Anti-Hero (Wild Heart Ranch Book 4)

When we got to Hopper’s apartment last night, it was all I could do to stop myself from pulling Ant into my arms. And I could not have been more conflicted when he stripped down to his underwear and got in bed with me like it was nothing.

Slide off those briefs, baby. Let me taste you. Fill you. Make you come for me.

I mean, sure. I love how he’s so comfortable with me now, but it’s pure fucking torture.

Let me make you feel safe. Wanted.

I down the bear claw in the elevator before hitting the lobby, then step onto the busy Manhattan sidewalk. After checking the phone strapped to my arm, I head for Central Park. It’s a bright, sunny day, but the morning isn’t too hot or muggy, a miracle for New York in the summer.

I’ve jogged through the Ramble before, so I don my earbuds and start out on the twisty path, letting it take me away from the sounds of the city. I try to focus on the nice weather and the pretty scenery, but my mind keeps taking me back to last night.

Ant fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, and I couldn’t help but watch him breathe. I would’ve been happy to lovingly gaze at him all night—which is ridiculous enough—but then he shifted in his sleep, snuggling up against me. He’s so small that rolling him away from me would have been easy, but I didn’t want to.

Pulling him closer immediately solved my insomnia, even if it did heighten everything else. He slept all night with his head on my chest, his palm spread out on my belly, and one of his legs wrapped around mine.

I woke with his morning wood pressing into my side. Wishing I could inhale his sleepy erection, I instead gently rolled him away from me so I could go to the bathroom and take care of my raging hard-on.

Thinking about it now, I stifle my reaction, not wanting to jog with a boner in the middle of Central Park. I make the loop twice and still feel conflicted and fuzzy. Finding a free bench, I drop onto it and pull my cell phone from the armband.

Me: I might be in trouble as far as Ant is concerned.

A call from Charlie’s number pops up on my phone three seconds later.

Clenching my jaw, I hit accept.

“If y’all got together last night, I win the pool.”

“Fuck off.”

“Does that mean you didn’t seal the deal last night?”

“Why are you trying to get me to seal the deal? He’s a rescue.”

“You make him sound like a shelter dog, Erik. He’s not a rescue. He’s a human being who’s been in love with you since he first laid eyes on you. You’re the one who’s hemming everything up. Fortunes hang in the balance, my friend.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“You love me, and you know it,” Charlie drawls, his country boy-slash-Buddhist vibe damaging my calm. When I don’t have my usual smart-ass retort for him, he continues, “What the hell, Erik? What the fuck is going on up there?”

“I want him,” I answer, too fucked in the head to land on more flowery language.

“Well, you’re in luck. He wants you too. So that should make all this pretty easy.”

I glare at my phone, then put it back to my ear. “Are you on something? Do you even know me at all?”

Charlie snorts. “I know you very well, my friend, and you are in a world-class spiral over this. Have been for months. You can’t keep your hands off him, but your brain keeps spinning up the picture of him sitting in the back of your truck.”

“Shut up.”

“I love you too. Now listen up and tell the truth. How do you want him?”

In every way imaginable. Head down, ass up. My cock buried so far inside him he can taste it. My face buried between his cheeks. My cock shoved down his throat. Below me, above me. Bed, shower, pool, dining room table, on the floor, in the back seat, rolling around on the goddamn sand.

“Whoa,” Charlie whispers. “Are you building a list in your head right now?”

“Shut up. And yes.” I drop my head into my hands. “I feel like a pervert.”

“Do you plan on raping him, Erik?”

“What the fuck, Charlie!” I shout, scaring a jogger.

“Sorry!” I call out, then go back to the phone. “Seriously, Charlie, what the fuck?” I whisper furiously.

“Erik, your reaction? Means you’re not a pervert. The complete polar opposite, in fact. You do get that, right?”

I clench my jaw. “Yes.”

“So he could put on the makeup, put on the dress, go into little headspace, call you Daddy, ride you like a carousel pony, and you still wouldn’t be a pervert. You wouldn’t be an abuser. You wouldn’t be his rapist.”

“I know that.”

“Do you? Do you really? If you were both into it, you could play around with consensual nonconsent, and it would be fine. It would not be wrong, even with his history. You could even call it rape-play, and as long as he’s into it, you’re golden. He could tell you the filthiest thing anyone’s ever done to him, have you repeat it on him, and it still would not be the same. Do you know why?”

I cringe at the thought but answer anyway. “Of course I do.”

His silence tells me I’m not getting away with the abbreviated answer.

“Fine. It’s not the same because whatever two enthusiastically consenting adults do is between them,” I say like a child repeating some lesson in school.

“Yes, but no. It’s not the same because of who you are and who he is with you. So…you can get spun up in your head about it and keep him stuck in the past, or you can let both of you live in the now with orgasms and butt rubs.”

