Rooster’s room outside his bathroom door, but this needed to be fixed now before Rooster started packing up his things and moved out. He stepped into the bathroom and stopped beside the frosted glass shower door.
“Can I come in?” Wheland asked Rooster.
“It’s your house,” Rooster bit back.
Wheland paused briefly, not liking Rooster’s comment or the icy tone used to say it, then tugged on the polished nickel handle on the door and stepped inside the steamy stall. Rooster had his back to Wheland and was letting the water pelt his face while his fingers pushed the wet hair off his forehead. Wheland watched silently for a moment and took in the gorgeous backside of Rooster. His fingers ached to touch Rooster’s slippery skin and that perfect ass, but he was uncertain of how Rooster might react. Instead, Wheland stepped closer. He knew Rooster felt his new proximity because he suddenly stood still, with his palms flat to the tile wall, bracing himself.
“I’m sorry,” Wheland said. Two simple words holding so much meaning and Wheland had never used them before this very moment. “I didn’t mean to sound like such a dick simply because you used my first name.”
“No worries,” Rooster said. The timbre of his voice saying anything but “no worries.” “It won’t happen again.”
Wheland took another step; his chest very close to bumping Rooster’s back. “I stopped using my first name a long time ago,” Wheland said. “It’s not that I don’t like it, it’s what the name stands for, and the memories it stirs. That’s why I chose not to use it anymore.”
“So, just like that you told all your friends to start calling you Wheland?”
“Pretty much,” Wheland said. “The guys in the band knew something had happened but they never asked for specifics and I never volunteered the information.” Wheland set his hands on Rooster’s shoulders and lightly squeezed the muscles. “It’s been years and I’ve never told anyone what happened, but maybe if you get me drunk some night I’ll tell you.”
Rooster swayed slightly from the contact and their bodies touched. Wheland’s hands dropped to Rooster’s waist and circled him; he pressed the side of his face against Rooster’s neck and nuzzled his nose into the wet waves of his dark hair.
“Why would you want to tell me?” Rooster asked.
“Because it feels like I can trust you,” Wheland said. “Plus, it’s important to me you don’t think I’m a prick.”
“I don’t think you’re a prick,” Rooster said. He wrapped his fingers around Wheland’s arms where they crossed over his stomach.
“Good, because that would kill me,” Wheland said and nipped at Rooster’s ear lobe. “Truth is, I liked hearing my name roll from your sexy mouth and I wouldn’t mind hearing you say it again. Even better would be hearing you scream my name when I’m balls deep inside you.”
“Is that so?” Rooster asked.
“Yeah, I’m certain I’d love that,” Wheland said with a grin. He pressed his lips to the bend of Rooster’s neck. “Would you mind if I called you Sonny?”
Rooster turned in the embrace, faced Wheland, and their eyes met and held. Rooster’s fingers were trailing down the side of Wheland’s face, through the prickly whiskers on his jaw line, and onto his neck; massaging the solid column. “I think I’d like it a lot if you called me Sonny.”
Wheland couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. “How about you come back to my bed and we’ll talk for a while.”
“Just talk?” Rooster asked.
“For now,” Wheland said. “I want to know everything there is to know about Sonny Roostarelli.”
Chapter Seven
Wheland dropped his towel on his bedroom floor and slid across the rumpled sheets on his bed. He looked at Rooster standing partway in the room with the bath towel still tied around his waist; his hair finger combed off his forehead, the ends still slightly dripping. Wheland’s eyes burned
“Can I come in?” Wheland asked Rooster.
“It’s your house,” Rooster bit back.
Wheland paused briefly, not liking Rooster’s comment or the icy tone used to say it, then tugged on the polished nickel handle on the door and stepped inside the steamy stall. Rooster had his back to Wheland and was letting the water pelt his face while his fingers pushed the wet hair off his forehead. Wheland watched silently for a moment and took in the gorgeous backside of Rooster. His fingers ached to touch Rooster’s slippery skin and that perfect ass, but he was uncertain of how Rooster might react. Instead, Wheland stepped closer. He knew Rooster felt his new proximity because he suddenly stood still, with his palms flat to the tile wall, bracing himself.
“I’m sorry,” Wheland said. Two simple words holding so much meaning and Wheland had never used them before this very moment. “I didn’t mean to sound like such a dick simply because you used my first name.”
“No worries,” Rooster said. The timbre of his voice saying anything but “no worries.” “It won’t happen again.”
Wheland took another step; his chest very close to bumping Rooster’s back. “I stopped using my first name a long time ago,” Wheland said. “It’s not that I don’t like it, it’s what the name stands for, and the memories it stirs. That’s why I chose not to use it anymore.”
“So, just like that you told all your friends to start calling you Wheland?”
“Pretty much,” Wheland said. “The guys in the band knew something had happened but they never asked for specifics and I never volunteered the information.” Wheland set his hands on Rooster’s shoulders and lightly squeezed the muscles. “It’s been years and I’ve never told anyone what happened, but maybe if you get me drunk some night I’ll tell you.”
Rooster swayed slightly from the contact and their bodies touched. Wheland’s hands dropped to Rooster’s waist and circled him; he pressed the side of his face against Rooster’s neck and nuzzled his nose into the wet waves of his dark hair.
“Why would you want to tell me?” Rooster asked.
“Because it feels like I can trust you,” Wheland said. “Plus, it’s important to me you don’t think I’m a prick.”
“I don’t think you’re a prick,” Rooster said. He wrapped his fingers around Wheland’s arms where they crossed over his stomach.
“Good, because that would kill me,” Wheland said and nipped at Rooster’s ear lobe. “Truth is, I liked hearing my name roll from your sexy mouth and I wouldn’t mind hearing you say it again. Even better would be hearing you scream my name when I’m balls deep inside you.”
“Is that so?” Rooster asked.
“Yeah, I’m certain I’d love that,” Wheland said with a grin. He pressed his lips to the bend of Rooster’s neck. “Would you mind if I called you Sonny?”
Rooster turned in the embrace, faced Wheland, and their eyes met and held. Rooster’s fingers were trailing down the side of Wheland’s face, through the prickly whiskers on his jaw line, and onto his neck; massaging the solid column. “I think I’d like it a lot if you called me Sonny.”
Wheland couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. “How about you come back to my bed and we’ll talk for a while.”
“Just talk?” Rooster asked.
“For now,” Wheland said. “I want to know everything there is to know about Sonny Roostarelli.”
Chapter Seven
Wheland dropped his towel on his bedroom floor and slid across the rumpled sheets on his bed. He looked at Rooster standing partway in the room with the bath towel still tied around his waist; his hair finger combed off his forehead, the ends still slightly dripping. Wheland’s eyes burned
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