by Tara Lain
“Wow, that’s amazing. What does that mean?”
“What it means, my friend, is that you’ll be appearing in print and electronic ads for the Giuliana line, and walking in the event that will launch his new line in September.” He chuckled. “Plus, not meaning to pat myself on the back, but I got you top dollar for a newcomer. We both have a lot to celebrate.”
“Oh yeah, I guess so. Gran will be really excited.”
“Red, I was planning to celebrate tonight.”
“But—” Inhale slowly. “Brock, I’m sorry, but I made promises to Mom and Pop and I have to be there for my shift. You told me two days. You can’t blame me for believing you. If you promised Mr. Giuliana I’d be available tomorrow, you shouldn’t have without asking me. I’m sorry.”
There was dead silence on the line.
Okay, I queered it. Funny. It was kind of a relief.
Red looked at the phone and contemplated hanging up, but then Brock said, “Of course, you’re right. I should have been clearer. It’s not right of me to expect you to adjust your schedule around my negotiations. I’m sure it’ll be fine if you get back here within a couple days.”
“But I should give them notice.”
“Red, you’re a waiter in a diner. They can’t expect you to ruin your future because they need you to tell them in advance that you’re leaving your minimum wage job. I’m pretty sure they never expected to be providing your life’s work.”
He wanted to argue that he made more than minimum, but that was stupid in light of whatever Brock had negotiated. “I guess not.”
“So?”
“I’ll be back soon.”
“Excellent. I’ll tell Paolo you needed to go home to get clothes and personal things and you’ll be ready to start on Friday.”
“Monday!”
“All right, Monday.” He sounded pissed. “I’ll see you at eight Monday morning.”
Red wanted to yell that meant he had to leave Ever After on Sunday, but he just said, “Okay.”
Brock hung up.
“Oh yeah, he’s pissed all right.” Mr. Merlinson chuckled, and Red realized he’d said that out loud. “Sorry.”
“Powerful people make powerful demands, but you more than held your own. Good man.”
“Thanks.” He sure didn’t feel powerful.
They rode in quiet for a while, but that was the thing about Mr. Merlinson. None of his silences were uncomfortable. As Red began to recognize the area of the train station ahead, Mr. M said, “How are you feeling about going home, after all your new experiences?”
Red chewed the inside of his lip for a second, then said, “Truthfully, kind of nervous.”
“About what part exactly?”
“Different things. My gran wants me to be this big success. This, uh, guy I know, well, I guess he wants that, too, even though…”
“Even though?”
“Well, I kind of wish he didn’t want that.”
“You wish he wanted you more than being selfless?”
The words struck Red’s heart like a drunken Cupid. “Yeah. That’s it. But I know how I am if someone tries to keep me from doing something. Still, I wish he—oh hell, I don’t know what I wish.” He sighed and Mr. M. smiled at him in the rearview. Red said, “I guess I feel like everyone wants my life to be great, and they know exactly what that looks like. The problem is, I don’t.”
“You’re still young.” He paused. “You’re being called upon to make some life-shaping decisions, but—”
The car pulled in front of the station and a traffic cop waved at them wildly.
Mr. M frowned. “Oh dear, I’m afraid you have to hurry, young sir.” He stopped, jumped out, and rounded the car, pulled Red’s bag from the trunk, and held the door for him.
Red glanced at the frantic cop, then up at Merlinson. “Mr. M., what were you going to say?”
“Move on. Move on. No stopping.” The cop yelled.
Mr. M. smiled. “No worries. You got this.”
In seconds, he was back in the car and pulling away from Red—who had no idea what he had.
* * *
Brock walked back into the conference room, inhaling deeply to control his temper. Being pissed off seldom got anyone anything.
Giuliana looked up, but Brock couldn’t see those ice eyes because they were covered by the near omnipresent shades. “Is the boy thrilled?”
Brock arranged his smile. “Yes. Very. But he’s such a conscientious boy, he felt he couldn’t leave his waiter job without an explanation, so he’s gone back to his home to collect his things. He’ll be here Monday morning, bright and early.”
