Starting From Here (Starting From #3) - Lane Hayes Page 0,83

we clutched at each other with our mouths fused and our limbs entwined.

I collapsed on his chest, nuzzling his neck until he pinched my ass.

“Move it, babe. You’re heavy.”

“I love it when you call me ‘babe,’ ” I panted as I rolled off him.

He used the towel to clean up and handed it to me with a few tissues so I could do the same. “I didn’t call you that.”

I snorted. “You literally just said, ‘Move it, babe.’ It’s been a ‘babe’-fest all night. I called you ‘babe,’ you called me ‘babe.’ It’s kinda cute.”

He shook his head ruefully as he propped himself on his side. “Better watch it. Babe is the gateway term of endearment. All it takes is one ‘babe’ or ‘baby’ before you start with the strong stuff.”

“Like what? Honey, boo, sugar, schnookums?”

“Or worse.”

“What’s worse than schnookums?”

“My dad calls my mom ‘Bunny.’ Always has.” T shook his head in mock chagrin. “It used to give me serious embarrassment shivers when I was a kid. Now I think it’s sweet.”

I chuckled. “Your dad had nicknames for all of you. What was yours again?”

He rolled his eyes. “Sport.”

“Aww.”

Tegan grinned at my sappy expression, then went quiet. He caressed my hip as he studied me thoughtfully. “I feel a little cheated I haven’t had your dick in my ass until now. That was pretty amazing.”

“Yeah, it was.”

“We should have been doing that all along.”

“You have been missing out on this python.” I waggled my brows and grabbed my spent dick to make him laugh.

Tegan didn’t disappoint. He threw his head back on the pillow and guffawed. “You’re funnier than I remember.”

“Thank you. That’s the second time you’ve praised my wit.”

“That was sarcasm, McNamara. I think I was pissed at you the first time.”

“You were,” I agreed with a laugh. “Now?”

“You really do make me laugh. You’re funny…peculiar funny, too. I spent a lot of years thinking I knew you, and I don’t think I did.”

I cocked my head. “How so?”

“You’re quirky. I didn’t know that. I saw your swagger and figured you were full of yourself. But you’re not, really. It’s an act. You use your bravado onstage and in groups where no one knows you well. I bet only a few people know that you write poetry all damn day. Am I right?”

“Not all day,” I argued without heat. “I’m actually pretty cool.”

“I know.” Tegan kissed me tenderly. “So what do you want to do for the next four days, cool guy?”

“Go to museums, check out the State Building…”

“Oh, my God. Nerdville,” he groaned aloud.

“Fine. We don’t have to—”

“I was teasing.” Tegan’s eyes went soft and a little gooey. “I’ll do whatever you want, babe.”

I basked in the unexpected sweetness. Sadly, it didn’t last long. He caught himself and looked away quickly, then gave me a shuttered half smile that felt like a physical push. No conversation necessary. He didn’t want to talk about it, and neither did I. We were temporary and secret. I wanted to tell him I’d come out in a heartbeat, but I wasn’t going to put him on the spot. Honestly, I didn’t think I could take the rejection if he didn’t feel the same.

I kissed his shoulder and snuggled against his side. “Get some sleep. We have a big day tomorrow.”

Tomorrow sounded good. And the next day and the one after that. We could worry about the hard stuff later.

We blew most of our first day in bed. We slept late, had sex, ordered breakfast in bed, had more sex, showered, and dragged ourselves into town to explore Austin before the sun went down. We popped in and out of stores, went to happy hour, and listened to a local band before having a late dinner. The sense of freedom was heady.

After months of preparation, writing, rehearsing, releasing an album, and spending months preparing for the tour, it felt cathartic to step off the hamster wheel. Food tasted better, wine was more potent, and the cool wind was refreshing…not chilly.

For the first time in years, I felt…happy and light. I didn’t have to be anywhere in particular, and I didn’t have to impress anyone. Tegan didn’t want or expect clever conversation twenty-four seven. He was a smart man with simple tastes. He liked music, horror movies, and had an appreciation for kitsch that made me laugh. But he also liked quiet.

And his quiet felt cleansing. He didn’t require words to communicate everything he felt or needed. He was content to be still, to