Winner: The Mathesons Book 4 Read online

  “You know, sometimes you’re a great little brother.”

  “You just keep thinking that when I want something excellent. I’ll expect you to come through.”

  I sighed and relaxed back on the couch after Tony returned to his room. Part of me wished I’d opened up about not being out with my family. At least Jamie did seem to have a set of close-knit siblings, and his smile was genuine when he mentioned his mom.

  Thinking back a few years, I knew that I almost did come out to my family in the wake of the Walker Pierce incident. I wanted to say something like, “Yes, he was a predator, and yes, they should fire him, but I didn’t say no until it was too late to get out of the situation in a graceful way. That was the lesson I needed to learn for myself. His seduction worked precisely because I like men, and he’s a handsome, charming one.”

  Instead, I was mostly quiet and let the punishment take its course. The executives drummed Walker out of the company with five years of legal probation. The company’s lawyers asked if I wanted to push for criminal damages, and I declined. We didn’t do anything sexual. The touching all happened over the top of clothes. It was harassment, but I knew I would feel guilty if he ended up in prison.

  In the end, I couldn’t even tell Tony the full truth. He was a lot younger then, only in junior high, and he was angry for me. Fortunately, he didn’t assign the blame to Walker’s sexual orientation. Tony’s reasoning was already on target. To him, it was all about adults who try to gain power by preying on younger people. Even at that young age, Tony understood.

  What I wanted to ask Jamie was whether I’d waited until it was too late. I wondered if there was some statute of limitations on the coming out process. The idea that I might disappoint every member of my family made me shiver when I thought hard about it.

  When Tony was in sixth grade, Ma expressed her opinion about kids who keep secrets from their parents for a long time. She was loud and clear about it.

  Dad was always a soccer fanatic. I think that came from his European heritage. In second grade, when the option became available, Tony decided to play soccer in a local league for little kids. I’d had enough sense to avoid sports altogether, but Tony wasn’t yet the confident, independent person he’d eventually become.

  My little brother wasn’t bad at the sport, but I knew that his heart wasn’t in it. Before the season was over, he’d confessed to me that he didn’t care much for the games, and he hated practice sessions. I felt sorry for him every week when Thursday arrived, and he had to spend two hours after school kicking the soccer ball around.

  Dad loved going to the games, and he was encouraging. He’d say, “Tony, you’re turning into a good little forward there.” Dad gestured with his hands just like Grandpa as he said, “And you come in from the side there, and bam! Goal!” When Tony scored during a game, Dad encouraged adoration and appreciation from the other parents.

  I’d watch Tony smile weakly at Dad’s enthusiasm, and I felt terrible for my little brother. I knew that it didn’t matter how many times I suggested that he quit. The weight of my opinion with Tony was nowhere close to Dad’s.

  Finally, in his fifth season, when Tony was in sixth grade, he broke his right leg in a freak accident on the soccer field. Three days after they put a cast on the broken limb—while Dad was already counting the weeks before Tony could get back to soccer practice—my little brother confessed.

  He spoke to Mom first, assuming that she was the most likely to feel sympathetic. Instead, she verbally dressed him up one side and down the other. “Tony! Why didn’t you tell us in the first season? Your father loves soccer, and he was no good at it, but that doesn’t mean you need to feel like his replacement. You have to talk to us. You’re our son.”

  When Dad found out, he merely shrugged. At dinner that evening, he said, “The Moretti family were never meant to be athletes. We’re cooks and chefs!”

  The crisis was solved. The whole family cheered, and I ate the rest of Mom’s pasta bolognese with a smile on my face.

  Every time I envisioned coming out to my family, I thought I would probably start with Mom, too, and I hated the idea of her lecturing me about waiting for so long. I didn’t have a valid excuse. There was no real reason other than unformed, vague fears that made it a lot easier to remain in the closet.

  Hauling myself up from the couch, I decided that it was time to go to bed. I’d considered staying up a little longer and sketching out some more ideas for the project with Jamie, but the anxiety about coming out killed my creativity for the evening.