“Monday?”
Brock nodded as if that’s exactly what he’d expected. “Excuse me for a minute.” He walked out of the room and then to the front door of the brownstone and out into the late afternoon sun. He pulled out his phone and dialed.
“Hello?” Nora’s voice sounded tentative. Of course, she wouldn’t know his number.
“Nora, it’s Brock. Brock Wolfe.”
“Brock, how lovely to hear from you! How’s Redmond doing?”
“Brilliantly.”
“Oh, I’m so glad.” She laughed. “I can’t tell you how truly delighted I am.” She sounded really relieved.
“But—”
“Oh.”
Brock paced the sidewalk. “Yes. I have to confess to you that Red doesn’t seem as excited as you and I are.”
“Oh dear.”
“Don’t misunderstand. It didn’t affect his performance. He was really excellent. But—” He sighed loudly. “It’s a feeling I get.” Right, a feeling confirmed by several of his spies.
“You see, Brock, there’s this boy.”
He bit his tongue to keep from saying fuck. “The young man I met at your place?”
“Yes. He’s a lovely person, but dear God, he’s a garage mechanic.”
A garage mechanic with eyes like the Mediterranean depths, an ass to die for, and, Brock guessed, a cock the size of Rhode Island. “Yes.”
“Of course, he does own the garage, but still.” She gave a soft whimper. “Truly, Brock, I’ve never insisted Red do anything he didn’t want to, beyond going to bed instead of playing video games and brushing his teeth when he preferred eating candy.” A ragged breath seemed to mist the phone. “But this is serious.” Something about her tone of voice suggested it was serious for more than Red’s future.
“Well, I wanted you to know so that you could talk to him. Of course, we all want the very best for Red.” Brock grinned tightly. “But often mother, or in this case, grandmother knows best.”
“Thank you, Brock. I’m so glad for the heads-up. I must make him see how terribly foolish he’d be to pass up this opportunity.”
“Good girl. Thanks, Nora.” He hung up and stared into space. Every instinct tingled. He hit speed dial.
“Hey, boss.”
“Hi, Cassandra. Remember that town we went to? Ever After?”
“Sure. Where you found the kid.”
“I need you to go back there and do some nosing.”
“When?”
“Now. This just became your top priority. Listen closely.”
Chapter Nineteen
Red stood on the porch of his house and paused. Weird. He usually burst through the door, anxious to get in and share whatever was going on with Gran. At that moment, not so much.
He hadn’t called to tell her he was coming home. Actually, he hadn’t told anyone. Someone would have moved mountains to come get him and he didn’t want that. Especially if that someone had happened to be Mark, because he didn’t know what to say to him. Or Gran, for that matter. After he got off the train, he took the bus.
Now, the weight of expectations pressed down on his shoulders.
As he put a hand on the door handle, he heard the low rumble of an engine behind him that vibrated through his gut and, at the thought—hope—of who it might be, the vibration dove lower.
He set dow
n his bag and turned.
Like some kind of god he read about in his mythology lessons—Aries?—Mark, large, silent, and helmetless, sat straddling the motorcycle, the engine filling the air with a low hum.
Red couldn’t help it. He took one step down off the porch, then another.
Mark was a front yard away, so Red couldn’t see his eyes, but his lips definitely parted.
Oh my.
Red took one more step and stopped.
Suddenly, Mark swung his leg over the bike and started toward Red.
Red gasped and stepped back, but Mark kept coming until he’d swept Red up in his arms, his feet dangling and then—Mark kissed him. Kissed!
Red’s brain fried as if someone had overloaded every circuit at once. It wasn’t his first kiss exactly. Once in high school, he’d met a guy at Mom and Pop’s who’d lured him into the trees out back and kissed Red hard and hot and with lots of tongue, totally freaking him out.
This wasn’t that.
