The Best Friend (Red's Tavern 1)

Hell, maybe for my whole life, all I’d been able to see was him.

“Of course I will,” I said.

“Then you’re mine,” he said, pulling me in for a kiss.

22

Mitch

I used to think I knew what winning was. It was getting that touchdown, or playing a good scratcher lottery ticket, or dominating in fantasy football.

Turns out I didn’t know what it felt like to really win until Evan was my boyfriend.

I had never been a big fan of airports. First off, they’re stressful, no matter how excited I am for whatever trip I’m taking. But they also can signal bad things. Last time I was at the airport, Zach had stormed off, and I’d been worried sick all weekend that he may never want to come back from Chicago at all.

So right now, as I pulled my Jeep into the parking lot and made my way into the terminal, I got the familiar nervous anxiety coursing through me that I always had. Memory could be weird like that. Even when you were feeling great, the past could blindside you.

I made my way in and waited outside the security gates. Evan had only been gone for three days in Switzerland, but it had felt like an eternity. I wanted him to do well in the interview, of course, but I’d also been counting down every single hour until he got home.

He’d only been my boyfriend, officially, for two weeks, but already I couldn’t imagine my life without him.

When I finally saw him coming down the corridor, my heart started to pound harder in my chest.

“Ev!” I said, waving at him. He finally saw me and made his way to me, dropping his shoulder bag to the floor and wrapping his arms around me.

“Mitch,” he said, squeezing me so tight and breathing deep. “God, now I really feel like I’m home.”

“Me, too,” I said, pressing kisses to the top of his head. Butterflies batted around in my stomach.

“What’s this?” Evan said, putting his hand on the jersey I had draped over my arm. I was wearing an identical one.

“Oh,” I said. “Shit. I was supposed to hold this up as you were walking down the corridor. I totally forgot.”

“Because when you saw me, all you could think about was how I’m going to suck every last drop of cum from your cock later tonight?” he whispered low near my ear.

“Holy God,” I said, feeling my cock perk up under my jeans. “Well, I hadn’t been thinking that, exactly, but I sure as hell am now.”

“Let me see this thing,” Evan said, grinning as he took the jersey and turned it around.

It was a custom one, with the name Weirdo emblazoned on the back, complete with the number 12. His eyes went wide as he looked at it, clutching the shiny fabric in his hands.

“It’s… silly,” I said, scratching the back of my head. “But I knew you’d at least appreciate the lucky number 12—”

“Because we were both born on the twelfth of the month,” Evan said. “Me March, you June.”

“Right.”

“Mitch, this is the sweetest fucking thing in the world,” Evan said, immediately wrapping his arms around me again in a hug. “I love you.”

He stepped back, reaching for the hem of his sweater and pulling it up and over his head.

“I know you want to strip for me as much as I do, but we should probably at least wait until we get back to the car,” I joked.

“Hush. I had to put this on right now,” he said, throwing the jersey on over his t-shirt. “There. Now the whole airport will know that we are two weirdos.”

“Together,” I said. I picked up his duffel bag, tossing it over my shoulder. I held out my hand to him and he clasped it as we walked out of the airport.

I was still so nervous to ask him about the interview. I wanted nothing more than to be a supportive boyfriend—the most supportive one he’d ever fucking had—but deep down, I desperately didn’t want him to end up moving to Europe.

“You would have gone crazy for the French fries I had over there,” Evan was saying as we hopped into the Jeep. “They dip them in mayo, but it’s absolutely delicious. There was also this curry ketchup…”

He trailed off as he watched me. Suddenly we were sitting in silence, and he turned to me.

“Mitch, you’re doing the thing,” he said softly.

“What? What thing?”

“You’re doing my thing. Where you tunnel into your own head. We’ve only been boyfriends for two weeks and already you’re picking up on my habits, huh?”

I puffed out a small laugh, then bit the inside of my cheek. “I’m thinking about something in particular,” I said.

“Tell me,” he said. He reached out and put his palm to my thigh, rubbing it in a small circle. Fuck, why did just that tiny gesture make me want to cry?