You May Have Met Him Read online

  Theo worked at the front of Chip’s jeans too, and stroked the package wrapped in fashionably striped underwear. But Chip had other ideas. He turned Theo so that his back was up against the brick wall, and he got down on his knees. This was why Theo came out tonight. This is what he wanted to get his mind off the rest of the shit going on his life. He let his pants fall to his ankles as Chip licked at the sensitive skin of his balls. His hips thrust forward when Chip worked his way with his wet tongue up the length of Theo’s shaft to lap at the spot beneath the head of his dick, the sensitive part that reached up to meet his piss slit. In a sudden rush, he took Theo’s cock in his mouth, and Theo threw his head back against the rough brick wall and gasped. Down to the base of his dick and back up again. When he engulfed Theo’s cock a second time, he remained there and did things with his throat that caused Theo to squirm against the wall, the rough brick biting into his naked back, but he didn’t care. There was only one thing that mattered right in that moment, and that was the magic that Chip worked on Theo’s cock still shoved deep down into Chip’s throat. Finally, he came up for air and let Theo’s cock head out of his mouth with an audible pop while Theo sucked in air in ragged gulps while the pleasure still shuddered through his body.

  “Fuck you’re good at this,” Theo said, and he curled his fingers into Chip’s dark hair. Chip smiled up at him as his hand slid up and down Theo’s saliva-coated dick.

  The shadows moved as Chip went back to work with his tongue circling around the head of Theo’s cock. A dark-bearded man emerged into the small circle of light cast from the street, and he spied Theo with his back against the wall and Chip down on his knees on the asphalt of the alleyway. Theo met his gaze, the man’s mouth held slack, eyes wide as he watched, not an expression of horror but one of surprise. A lascivious smile spread on his lips, and he moved a little back into the shadows to keep watching.

  Theo liked this. He liked an audience. His dick swelled harder, if that was even possible. He ran a hand over his abs and reached up to squeeze one of his nipples while still eying the voyeur. The pressure in Theo’s balls grew, and he tried to prolong the moment as best he could. His breath quickened, a tingle that started at the base of his spine and spread to his stomach and down to his legs, until he could hold back no longer. The first shot of cream spurt down Chip’s throat, he kept an eye on their observer. Chip’s throat worked the head of his dick as he swallowed in a way that made Theo moan. When Chip slid his mouth up the shaft, he kept stroking, and Theo rewarded him with another glob that bridged from Chip’s eyebrow to his cheekbone.

  Chip sucked him in again with that moment right after coming when the pleasure pushes to the edge of pain, when it all becomes almost too much and threatens sensory overload—it made Theo want to push in and pull away all at the same time, and he rose on his tip-toes to thrust deeper into Chip’s throat. But even that became too much as his body was overcome with involuntary shudders.

  Chip released his cock, but he kept a hand on his balls to massage while he pumped his own dick. Theo and the bearded man watched. A hint of night breeze blew over Theo’s slick cock that caused another shudder down his spine.

  When Chip rose and kissed Theo, his own salty sweetness was still on Chip’s lips. Theo jacked Chip’s cock as they kissed, and it didn’t take him long to let loose his own load all over Theo’s crotch while he buried his face in Theo’s neck and blew hot breath over his shoulder. His breath evened, as he sucked and nipped at Theo’s neck, and he moved down again to clean up the sticky load that covered Theo’s stomach and the shaft of his penis.

  When he was done, Chip leaned in to Theo and kissed him, his hands on Theo’s bare hips.

  “I needed that,” Theo said.

  “Glad I could be of service,” Chip said.

  The bearded man emerged from the shadows and walked past them. “Thanks,” he said. Theo shot him a wink as he smiled, and Chip laughed as he buttoned himself back up. Theo pulled his own pants up.

  They both stood there for an uncomfortable moment while Theo picked up his shirt from where it fell on the ground, and he put it on.

  “You got a number?” Chip asked to break the sudden awkward silence.

  “Yeah,” Theo said. “But I’m probably moving soon.”

