by Tara Lain
He let his shoulders slump. “Thanks. I guess the night took a lot out of me.”
“That’s easy to understand. I’m going to get on my knees and say a word of thanks that Mark Woods was in the right place when you most needed him.”
“Amen. I’ll see you in the morning.”
His feet were dragging up the stairs this time. With bobbing eyelids, he managed to get his teeth brushed, slid between his sheets, and closed his eyes. While he didn’t have Gran’s faith—he’d heard one too many sermons on the hell fire associated with being gay and had one too many preachers promising to pray the sin out of him while trying to get him to take off his clothes and show them his sinful equipment. But he did feel very grateful to whatever power there was for Mark showing up in the nick of time.
He sighed. Wonder why that was? I saw him leave the diner over an hour before we closed. Hmm.
With a flip, he landed on his back and took another deep breath as he ran a hand down his own flat stomach. Wait.
His eyes opened. That moment when he’d almost fallen off the bike and he grabbed and—yeah, gotten two handfuls of what could only be described as a massive boner. Whoa. Just remembering the big, warm, hard, throbbing feel in his hands made expansion coefficients occur in his sleep pants.
Wow. Was it for me? No. Probably the vibration on a motorcycle just made you get stiff, right? But then, he’d just been pressing his own more than half-mast condition into the seat of Mark’s jeans. Any chance?
Fuck, idiot. Is there one thing about Mark Woods, giant loner, car mechanic, streetfighter, and alpha male that suggests he has a hidden attraction to guys? And even if he did, why in hell would he get a boner over me?
He forced his eyes closed again and concentrated on the breath moving in and out through his nose the way Gran had taught him to do when he was having trouble relaxing.
No luck.
He tried again.
His phone on the bedside table buzzed. Saved from sleep by the bell. He grabbed for it. The screen said Hans. “Hey.”
“Hey. Thought you were going to stop by on your way home.”
“Oh damn, sorry, man. I got busy at work and then…” Hans was Red’s second best friend after Kimmie, but second best didn’t get as many confidences as first. Still—
“Then?” Hans must have picked up on the tension in Red’s voice.
“Phil Gordat and his band of happy trolls rode me down and, well, I don’t know exactly what they’d have done if they’d gotten me in the car, but I’m pretty sure it would have been awful.”
“Shit, Red! Did you outrun them?”
“Uh, no. Mark Woods saved me. He was riding by on his motorcycle, and he waded in, punched Phil really hard, and threatened the other guys. Man, who knew such a quiet dude could be so scary? Anyway, he brought me home. It was only a couple blocks by that time.”
“Mark Woods.” It wasn’t a question. More like he was trying out the idea in his brain.
“Yeah. Gran’s downstairs sending up prayers of thanks that he was in the right place at the right time.”
Hans actually chuckled, which made Red frown. Hans said, “I’ll bet Mark was in the right place accidentally on purpose.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh nothing exactly. It’s just that have you ever seen the way he looks at you when he doesn’t know anyone’s watching? Plus, when was the last time you were working that he wasn’t there?”
“Naw, he just comes in a lot.” Still, the idea made Red hold his breath.
“A lot when you’re there. Ask Pop. I’ll bet he never sees Mark Woods during any shift you’re not on.”
“Really?” His voice squeaked and he cleared his throat.
“Yeah. I’ll bet anything his rescue was just more of Mark Woods’s stalking.”
“No. Why would he do that?” What do you want to hear, idiot?
There was a pause Red would have to call “significant.” Then Hans said, “Who knows. Maybe he thinks you’re his brother from another mother.”
Red exhaled. Whatever he wanted to hear, it sure as hell wasn’t that.
Hans snorted. “I mean, I know it’s silly to ask if Mark Woods of all the people in town is gay, but if the motorcycle boot fits…” Another significant pause.
Red’s pulse had quickened so much he’d never get to sleep. Hans was really his good friend, but it was harder to confess his uncertain leanings to a guy than it was to Kimmie. “Oh come on. That’s not even believable.”