Mark’s mouth was warm, so soft, and exploring, like if you combined attraction and awe. He nibbled against Red’s lips until they parted, then gently insinuated inside, doing a gentle but thorough exploration. Almost reverent—except that Red’s cock did not recognize the spirituality. It bounced up and said howdy, making more demands than Red’s guidance counselor. The bottom-line message was climb Mark Woods like the tree he was named for, and Red proceeded to do it.
Of its own accord, Red’s leg slid up Mark’s thigh and hooked itself in place. But damn. Red was tall, but Mark was taller and it made the connection Red craved just out of reach. Tiptoes helped, and he pressed his hips in and up as he thrust his tongue into Mark’s mouth like a lizard in a hole.
Mark pulled back just a little, but that was crazy-making and Red tried harder to cling to him. Mark moved his lips against Red’s ear and whispered, “Easy, partner.”
Just hearing Mark’s voice unfried Red’s brain enough for him to remember where he was. What the hell! Trying to hump Mark Woods in front of half of Ever After, including his grandmother!
Red thumped his feet to the ground and took a step back. Instant cold. He crossed his arms to warm up. Good excuse. “Well, at least that answers my question about whether or not you’re gay.”
Mark grinned and that settled some of the tension in Red’s gut. Of course, he still had an erection the size of the Chrysler Building and the possibility of dragging Mark into the bushes lingered in Red’s mind. Two things stopped him. First, Mark had maybe fifty or sixty pounds on him, so the dragging part might be tough if Mark disagreed. Second, Red had no idea what to do once he got Mark into the bushes. Even watching gay porn was tricky since Gran sometimes used his laptop.
“Did you really have a lot of doubt?” Mark cocked his head.
“What? Oh, that you’re gay?” Red shrugged. “Sure. I mean you look and act like the least possible gay man in New York State. Hell, maybe the least likely in North Dakota.”
“I should sing more show tunes.” The white teeth flashed in the dim light.
Red snorted.
Mark pressed a hand against his up-turned lips, then said, “I’ve been stalking you for years and I look at you like dessert. What’s unclear?”
Red looked up. “Seriously? I mean, Kimmie said that, but I never believed it.”
“Kimmie Sinclair?”
“She’s my best friend. You know, so she’d be more observant. I don’t think anybody else knows.”
“I don’t exactly care if they do.”
“You don’t?”
“No. I’m not really in the closet. It’s just that I learned early not to let other people into my business. I always knew that if I ever told anyone about my father, I’d be put in the system, since we don’t have any relatives. I hated that idea more than I hated him.” He shrugged. “So, I shut up and took it. Now I know if everyone in town knows I’m gay, they have to think of that before they bring in their cars.”
“You think you’d lose business?”
“Probably not a lot. But still, it would cross their mind. ‘That Mark Woods, you know, the gay guy, sure has a good garage.’ I don’t want that until I have a reason.” He smiled softly. “You’re a reason.”
Wow. Just wow! Had Mark Woods just said that he’d come out for—
“Red, is that you?” The porchlight switched on and Gran’s voice called across the yard.
“Yes, Gran. I’m just saying hi to Mark. Be right there.” I wonder how much she saw?
“Oh, hello, Mark.” Was there a tiny edge to Gran’s voice?
Mark said, “Evening, Mrs. Ridley. I happened to be driving by and saw Red. I stopped to say welcome back.”
“Don’t be too long, Red. I’m dying to hear every detail of your big city experience. Good to see you, Mark. Red, I’m taking your bag inside.”
The door closed. Funny that she hadn’t invited Mark to come in. Not like her. Red looked at Mark. “I guess I better go in.”
Mark curved a lock of Red’s hair behind his ear. “What would you say to the idea of going on a real date with me? Like dinner and a show or something?”
“You’d want to do that?” Red felt his own wide eyes.
“Would you?” Mark looked a little scared.
Whoa. He was getting offered his dream and he was hesitating. “Yes, yes, of course.”
The smile that spread across Mark’s face was a special gift and Red smiled back.
Mark said, “Can we go tomorrow night? You don’t usually work.”
Red tried to keep his voice even against the hammering of his heart. “I’m on daytime tomorrow, so yes. That would be great.”
