Page 84 of The Bro Date
Toby’s brows crease, but he doesn’t ask me anything else. We make our way to the locker room and quickly change, leaving before the mud butt comes in to wash his shame away.
I hope everyone else on the field saw what happened to Adam, so they can spread the word.
Toby and I are not to be messed with.
“So, what you’re saying is, you’ve been my bodyguard since we met? Before I even realized it,” Toby says with a laugh when I finish telling my story.
“Damn straight.” I give him a squeeze, wanting to stay in this bed forever. I don’t want to leave this place. I really do love it here. The privacy, the intimacy, and the amazing views. I could easily stay another week. But unfortunately, the real world and finals are calling us home.
“But in all seriousness, I really do appreciate you protecting me then and now,” Toby whispers, his warm breath tickling my bare skin.
“Always,” I murmur.
For the rest of our fucking lives.
Toby climbs on top of me, straddling my hips as he stares down at me with half-lidded eyes. “Fuck me one last time before we leave. Please, Shane,” he pleads desperately. “I love you.”
I quickly flip us, pressing my hard-on into his erection. Only the thin fabric of our underwear separates us from a repeat of last night. “I’ll give you anything you ask for, butterfly. I love you so much.” Darting forward, I seal my lips to his, ready to show him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
SHANE
The overpowering aroma of disinfectant, rubbing alcohol, and fresh ink goes straight to my head and clings to my nostrils. As much as I love my tattoos, I can’t say I love the process. “I want a realistic butterfly,” I tell my tattoo artist. “But make it purple.” The black leather chair squeaks as I get situated, resting my forearm on the large, cushioned armrest.
“You got it, boss. A purple butterfly coming right up,” Travis says with a big, white smile. “Can I ask the meaning? If it’s personal, it’s no problem.”
I pause for a second, weighing my options. I’m not hiding, and I’m not in the closet. I’ve known Travis for a couple of years now, as he’s done most of my tattoos. “Yeah, man. It’s for my boyfriend.”
After getting home from such an amazing weekend getaway and deciding we want to move into our own place, I decided to do something big to show Toby just how much he means to me.
“Oh, really?” he asks, sounding a little surprised. “I didn’t realize we were part of the same community. I’m bi.”
“It’s kinda new, but yeah. I’m bi too.”
“Nice, bro. Well, if you ever wanna meet other people and connect, like on a friendship level, then you and your boyfriendshould totally come out to Stick Shift sometime,” Travis offers, and I just smile.
After my last experience there, I don’t plan to ever go back.
“Thanks, I’ll think about it.”
“So, where are we putting this purple butterfly?” Travis asks, pulling his rubber gloves on with a snap and grabbing the bottle of rubbing alcohol.
“Right here,” I say, pointing to the empty spot next to the lone wolf, because I’m no longer alone, and if I’m honest with myself, I haven’t been since the day I met Toby in fifth grade.
“Good choice. I like it. Goes nicely next to the wolf—which, by the way, isstillmy absolute favorite piece I’ve ever done. Do you mind if I take photos and add the butterfly to my portfolio? I already know it’s gonna be a banger.”
“Yeah, no problem.” It’s just my arm, so I don’t really care.
“Cool. Cool. I’m just going to shave the area real quick, clean it off, and apply the stencil. Then we’ll get started.”
“Sounds good,” I murmur, slipping my earbuds in and clicking on the relaxing playlist I created to take my mind off the pain.
The buzz of the tattoo gun starts, and I close my eyes, focusing on the music instead of the tiny needle burning my skin. I think about Toby’s dimpled smile and our stay at the cabin. I think about how much he means to me and how he’s the only one who’s consistently been there for me in my life. I think about his golden eyes lighting up when he sees the butterfly tattoo, and before I know it, Travis begins wiping off my arm like he’s finished.
“Take a look before I seal it,” he tells me, smiling at his own work.
I stand up and walk over to the mirror, twisting and turning my forearm, admiring my new artwork. “Fucking sick, dude.Absolutely perfect. Thank you,” I tell him, handing over a generous and well-deserved tip.