Hans paused, then said, “You’re probably right. People act kind of crazy around you.”
Red wiped a hand over his face. “Yeah.” He must have sounded defeated.
“Come on, Red. A lot of people would kill to look like you.”
“They can have it.”
“I know. But it’ll get better.”
“It will?” Red felt his eyebrows rise. Only Hans, of all the guys in town, didn’t seem to be threatened by Red’s fucking face. Probably because Hans and his sister both set new stratospheric records in IQ and gave little weight to appearances. Hans seemed to see Red at the subatomic level.
Hans chuckled. “Yep. If nothing else, you’ll get older.”
“Oh thanks a bunch. Don’t worry about your looks. You’ll have wrinkles soon enough.” But Red laughed too.
Hans said, “Anyway, man, no matter his motivation, I sure am glad Mark was there tonight.”
“Me too.”
“So I’ll let you get to sleep. You must be wiped.”
“Pretty much.”
“Okay. Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow. Me and Greta might be in for lunch.”
“Cool.” Greta was Hans’s twin, and they did a lot of stuff together, even if they both got ribbed for it.
“Get some rest.”
“Will. Thanks.”
Hans hung up and Red clicked off. Wow. Just wow. Could there be any chance that Hans is right?
As he settled back under the covers, a plan began to form in his mind.
Chapter Three
Red stepped off the bus and walked past the warehouses and building supply store toward the auto repair on the corner. Woods Auto.
Just walk. Don’t think.
He’d decided very early that morning that the dorktastic way he’d left it with Mark the previous night wasn’t acceptable. Mark had risked his life to save Red, and what did he get in return? Red grabbing his balls and falling over his own feet. Gran hadn’t been all that excited about Red going to see Mark, but she finally agreed it was the polite, not to mention right, thing to do.
Red didn’t mention what Hans had said—even to himself.
Dodging the cars headed for the home improvement store, Red ran across the street, then threaded between the vehicles parked in the lot of Mark’s garage. It looked like business was good.
At the front windows, he peered inside and saw Mark ringing up a lady at the cash register. Wearing his grease-stained coveralls and a cap over his dark hair, Mark looked really different than the night before. His expression also wasn’t one Red had ever seen. Not the shy, withdrawn restaurant patron or the righteous knight on shining motorcycle, Mark looked like a business owner, appreciating his customer and happy to make a sale. The woman pushed a credit card into the chip reader, then signed the screen and shook Mark’s hand. He smiled. Not a big toothy thing, but a pleasant, genuine turning of lips.
Yep, even when Red wasn’t scared and upset, that smile could make him pass out.
The woman turned and was leaving, so Red hurried to get to the door where he’d be more visible. The woman walked past him with a glance, and Red stepped inside the small lobby of the shop. He took a breath. “Hey, Mark.”
Mark looked up from recording something on the keyboard of his office computer. His pretty lips parted, closed, and then tried again. “Hi.”
Red crossed to the counter before he lost his nerve. The words he’d practiced all the way over rushed out. “I just came to say how incredibly grateful
I am that you were there last night. I can’t even imagine how much courage it took to face four guys and to risk your life for someone you hardly know. My grandmother’s on her knees thanking God you came at just that moment, and if I believed in God, I would too. But since I kind of don’t, I wanted to thank you direct.”
Mark cleared his throat and stared at his hands—strong, capable, stained with grease, and scarred. Probably from all the work on cars. Mark said, “You didn’t have to come all the way down here. You thanked me last night.”
Red shook his head, the ponytail flying. “I was so upset last night, I don’t even know what I said or did, but I do know it’s not enough. Is there anything I can do for you? I mean, I know I can never make it up to you, taking that kind of risk, but can I bring you dinners from the restaurant? I mean, I don’t cook or anything, but they give me a discount. Or, wait—” He looked up at Mark. Oh my gosh, why didn’t I think of this before? “I could do your books and your taxes. I know I don’t look it, but I’m actually good at that stuff. I do taxes for Gran and me and I do bookkeeping for Mom and Pop. I could help you. I could come over before I go to work and make sure the books balance and stuff.”