“Maybe we’ll go over to Franklin county. They have better movies and we can get to know each other before we have to deal with everyone in town.”
Red noticed that the idea relieved him. “Sounds good.”
“I’d kiss you again except I suspect your gran is watching.”
“You can bet on it.” But the kissing thing did sound good. Damned good.
“I’ll pick you up at work, okay? Then we have time for food and a movie and still get you home early so you’re not too tired the next day.”
Red nodded, but he noticed he was chewing his lip. “See you tomorrow.”
Mark slipped out a clandestine hand, took hold of Red’s and squeezed. “See you.” He grinned. “Welcome home. See, I told your gran the truth.” With a wink, he turned and walked back to his fallen bike, his perfect ass flexing in his worn jeans.
Trying to catch his breath, Red watched Mark drive off to the end of Arden Street and turn left. As he disappeared, a car turned slowly onto the street. He caught his breath. No. Couldn’t be. Brock had scared the shit out of Phil and his uncle. Still, Red shuddered, ran to the porch, and hurried through the door, calling “Hi, Gran.”
Her voice came from her new office. “In here, dear.”
Passing his bag sitting at the bottom of the stairs, he skirted into the former closet. Gran sat bent over her laptop, pounding away. If she’d been there when Red decided to scale mount Mark, maybe she really didn’t see any of it. He could keep his fingers crossed. Bending down, he gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Hey, workaholic.”
She turned and looked up at him, and there were stress lines around her mouth. He knew them well from times back in the day when money was really tight, but since he’d been grown up and working to contribute, those lines had mostly gone away. Besides, he paid their bills. They didn’t have extra, but they made it.
Smiling, she pushed out of the chair and gave him a hug, stretching up on her toes. “Hi, darling.” She passed him and walked out of the small space into the hall toward the kitchen. “Let’s get you something to eat and you can tell me everything.”
He wanted to tell her not to bother, he’d forage, but in truth, he was hungry, tired, stressed, and having some of Gran’s cooking sounded better than anything. In the kitchen, she said, “How about a nice feta omelet with some peppers and spinach?
”
“Sounds perfect.” Red stepped to the refrigerator for the ingredients. Funny. Normally, when he got home, she had dinner cooking in the oven and places laid at the table. True, she didn’t know exactly how long it would take him to get home from the station, but still. If she was taking time for herself, that made him happy, but the stress lines flashed in his mind. “Gran, is something wrong?” He kept his back turned when he said it and his voice light.
“What? No, dear, of course not.”
He started chopping the spinach that was already clean. “You just seem sort of, I don’t know, anxious, I guess.”
“It’s nothing.”
He turned toward her and leaned against the counter. “Which in the universal language of all humans means it’s something.” He hoped his grin covered his worry.
She paused in the midst of putting butter into the frying pan, collapsed in the chair at the kitchen table, and said, “It’s the blog.”
“Oh thank God.” He laughed.
She frowned.
“No, I’m sorry.” He held up a hand. “It’s just that I was imagining you telling me you had some terrible disease or something.”
A crease flashed between her eyebrows, but then she leaned back in the chair and smiled. “Well, of course you did. I’m sorry, dear. I’m not accustomed to being a drama queen.”
“No, you leave that to me. That’s why I was so scared.” He scooted out the other chair and sat backward. “Now, tell me about the blog.”
She sighed. Not a sound he heard often from Gran. “I’ve got blogger’s block.”
Biting his tongue kept him from laughing. “Tell me.”
“When I did the blog for fun, I never was at a loss for something to say. I had a great time pouring out the words because it was fun and I figured hardly anyone would ever read it.” She splayed her hands out to the sides. “Now that Christasy is telling the world how great I am and proposing ways to make money off the blog, I’m frozen. I feel like every word has to be perfect and I don’t know what to say.” She shook her head, rose, and returned to the counter where she started cracking eggs into a bowl. “Mark helped me one day and got me going, but I can’t have someone coaching me every time I need to write a word.” The butter hit the pan and started sizzling.