Page 71 of Daily Grind
Because you’re fucking in love with him, you idiot.
Yeah, that.Too soon?Rob’s voice in his head. No, this was normal for him, the connection that stole his heart. He shoved away whatalsousually happened.
It helped that Rob was on the other end of his phone, either by voice or text, to keep him sane.
On Friday, Rob had sauntered in just before eight, waited, and chatted while Brian closed up the shop. They walked to Brian’s, matching strides. That night had been bliss and light. He’d cooked a quick meal for them and discussed Rob’s photos. After that, they’d tumbled into bed, hot and heavy for each other. He’d gone down on Rob, loving the taste of him, the way he took control and the deliciously dirty things he murmured in his British accent. They’d spent themselves twice that night before sleeping, and once again in the morning, horny as teenagers.
Admittedly, he’d not had a lot of sex back then. He doubted his muscles would have protested as much at eighteen, but he’d take the pain that came with age and experience. No awkwardness, no fumbling—even though he still wasn’t sure what he was doing much of the time.
He hadn’t asked Rob to fuck him yet and Rob hadn’t pressured at all, content with anything Brian was willing to do. Frotting. Blowjobs. Mutual masturbation. Letting Brian top him.
Rob was pleasure incarnate, his long body both pliable and domineering.
Brian wanted more than a quick overnight if he were going to bottom. He was nervous as fuck about the prospect, even after the amazing orgasm Rob had given him. Figured the extra time would help. Maybe.
Wouldn’t happen this weekend, though. He’d worked all Saturday training Lamont. Today was the monthly Sunday dinner with his parents and siblings.
He still had no clue how to tell any of them about Rob, especially his folks.Hey. No, I didn’t go to church on Easter. I’m not really going anymore. Oh, by the way, I’m dating a guy.Fraught with peril, even if his parents had always been open-minded. They were still very Catholic in the end.
Today felt like a promise, though. Golden and full of sunlight with fluffy white clouds in the sky. The trees were leafing out, and all around spring had settled in and bloomed. He’d spent the morning working on editing Rob’s photos. Man, if he’d had half Rob’s untrained eye, he could’ve made a living as a professional photographer. Just about every shot from their trip to the Carrie Furnace was well-composed, on point, and stunning. There were little hiccups with the lighting and cropping, but he could teach Rob how to avoid those.
With a little post-processing, no one would ever know anyway.
Shit, he couldn’t wait to show Rob the shots. Utterly professional pieces. They deserved to be framed, sold, and enjoyed like the works of art they were.
He still couldn’t get over what Rob had said about his parents and their lack of support for the arts. Maybe because Brian had grown up in Pittsburgh, art and music had been encouraged right along with everything else, despite his parent’s blue-collar background.
It helped that the Carnegie Art Museum was attached to the Natural History Museum, which was attached to the Carnegie Library. That had been a one-stop shop of brain-filling enjoyment when he’d been a kid.
When the clock ticked to one, he grabbed his helmet, backpack, and bike and headed out the door. After a quick stop at the coffee shop to see how Mark was getting on with Rich, and to grab an Americano to drink, he rode down to his folks’ place.
Weird to think that Rob was only a few blocks away in Mrs. Kaminski’s house. He circled the parklet, fighting the urge to show up on Rob’s doorstep. There was still time before he needed to be at his parents’. But no, not with the way he and Rob melded so quickly whenever they were together. They’d fall into conversation or tumble into bed if he stopped there first, and he’d never make it to dinner.
He needed to open up to his parents and siblings. Over the summer, there’d be family events he’d want to bring Rob to. He simply couldn’t hide this. He didn’twantto.
He headed down the street in the other direction and hopped off his bike when he got to the house he’d grown up in. Only his parents’ car was parked out front. As was usual, he was the first of his siblings to show. After chaining his bike to the porch, he walked in.
Smelled like home. A zip of spices, some kind of lemon cleaner, and a trace of his mom’s perfume. “Hey, I’m here,” he called.
“In the kitchen.” His mother’s strong voice echoed through the front room. He dropped his helmet and bag on the couch and headed through the dining room to the large kitchen at the back of the house—the reason his mother had chosen this place way back when—or so she’d said.
Cooking was his mother’s vocation and his father’s art. No one left the Keppler house hungry, ever. Often they left with extra food.
Family Sundays were usually Italian, but his mom had branched out in his youth, cooking just about everything under the sun and trading recipes with neighbors. Scouring cookbooks for new and interesting dishes.
His mom, her long silver-and-blond hair pulled back into a ponytail, was pouring sauce into a large baking dish when he entered the room.
Brian bounded over and gave her a kiss on the cheek. The pan was full of wide noodles with ricotta peeking out at the edges.Fuck yes, lasagna!
His dad was probably putting the noodle maker away. While lasagna was Dad’s meal, since he’d retired, his parents cooked together. “Meat or spinach?”
“Spinach.” She pecked him on the cheek in return. “Zoe has decided to be vegetarian again.”
Zoe had been vegetarian in high school, but quit while in college, due to the wacky schedule every student had. “Well, itisa healthy choice.” He’d even cut back on meat.
Her mother chuckled. “Those were her exact words.”
His brother, Len, would give Zoesomeflack, but he loved spinach lasagna more than regular, so there’d be peace.