  As I brushed my teeth and stared at my face in the mirror, I thought about Jamie looking back at me. He was turning into something different from what I thought at first. He was charming and even a little bit self-deprecating with Ma instead of arrogant like he was with some of our colleagues. He told a few jokes through dinner that made me laugh. None of them were mean-spirited. The evening was a lot of fun.

  I blinked hard when I thought I saw Jamie’s face in the mirror. It was only my imagination, but the vision was strong. He was strikingly handsome. I’d never been close to someone who drew admiring glances from total strangers the way that Jamie did. I first noticed the attention he attracted without really trying while we ate lunch together in the deli.

  Stripped down to my briefs, I slid into bed feeling the smooth sensation of clean sheets. As I lay flat on my back, I reached for the lamp on the bedside table. I switched it off and plunged the room into darkness. Staring up at the ceiling, I couldn’t stop myself from thinking about Jamie again.

  His lips were full but not too fleshy. I knew that they would be perfect for kissing. I bit my lip. I wasn’t supposed to think about him that way. We weren’t even friends. We were professional colleagues. Without the random assignment of project teams, we wouldn’t take any role in each other’s lives.

  Despite my best efforts at logical reasoning, the thoughts about Jamie clouded my mind with more intensity. I rolled over onto my side. Jamie mentioned that his brother was dating an old swim camp buddy. I thought about Jamie slowly stripping off a t-shirt to get ready for a swim. My breathing quickened when I imagined looking down to see a tight speedo clinging to his package.

  I moaned. “Fuck, he’s hard.”

  As I rolled over onto my stomach, the image of Jamie in my head plunged into a pool with a mighty splash, and I felt my stiff cock press hard into the mattress. I had to return to my back to relieve some of the pressure.

  I gave in and stopped resisting the fantasy images that filled my head. With the thought of Jamie rising out of the pool with water streaming off a smooth, muscular chest, I reached down into my briefs and wrapped my fingers around my already stiff cock.

  Mumbling into the darkness, I said, “Fuck, Jamie, I’ve got to do it, or I’ll never get any sleep. You’ll never know about this.”

  I pushed the sheet off my body and used both hands. It felt damn good. Letting all of my reservations down, I thought about Jamie’s hand wrapped around my cock while I stared into his blue eyes.

  In my fantasy, he lowered his head and stuck out his tongue to lick at one of my nipples. The sensation was like a bolt of electricity to my brain. I arched my back and stroked faster.

  My moans grew louder until I pulled the other pillow over onto my chest and pushed my mouth into it to muffle the sounds. Tony’s room was right next door, and it was more than likely that he was still awake.

  My attempt to quiet my moaning only made me more excited. I knew that it wouldn’t take much more stroking to make myself come, but I wanted to extend the pleasure for a few more minutes. I wanted to think about falling to my knees in front of my project partner while taking his thick, pulsing cock into my mouth.

  I saw myself casting my gaze upward to see the veins stretched taut in his neck as Jamie thrust his head backward with the sensations overwhelming him. He gasped for breath while my lips and tongue brought him closer and closer to the edge.

  In my fantasy, one of my hands sn
aked up over Jamie’s taut abs to his chest. The firm flesh beneath my fingertips nearly sent me over the top. My other hand reached down to take hold of my cock.

  My balls were boiling. I was close. I whispered the word, “Jamie,” into the pillow, and that was enough. My hips bucked, and I shot. My entire body convulsed twice more before the orgasm started to fade.

  As I pulled the pillow back from my face, I wondered how I’d face Jamie the next day without blushing. For a few seconds, I considered the embarrassment, but then I forgot about it so that I could enjoy the moment. If I had to suffer through the rest of the project, I wanted to enjoy one night of indulgent pleasure. Closing my eyes, I soon drifted off to sleep with a satisfied smile on my face.

