Every Saturday Night (Firsts and Forever 6)

Chapter10

It felt like everything changed over the course of the summer. Owen continued to grow and amaze me with his new-found skills. He was very much a toddler now, even if I still called him a baby, and that came with new challenges and new rewards. One of the biggest changes was that his vocabulary expanded beyond the “ba” sound, and when he started calling me “Dada” I almost melted with happiness.

In July, Lucky’s thirtieth birthday came and went without much fanfare, at his request. It actually landed mid-week, so the following weekend my housemates and I made him a nice dinner, and I baked him a cake. He said he didn’t want presents, but I gave him a few little things anyway—some books I thought he might enjoy, a framed picture of him with Owen and me, and a few of Owen’s colorful scribble drawings. He seemed happy about them, so I was glad I’d decided to ignore his request for no gifts.

Of course, the biggest change that summer was that Lucky moved to Miami as planned. He began working side-by-side with his dad and learning the job of running the family business, and I knew he was feeling a lot of pressure.

But every weekend as promised, he flew back to San Francisco and we had our Saturday evening together. I asked him if all that travel added to his stress, but he said it was just the opposite. “Sometimes, I feel like our time together is the only thing keeping me sane,” he told me. “It’s also the only time I feel like myself. The rest of the week, I’m playing a role, trying to be the man my dad and our employees need me to be. I don’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t come back here every weekend and just breathe.”

Our routine was always the same. Lucky worked ridiculously long hours Monday through Friday, and he also went into the office for a couple of hours on Saturday mornings before getting on a plane. He’d arrive in San Francisco in the afternoon, and I’d meet him at the garage so we could enjoy a couple of hours on our own. Meanwhile, Lark and Dylan had “guncle time” with their nephew, which often included trips to Golden Gate Park or some other fun location.

We’d all meet back at the pink Victorian after that for dinner with the family, and then we’d hang out with Owen until it was his bedtime. After that, Lucky and I would either spend the next few hours cuddling and talking, just the two of us, or we’d join my housemates in the living room for family game night, or a movie, or cocktails and conversation.

He always spent the night, followed by a leisurely morning with Owen and me, before a car service took him to the airport. He got back to Miami early enough to get ready for the week ahead, and the routine would start all over again.

Overall, this seemed to be working. Okay, so I missed him like crazy during the week. I also worried about the strain that much travel was putting on him, even though he swore he was fine. It was hard to imagine him keeping this up for years on end, so I didn’t know what would happen long-term. But I was so grateful for our time together and the effort he made to be with me.

* * *

On the last Saturday in August, I let myself into Lucky’s garage with my key and shut off the alarm, then turned on some fans and opened the bay door to air it out. It was more than a little warm and stuffy, after being closed up all week.

I’d been surprised when he’d told me he wanted to hold on to the garage. Then again, his dad was probably paying him a pretty decent salary, so I assumed continuing to pay rent on it wasn’t a hardship. I could see why this place meant a lot to him, too. It wasn’t just someplace for us to sneak off to, it was a symbol of the life he’d led in San Francisco.

Even though it was still furnished, it was much emptier now than it had been. Before he left, he’d packed up his tools, donated most of the completed motorcycles to an auction benefiting a local LGBTQ teen shelter, and given all the spare parts to Skye for use in his metal sculptures.

All that remained now were two motorcycles—the vintage Harley-Davidson Sportster he used to ride around town, and the custom 1957 Harley Hydra-Glide he’d finished shortly before he moved. And yes, I was actually starting to learn a little about motorcycles, after listening to Lucky’s many enthusiastic dissertations on the subject.

He kept saying he should give those bikes away too, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to do it. I could see why. They were a symbol of his former life, like the garage, and they had a lot of sentimental value. What surprised me was that he didn’t want to ship them to Miami. Maybe that was because his new life was so different from his former life that they just didn’t make sense in that setting.

Sometimes I wondered if I fit into the same category as the bikes and the garage. Was he with me because he was trying desperately to cling to a few remnants of his former life? But that was just my own insecurity talking. He showed me all the time that he truly cared about me, so I tried my best to ignore the self-sabotaging voices in my head.

After I stuck the snacks and drinks I’d brought into the fridge, I kicked off my flip flops and took off the short-sleeved shirt I’d been wearing over a tank top and a pair of shorts. Then, for lack of any better ideas, I set up the chess board—the one Lucky used to use for his long-distance games with his dad.

I was a little early today, by choice. Lark and Dylan wanted to take Owen to a puppet show in the park, so I’d ended up taking off when they did. I liked hanging out at the garage, because it made me feel close to Lucky. By this point each week, missing him became so intense that it felt like I was walking around with a huge hole in my chest.

Not that I told him that. He was trying so hard and making a huge effort to see me once a week. The last thing I wanted was for him to feel guilty about his obligations on the opposite end of the country.

Right around the usual time, a black town car pulled up and Lucky climbed out of the back seat. It was an odd contrast, him and that car, but it shouldn’t be. Even though he looked exactly the same with his long hair, beard, jeans, and a T-shirt, most of his time now was spent as a businessman running a company. It was actually tough to wrap my mind around that—my creative, free-spirited mechanic and artist, sitting at a desk all day.

As soon as he spotted me, a smile appeared on his face. He rushed over to me, and on the way, he hit the button to close the bay door and tossed his messenger bag aside. I held my arms out and fought the urge to cry with joy and relief and the million other things I was feeling.

He grabbed me in an embrace, lifting me off my feet as he pressed his lips to mine. I was completely overwhelmed with emotion. I couldn’t kiss him enough, or touch him enough, or get close enough. I wrapped my legs around him and sank my fingers into his soft, thick hair as we deepened the kiss.

When I tilted my head to kiss his jaw, he whispered, “I missed you so much, mi amor. God, I missed you.”

I stopped kissing him long enough to say, “I missed you, too.” It was the world’s biggest understatement.

There was no style or grace to the way we stripped for each other. We both just needed to be skin-on-skin, now, so clothes were shucked and cast aside until we were naked. “I need a shower,” he mumbled, in between kissing my shoulder and licking my earlobe. Since this was one of my very favorite things to do with him, I didn’t complain.

Instead, I let him lead me out the back door to the deck, and the outdoor shower that was pure heaven on a hot summer’s day. I got the water running, and we stepped under the cooling stream before going right back to kissing and caressing each other.

Eventually, I thought to reach for the body wash. I loved Lucky’s blissed out expression as I ran my lathered up hands all over him. His cock and balls got extra attention, and it was always gratifying to feel him harden under my touch.

We were surrounded by seven-foot-high wooden shower walls, in addition to the fence around the yard, so I knew no one could see us. Even so, a little thrill ran down my spine when I heard his neighbor talking to some guys in his backyard. Lucky knew I had trouble keeping quiet when he fucked me, and his grin turned wicked as he slipped his soapy fingers between my ass cheeks.

When he slid a finger into me, I shuddered with pleasure. His grin got wider, and he drew a circle in the air with his index finger, telling me to turn around. I did more than that—I knelt on the built-in bench with my knees apart, then arched my back as I leaned into the wall. He directed the flow of water at my ass to wash off the soap, and then he shut it off and dropped to his knees.

Before I met Lucky, it never would have occurred to me that having my ass eaten could be such pure, intense pleasure. He spread my cheeks before pushing his face between them. The scratch of his short beard was a sharp contrast to the softness of his tongue as he lapped at my hole. Then I had to bite back a yell as he pushed his tongue inside me.