The expression on Mark’s face looked like some kind of war was going on behind his eyes, but who the combatants were, Red wasn’t sure. For a short second, it seemed like Mark might say yes, but then he shook his head. “Uh, no, that’s handled. Besides, there’s no need to thank me.” He looked at his hands again. “Especially not for something like that.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know, something violent.” Those hands must have been fascinating.
Red frowned. “Hell, you probably saved my life. I’m not a big advocate of beating people up, but I’ll make an exception in this case.”
“Yeah, well that’s why I did it. Maybe a better guy could have talked Phil out of being an asshole.”
“Right. And maybe you can talk a skunk into not stinking.”
Mark’s lips turned up just a fraction.
Red said, “That dude was born mean and raised nasty.”
Mark just nodded.
Well hell, this wasn’t going anything like Red had hoped. Where were the friendly smiles and easy banter he’d pictured if he could just get Mark alone in his natural habitat? Red glanced up through his lashes at Mark. How could a guy that gorgeous be so indecisive?
Intervention time.
Red barged around the counter to the computer. “What kind of accounting software are you using?” He clicked the space bar and, fortunately, the screen flashed with a page from a general-purpose small-business accounting program. It must have been what Mark was using and hadn’t exited. “Oh good. I use this all the time. Easy peasy.” He clicked a couple more times. Obnoxious and intrusive? Oh yeah, but quickly Red could see that Mark was behind on entries, which meant that any kind of realistic view of profit and loss was nada. If his accounting was “handled,” he was in trouble. “So I can get all your entries done real fast, and then we’ll have an idea of how you’re doing, sound good?” He flashed his teeth.
Mark’s eyes had gotten bigger and bigger as Red talked.
Red waved a hand. “Sorry, I’m pushier than I look, I know, but seriously, I can clean up your whole financial life and potentially save you a lot of money.”
“But—”
Red planted a fist on his hip. “Come on, Mark. This accounting’s anything but handled. I’m offering to help you for nothing. What in hell have you got to lose?”
For a second, their eyes met. Melt. Drown in a sea of blue. Okay, maybe there was something to lose, like his heart, but face it, that had been teetering on the brink for ages, even before Mark risked his life to save Red. Red smiled. “Please let me help.”
Mark nodded like his head was controlled by a string. “Okay.”
“Yay.” Red glanced at his watch. “I’m serving lunch at Mom and Pop’s, but what if I come over after my shift? It’ll be the end of your day, but you could just set me up at your computer and I’ll let myself out when I’m done. You don’t have to, uh, wait for me or change your plans or anything.”
“What plans?” He looked confused.
“I mean whatever you have planned for this evening. Don’t change it for me.” He glanced at Mark through his lashes.
“Oh, okay.”
Red sighed very softly. That’s what he got for fishing. He had no idea if Mark had plans, like with a girl. “Okay, see you this evening.”
Mark nodded.
Red turned and left. No, the word was more like escaped. Hell, Red could talk to anyone, and Mark had looked like he was interacting normally with his lady customer. But then I show up and Mark turns into Clint Eastwood in The Good, the Bad and the Ugly, for crap sake. Hell, maybe he just doesn’t like me.
The rumble of the bus engine got him running, and he made it to the stop just in time to swing on before the doors closed. After dropping his token in the slot, he grabbed a front seat and watched Woods Auto disappear as they rounded the corner. Mark might be uncomfortable around Red, but he’d come to his rescue the night before. Of course, he was probably so much of a hero he would have risked himself for anyone.
But then there was Hans’s stalker theory. Whoa. Hard to describe how much Red liked that idea.
He settled back for the stop-and-start trip to work. Then he grinned. At least he had a date to show up at Woods Auto that very evening.
