Only See You Read online

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Epilogue

  Mal

  Parker

  Acknowledgments

  Also by JD Chambers

  About the Author

  Only See You

  Only Colorado Book #2

  JD Chambers

  Copyright © 2018 by JD Chambers

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Beta Reading: Leslie Copeland

  Proofreading/Editing: Courtney Bassett

  Cover Art: Garrett Leigh, Black Jazz Design

  Created with Vellum

  Dedication

  For my sister, the Smart Ass. This Dumb Bunny appreciates the hell out of you.

  Contents

  Prologue

  1. Mal

  2. Parker

  3. Mal

  4. Parker

  5. Mal

  6. Parker

  7. Mal

  8. Parker

  9. Mal

  10. Parker

  11. Mal

  12. Parker

  13. Mal

  14. Parker

  15. Mal

  16. Parker

  17. Mal

  18. Mal

  19. Parker

  20. Mal

  21. Parker

  22. Parker

  23. Mal

  24. Parker

  25. Mal

  26. Parker

  27. Mal

  28. Parker

  29. Parker

  30. Mal

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Also by JD Chambers

  About the Author

  Prologue

  Eleven Years Earlier - Mal

  My hands tremble, causing the plastic of the bag to rustle. I swoop my other arm across the bed, flinging all the clothes and towels and crap to the floor. I’m not brave enough to pull out the contents yet, but the bag gets a special place now, all alone on the bed.

  My door is closed, but my bedroom door has no locks, so I check out the window – one last time. My window has a clear view of the driveway. No cars.

  I kick off my shoes, which land somewhere under the bed. I will have forgotten by morning, when I’m scrambling to find them in order to get to school on time.

  My shorts and t-shirt are next, then my socks, until I’m in only my boxers. I have the urge to hide my body with my arms, even though no one else is here.

  Two years ago, I had no body image problems. God, even just thinking that makes me sound like a fucking girl, so maybe that’s what I am. But now, all I see are changes wrought by puberty and I wish I could make them stop. Every time my voice cracks, I want to cry. And the fucking body hair.

  I’m pretty sure I’m not the first guy to admire his own dick, but mine used to look so cute – a nice little surprise between my slim hips and smooth skin. Now it’s surrounded by a nest of hair that really does look like a nest. I even found a hair on my balls the other day, and snuck into my parents’ bathroom to borrow Mom’s tweezers to pluck that shit right out.

  I smooth my hands down my boxers to wipe away the sweat before opening up the bag. I don’t want to ruin the things inside. Two items fall from the upturned sack, and I toss it aside once it’s empty. Taking care not to snag the soft fabric with my play-roughened hands, I spread out the dress and lay the choker in its proper place near the thin spaghetti straps. The dress shines under my bedroom light, glossy black satin, trimmed with lace along its deep vee.

  I’d admired it every time we’d gone to the store, and I’ve been saving my lunch money, snacking out of the vending machines instead, in order to afford it. Today is the day both my parents work until six, so I took the bus to the store straight from school. I told the store clerk that it was for my girlfriend, and she helped me pick the right size. She’s the one who recommended the necklace, a silver heart connected to a satin ribbon, to go with it.

  I gather up the dress, gently with just my fingertips, and slide it over my head. The fabric slips easily down my chest, but gets caught on my boxers. I stick my thumbs under the waistband on each side, and let the dress continue to fall as I shove my underwear to the floor. It barely feels like anything. I twist my shoulders left and right to feel the whisper of the fabric across my skin. I shimmy my hips and there’s a visible bump in the front that shakes with my motions.

  The hard part is done, so I clutch the necklace in my hand and head to the mirror to put it on, but my hands let it fall to the floor once I see my reflection.

  My short hair spikes in every direction. That’s not new. But the bare expanse from my neck to my chest and shoulders, broken only by those thin black straps, makes me gasp. The dress hangs loose, but the material is clingy enough to accentuate the slight dips of my abs and the jutting bones at my hips. The bump where my soft dick hangs between my legs highlights the differences between my body and the dress even more. And I love it.

  My leg hair peeks out from the hem, and I wish I’d had the foresight to shave first. I don’t like the contrast of my leg hair compared to the smooth silkiness of the dress, but so far, that’s the only negative.

  I tuck my dick between my legs to smooth the front of the dress. It hangs flawlessly now, but I don’t like the way it looks anymore. Or I do, but not as much. I open my legs to let my dick flop back into place. Better. I had wondered if I would get hard trying the dress on. The soft fabric rubbing my bare dick seemed like obvious boner-time. But I’m not turned on right now. This doesn’t feel erotic. It feels right.

  Turning to look at myself from the side, this view really emphasizes the places where I don’t have curves and the places I do. Determined to explore as much as I can while I have this brief moment of privacy, I go to my dresser and pull out two clean socks and turn them into sock balls. I stuff the front of my dress with them and return to the mirror, shifting back and forth from a side to a front view.

