Holding on to Furtwangler with one hand, Micah stood on tiptoe and opened the top door. He slid the present behind the teapot he used for herb infusions. He really wanted to give the bracelet to Dharmaram tonight, but he’d force himself to wait. It would be more special tomorrow.
He walked through the dark dining room into the living room. No lights. He turned on a low TV-viewing light. “Stay here, guy. We’ll watch some TV, okay?”
The cat slithered off his shoulder to the comfortable, cotton-velour-covered couch, and Micah headed down the hall to the bedroom.
“Umpf.” Micah stopped. “Ohhhhh.” Shit, was that Dharmaram? Had he hurt himself doing his damned backward-bending pose again? He took two more steps.
“Oh, oh, oh!”
What’s wrong? Micah ran the last seven steps and threw open the bedroom door in time to see a large bare ass in the air and a very big dick shoving its way into the pink butthole of the guy Micah had just spent five hundred dollars on. “Shiiiiiiit!”
“Un, un, un.”
Micah stared. Clearly the fuckers were too far gone to stop, so he was privileged to watch his so-called lover moaning in orgasm while some guy as big as a tree grunted over him.
His whole body felt cold, frozen. Strange how the mind works. Sure, his heart should be breaking, but all he could think of was that this tree trunk was the kind of guy Dharmaram really liked. He’d always said he loved Micah’s slim, hard body, but obviously the redwood there was enough of a man to get to top Dharmaram, while Micah had always been forced to bottom. Micah had told himself he loved being the receiver, but the truth was, he liked to top and Dharmaram never let him. Shit, he never let him do a lot of things. Maybe thighs like an elephant’s were needed to hold down that perfect ass.
The mammoth rolled to the side, and Dharmaram raised his head, looked at Micah, and then flopped back to the pillow. “Well, shit. You said you’d be late.”
What the fuck? “Late? Late?” The ice melted, and heat rose up Micah’s spine until he saw red—just like in the stories. “Obviously I’m seriously late in realizing that you’re a fucking cheating asshole. You live in my house, eat my food, and let me buy you presents”—the bracelet flashed across his mind, and he wanted to kill—“and all you can say is ‘you said you’d be late’? You flaming son of a bitch!”
The elephant man sat up. “Maybe I better go, huh. Let you work this out with your boyfriend.”
Micah wanted to throw himself across the room at the guy, but even in this pissed condition he had some self-preservation. The guy outweighed him by a hundred pounds. “Yeah, you go.” Suddenly everything got clear. “Yes, go and take him with you.” Micah pointed at Dharmaram’s still supine body. “He’s no boyfriend of mine. Get the hell out of here. I’ll send your stuff.”
The yoga teacher sat up. Always so graceful. “Oh, come on, Micah. So I cheated once. BFD. Sometimes I just want a poke in the ass and from somebody new. So what?”
“So what?” Had he really believed this man was the love of his life? Shit, yes. Then why was he giving up on him so easily? Good question. “Get out of here.”
For the first time, Dharmaram looked worried.
“C’mon. Where would I go?”
“I don’t care.” And amazingly it was at least half true. “Take your toothbrush and get the hell out of my house.”
Dharmaram’s wide, dark eyes got watery. “Come on, baby.”
Micah shook his head. Okay, here came his heartbreak. Heat pushed behind his eyes. No way. He gritted his teeth. “Get out now.” He looked up at Dharmaram’s chiseled face. “Now. Out. Now. Or so help me, I’ll call the cops and tell them you’re trespassing.”
“They’d never believe you.” But at least Dharmaram scooted off the bed toward where Tree Man was buckling the belt on his jeans.
Micah took a step forward and grabbed the clothes lying on the floor at the foot of the bed. He threw the yoga pants and shirt at Dharmaram, who caught them with his face. Micah clenched his fists. “Get your clothes on your body and get out. You can pick up everything else from the porch tomorrow.”
Dharmaram pulled on his yoga pants commando over that hard-muscled downward dog of an ass. Micah didn’t want to look. How many hours and days had he mooned over Dharmaram’s perfection? Well, the guy wasn’t perfect anymore.
Dharmaram pulled his T-shirt over his head. “You’ll see this differently tomorrow.”
“No, I won’t.” He stared at the handsome, dark-haired man who was now his ex. “I think I knew you’d been cheating, but I didn’t want to believe it. I believe it now.” Sad, but the truth.
Dharmaram threw up his hands. “Hell, Micah, if you weren’t such a perfectionist prick, you’d be a half-decent boyfriend, but shit on a stick, you shove that green crap down my throat all the time and give perfectly good money to save furry things that nobody needs anyway. Get over it, man.”
Micah sighed. So finally the truth. He stuck out his hand. “Give me the house key.”
Dharmaram frowned so deeply the creases should have turned permanent. No such luck. He fished in his pocket and pulled out the key on the pretty butterfly key chain Micah had given him. With a flick, he tossed them on the floor.
Micah glanced at the keys. “Just leave.”
And he did. Dharmaram, the guy of Micah’s dreams, walked out the bedroom door with Redwood Man. Micah heard him say, “Can I stay with you until I find a place?” And the tree answered, “Nah, I live with my mom. She doesn’t like me to bring guys home.”
Laugh or cry? Micah followed them to the living room. Dharmaram’s perfect ass retreated out the front door. Micah slammed it. So much for angry gestures. Shit. He pushed his back against the door