  Chip nodded, and he smiled. “Oh, okay. Cool.” He shifted, but he didn’t balk. At least Chip was smart. He got it. This was a blow and go. Nothing more. “Maybe I’ll see you around sometime,” he said.

  “Yeah, maybe,” Theo said.

  He grabbed Theo’s crotch one more time to give it a good squeeze. “This is one I will not forget anytime soon.”

  “I hope not,” Theo said with a smile. Then Chip turned and walked back out to the street.

  Theo emerged onto the street after waiting a minute to give Chip a chance to establish his direction of departure, and he tucked the hem of his shirt into the waistband of his blue jeans. He didn’t go back into the club. He wanted to go back to what was left of his apartment. The blowjob was good. It loosened a little of that tension that gathered tight in his shoulders.

  But it wasn’t enough. The real world still crept in when the afterglow wore off. Now he would go home and sleep in a bed that was no longer his bed in an apartment that was no longer his home. He didn’t have to. He could go back in and get Chip or even somebody else to come share his bed for the night. But sex was just sex. Sex was a band aid.

  He’d probably still beat off before he went to sleep, though.

  Chapter One

  Elliot

  Elliot checked his watch as he sat in front of the eighth computer since he showed up to work at seven this morning. Nine-thirty, and already he had a tablet with a list the length of his arm, all from people begging him to rescue their computers.

  One guy opened an email, a new trojan virus that snuck in through a clickable graphic, and it blossomed out from there to everyone on his contact list, most of them in the editorial department. Of course, everybody clicked it. And now they all shared panicked looks, pacing around their cubicles and peering up over the dividers to see if he was on his way yet. Editorial is the worst place to be with computer problems. They hover over his shoulder. Some of the women touch him with a hand on his back or on his shoulder as they lean in close, and the men pull at their hair and ask when they can get back to writing their incredibly important release due that afternoon—they always had a story due that afternoon. It was like nobody planned ahead and they were college students pulling all-nighters.

  And maybe if they actually read the emails he sent about not clicking on links from strangers…

  At least this got him out of the dungeon that was the IT department, tucked in the basement of the high-rise office building that belonged to Mondial Publications.

  Then there was Mike Hanson. Elliot worked on his computer now, and it might not be a stretch to say he was taking his time as he sat in the chair where Mike Hanson usually sat, and that very same Mike Hanson sat not a foot from him, while poring over edits on an op-ed piece—he was a sports commentator. Elliot knew nothing about sports, but he knew Mike Hansen was about the cutest guy who worked for Mondial Publications, with his dark hair and strong cheekbones. He always wore neat, buttoned-up shirts that fit snug to his slim waist. Elliot was pretty sure he had them tailored on the arms to enhance his bicep muscles. As he moved his pen over the lines on the page he worked on, his bicep flexed beneath that thin cotton fabric, and Elliot couldn’t keep from sneaking a glance over from time to time as he typed code into the command line.

  And, Elliot noted, Mike had this habit of using the thumb on his left hand to turn the simple gold band on his ring finger while he read.

  Elliot was staring when Mike flipped the last page over. He blew out a deep breath, then he leaned back in his chair and stretched, a view that Elliot couldn’t help himself from watching. Elliot’s gaze traveled up the length of Mike’s hard body, the strong V-shape of his lats. He stopped typing, his fingers hovering over
the keyboard—

  Until he found Mike watching him with a half grin.

  “You’re not deleting anything, are you, Elliot?” Mike leaned forward, and Elliot caught his sudden expression of horror.

  Elliot’s face flushed, and he turned back to the screen. “What?” His face felt hot. “God, no. Of course not.” He was confident in his job. And still the question didn’t bother him. It was that it was Mike asking him—and that Mike caught him in full-leer mode. “I’m sorry. I’ll be done in a sec.”

  Mike clapped him on the shoulder. “I was just kidding, bro.”

  Elliot was all-too conscious of the hand on his shoulder.

  “I need to run this down to Linda, anyway. Take your time.” Mike stood up and walked from the cubicle, leaving Elliot with his eyes closed. When he opened them again, his gaze landed on the pictures spread out next to the computer monitor, pictures of Mike with his wife and two kids, a boy and a girl, each five or six years old. Elliot stared at the attractive blond woman in the picture. Lucky woman she was. For sure.