  9

  Jamie

  Working with Angelo was more relaxed and comfortable than I ever imagined. He took half-formed ideas that popped out of my head and turned them into great sketches by the next morning. Those were in addition to great ideas of his own. Filming Tony was a breeze, and by the time we finished the clips, I knew that I’d happily buy any soda Tony offered. If anyone had the key to bottling Tony’s engaging energy, I wanted to know about it.

  I tried to have a few conversations with other teams to check out the competition, but they were mostly tight-lipped. Nobody wanted to leak any of their secrets in advance of the final judging. At least that’s what they told me. Angelo had better luck talking to his art buddies.

  With only two days to go, we decided to spend a late night working together at the office. The equipment and software was even higher quality there than what either of us had at home. We were one of three teams that elected to spend the evening in the building. With the commitment they demonstrated, I considered those teams our stiffest competition.

  Hal Ensign was pleased to see how we devoted ourselves to the projects. The competition was his pet initiative in the company, and the success of past winners was a tribute to his skill in encouraging the best work from the competitors. I wanted to be Hal’s latest protege advanced forward in the advertising business.

  Strolling up to us five minutes after most of our colleagues left for the day, Hal asked, “So, do you mind sharing some of your ideas for the final presentation?”

  I laughed when Angelo raised one eyebrow and dared to ask, “Are you sure you’re not spying for another team?”

  Ensign laughed. “You’re already learning how to guard corporate secrets. I like it. Of course, I’m not spying. I want the two of you to win as much as any other team.”

  Angelo shared one of his ideas. It was a short clip featuring Tony. As we watched, Angelo explained how he used special effects for the exploding orange on the screen, but I still didn’t quite understand it.

  In the clip, Tony’s handsome face filled the screen, and an ordinary looking orange appeared at the bottom. It suddenly exploded, and without missing a beat, Tony said, “The orange with a pop!”

  Ensign grinned. “That’s clever. And who is the young man in the video? Is he a professional actor? You didn’t need to spend the money to hire someone for this.”

  “Oh, those comments would make his day,” said Angelo. “That’s my little brother, Tony.”

  “Well, maybe he should consider being an actor. He commands attention the entire time he’s on the screen.”

  “Right now, he wants to be a video game designer, but he’s got a constant battle there with my parents. They would be happy if he pursued almost anything but that.”

  “Video game design is a lucrative career if he’s got the right talent.”

  “I don’t think the money’s what concerns them.”

  With a quick nod, Ensign said, “Carry on. I think you have some great ideas, and you probably don’t need me taking up time leaning over your shoulders. I’ll look forward to your final presentation.”

  As Ensign left the small conference room we’d taken over for the evening, I turned to Angelo and said, “That sounds like good feedback.”

  He smiled and tossed his head back slightly. “Don’t get overconfident. We’ve got to stay on point.” Leaning forward, Angelo said, “Focus, Jamie.”

  “What do you think I’ve been doing?”

  “Not focusing hard all the time. You get distracted. I’ve noticed that. I’m not complaining, but sometimes you’re a little like a dog in a park who sees squirrels out of the corner of his eye.”

  He was right, but it wasn’t only me veering off the path on occasion. I caught Angelo staring at me when he thought I was engrossed in my computer screen, and he expected that I wouldn’t notice.

  Then there were those times our hands touched as both of us reached for the same button on the computer keyboard. Angelo would gasp, and I’d take a deep breath, but neither of us said anything.

  The tension was sexual. I’d seen it so many times before. Three different times in college, I ended up in bed with one of my group project members. On one assignment, in particular, we pulled an all-nighter to finish the work, and then I fell asleep with one of the guys on my team to, “take a quick nap.” It turned into a hot and heavy fuck session when we woke up an hour before class.

  One time I bumped into Angelo when we both reached for the office coffee pot at the same time. The initial contact was innocent, but what followed not so much. Angelo reached out and touched my shoulder as he apologized for getting in my way. Then his hand drifted downward, and the slender artist fingers trailed over my chest until he pulled his hand away.