* * *
Mark stared out the window and watched the flying ponytail disappear onto the bus. His frustration ebbed out on a long, slow breath. I’m a freaking loser. All I could do was nod my head? Shit, I almost turned him down. Like I don’t need him. Like I don’t want to see him. Like I’m not freaking drowning in my bookkeeping! Fuck.
Mark glanced at his watch, adjusted his cap, and walked back into the noise of the garage where he drowned himself in the intricacy of a transmission.
Lunchtime came and went, and Mark kept on working. No thinking except about whether or not the Prius the guy brought in needed a new battery or if it was just debris affecting the mass air-flow sensor.
At four thirty, he pulled off his safety goggles and gloves. With a wave, he yelled to Junior, his main mechanic after himself. “Hey, man, I’m quitting early. Got an appointment. Need to get cleaned up. Text if you need me.”
Junior waved back, and Mark walked outside the building and up the stairs that led to his apartment. Funny, a lot of people had apartments over the garage, but in his case he was serious about the garage part. When his dad had been alive, they’d had a house, but Mark didn’t want to waste money on a mortgage, even a small one, when he needed it for his business. So, he’d capitalized on his high school woodshop skills and built out the old storage space above Woods Auto.
He used his key to let himself in. Not many people in Ever After locked up their houses, but Mark didn’t like people messing in his stuff and didn’t want to issue any implied invitations for them to do it.
Inside, he stopped and soaked up the peace. The apartment wasn’t fancy, but he’d made it as nice as he could afford, with soft colors, lamps with shades that gave the best light, and a comfy couch a friend had given him used, but Mark covered the worn spots with a really nice throw. He had one bedroom, a small nook he used as a reading-and-book space, and a bathroom he’d spent too much money on, but, man, did he love it.
Yeah, and he needed to get to it.
He marched into his bedroom, pulled off his work boots, stripped, and tossed the dirty coveralls in the special hamper he kept for work clothes. His boxer briefs and socks went in a different hamper. Nude, he walked to the bathroom. It wasn’t an en suite since his whole apartment was just his and the few times people did come over, he didn’t want to make them walk through his bedroom to go pee.
He closed the bathroom door and was faced with the full-length mirror on the back. It wasn’t often he looked at himself like someone else might see him. Too-long hair, fucking hard-to-
explain scars all over the place, big but not fat, okay face, big cock. Half a grin turned his lips. That last part might be an advantage—sometimes.
With a twist of the controls, he turned the shower on, gave it half a second, then stepped under the warm water. Okay, start the process. He’d installed a flash water heater because he needed so much of the wet stuff to scrub off the grease and the dirt that attached itself to the grease. Funny. He’d never thought this would be his life, scraping off grime. Honestly, he’d figured he’d be in jail, although he’d wanted to be in college. Then the old man died and it all changed.
After fifteen minutes of solid scrubbing, he decided he was clean enough. He turned off the water and stepped out. Grabbing a fluffy towel, he dried and padded to the bedroom, where he opened the small closet that held his measly collection of clothes. He barely glanced at his choices, since there were so few. Grabbing the black jeans that looked best on him, he then opened his chest of drawers for the white long-sleeved jersey that was nicer than most of his other T-shirts. Done.
A glance at his watch showed he hadn’t used up enough time. The guys would still be working and he didn’t dare go down there since they’d accuse him of having a date because he was dressed in his black jeans. They called them his booty jeans. That’s how he knew he looked good in them. But he didn’t want to talk about dates with his crew, then or ever.
So, he went out and sat on the couch, turned on the TV, and started flipping through channels. Still, he kept looking at his watch. Finally, when he couldn’t even settle down and watch The Great British Bake Off, his favorite, he gave up and turned the tube off. To avoid thinking about what a total idiot he’d been with Red, he forced his brain to go through the steps of a transmission evaluation. Shit, no go.
Finally, he leaned his head back and felt the smile that whispered across his lips. No matter how big an idiot he’d been, the fact was that in just a little while, he was going to have a visit from Red Ridley.
* * *
“Are you looking at your watch again?” Kimmie laughed at Red as he picked up his order from the window.