Page 50 of Still Bruised
Foster stared into Jude’s eyes, the pleasure coursing through him enough to take him to his knees. His shaft hardened fully under Jude’s careful strokes.
I want to touch him like that…
He pressed his forehead to Jude’s as he gathered the courage to reach out and unzip those skinny jeans. Before he could, Jude tugged his tight practice pants down a little way.
“Whatin the hellis this?”
Foster’s head whipped to Rick, the air knocked from his lungs.
When Foster turned back to push Jude away, both hands slid down to his hips instead. The world spun. Darkness stole the light, and he was falling. His back hit softness and someone fell on top of him, straddling him. Foster gasped as his cock was enveloped in warm, tight heat.
He was suddenly back at the orgy, his masked stranger riding him again. He closed his eyes, the pleasure too intense.
“Whatin the hellis this?”
Foster turned and saw older Rick in the red light, glaring in disgust at them.
His eyes popped open, and he gasped, dragging air into his lungs. After pulling back the covers, he wiped the cold sweat from his brow. He sat, bare feet landing on the carpet beside his bed.
What the fuck hadthatbeen? Part dream, part nightmare.
Jude.
He shook his head. Why had his brain tied the two things together?
The guy he’d fucked wasn’t Jude.
It just couldn’t.
Could it?
No.
Jude was smaller. Leaner. Shorter? It had been too long, so he wasn’t sure about the height, but he was almost positive it wasn’t Jude.
There was no way he’d fucked the guy he’d already fucked over fifteen years ago. He didn’t need more guilt heaped on his conscience.
Reaching for his iPhone, Foster opened Instagram. The first post was Ashley in a tiny bikini and some Vic clone beside her, grinning in his Speedo. First things first, he opened her profile and unfollowed her. Then he did a little searching. He found one Jude Margulies, butshewasn’t the right one. He tried Facebook next and nada. The first few posts were from some place called Gabriel’s Meats. He scrolled past those but found nothing else.
Wait, wasn’t Jude’s dad a butcher?
Gabriel’s Meats.
He scrolled back up and opened the shop’s page. Most of the photos were cuts of meat, shiny cases, employees hard at work, and the shop itself. He had to dig deep but finally found one with a photo of a guy and specifically mentioned the name Jude. He’d been named the winner of the Eastfield Chamber of Commerce’s Excellence in Business Award for 2023.
For a winner, he didn’t look too happy. He stood stiffly, holding a framed award with no smile. It was hard to determine if it was the right Jude. The guy was wearing a shapeless lab coat, white hairnet, a Yankees ball cap, and an apron. He also had a heavy beard contained in what he assumed was a beard-net. He also looked heavier. Thick. He didn’t think they were the same man.
He typed in the name of the award and the year and came back with a news article with that same terrible photo… and the name Jude Margulies.
Itwasthe right Jude.
But definitely not the guy who’d decked him.
Foster sighed with relief, his conscience a little less heavy.
But less heavy wasn’t light. He owed Jude an apology, at the very least, for his role in what happened their last year of high school. Maybe he could stop in and make his amends, whatever that was worth.
Not much, he was sure.
