by John Inman
I lay back on the pillow, pulled the blankets up to my chin, and stared at the ceiling. In the darkness beside me, I could hear Dario breathing. The bed squeaked again as he rolled onto his side to face me. I felt Clutch down at the foot of the bed. It sounded like he was giving himself a bath. Stupid cat.
To my utter surprise and delight, Dario’s hand slid across my pillow and his fingers slipped into my hair. “You’re a nice person,” he said, his voice hushed, as if the late hour demanded it.
I did as he had done, and rolled over onto my side to face him. His fingers stayed in my hair as I did. When I found my voice, I muttered, “So are you.”
“Whoever your boyfriend was,” he said, “he must be a fool.”
I reached out and ruffled his hair because I couldn’t quite seem not to touch him at that moment. “That’s what I told him,” I joked. “And by the way, so is yours.”
Dario’s voice was fading, growing duller with weariness. I could imagine his one good eye fluttering its way to sleep. “What a couple of dumbasses,” he mumbled, not making it quite clear whether he was referring to them or us. Immediately his breathing deepened. His fingers stilled in my hair.
I left my hand in his hair as I closed my eyes, absorbing its softness on my fingertips. The heat of his scalp. The scent of his warm breath wafting over me smelled like my toothpaste. Minty.
I felt my cock move, filling with blood. I closed my eyes and tried to will it limp, but it wasn’t listening. So I did the next best thing and ignored it.
Ever so slowly and quietly, I tilted my head enough to bring Dario’s forearm into kissable proximity to my lips. Gently, I kissed him there at the edge of his wrist bone. The lightest touch of my mouth on his skin. Then I repositioned my head so as to keep his fingers in my hair and willed myself to stillness. In the dark and the silence, the ache in my jaw came back, but it wasn’t enough to keep me from sleep.
Only the body of the beautiful young man beside me could do that. Or so I thought.
But even Dario could not prevent my body from claiming the rest it craved. My thoughts tumbled away one by one as the night deepened around us. Dario’s fingers stayed in my hair and I had never felt more contented by a person’s touch, even as innocent as it was. Sleep overtook me before I knew it.
LATE IN the night, perhaps a couple of hours later, I awoke to the sound of hushed crying.
Dario had pulled away. His back was to me now. I reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder. My voice was ragged from sleep. “Are you okay?”
He sniffed and turned to face me. His voice was also husky, either from sleep or from sobbing. Once again, I noticed the Hispanic cadence of his forebears in his speech, and once again, I loved hearing it there. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“Are you crying?”
“No, I—”
“It’s all right,” I said. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”
“You didn’t,” he said.
“Are you in pain? Do you want some more aspirin? They’re in the kitchen. I’ll just—”
He reached around and touched my arm. “No. Please. Don’t go.”
Silence settled over us. Finally, when Dario did speak again, I heard the words I dreamed I might hear but never really thought I would.
“Robert, would you hold me? Just until I fall asleep?”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to. He turned his back to me and I scooted across the bed to snuggle up against him. I slid my arm around his chest and slipped my other arm beneath his head. He settled back into me as if I had offered exactly what he needed. His body felt small and light in my arms. I had to shift a little and bend my legs to touch his feet with my own. Otherwise my legs were too long.
He lifted his head to place a kiss on my forearm, not unlike I had done to him earlier, only I was awake to experience it. Then he scooched down into the pillow and dragged my arm more securely around him. I moved closer, holding him tight.
“This is nice,” he muttered.
I couldn’t speak. I was afraid of what I might say if I did. I pressed my face to his back, below the nape of his neck, and tried to close my eyes to reclaim sleep. With Dario in my arms, sleep was a long time coming.
He, on the other hand, seemed to drift away almost immediately. Once again his breathing deepened. His breath fell hot on my wrist. Faintly, in the shadows, I could sense the slow, easy beating of his heart.
When I thought for sure he was sound asleep, I finally found the courage to speak. In a whisper that barely stirred the shadows, I said, “You’re safe.”
