Wood: A True Lover's Story

“We are,” Trent muttered, casting his eyes over Bishop’s shoulder at a grinning Edison.

“It doesn’t sound like it,” Bishop said as he glanced back and forth between them. “Wood, look, man. I know Trent can run his mouth, but he’s really a lot of bark.”

Trent shook his head.

“Nah. He has a pretty good bite to match,” Wood said, his deep brown gaze watching him closely.

Trent casually licked his lips. He caught the slight tick in Wood’s jaw as his eyes dropped to his mouth. Little did Bishop know, Trent had figured out that Wood enjoyed it when he gave him attitude since it usually led to some serious handling and aggressive kissing.

“Hi, Trent,” Edison blurted loudly. “Hey, Wood.”

“Hi, Edison,” Wood answered. “I hope you guys are ready to eat. I had to skip lunch today.”

“Why?” Trent said as he was searching through the junk drawer for the takeout menus. “We have plenty of lunch meat.”

“I know. But you took all the ham.”

“Well, you’re the one that made my lunch today, so technically you took all the—” Trent caught himself, but it was too late. Bishop was too sharp to have missed that.

“Wait,” Bishop cut in. “Wood, you make Trent’s lunch?”

Edison chuckled.

“Not all the time, but if I’m making my lunch, then I’ll throw a sandwich together for him too.” Wood shrugged as he stared at Trent.

Trent wished he wasn’t as edgy as he was, but he knew he needed to man the fuck up and soon. If he wanted to be enough for a man as mature as Wood, then he needed to show it. Wood continued to eye him as they got the evening started, probably wondering when Trent was going to confess. They decided on pizza, and Trent tossed two menus on the living room table for them to choose from.

“Let’s go with Papa John’s,” Bishop said. “The sauce isn’t as salty.”

“I’m good with that.” He and Wood agreed.

“Make sure it has extra cheese and mushrooms,” Edison chimed in from the sofa as he perused through the DVDs.

“No mushrooms, remember. Trent hates them,” Bishop noted casually. “Even the thought of mushrooms makes him sick.”

“Is that so?” Wood asked curiously, his tone revealing his disbelief and disappointment. “I didn’t know that.”

“Oh yeah. He acts like an idiot anytime we see them growing wild when we’re cutting lawns. I think he’s a little scared of them.” Bishop laughed.

Trent closed his eyes, murmuring under his breath, “Bishop, you have a big fuckin’ mouth, man.”

“What? That’s nothing to be ashamed of.” Bishop shoulder-checked him when he walked by. “We all have foods that disgust us.”

Bishop left Trent standing in the kitchen with a confused and upset lover completely unaware of the mess he’d just made. Trent instinctually took a couple of steps toward Wood when he suddenly stumbled to a stop. Wood clenched his teeth, and Trent hurried to hold off whatever pissed comment he was about to make.

“I’m not a liar, and I’m not dishonest.” Trent gripped his neck and cursed in frustration. “See. This is what I meant. Bishop has a way of making me look like a jackass.”

“That’s not Bishop doing that, brat. You’re doing a good job all by yourself,” Wood said snidely, then turned and walked into the living room. “I don’t care what’s on my pizza, Edison.”

Trent stood there in the middle of the floor bristling at how much he was blowing this. This was his opportunity to show Wood that he really did want him no matter how uncomfortable, inconvenient, or hard his life would get. Edison was sitting on Bishop’s lap, helping him navigate the online app to make their food order, as Wood dropped down at the opposite end of the sofa.

Trent straightened his spine and walked into the living room, bypassing Bishop’s curious eyes, and settled onto Wood’s lap.

“Oh my god,” Edison gasped first.

“What the hell, Trent?”

Trent ignored Bishop’s shocked question and focused on the man in front of him, gazing at him with hope and a whole lot of pride.

“Listen to me.” Trent cupped Wood’s cheek, his fingers digging into his beard the way he liked. “When you made me that omelet with those nasty-ass mushrooms in it, yeah, I might have thrown up in my mouth a little bit. But you said it was your specialty, and I couldn’t seem to bring myself to say the dish was making me sick.”

“Trent! What are you—?”

“Shut up, Bishop!”

“Shut up, Bishop!”

“Shut up, Bishop!”

Perhaps since they were all in agreement, Bishop shut his mouth and didn’t interrupt again.

“Continue,” Wood said gruffly, linking both big arms around Trent’s waist, anchoring him in place.

Trent swallowed thickly. “You told me you used to make that omelet for someone you cared about, someone important… then you made it for me. So yes. I ate it and said it was delicious.”