Page 23 of Hurricane Love

“Good idea,” Wylie said with a quick whiff of his pits and made a beeline for the bathroom, thinking how nice it was to come inside his trailer and see Diego already there, looking comfortable on his couch, sipping on his cold bevies.

Wylie stripped down while the water heated, then made quick work of soaping himself up but let his hand linger for a bit on his cock. The soap made for a nice glide as he contemplated thepossibility of Diego there with him, wet and naked. Wylie would love to run his soapy hands all over the man’s hard muscles and suck him off right there in the shower, but the shower stall was tiny as shit, even for just himself, so that probably wouldn’t work.

What was Diego into? Every guy he’d ever messed around with liked getting his dick sucked, so that was probably a given, but did Diego prefer to top or bottom? Both, maybe. Or neither. Wylie was flexible. He just wanted to please and get off in return. But if Diego did like to bottom, then Wylie could really unleash his full potential.

He switched the water to cold to kill his erection. Back in his bedroom, he threw on a pair of pressed khaki pants and a button-down shirt made of a light fabric. Similar to what Diego was wearing, but not, like, matchy-matchy or anything.

Back in the living room with wet hair and a strong desire not to fuck this up, Wylie was suddenly nervous. This was a date, right? Of sorts. Should he, like, hold the car door open for Diego and shit? Or would Diego find that emasculating? With his past boyfriends, they’d mostly focused on who could get their clothes off the fastest, not courtship, so this was all new to him too.

“Should we go?” Wylie asked.

“Yeah, but we can take the long way? I don’t want to get there too early.”

Wylie nodded and grabbed the handle of vodka. “Do they drink?” he asked. A smile tugged at the corner of Diego’s mouth.

“Yeah, they drink.”

“Cool, cool.”

Diego stood and handed over Charlene’s key fob. Wylie would drive; that was settled. He was still locking up his trailer while Diego was climbing inside the passenger side of his car, so he didn’t have the opportunity to open the door for him, which was probably for the best. He didn’t want to do too much, too soon.

Wylie was pleased to find Diego had linked his own phone to the car’s sound system, which Wylie insisted they keep connected as he gently probed Diego for more information about his family.They were a tight-knit group with his grandmother, now deceased, having had four sisters, each with children of their own, which meant a lot of aunts, uncles, and first and second cousins.

“Just call anyone older than you tío or tía, and you’ll be fine,” Diego said.

“Do you speak Spanish?” Wylie asked.

“A little. I got better at it in prison, since a lot of the guys in the kitchen only spoke Spanish, but I never actually studied it or anything.”

“Is that where you worked?”

“Yeah, line cook. I mainly worked the grill station but I did front-of-house stuff too.”

“Do you like it? Being in the kitchen, I mean?” Wylie asked.

“More than laying floors. I wouldn’t mind having my own restaurant someday. A sandwich shop or a diner, something chill and not too fancy. I think I’d be better off running something myself, instead of having a boss.”

“Sounds cool. You totally should. Bet Frank could get you set up with something.”

“Yeah, maybe. I’d rather do it on my own, though.”

“Stubborn.”

“Just a little.”

Wylie caught him smiling again. He liked this laid-back version of Diego, one who didn’t have his walls up or take every comment the wrong way. One who talked about his future plans with optimism.

They took the route along the beach to kill time. Diego said it had been a while since he’d been this way and marveled at how much it had changed.

“Yeah, they bulldozed all those cute little beach houses to build this.” Wylie pointed out one of the many monstrosities that blocked the view of the water for everyone else, and usually restricted beach access too.

“Progress,” Diego said with sarcasm.

Frank and his family lived over in Madeira Beach, in a ranch-style house with a big yard that backed up to the Intercoastal. There were cars parked everywhere on the street, but none dared to encroach on his perfect expanse of lawn. Wylie parked farther down the road, figuring they could hoof it the rest of the way. It would give him a chance to hit his vape and hopefully settle his nerves.

Before getting out of the car, Diego laid a hand on his forearm, turned to him and said, “Hey, thanks for coming with me today. I really do appreciate it.”

“Of course,” Wylie replied, struck again by the man’s earnestness. Diego wasn’t like the guys he’d dated in the past. Men who were way too concerned about their image and coming off as ballers, to even notice things like when Wylie was upset or feeling neglected. Men who told him to “stop acting like a bitch” when he’d try to discuss his feelings, as if their anger weren’t also a feeling. Wylie didn’t think Diego would pull that shit with him, but who knew? Maybe he expected too much from the men he dated. He was the common denominator in all those failed relationships after all.