I pull out my hair elastic and hastily knot up a man bun, then get up because I still need to move.

“It’s not just that, Charlie. You know it isn’t,” I snap, stomping through Central Park like Godzilla.

“Yes, I do. Once again, you need to say it out loud.”

“Fine,” I growl. “I’ve never been in a relationship before. The odds of me hurting him are astronomical—”

“How?” Charlie asks, completely dismissing my fears. “Why would you hurt him?”

“I wouldn’t hurt him on purpose, dumbass. But seriously, Charlie—what the fuck do I know about building a healthy relationship? You’ve heard the stories about my family. You also know I’d rather fucking die than hurt him, and yet, look at what I said to him the night he beat the crap out of me.”

“Interesting,” Charlie says, smug as shit.

Grudgingly playing along, I ask, “What’s interesting, Charlie?”

“You’re more concerned with hurting him than the idea of being in a relationship with him. That’s new.”

I stop, and a little kid runs into the back of me.

“Sorry!” his harried-looking mother says, grabbing him quickly. “His dad is tall. He thought you were him.”

I pat the kid’s head. “You’re fine. Sorry for stopping in the middle of the path.”

I stomp off in the other direction, then return to Charlie. “I hate you so much right now.”

His soft chuckle is annoyingly supportive.

“Look, lots of people truly don’t want to be in a relationship for all sorts of valid reasons. All these years of not being in a relationship? Nothing wrong with that. I’m not over here feeling sorry for my boy. But,” he says, pausing for extra drama, “you are allowed to change your mind. You’re also allowed to be new at something. I can promise you, you will not be bad at loving him.”

“Why are you talking about love?” I moan. “I haven’t even kissed him.”

“Yet. You haven’t kissed him yet, Erik. And you know how you feel about him.”

“No, I don’t,” I scoff. “I have no idea what any of this means.” Kicking a rock, I whisper through my teeth, “I feel like an insane person. I want to fuck him and hold him and keep him safe for the rest of his life.”

Charlie goes quiet.

Fuck.

“Yeah, I heard it,” I say, imagining he’s getting a kick out of my existential crisis.

After another moment of silence, Charlie responds, “I’m talking about love because if all you wanted to do was get into his tight ass, you wouldn’t be feeling this way. You care, Erik. From the depths of your heart. Which I have to assume scares the shit out of you.”

“Of course it does! I don’t wanna hurt him, Charlie.”

“You don’t have control over all the things that can hurt Ant, Erik. Look, all jokes aside, you’re not a game show contestant with the clock running out. It’s okay to let these feelings marinate for a while.”

“How do I trust these feelings, Charlie? You know how my parents were, man. What if that bitterness is lurking somewhere inside me, waiting for me to have someone to hurt?”

Charlie lets out a soft sigh, and I imagine his soulful eyes boring into mine. “Erik.”

“I’m telling you, Charlie. I’d fucking kill myself if I hurt that man ever again.” Playing my words back, I think about the long, white scars that run the length of his forearms and curse under my breath. “Fuck, sorry, Charlie. I…you know I didn’t mean it.”

“Erik,” he says, irritated. “We’ve known each other a long time. You’re allowed a little hyperbole with your closest fucking friend.”

“Still—”

Charlie talks over me. “The thing you’re not allowed to do is believe that you are anything like your parents. Their bitterness never lurked, Erik. It wasn’t shy. For God’s sake, bitter people don’t walk into hell and escort people out.”

I open my mouth to respond, but he keeps going, “You are so full of love, and it drives me insane to see you doubt that about yourself. I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, buddy, but you’re in love with him. Have been. For a while. Everybody sees it.”

“Really?” I ask, awed by how calm it makes me feel to give a name to this thunderous feeling in my chest.

“You know about the pool, right?”

“Yeah, but that was about fucking him.”

“And you don’t want to just fuck him, do you?”

I inhale the fresh air, the sounds of the city muted by the leaves. “No.”

I can almost hear him smiling at my admission.

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were just about to quote Buddha at me.”

“When have I ever quoted Buddha?”

“I don’t know. You’re all gaga over your high school bully. Who knows what other disgusting habits you’ve picked up?”

Charlie’s laugh is a little too knowing. “Look, you’ve got a ways to go. There’s no rush. You’ve already done the hardest thing by admitting to yourself that you have feelings for him. That’s big. It’s something your shitty parents and the people who hurt him couldn’t take away from either of you. It’s okay to have something special in your life, Erik.”

“I swear, if you start quoting love sonnets like some self-help love guru, I will hang up on you.”

“I would never,” he chuckles.

“Mm-hmm.”

“I see you moved Minneapolis up on the schedule. Just letting you know we’ve got everything squared away.”

Grateful for the subject change, I go along with it. “Okay. Thank you.”

“Anytime. And, Erik?”

“Yes?”

“You deserve this.”

“Fuck off.”

“Love you too, brother.”