Page 5 of Give Me What You Will

The distance Sam put between them felt right, necessary even, and the only damned way he could move on. Because Frankie was as straight as they came. The epitome of a ladies' man. Sam had watched the conga line of girls cling around Frankie’s neck for the past fifteen years. And he’d had enough. It took losing Papi for him to finally choose himself for once.

“Look,” Frankie pressed, eyebrows lifting high. “I didn’t fly all this way to sit in the damned hospital lobby. Let me buy you a beer—some food. Let’s catch up.”

One evening in Frankie’s company wouldn’t kill him, and then he’d fly back home and Sam could maybe go another eight months, maybe even a year, without having to see him again.

“Fine,” Sam muttered.

“Don’t look so enthusiastic, Sammy. I might take it personally.”

He shot him a hard look. “You’re lucky you didn’t need stitches. I would’ve enjoyed sticking a needle into that thick fuckin’ skull of yours.”

“There he is,” Frankie crooned victoriously. “Good. So, what time you pickin’ me up and where we goin’?”

Sam chuckled, feeling the weight on his shoulders shift a little. Frankie was a determined bulldog and wouldn't let this go. And he couldn’t blame him. Sam had left abruptly, without a word, and deep down, he knew that it was wrong. Frankie deserved more than that.

He could handle a couple of hours with Frankie, because the truth was, he missed the hell out of him, too. And when the night was over, he’d say goodbye for good. Because once Sam had moved to LA and away from Frankie, he realized something.

He couldn’t ignore the truth anymore.

That kiss—that stolen kiss—changed everything for him.

Sam no longer had any interest in being just friends with his best friend.

He couldn’t. Not when he knew what his lips tasted like after all these damned years. He wasted so much of his life pining for what could never be. It was time to move the fuck on, because he couldn’t go backward, and he wouldn’t. He had protected Frankie from the truth of his feelings for too long. Maybe it was time to tell him the truth, and then he’d finally leave Sam alone for good.

And if words weren’t enough to convince Frankie that this was for the best, then…

I’ll kiss his ass again and force him to let me go.

Chapter 2

Frankie’s fingers tapped nervously on the table, glancing once more out the window of the restaurant. The city lights flickered in the darkness, and the restaurant Sammy picked was nice—like nice, nice. A posh place that Frankie would’ve normally just walked by.

He restlessly scrubbed his hands over the knees and thighs of his jeans beneath the table, releasing a shallow exhale. He’d gone back to his hotel after he saw Sammy at the hospital and waited out the day for his text. He showered, shaved, and changed into something a bit nicer. He knew it was ridiculous—that he was being ridiculous, but he couldn’t help it. It’d been eight months since they’d seen each other. And prior to that, they had been inseparable.

And prior to that, he never knew what Sammy’s lips tasted like.

A weird, disconcerting feeling slithered up his spine. He promptly cracked his neck and cringed, his head alerting him to the pain.

He leaned back in the cushioned, cream leather booth, trying to fuckin’ relax.

Because it was just Sammy.

The server, a young woman with a pretty, round face, appeared at his table. “I can get your drink order in while you’re waiting.”

“Two beers, please. Make his a hazy IPA, if you got it, and I’ll take whatever's dark, thank you.”

She nodded and left.

He went back to the nervous tapping, drumming his fingers over his knee now. He wasn’t used to being this nervous over Sammy. Hell, he couldn’t remember a time when that had ever occurred. He’d get nervous for Sammy or with him, but not because of him.

Well, probably because after that kiss, Sammy had disappeared into oblivion, and they hadn’t spoken a word to each other since. He had spent the last eight months thinking about little else. How surprisingly soft his lips had been. How needy, urgent, and passionate Sammy had been when he reached over and dragged him into that kiss.

That fuckin’ kiss...

Christ.

Frankie made sure not to make a big deal about it upon seeing him, because he knew that’s why Sammy had tucked tail and ran. But he also didn’t want Sammy to know how it affected him, because he had no idea what the hell was happening to him. He had hoped seeing Sammy again, talking to him, might give him some relief because he wasn’t gay. Fuck that and fuck no. He’d been a lover of women all his life. A bit of a player, if he was honest, and he had never once looked at a guy that way.