  I have to admit, I really thought I was going to love it, but I don’t. It looks like shit. Even more, it feels like shit, and my brows wrinkle in frustration. I take the socks back out and toss them haphazardly behind me. Oh yeah. This is perfect.

  Please, God, let me stay like this forever, or if you’re feeling really generous, undo what you’ve done so far and let me stay like my twelve-year-old self forever. Although I wouldn’t mind growing a little taller. But no more body hair. I’ll do whatever you want in return. Just give me this one little thing. Amen.

  “Malcolm, have you seen my–”

  My dad’s voice stops suddenly as my door is thrown the rest of the way open. It hits the doorstop so hard I can hear the spring reverberating. Not difficult, since it’s the only noise in the room. I’ve stopped breathing, and my dad must have too because he’s turning purple.

  “What in God’s name is the meaning of this?”

  I can’t speak as he storms across the room and grabs the dress in his fists. The hair on his knuckles sticks out like his whole body has been electrified. His hands jerk and the beautiful black satin rips apart in his hands.

  “You will never do this again. No son of mine is a sissy faggot, you hear me?”

  Hear him, feel him, and smell him, as his spit sprays across my face with each screamed word. His breath stinks of onions and coffee, but I’m too scared to recoil. If I just pretend I’m somewhere else, someone else, I can get through this. I try to shut my mind off, but he shakes me.

  As my brain reengages, I realize it wasn’t my dad shaking me, but my mom shaking him as she tries to get him off me. His hands must ha
ve been the only thing holding me up, because as soon as she succeeds at prying my body from him, I slump to the ground.

  I barely notice the sound of my door closing or their yelling down the hall. I don’t know if my eyes are closed or open, but it doesn’t matter because everything is grey. The whole world has gone grey.

  I’m not sure how much time has passed before I feel the warmth of my flannel quilt around me, and the scent of something spicy and savory hits my nostrils.

  “Mom?” I ask once I find my voice. It cracks, of course, although I don’t think it is because of puberty this time.

  “Shh, just take your time. I brought some soup.”

  She props me against the bed and sets the soup in my lap once I’m steady. I stare into the bowl, too ashamed to meet her eyes.

  Mom grips my chin and forces my head up, but gently. “You look at me, Malcolm Copol.” She waits until our eyes meet, and the softness and love I see there almost do me in. “You are beautiful, inside and out.”

  I lower my head again until she gives my shoulders a shake. Not the earth-rending one of my father, but the get-your-head-out-of-your-ass one of my mother.

  “You look down for no one. Not me, not your father. Got that?”

  I nod. I can’t help but do what she says when she gets all bossy. It’s some weird Mom voodoo.

  “Now, however you want to look, whatever you want to wear, whoever you want to be, you do it. And you own that shit. Because that’s what makes you special and unique and you.” She looks like she’s thinking about it for a second and adds, “Although give me a little warning, just in case I’m going to need to have my ass-kicking shoes on.”

  I settle into the blanket and the feel of her arm around my back. The spicy broth opens up my sinuses and my chest as it goes down. I can’t hear Dad in the house anymore.

  “Are you and Dad going to be okay?”

  Mom hums, and tightens her hold around my shoulders.

  “No. But that’s not down to you. We weren’t, anyway. It’s why we both came home early to talk to you. We’re getting divorced.”

  1

  Mal

  Days like today make me wish I could sell my truck. Every person who considers you a friend, acquaintance, or even trick will ask for help moving the second they learn you own a truck.

  Craig actually is a friend, even though I haven’t seen him since our last kayak run at the beginning of September. He and his boyfriend Zach had just gotten together over the summer and were nauseatingly in love. We still keep in touch now that kayak season is over, but by text or social media since I’m usually too busy with work to make it to Fort Collins for fun. I moved to Loveland for a job, and it is a fucking boring town.

  After kayaking, I shift right into mountain biking, weather usually permitting, unless the occasional ice or snow decides to ruin my fun. Even then, you can get these super cool snow tires and mountain bike through the snow. Extreme sports goals right there. People always envision Colorado as super wet because, hey mountains, when really a lot of parts, including the northern foothills, are incredibly arid. Doesn’t mean we don’t get our fair share of snow, though. Craig has no interest in biking, which surprises me, but I like a good adrenaline rush, no matter what the reason or season.

  For once, I offered to help with a move instead of reluctantly agreeing to someone’s begging. Zach has a best friend and about to be ex-roommate named Ben, and the one time we met and danced for five minutes piqued my interest. The man has moves, so I decided I wouldn’t mind helping out a friend if it means ogling said roommate while he works up a sweat. Who knows? Maybe if I’m lucky, he’ll let me give him a tongue bath when we’re finished.

  The move starts at Craig’s old place. I load up his kayak, rack, and other equipment into my truck while he and Zach stuff boxes into their much smaller cars.

  “Where’s Ben?” I ask them once we’ve stopped to catch our breath. No point in beating around the bush. The man is the reason I’m lugging crap two days before New Year’s Eve.