  When he finished, Mike was nowhere to be seen. He left the cubicle, and he put his ear buds back into his ear. Someone would try to catch him on his way out. Can you just look at this real quick? It’ll only take a second. They all thought he had plenty of “seconds” to spare. It was easier to keep his head down and ignore the waving hands in his direction. They weren’t saying hi to him. They all wanted something. They all loved him right up until he finished with whatever they needed, then he was long gone and forgotten in their world of magazine publishing.

  Mondial Publications put out a wide range of magazines from men’s magazines to a travel magazine to a weekly news magazine (that Elliot learned from fixing the computers in the accounting department would probably be sold off soon as it was becoming increasingly obsolete). People were less likely to spend much of their time reading a news magazine when most of them got their news from Facebook, as sad as that was.

  He checked his tablet and flipped to the next work order. Brianna LaFontaine. Elliot pressed his lips together, and he marked the job as current by touching the little check box on his screen as he went to the elevator.

  As he waited, someone approached the elevator to stand alongside him. Per usual, he kept his head down and thumbed through Facebook posts while he waited to avoid eye contact and any sort of social interaction. But when he heard the mumble of a voice over his headset, he glanced up. It was Mike Hansen.

  He pulled an ear bud out from his ear. “I’m sorry,” he said. “What?” His face felt hot, and he glanced away.

  But Mike smiled. “I said, all done, I see.”

  Elliot nodded, and he grinned.

  “Next job now, huh? You probably don’t get to relax much.”

  “Upstairs this time,” Elliot said. He felt sweat beading on his forehead. “Brianna LaFontaine.”

  “Boss’s daughter. Good luck with that.” The elevator door slid open. No one else was on it, and they both got on. “If I wasn’t married,” Mike said.

  Elliot whipped a glance in Mike’s direction.

  “Brianna LaFontaine. She’s a looker, that’s for sure.” Mike laughed, and he rapped knuckles on Elliot’s elbow. “And talk about living large for a while, am I right? Girl’s gotta have some bucks lying around.” As he said bucks, he held his hands out in front of his chest and gave his fictitious tits a squeeze.

  The lump in Elliot’s throat loosened, and he tried to keep smiling. Instead, he turned and pressed the button for the top floor.

  “I’m going up to 32,” Mike said, and Elliot pressed his button.

  They rode up in a short, uncomfortable silence until Mike’s floor opened. He said goodbye to Elliot and stepped off the elevator. Two others got on, a white-haired man in a suit and a woman who looked about the same age. As the three of them rode the rest of the way to the top floor, they ignored Elliot while they talked about a movie he had never heard of. He leaned against the elevator wall and watched the woman, aged but still pretty, touch her hair as she spoke, and she even reached over to squeeze the man’s shoulder.

  The elevator opened on the top floor, and Elliot stepped out. It was by far the nicest floor in the building. Quiet, clean. There was no smell of ink or the desperation of writers in a hurry to finish their stories. This floor held all the executive offices, so it was a large lobby with a receptionist's desk in front of the sweeping globe logo of Mondial Publications. The woman sitting there—Elliot thought her name was Malinda—waved at him. “She’s expecting you,” Malinda said, and she turned back to her computer. At least Malinda hadn’t opened the email this morning.

  Just inside the double oak doors, there were austere seating groups with sparse plants. A modern feel befitting the worldwide publishing group that Mondial Publications was. Howard LaFontaine’s office was off to the right and took up most of that side of the building. Elliot had been in there only once when Mr. LaFontaine had a new computer system installed in his desk. It was like he was setting up the lair of a super villain—expensive furniture and computing power that caused his nerd self to foam at the mouth.

  Publishing was only one of the ventures that Mr. LaFontaine worked in. He was one of those mogul types that had his fingers in a lot of different holes and commanding an army of executives across a few different industries that Elliot hadn’t really kept track of. The publishing arm of Mr. LaFontaine’s empire sat in the hands of his daughter, Brianna LaFontaine and the office where Elliot was headed right now. Hers took up a large section of the side of the building opposite her father’s office.

