Page 26 of For the Love of Scott
Epilogue
New Years Eve
Scott follows Ben up to the third floor of the Bluebonnet B&B and down the hall to the room marked eight. Scott’s heart thrums like the wings of a hummingbird. Ben pushes into the room and drops his backpack and a soft-sided cooler on a small wooden bench.
“This is nice,” says Scott, peering around the large corner room. A large four-poster bed dominates the space and his insides twist with anticipation as well a bit of apprehension. He hasn’t been with anyone since he’d lost his leg. Ben never seems to notice it, which is reassuring, even going so far as to tangle his ankle with the metal rod that serves as Scott’s right ankle. But still…
The bedside table lamps provide soft illumination for the rustic Texas-themed room. Scott drops his duffel bag next to the dresser, and follows Ben to the French doors. He hooks his chin on Ben’s shoulder and slides his arms around Ben’s waist. The lights of downtown Ten Rigs twinkle beyond the multi-paned doors. The night is clear and crisp, and they’ll have a great view of the fireworks from the balcony, according to Ben.
“You okay?” asks Ben. “Nothing has to happen.”
“I’m okay. And I want stuff to happen. I’m just nervous.” They’ve spent practically every evening together since they’d made up a week and a half ago, and their make-out sessions are getting hotter and going farther each time. He really is ready to bridge this last hurdle. He’s even broken down and called Jason. After confessing everything to Jason, Jason thinks Scott is probably ready too, but reminded him that mild anxiety, which Scott would experience, was not the same as not being ready. When Ben suggested they ring in the New Year together, Scott agreed and made clear his thoughts on what that might entail. Ben had been pleasantly surprised.
Ben swivels in Scott’s embrace and rests his forehead against Scott’s. “Don’t be afraid to call a halt at any time.”
Scott sighs. “I told you…it’s not about the sex.”
“I know, your leg. Okay.” Ben nods. Issue acknowledged, but not brushed off. He glances at his watch. “Fireworks start at seven-thirty. We’ve got an hour. I’d say let’s get comfortable, but then we’d have to bundle up to go out on the balcony to watch.”
“We can take off our coats at least.” Scott tugs off his Army green toque. “Open a beer…”
“I bet there’s a hockey game on.”
“I’m sure there’re a few.”
A few minutes later, they’re shoulder to shoulder on the king-sized bed, with Dallas versus Florida in the first period of play showing on the large screen hi-def TV. Dallas’s center and left winger are zipping up and down the ice, but as much as Scott loves watching an exciting game of hockey, his situation finally makes an impression.
He’s alone with Ben.
In a hotel room.
Snugged up close on a bed.
A very large bed.
With no chance of being interrupted.
Scott sets his beer on the bedside table and turns toward Ben.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. God, we’re alone.Alonealone.” He still has to bare his stump—he’s already decided he doesn’t want to have sex with a plastic and metal contraption connected to his body—but as with everything else pertaining to Scott, Ben is sure to deal with it in a low-key fashion.
Ben grins.
“And we’re watching a hockey game.”
“And?” Ben murmurs, the sparkle in his blue gaze giving way to a more primal glitter.
An answering heat settles low in Scott’s stomach. He shifts and swings a leg over to straddle Ben’s lap. “And I can watch hockey just about anytime I want.” They kiss slow and deep. Ben’s hands slide beneath Scott’s shirts and up his back. Scott shivers under his touch, his pulse kicks back up, and his dick starts shifting in his jeans.
“Clothes off,” Scott breathes. Sure, he’d wanted slow three weeks ago when Ben had first suggested a relationship, but he’s all in now, and fuck slow. They’ve done just about everything but have anal intercourse. They separate and get naked. When all that’s left is his shorts and his prosthetic, he feels a hand on his shoulder.
“What do you need from me?” Ben asks.
And there it is. That care that warms Scott from head to toe. A year ago, he’d thought he’d never be with anyone again. Sure, it was his anger and his anguish talking. But hell, even six months ago, after he’d gotten past all that, he still didn’t think a relationship was in the cards for him.
Scott shakes his head and pats the space next to him on the bed. “Nothing. I’m okay.” He is. Mostly. Now that the time has come, his nerves have reasserted themselves. With a small breath, he grasps a hold on the socket and tugs. The prosthetic shell slides off, revealing his liner-covered stump. He lays the appliance on the floor.
