a black card and walked off. Later, Jack discovered it read My condolences.

Jack had been pissed at first. What kind of friend did something like that? And if Tom had lingered, Jack would have kicked his ass.

Gradually, he’d come to realize his friend had seen something in Julie that Jack had been too besotted to notice.

Now, knowing his track record of making poor choices when it came to the women he’d married, he began to second-guess himself.

What scared him the most was the possibility this action could be the beginning of the end of a friendship he valued more than anything except his kids. Half a dozen times he reached for the phone to cancel. He even got as far as dialing the first three digits of Tom’s number.

I could just tell him something came up. Yeah, I could say Reba needs me to do something with the kids. But what? And when he was unable to come up with a logical response, he demanded of himself in irritation How the f**k should I know?

Jack hated like hell the thought of lying to his best friend, and he never completed any of the calls.

* * * *

On Friday evening, when Tom opened the door to let him in, greeting him with that thousand-watt smile, he knew why he’d never completed those calls. Tom was his best friend, who’d stood by him through the darkest times in his life. Tom trusted him, even though Jack had once been the one to turn his back on their friendship when his first wife had given him an ultimatum he’d caved to. His youthful self had been unable to deal with someone as unashamedly out-of-the-closet as Tom, who had faced life with the attitude, “This is me, and if you don’t like it, you’re cordially invited to eat dirt and die.”

But Jack had grown up, had become his own man, and if Tom was serious about being f****d by him, then he was going to do his damnedest to see that from that point on, Tom would measure every other lover he had against him, and every last one of them would come up wanting.

* * * *

Jack slid the bag he was carrying under his arm and leaned a finger on Tom’s doorbell, then wiped his sweaty palm on the material that covered his thigh. In his other hand was a box that contained his offering, an amaretto cheesecake he’d done some serious finagling to obtain. He licked his lips and swallowed, then brushed a hand over his hair, trying to smooth it into some semblance of order.

Tom opened the door. He was dressed in lightweight twill trousers and a blue, open-necked shirt that deepened the color of his eyes.

Jack felt that gaze run over his body, and he tensed, but when Tom’s gaze didn’t linger on his crotch, he was startled to realize his d**k was disappointed. He released a silent sigh of relief. Maybe this wouldn’t be a disaster.

“Come on in, Jack. Dinner’s almost ready.”

“You look real good.”

“Oh.” Tom actually appeared flustered by the compliment. “Thank you. So do you. Um…”

“Something sure smells good. Here.” Jack handed him the cheesecake. “Why don’t you put this in the fridge?”

“Yes. Sure. Want a beer while I’ve got the fridge opened?”

“I thought maybe this?” He held out the bag. “The clerk at the wine shop said this Merlot would go good with a grilled steak.” According to the back of the label, it had plum, blackberry, and clove notes.

“You bought wine?”

“Well, yeah.” Had he screwed up?

“Aw, Jack. That’s so sweet.”

“It’s okay, then?” he asked hopefully.

“Yes, it is.” Tom’s face was alight with pleasure, and he took a step toward Jack. Jack stood his ground. If Tom wanted to kiss him, well, in spite of how gay it might be, Jack was going to let him. But Tom pulled himself up short and gave a lopsided grin. “Why don’t you go on out to the patio? The table is all set. I’ll just uncork the wine.”

This time Jack himself was disappointed. “Sure thing, buddy.” It would take a few minutes to let the Merlot breathe and open. “Here. Let me take the salad.”

Jack was familiar with Tom’s backyard. When Tom had had plans drawn up to landscape the small wilderness behind his house, Jack had volunteered to lay the patio. It was a combination of pavers and cracked stone. Trellises covered with climbing, night-blooming jasmine, honeysuckle, and New Dawn roses separated it from the now-lush, manicured lawn.

He set the large wooden salad bowl on the table and lit citronella candles to keep the mosquitoes at bay, then leaned against an archway. Tonight he was going to…to f**k a man. He waited for a sense of panic to swamp him.

“Dinner’s ready, y’all. Come an’ get it.”

Jack turned to face his friend, smiling broadly. Panic was nowhere to be found.

* * * *

Dinner was excellent, the steak charred on the outside but rare on the inside, the roasted potatoes slathered with butter, salt, and cracked black pepper, and the salad crisp, its dressing tangy. As for the wine, it was exactly what the clerk had promised.

But now dinner was finished. The dirty dishes were stacked in the sink, soaking, and the charcoal in the grill was slowly burning down to glowing embers. Before them on the table were cups of coffee brewed from freshly-ground beans, and the cheesecake slathered with mounds of whipped cream which, as Tom had promised, he’d whipped himself.

“Mmm.” Tom’s eyes closed in sensual bliss as he took a final bite. “How did you know I had a weakness for amaretto cheesecake?”

“C’mon, Tommy. Everyone knows what a sweet tooth you have.” Jack couldn’t tear his eyes from the bit of whipped cream that clung to the corner of his friend’s mouth. Unable to help himself, he leaned forward, but Tom, his eyes still closed, was unaware, and he caught it on his tongue. Jack drew back, perturbed.

“Well,” Tom deliberately thickened his accent, “I thank you, my mama thanks you, and my sister thanks you.”

“Well, all y’all are welcome.” Jack’s frown was hidden by a forkful of the sinfully rich dessert.

You wanted to lick that whipped cream off his mouth?

Yeah. Got a problem with that?

Jack started to smile. Nope. He really didn’t.

Tom saw the way Jack was looking at him. He put his coffee cup down on the table, then stood and did the same with Jack’s.

“Hey, Jack,” he said softly, holding out his hand. “Why don’t we go inside and listen to some music?”

Jack entwined his fingers with his friend’s, rose, and followed him into the house. Tom grinned at him as he walked backward toward the CD player.

“I’ve already got the disc in the player,” he told Jack. He pressed a button, and the smooth sound of The Look of Love came out of the speakers. “There’s just something about Burt Bacharach, don’t you think?”

“Yeah.” Jack watched as Tom started toward his loveseat. He had the sudden urge to…Jack reached out, caught Tom’s hand, and pulled him into his arms. “Dance with me?”

Tom blinked, and for a second, Jack was afraid his friend would turn him down. But then Tom smiled and melted into Jack’s arms.

Jack’s d**k became hard, and while normally he might have wondered what was up with that, the feel of Tom’s muscular body—so different from the women he was used to—against his own drove all thoughts out of his mind.

They began to glide around the room.

“What are you doing, buddy?”

“Shh.” Tom had tugged Jack’s shirt out of his pants and was now caressing Jack’s back.

Jack had to bite back a moan at how good that felt. He had the oddest feeling in his chest. It took him a minute to realize what it was, but then it struck him. He was content. He smiled, rested his cheek against Tommy’s soft hair, and breathed a happy sigh, totally unconcerned that Tom was leading.