  Brianna was one who put her time and effort into learning the trade. She majored in marketing and journalism with a minor in English in college, and she graduated summa cum laude in her class. Her place in the company wasn’t just as a figurehead. She earned her right to be there. It helped that when she graduated, she didn’t have to start out at the bottom like the rest of them did. She had an office waiting for her. If it had been anybody else, Elliot would probably be jealous. But Brianna, well, she deserved it.

  At her office door, Elliot peeked in and rapped his knuckle on the half-open door. “You’re next on my list,” Elliot said.

  Brianna LaFontaine sat at her desk, her fingers working quickly over the keyboard of her own computing powerhouse. She peered at him over glasses on her nose, and she took a deep breath before sitting back in her chair. She removed her glasses and stared at Elliot. Her blond hair was pulled back and professional. Severe. “Damn right,” Brianna said. “It’s about time you got your skinny ass up here.”

  Elliot walked further into the office, and he stopped with his tablet held gingerly in front of himself like a very inadequate shield.

  By then, Brianna stood from her chair, and her face had become her usual bright smile. She walked from behind her desk with her arms outstretched. “Get over here, you nerd,” she said as she gave Elliot a hug.

  Elliot returned the gesture, along with a smile of his own. “I was going to suggest Jimmy take this call,” Elliot said. “But there’s not an IT department head to take my request.”

  “And I would have hunted you down like a hungry lion.”

  “Yeah, I worried for Jimmy’s safety too. Poor guy.”

  “It would have been a slaughter,” she said. “The only thing saving him would be that I’d hate to ruin this blouse. It's Givenchy.”

  Elliot laughed.

  He and Brianna met in college. They were on the same dorm floor at the University of Chicago. Brianna didn’t need to stay in the dorms, but she had insisted, much to her father’s chagrin. She came from privilege, her father was fond of reminding her, but Brianna was a woman who wore her privilege with a hefty dose of humble. Sure, she enjoyed her money. The green Givenchy blouse blithely name-dropped, the matching skirt and the Valentino shoes. The entire outfit she wore today probably cost as much as Elliot’s salary in a month, but her clothes didn’t speak for her. Her superpower was her ability to know people, and
she was the type of person against whom people couldn’t hold the fact she was the daughter of the twelfth richest man in the world. In between manicures and spa days, she never thought twice about getting dirty. She hung out with regular people. Elliot told her once during one of the many late-night study sessions in her room and later in her off-campus apartment that she was about the richest commoner that anyone knew.

  “So how’s it going, Brie?” Elliot asked

  “Shut up and sit down.” She turned him full around and pushed him over to the sitting area in her office, a set of tasteful white leather seats arranged in a grouping of four with a glass table in between. “I’m not telling you a thing about my life until you fill me in on all the sordid details of yours.”

  Elliot took a seat in one of the plush leather chairs, and Brianna moved to her desk and picked up her phone. “Two coffees, Greg. Mine the usual and one with two creams and two sweeteners. Elliot here is a lightweight.” She shot a wink in Elliot’s direction, and he rolled his eyes. Then she came back to the chairs and sat in beside him, turning herself and propping her chin on her palm. “Spill,” she said.

  His face grew warm. “What is there to tell?” Elliot said.

  “Oh, come on,” Brianna said. “Your date? The guy from Tinder? How’d it go?”

  Shit. Elliot shrugged. “Fine, I guess.”

  Brianna threw her hands up and lifted her face toward the ceiling. “That is not all you’re giving me.” She fixed him with a stare, eyebrows lifted and a challenging expression on her face. “Tell me everything. Your first date. Don't leave out a thing.” She gripped his forearm and gave him a friendly, frenetic squeeze. “Can’t you tell that I’m excited for you?”

  “I hadn’t noticed.” He grinned in spite of himself, but he looked down at his hands. He didn’t want to meet her gaze. “I mean, it was a typical date, you know? We met at…” He actually rehearsed this before, but his mouth felt dry. “Well, at a coffee shop, and we sat and talked.”