Page 39 of Steady Stroke
Emmett eyed the box, unsure how he felt about Beatrice conspiring with Lincoln behind his back. “What is it?”
“Doughnuts from the Fractured Prune.”
“Seriously?” Emmett plucked the box out of his hands a little rudely, too excited by the sugary treats to care. “They make, like, the best doughnuts on the planet.”
“I know. Beatrice said your favorite was the cherry glaze with mini chocolate chips.”
He peeked beneath the lid, his eyes going wide at the pile of sugary goodness. “You bought me a dozen?”
“I’m groveling here. Is it working?”
“Yes. Thank you.” Emmett smacked a kiss to Lincoln’s left cheek, an action as innocent as it was impulsive, and totally inappropriate considering it was for doughnuts. He ducked his head, cheeks getting hot. “Sorry.”
“No worries.” Lincoln’s easygoing grin underlined his words.
“Do you want one?” At Lincoln’s leer, he realized that that had sounded like asking if he wanted a kiss. “Um, a doughnut.”
“You don’t have to share.”
“I can’t eat a dozen.”
“Oh come on, I have faith in you.”
Emmett laughed, then put the box down on a nearby side table. “Thank you. Honest. You didn’t have to. I could have called you, too, and I didn’t.”
“I didn’t really give you a reason to. I walked away, and I shouldn’t have done that before telling you exactly how I feel.”
Don’t ask. Asking means telling, and if he tells you, then it’s real. I’ll have to lie, and I don’t ever want to lie to Lincoln.
He studied Lincoln’s pretty face and styled blond hair, his eyes still hidden behind sunglasses. A face he loved looking at, along with a lyrical voice, and a stunningly wonderful personality.A fighter who wasn’t going to give up on his musical dream, no matter what.
Lincoln wouldn’t hurt him.
“How do you feel?”
“I’m attracted to you, Emmett.”
Hearing the words made that thing inside of Emmett turn over and beg. It fractured part of his resistance, leaving him vulnerable to the rest of Lincoln’s words.
“I feel really good when I’m around you,” Lincoln continued. “We have fun together. I think in some ways we fit really well. I think we could be really good together. But if you’re still questioning yourself, or if you’re not into me, tell me and I’ll back off. No hard feelings. Still friends. But I need to know.”
Emmett’s mouth went dry as the desert. Part of him silently screamed for joy hearing those kinds of lovely words from a boy that he both liked and trusted. A smaller part—the part that still smelled the smoke and could sometimes still hear his little sister screaming—wanted to lock himself in his room and pretend it was all a nice dream. That Lincoln didn’t really like or want him, because pretending was easier.
Pretending was safe.
He wasn’t sure how long he stood there staring at Lincoln’s chest, not quite seeing the band name scrawled across the gray fabric.
“Well, you haven’t decked me yet,” Lincoln said. “That’s a good sign.”
Words clogged Emmett’s throat. So many words. Secrets and confessions and all of the things that scared him. All the things keeping him from reaching out and kissing Lincoln until they couldn’t see straight. From hauling him down onto the couch so they could make out and touch and ignore the outside world for a while.
His dick and balls took an interest in that line of thinking,and he barely resisted adjusting himself. That would only make the problem more noticeable to Lincoln, who hadn’t stopped watching his face. Emmett forced himself to look up, but he couldn’t see?—
Lincoln took off his sunglasses and tucked them into a pocket of his shorts. His blue eyes were so encouraging, so patient, that Emmett’s resolve melted. He saw a man who silently promised to be gentle with his heart, if Emmett chose to give it to him.
“I’m not questioning,” Emmett said. His voice sounded strange. Strangled and hoarse. He’d never said the words out loud before. Not to Eric, and certainly not to his family. “I know I’m gay.”
Instead of that hot, sick feeling he often got when he thought about his orientation, all he felt was a sense of rightness. He knew who he was, and he could say it to Lincoln with ease, because Lincoln understood. So did Aunt Beatrice, Van, and everyone who worked at Off Beat. This wasn’t Baltimore County, where everyone knew his parents. He wasn’t Emilio Sharif anymore.