And to my surprise, he whispered back, “I know.”
I laid my lips to his spine through the fabric of my pajama shirt and kissed him there, barely grazing his back so he wouldn’t know.
He pulled me a wee bit closer, snuggling in like a child, and minutes later he was truly asleep.
Peering over Dario’s shoulder, breathing in the scent of him, I watched the moon travel slowly across the sky outside my bedroom window. Just as Clutch’s purring kicked in, like maybe he was chasing mice in his dreams, I lost my own battle with sleep.
When I opened my eyes an hour past dawn, Dario was gone.
His scent was still on the pillow.
Chapter Six
I STOOD in a spray of sunlight before the bathroom mirror and stared at the toothbrush I had loaned Dario the night before. It was lying by the sink on a tissue where he’d left it. Without thinking too much about it, I placed it in the toothbrush holder where I kept my own. You never know. He might need it again.
In my dreams.
Anyway, I left it there.
I was rather surprised to realize how disappointed I was I wouldn’t be sharing breakfast with him. I cast a fervent little prayer skyward to a God I wasn’t absolutely convinced I believed in that Dario would be safe from his punch-happy ex-boyfriend. Then I cast another prayer skyward, pleading to the Big Cheese, in case he really should be up there looking down, that Dario would stick to his guns about keeping the guy an ex-boyfriend, and not relent and take his sorry ass back.
I heaved a sigh and wandered through the condo, my mind filled with thoughts of you-know-who. Checking the dryer, I noticed Dario had folded my clothes from the night before and placed them on the washer lid. On the top of the pile was a note written on one of the paper napkins from the kitchen. Dear Clutch, it said. I hope I see you again. Here’s my number if you want to call. Thanks for last night. Your human is nice. D
I laughed. Clutch purred at my feet and stroked his side along my shin. I looked down, and said, “Cheater. He likes you better than me.”
Forcing myself into action, I stashed the note with Dario’s phone number in a desk drawer where it wouldn’t get lost or carried off by the stupid cat. Then I showered, brewed coffee, redonned the sweats I’d slept in because they smelled vaguely of Dario—or at least I imagined they did—and I wasn’t ready to give up that smell quite yet. When that was all done, I stepped out onto the balcony to take in the first glorious hours of sunshine I’d seen in two days.
In the morning light, the city was polished clean from the storm. Far below, the rain-darkened streets sparkled with puddles. From this height, the puddles shone like diamonds laid out on strips of black velvet. I thought I even spotted the puddle I’d landed in ass first when Dario’s scummy boyfriend popped out of the shadows to deliver an uppercut to my poor unsuspecting chin.
I itched to dial the number Dario had jotted down on the note he left behind, but I didn’t want to appear too desperate. I’d wait until later when perhaps his classes were over. Or I could simply stop into Sombreros for dinner (three nights in a row!) and see him in person. Nope. That would be the epitome of desperation. Plus I remembered Dario had warned me how all that Mexican food would find its way to my ass sooner or later. Still, sometimes risks must be taken. Right?
I shook my head. Jesus, what would Chaz say?
No
sooner had that thought entered my head than my phone rang. It was my landline. I hustled into the living room and snatched it up from where it rested on the end table like a sleeping dinosaur. A lot of people I knew didn’t have landlines anymore. Somehow, for me, knowing the thing was anchored into the wall made me feel I had roots. A solid connection to the world around me. Cell phones are too ethereal. Reality to me means wires and screws and something heavy enough to bean a burglar with. I want heft with my communications equipment.
I never said I was sane.
“Hello?”
“Survive the blackout?” Yep, it was Chaz.
“Best night of my life,” I gaily answered, which created a silence on the line for about five seconds.
“What the hell does that mean? Don’t tell me you got lucky.”
“Lucky doesn’t do it justice, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, goodie. You had a trick. Now I suppose you’re in love.” Chaz undoubtedly thought he was being funny, but in actuality his voice might have been steamrolled it was so flat. There was also an unhappy undertone in it he would have been surprised to know I recognized as jealousy. Chaz had always been an amateur practitioner when it came to duplicity, which was probably why he hadn’t pursued a career in law. He wore every emotion on his sleeve like a chevron. His feelings for me he wore like chevrons, shoulder epaulets, and a chestful of shiny battle ribbons (from a war he kept continually losing).
