Page 33 of Touch of Innocence
FIFTEEN
Well, that plan had gone nicely. Sam had been carrying around that condom and that lube, waiting for a chance just such as this, and he didn’t regret it. That was the really miraculous thing, that not even for a moment could he make himself wish that he hadn’t given Gunner this thing.
It felt so right, too. Sam had always assumed that letting someone fuck him would be this sense of great loss, but nothing could be further from the truth. Better yet, there would always be this link between them, and Sam knew that he couldn’t have picked a better person to have his first time with.
For a moment, they just kissed, and then Sam, aching with the unaccustomed things he’d done with his body, winced slightly as he pulled off of the other man. It felt like they really belonged to each other now, and Sam, despite his soreness, couldn’t help but grin as he took care of the condom and then fell back into his own seat, panting and sweating as he grinned over at Gunner.
“When we get home,” Sam admitted, “I want to have you.” He had definitely enjoyed having Gunner inside of him, but that didn’t mean that he was going to give up topping. He couldn’t necessarily say which one he liked more.
Gunner smirked as he pulled his clothing into place while Sam did the same. Car sex was fun, but logistically it was a little bit more complicated. Not that Sam was complaining in the slightest.
“Then we’d better get this little lady back to her home, so I can see you home,” Gunner purred, and Sam had always found it a bit weird how mechanically inclined people called vehicles by the feminine pronoun, but that didn’t seem to be exactly the most important thing.
Actually, he’d always found it a bit stupid. A car was not sentient. But from Gunner, it was actually sort of endearing.
“Hurry,” Sam murmured back because he felt like they’d really just gotten started. Once he and Gunner got going, Sam had noticed that they tended just to keep going. With brief breaks, they could go over and over again, halfway through the night.
Luckily, Gunner did hurry. Gravel crunched under their tires as Gunner turned them around, then got them headed back to town, and pushed the gas pedal all the way down, the engine roaring as if with delight, a wild animal finally freed to run.
A truck, a big eighteen wheeler, came rumbling up behind them, and Gunner slowed just a little to let it pass. The rig was doing at least twenty above the speed limit, and Sam watched it go.
“I’ve never seen a truck go that fast,” he commented, wincing at the wind that came from the truck passing them. Dirt and dust swirled around them, kicked up by those huge, churning wheels, and Sam frowned.
“We’re going to have to wash the car …” he started, and then there was the worst sound that Sam had heard, maybe in his whole life. It wasn’t really all that loud of a sound, but it was sharp and cruel, cutting through the rumble of the engine with no effort at all.
The rock wasn’t really that much bigger than a pebble, smaller around than a quarter, but thethunkit made echoed through Sam’s brain. It skittered over the windshield, scratching as it went, and there was a screech of tires as Gunner brought the car to a halt by the side of the road once more.
“Shit,” Gunner commented, and Sam was inclined to agree with him. They both got out of the car to look at the damage, and a sick, sinking feeling settled in the pit of Sam’s stomach, making his whole body feel like it had been changed into lead for how heavy his arms and legs suddenly felt.
It was bad. Really bad. The rock, small as it was, had impacted hard enough that there was a dent in the glass of the windshield, and a spiderweb of cracks radiated out from the impact point. One of the cracks went halfway across the glass, and Sam reeled.
“Gunner, Mike’s going to kill us.”
It was a big enough deal that Mike had let Gunner touch his baby. When he saw this, Mike was going to freak out. Would he fire Gunner? Sam, too, for being there when this happened?
If they had been going slower, couldn’t this have been prevented? Sam wasn’t sure, but he did know that if Gunner hadn’t had this bright idea in the first place…
“There’s nothing we can do here,” Gunner pointed out, logically enough, Sam supposed, but Sam still shot him a look. The guy wasn’t panicking nearly enough, not for Sam’s peace of mind. Didn’t he realize what had just happened here? What he’d done?
Probably not. After all, Gunner was the motorcycle-riding bad boy, and though Sam had been so sure that Gunner cared about him, that there was more to Gunner than leather and an attitude, maybe that had just been wishful thinking.
Suddenly, Sam couldn’t help but remember how Gunner had kissed him moments before Sam had said those three big words. He hadn’t wanted to hear it. Silently, Sam went back to the car, and his legs gave out under him as he fell into the seat.
Gunner hadn’t wanted to hear it, because he didn’t feel the same. Did Gunner care about anything? Other than his stupid motorcycle?
Once more, silence fell between them as they drove back into town. This time, though, it was a silence of dread, uneasy and awkward, settling between them like a blanket of cactus needles.
* * *
Never, not in a million years of trying, not if he drank until he couldn’t see straight, would Sam forget the look on Mike’s face when he walked into the shop later that night.
Gunner would have just texted Mike and then gone home if Sam had let him. Just one more sign that Gunner didn’t care about Mike, or about other people’s belongings. Or their hearts, Sam was becoming pretty sure about that.
It was tempting just to go home, go to bed. Deal with it later. But Mike was always at work first thing, and Sam couldn’t even begin to think about what the guy would feel like if he saw the car that meant everything to him in such a bad state.
Now, looking at Mike, seeing the paleness of his skin, the way his eyes skimmed over his pride and joy, Sam sort of thought maybe Gunner had had the right idea, actually. Dealing with this would have been a lot easier with some sleep. Still, it was the right thing to do, he supposed, even if it was unpleasant.
“Damn it,” Mike growled, and he turned his glare not only on Gunner but also on Sam, which felt more than a little unfair. Sam, after all, hadn’t been the one to borrow the car. Or to get it all dusty and damaged. And Sam had done the right thing by calling Mike, which was, he supposed, why he was getting blamed for it now.