  “He is at his family’s for the holidays. Won’t get back for a few days,” Zach says.

  Damn. I spent all that time curling my hair and fishing out my painted-on yoga pants for nothing.

  Craig laughs at my pout. “I should have guessed. I thought it was strange you volunteered.”

  “I am offended that you’re questioning my motives. But seriously, if the only eye candy I get is you two, then I want pizza and beer for the use of my truck.”

  We make quick work of the rest of Craig’s place, drive the two blocks to their new home, and unload just as quickly. Zach wants us to read each box label and place them in the appropriate rooms, but Craig and I revolt and stack them in the first available space. Craig pulls Zach into a kiss to stop his complaining about how we’re “messing up his system.” Yuck. I linger outside to avoid the sickening cuteness.

  “Jesus, were you christening the place?” I say when they finally emerge ten minutes later. Craig grins proudly, but Zach ducks his tomato-red face. Yep, sickeningly cute.

  I need directions to Zach’s place, our next stop, since I’ve never been there. Craig and Zach – and oh my god I just realized their ship name would be Crach – stop for snacks, so I get there first. Seriously, must remember to point this out to them. And everyone they know.

  I wind around the parking lot until I find the right building. Oh hallelujah, a gorgeous man is embarking on a move of his own, hefting plastic bins from the trunk of a car. I kill the engine and enjoy the scenery. His track pants highlight the cleft of his well-formed ass and I enjoy the side-butt dimples that play hide-and-seek with every step he takes to the second floor. Too soon, he has moved out of view.

  Craig and Zach arrive and lead us up the same set of stairs. I’m so busy looking at other doorways and up the other flight of stairs, hoping for another glimpse of Gorgeous, that it takes me a second to realize Zach is talking to me.

  “Mal, I wanted to introduce you to my cousin, Parker. He’s moving into my old room.”

  I turn with my hand already extended and almost choke on my sharp inhale. Parker, aka Gorgeous, grabs my hand with a firm shake and warm smile.

  “So you’re the sucker with the truck? Nice of you to help out.”

  His green eyes twinkle, and combined with the tuft of sandy hair sticking up through the opening of his snapback, make him look like a devilish frat boy. I suppress the sudden urge to request a personal initiation, and instead say, “I’m a sucker alright,” wink included.

  Parker shakes his head. “You would think I’ve been around Ben enough now that I’d see those jokes coming.” Craig raises an eyebrow, and Parker rolls his eyes and groans. “Damn it.”

  Craig told me a little about Parker, and I have to admit, I was expecting a pocket protector, not a jock strap. I can work with either, but unfortunately, the man is straight. At least he has improved the scenery, but alas, he won’t be taking me up on my tongue bath offer later.

  Parker hauls up the last of his own boxes, then starts in on Zach’s things with the rest of us. Every time I return to the truck with a new box, the others have been rearranged, and there’s suddenly fifty percent more space than before. Like Parker is a magical space-creating wizard.

  We return to the kitchen at the same time, and our fingers brush against each other as we each grab a box. The contact sends sparks up my arm, but Parker doesn’t spare a glance my way. Craig already mentioned an ex-wife, but if he hadn’t, that would have proved it. I study my reflection in the microwave door. My curls are partly pulled into a bun and the rest cascade into a soft frame around my sharp cheekbones. My microfiber shirt is tight enough that if I were allowing myself to sweat right now, it would be plastered on me like papier-mâché. I might not be every gay man’s wet dream, but I always get a second look.

  “Mal,” Craig yells from the hallway. “If you can get the last box in there, I think we’ll be through with Zach’s stuff.”

  With a last look an
d a sigh at all my wasted effort, I lug the box downstairs. Craig and Zach pile into their respective cars, both so full that they have to sit at unnatural angles in the front seat. Obviously Parker didn’t work his magic on their vehicles, only mine.

  “Mind if I ride with you?” Parker asks. The deep timbre of his voice behind me coats my skin like honey, and I physically shake myself to refocus. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I just figured it would be a waste of gas, since you have room. However, if you prefer …”

  I wave away his rambling with my hand and gesture to the passenger seat. “Hop in.”

  He nods his thanks, and my eyes trace the bulge of his biceps when he hoists himself into the truck by the “oh shit” handle.

  “It’s great that you were able to take Zach’s room. Have you been in Fort Collins long?” I say, trying to distract myself from drooling. My new mantra, “He’s straight,” runs on repeat in my head.

  “Just moved here in the fall. I lived in Denver previously. I think it worked out amazingly well. I really enjoy Ben’s company, and he still needed someone to help with rent, so it was a logical solution.” He rubs his palms along his pants. “I also felt like it would be a good distraction from, well, things.”

  I nod along, trying not to give away that I am already well aware what those things are – the divorce and the catalyst behind it. I’m sure he doesn’t want to know his friends have been gossiping behind his back.