Wilder, Winona - Choosing Love [Coming Out 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour ManLove) Read Free Page A

allowed his date to have her way with him. Her soft lips peppered kissed down his neck to his chest, and her hands massaged his tense muscles. Maybe he could pretend it was Waylon, or even that hot history teacher, that was touching him.
    As the alcohol pulled him deeper into oblivion, the weight on his lap lifted. He opened his eyes only to meet the angry glare of Waylon. “You’re drunk.”
    “And?”
    “I’m taking you home—you don’t know what you’re doing.”
    “The fuck I don’t!” Cal stood, nearly as tall as Waylon, and pulled the girl against the hardness of his body. He grinned menacingly as he planted a kiss on her neck while eyeing Waylon. “My date ain’t complaining.”
    Waylon pulled Macy, or whatever her name was, out of his arms and gave him a shove towards the exit. He stumbled, too sloshed to maintain balance. The whole world spun, lights zinging past his vision, along with nameless faces. Every eye judged him. Accusing fingers pointed, and worst of all—Waylon hated him.
    Too many hands tried to help him to his feet. Anger, bitterness, and jealousy leaked from every pore, and as he stood he pulled back and punched Waylon in the gut. His friend groaned, quickly righted himself, and wrapped a heavily muscled arm around his neck as he escorted him to the side exit that led to the alleyway. Could things get any worse? He’d probably alienated Waylon as a friend. Who else in the world did he have now?
    The next thing he knew, the sharp evening chill pulled him to the present. The metal door boomed shut, and he was alone in the dark alley with a very pissed Waylon.
    “What the fuck’s wrong with you? You’re better than this!”
    “Is it a crime to get drunk in a bar now?” He nearly lost balance and Waylon’s hands were quick to reach out and steady him. “Get your hands off me!” Every touch from his friend reminded him of what he could never have and the kind of freak he was for craving his best friend in carnal ways.
    “What’s your problem?” Waylon pushed him against the brick wall of the club.
    “You! You’re my fucking problem!” Cal forced all his weight into pushing his friend backwards, which was a foolish move considering how solid he stood. It was like pushing against an oak tree. Waylon laughed, which only ignited Cal ’s anger. He swung and missed, and swung again. Slightly bent over to maintain balance, Waylon grabbed the back hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head, hockey style.
    Cal struggled to free himself of the material, tossing it to the ground. “Hit me! Come on, hit me!” He raised his fists, ready to fight a superior opponent and not giving a shit that he’d lose. Today everything came to a head. The alcohol only acted as a catalyst for him to vent all the years of pent-up emotions he held back. He hated Waylon because he loved him—and couldn’t.
    “I’m not going to hit you, Cal.”
    “Say my name! It’s Calvin, the gayest fucking name in the world.”
    “Stop it,” warned Waylon. “You’re too drunk to think straight.”
    This time when he swung, he managed to land a solid blow to Waylon’s jaw. His friend bulldozed him into the brick wall, one hand around the offending wrist, the other around his neck. “I told you to cut it out,” he growled.
    “Fuck you!”
    Waylon shifted his hand from Cal ’s neck to his jaw, holding firm, and leaned in close. His entire body pressed against his now, strong and solid. No witnesses occupied the dark, empty alley. It was just the two of them. Two ill-fated friends. The last thing in the world Cal expected was for Waylon to lean in and kiss him on the lips, which he did, boldly. The wild mix of adrenaline and testosterone quickly morphed into a lust Cal had never known. Was he too drunk to know what was happening? Did Waylon really just kiss him?
    Too scared to try and find out the truth, but even more afraid to deny his urges and not accept the advance, Cal kissed him back. Waylon’s mouth