What must it be like to love an asshole like me who constantly skewers his best friend in the heart because he never knows what he should and shouldn’t say?
For the sake of Chaz’s feelings, I tried to backtrack, when what I really wanted to do was describe to him every single moment of my evening with Dario. The cuddling, the pj’s, the smack on the chin, everything. Since that would be the emotional equivalent of jogging over to Chaz’s apartment and sawing off his foot with a paring knife, I thought I’d better lie instead.
“No trick. Just started writing a new book is all.”
“What happened to the one you were already writing?”
“Euthanized the little bastard.”
He sighed. He had heard this from me before. “Probably for the best.”
“Undoubtedly.”
Thanks to a thirty-foot cord, I carried the phone into the bedroom and plopped down at my desk to crank up the computer while we talked. As Chaz enthralled me with the unhappy state of the stock market that morning, I clicked my way through my e-mails. A fan letter from a reader in Butte, Montana. Very nice. I’d have to answer it later. The March newsletter from The San Diego Opera. Chaz and I had season tickets. Schoenberg’s Moses and Aaron was next in production—a modern, atonal mess I wasn’t too keen to attend, but the seats were paid for, so there was no way out of it. A couple of ads for hard-on pills, which I certainly didn’t need after sharing my bed with Dario the night before.
And finally, the last e-mail on the list—wonder of wonders—a note from Dario himself.
I held my breath while reading it. Meanwhile Chaz rattled on about something or other in my ear. I had no idea what he was talking about.
I sat up straighter and read the e-mail again, while clutching the phone so tightly to my head my fingers began to cramp and my ear was going numb. Silence fell. Chaz had stopped talking. Finally he said, “You there?”
I stammered my way back into the conversation. “I’m sorry, Chaz, you’re going to have to excuse me. My coffee’s kicking in and I’m on the landline. The phone won’t reach the bathroom.”
“Eww,” he said. “Lovely. I’m so glad you shared that with me.”
Lying is like gymnastics. The more you practice, the better you get. I had been lying to Chaz for so long I had practically given up my amateur status. “I’m desperate. See ya. Gotta run.”
I hung up the phone and read the e-mail for the third time.
Hope you don’t mind. I copied your e-mail address from a paper I spotted lying on your kitchen counter when I was looking for something to write on. I thought I should tell you, I spoke with Lee this morning and he swears he’s not the one who attacked you last night. I think I believe him. Not sure what it means, but thought you ought to know. Thanks again for rescuing me. You were there when I needed you and I appreciate it. By the way, you cuddle nice.
Dario
“Wait a minute,” I said to myself, staring bug-eyed at the computer screen. The irate Neanderthal boyfriend isn’t the one who decked me? Then who the heck did?
I continued to stare at the screen. At the words in the message. The last line in particular. By the way, you cuddle nice. I cuddle nice? What the hell was that supposed to mean? I didn’t want Dario to think I cuddled nice. I wanted him to think I was hot. I wanted him to think he would melt like a Popsicle if he ever again found himself wrapped in my big butch manly arms.
Okay, I’ll admit that was probably a little too much to hope for.
Still—nice?
I remembered the way Dario felt drifting to sleep in my arms the night before. I could still recall the scent of him. The solid heat of his back against my chest. His fuzzy shin against my tender toes. The shortness of him compared to the length of me. The way his fingers burrowed into my hair and stayed there. The way my fingers burrowed into his.
Feeling neglected, Clutch leapt onto the desk and gave me a head butt on the chin. His motor kicked in. I scratched his arching back as my mind drifted to an A-frame hunting cabin in the high desert. The cabin I had bought when the money began rolling in from my first book. After the condo, the cabin had been the second outlay of serious cash I had spent in my life. Mainly because before the first novel was released and hit a few bestseller lists, I had never had any serious cash in my life.