  I wanted to ask, “Did you get to touch what you wanted?”

  Instead, I was quiet and glanced downward while we waited for the coffee to be ready. He knew what I was looking at, and I saw that he was hard. Either that, or he had the biggest soft cock filling out his package that I’d ever seen in my life.

  Angelo pulled me back to the present when he asked, “Am I right?”

  I decided to push the issue a tiny bit further and asked, “Don’t you think you can be distracting to some people? After all, you’re not ugly.”

  My big mouth screwed me again. I didn’t intend for it to happen, but the words did come out wrong when I ran them back in my head.

  Angelo frowned, and he asked, “Not ugly? Is that the best you can do. Maybe I should say you’re fortunate that you’re one step above mediocre.”

  “In my looks or my work?” I trapped him. I knew it wasn’t true about my looks, and I wasn’t ready to accept an insult to my words.

  “Maybe I should say both. You should expect that I’d be that rude since I’m almost ugly.”

  I growled, “Oh, fuck off, Angelo. Mama’s little angel shouldn’t act like this. Where’s that short clip you reshot with Tony? I’ve got a few words to add to it.”

  Angelo crumbled like usual in the face of pressure. He said, “Damn, I’m sorry. You are good-looking, and I think we work well together. Accept my apology, please, and then we can move on. This can’t derail our work.”

  Usually, I was completely turned off when a guy gave in so easily, but Angelo had a way of doing it that made me want to put my arm around his shoulders and cuddle him close to my chest. Either it was his vulnerability that attracted me, or I was still just seriously into his lips.

  “Okay, fine, I accept. I apologize, too. You’re at least two short steps above ugly. You’re not even close to bad. Those eyes. Those lips.”

  Angelo mumbled, “Asshole,” and pulled up the clip on his computer.

  Without thinking, I reached for the side of the laptop to turn it to face in my direction. Our arms collided, and Angelo didn’t pull away immediately. Instead, he looked at me with something like a pleading gaze in his eyes.

  I knew that we needed to reduce the tension if we were going to get much done, and we had at least four essential items to complete to stay on track. One way would be a quick fuck with Angelo pushed up against the lavatory in the executive bathroom, but I knew that wasn’t going to happen.

  I suggested, “Why don’t you go get us each a cup of coffe
e while I check out the clip. Is that okay? I’m not trying to make you do work that I don’t want to do. It’s just important to avoid the, uh…distractions while I look at this.”

  I let out a long, slow breath after Angelo walked away. It was not unlike letting a slow stream of air hiss as it leaked out of a balloon. The tension between us was getting so thick that I could cut it with a knife.

  While Angelo was gone, I sat in the conference room staring at the screen. Tony smiled and announced, “Pop Orange! To make everything pop in your life!”

  If we didn’t win the competition, I knew that the soft drink company would miss out on the possibility of a viral commercial. The exploding orange was that good.

  Our overall project was outstanding, too. I’d confidently match it up against anything my brothers came up with for our family’s company Matheson and Greene.

  I knew I had just a few more minutes before Angelo’s return. Our office still stumbled along with the caffeine-injected fuel generated by old-fashioned coffee technology. He’d have to place a filter in the machine, fill it with water, and wait for the coffee to drip out.

  While I thought about all of the steps, I imagined Angelo carrying them out. I saw those long, slim fingers sliding down the handle of the coffee pot. With Angelo around, there was nothing I could think about without adding a sexual component.

  Maybe it was because I’d gone on a self-imposed sexual embargo since we started working on the project. A week rarely passed by when I didn’t pick somebody up in one of the local gay bars. Since they announced my pairing with Angelo, almost two weeks passed while I stayed away from the bars. I’d binged on three new TV series already.

  I filled the rest of my time at home jerking off while trying to forget that there was nobody else in my bed. I avoided the bars because I knew there was always a danger of meeting someone exciting if I went there. That would require throwing ample time and energy into a whirlwind romance. I didn’t have any of that to spare if we were going to win the contest.