The cabin stood at the edge of a boulder-strewn cliff north of the Kumeyaay Indian Reservation about an hour out of the city. I had purchased it for a song from a man who was desperate to unload it. Still, it was a lot of money to me. I had spent weekends there off and on. Sometimes alone, sometimes with Jason, who hated the seclusion of the place since the terrain was mostly scrub, rocks, and sand. The wildlife mainly consisted of rattlesnakes, coyotes, and jackrabbits. No gay bars nearby. I supposed it was the fact that there was nowhere to sneak off to and no one nearby to gracefully cheat with that hindered Jason’s ability to enjoy the place. Apparently, sluts and solitude don’t mix.
The cabin sat there beneath the broad, empty California sky, no other houses in sight. The rustic furnishings, included in the sale, were covered now. Sheeted over to protect it all from the ever-encroaching desert dust that drifted in no matter how diligently you tried to seal the place tight. I hadn’t been there for a few months, and I suddenly realized I was beginning to miss it.
Maybe I should go there. Maybe I could start a new book there in the silence.
Or maybe I could take Dario away for the weekend. Get him away from his homicidal boyfriend.
I sat there, blinking and scratching my cat’s ass, while that thought ricocheted through my skull like a Ping-Pong ball bouncing around inside a cardboard box. Clutch continued to purr. My heart commenced to pound. My nerves began to frazzle before I even made a concrete decision on the matter. What a weenie I am.
Would he go? Would he even want to go? And what did any of that have to do with the fact that maybe a total stranger had clipped me on the jaw last night instead of his jealous boyfriend? Nothing, I had to admit. It had absolutely nothing to do with it.
I worked one hand under Clutch’s belly and the other over his back and awkwardly began to peck at the keys.
I’d like to see you again, I typed.
I sat there for the longest time simply staring at those six little words. I thought of rattling on, telling him about the cabin on the cliff and how I’d like to take him there. How his dimples blew me away when he smiled. How his black hair kept falling over his forehead, and how I always wanted to reach over and push it back. How looking at his injured face made me want to cry. And maybe even how I
knew he was too young for me but, jeez, I’d been so good lately, and by good I meant not having any fun, and spending time with him would be a lark—well, no, it’d be more like a reward—well, no, it’d actually be a dream because I really liked him and would really like to get to know him better because he was so sweet and adorable and sexy, and mostly how I couldn’t get the way he felt in my arms out of my head and how I really wanted to feel him in my arms again, even if it was just to cuddle, and how I really liked the little flashes of Hispanic accent that popped up in his conversation now and then when he let his guard down, and wow, wasn’t that hotter than hell.
Phew!
My fingers itched to start typing it all up. Every last word. But I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.
What I could do was change the font on the e-mail. I switched from Times New Roman to Helvetica. It didn’t help. I took a shot at Herculanum. Oh, hell no. I still didn’t know what to do.
Finally I blocked it all from my head, and digging my teeth into my lower lip just shy of drawing blood, I squeezed my eyes shut and hit Send with the e-mail still reading only I’d like to see you again. Period.
There. Now the ball was in his court. Let Dario deal with it.
And deal with it, he did. Not two minutes later a new e-mail swept in.
I’m newly single and my weekend is free. I can’t go to school or work. I look like someone dropped an anvil on my head. If you really want to see me again, this is as good a time as any. If my appearance is too disconcerting for you, I could wear a bag over my head like the Elephant Man. Or would getting together today interfere with your writer’s block? I’d hate to get the creative juices flowing or anything. Wait. Did the mention of juices sound erotic to you? I didn’t mean it to sound erotic. It sounded erotic, right? P.S. Your e-mail has three different fonts. What are you, twelve? D
I laughed. Clutch laughed too, or at least his motor kicked in again. He stood on my shoulder, tugging at my hair with his sharp little teeth. I winced as he plucked a mouthful of follicles from my scalp like daisies. I had intended to carry those into old age. Damn cat.