Romancing Austin

by Riley Bancroft, Evelyn Berry, Cara Carnes, Jax Garren, Irene Preston, Rebecca Royce, Chandra Ryan

  No one at the next stop. The bus made a token rolling stop and kept moving. Aston ground his teeth.

  By the time the next stop came into sight, he was seriously contemplating ramming the bus just to ensure it stayed put long enough for him to drag Dylan off. He spent an enjoyable block imagining himself simply lifting Dylan up by the scruff of his neck and toting him off the bus.

  Still no luck on changing lanes, and a glance down showed Izzie’s gas gauge on empty. Perfect. He couldn’t play chase the bus all day.

  Next stop, lone kid with a skateboard. Otherwise the sidewalk was clear. Aston squinted at the covered bus bench, did the calculations in his head, and swerved the wheel hard right. There were advantages to a micro car. Izzie complained vigorously about jumping the curb, but soldiered on like a trooper.

  Skater kid nearly fell off the step and back onto the sidewalk as Aston gunned Izzie past him and into the street ahead of the bus. Grimly he reversed and inched backward until Izzie’s rear luggage rack got friendly with Cap Metro’s front bike rack. Through the sunroof, he could see the driver staring down at him. He waggled his fingers at her, hopped out, and headed for the bus door.

  The closed bus door.

  The driver stared at him through the glass, eyebrows raised.

  Aston knocked politely and tried to look non-threatening and non-giant.

  The doors swung open, and he started up the steps.

  “Hold up, now. Where do you think you’re going?”

  The voice stopped him dead. “I, uh.” He became aware of a bus full of people staring at him, mouths open.

  “You got fare?”

  “Umm, I’m not riding?”

  “Really? Well, then sugar, what are you doing?”

  “I uh—“ His gaze landed on Dylan two-thirds back on the left. “I just want to get someone off.”

  “I see.” The driver turned to the back of the bus. “Anyone want to get off?”

  No one moved.

  Aston glared at Dylan. Dylan narrowed his eyes, turned his head, and looked out the window.

  Aston took a step forward.

  “Nuh-uh. Not one more step without the fare.”

  “Fine.” Aston said. “How much?”

  “Dollar twenty-five.”

  “Bargain,” Aston muttered. He reached for his wallet. Which was at home on the table next to his bed. He searched every pocket, just to make sure there weren’t a couple of dollars hiding in one of them. Defeated, he turned back to the driver.

  “Please, I don’t want to go anywhere.”

  “Well, good, because you’re not.”

  “I’m not getting off this bus without my friend.”

  The driver looked back at Dylan, the only person not avidly watching what was going on up front. “Friend, huh? Looks like your friend doesn’t want to go with you. Now run along before I make your little toy car into a hood ornament.”

  For the first time in his adult life, Aston used his height to intimidate. He loomed over the little lady bus driver. “Make me.” He wasn’t leaving without Dylan. What was she going to do?

  Except when he turned back to the aisle, he found it blocked by Heavy Metal and Skater Boy. Really?

  “Hey, buddy.” Heavy had a surprisingly soft voice. “Maybe you want to step off.”

  Aston rocked up onto his toes. Despite Heavy’s platform boots, Aston had a clear view over his head.

  “Dylan.” Aston raised his voice. “Dylan, I am not leaving without you.”

  “Don’t you move, Dylan. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

  Aston glared down at Heavy. “Will you stay out of it? What’s it to you, anyway?”

  “Just because you’re big doesn’t mean you can push people around. Your boyfriend doesn’t want to go with you.”

  “Oh, jeez, I’m not…you think I….” How was this happening? “Dylan,” he shouted. “Your aunt is worried about you. Will you please get off this bus before I get arrested?”

  Dylan’s head popped around. “You talked to Linda? Why? What did you tell her?”

  “We can talk about it in the car.”

  Dylan looked mulish.

  “Please, Dylan. Just let me give you a ride.”

  “Fine.” Dylan got up and made his way to the front.

  Heavy lifted one pierced eyebrow at him before stepping aside. “You sure about this?”

  Dylan looked embarrassed. “Yeah. Thanks bro, but I can take care of it from here.”

  Heavy shrugged and stepped aside. “Suit yourself.”

  Out on the sidewalk, Aston hunched his shoulders and stuck his hands in his pockets, trying to look harmless as the bus backed up, then slowly pulled around Izzie. Crap, so the sidewalk stunt hadn’t done anything at all, except probably knock Izzie’s alignment out of whack.

  He glanced at Dylan out of the corner of his eye. “They think I beat you,” he said miserably.

  “They think I let you,” Dylan replied testily. Then, “Jesus, Win. Don’t ever pull a stunt like that with the car again. You scared the crap out of me. I thought you were going to hit the bus shelter.”

  “Would you care?”

  “What the hell kind of question is that?”

  “Earlier, you said...” Aston trailed off. Did he really want to ask if Dylan thought he was a whore? “You were angry.”

  “I’m not angry,” Dylan said. Then he sighed. “I’m not angry with you.”

  He sounded angry, though, and Aston was the only other person here.

  “Come on, Izzie’s blocking traffic.”

  “You don’t need to take me anywhere. I’m capable of getting places on my own.”

  “Can we please not do this now? I didn’t make a huge scene and almost get myself arrested to leave you on the side of the road. Just let me give you a ride.” Aston headed for the car and tried not to show how relieved he was when Dylan slid in beside him.

  They sat in silence until Aston turned into a side street and then looped back around so they were going north on First Street.

  “I’m the other way.”

  “Okay, but I need to grab my wallet. Unless you’re on the next block, we’re going to run out of gas.”

  Aston figured it was the perfect opening for Dylan to drop a hint about where he might be staying, but Dylan remained mute. Fine. Whatever. Why did he have to be so secretive?

  Back in his own driveway, Aston killed the engine and turned sideways to look at Dylan. “Why didn’t Linda know you’re back in town?”

  “Did you call her to whine the second I left?”

  “No. She called me. Someone saw us out last night and said something to her. You haven’t been returning her calls. She was worried.”

  Nothing from Dylan.

  “Dylan. Why would you move back to Austin and not tell your family?” It made no sense.

  “I just haven’t gotten around to it, okay? I would have called her as soon as I had a chance. I would have called you, too, if you want to know.”

  Okay, the explanation made less sense. He hadn’t had time to pick up the phone? Right. It was obvious Dylan didn’t want to talk about the real reason he was hiding out from his friends and family. Aston stopped pushing and ran inside for his wallet. Back in the car, he drilled down to basics.

  “Where are we going?”

  “You can just drop me off downtown.”

  “I thought you were south.”

  “I’m way out by the airport. If you drop me downtown, I can hop a shuttle and be out of your hair.”

  “The airport? Why on earth are you out there?”

  “Look, it’ll be a pain to take Izzie so far. Just take me downtown.”

  Yes, with a flat out top speed of around 50 miles-per-hour, taking Izzie outside of central Austin meant either risking life and limb as cars whizzed around them on the highways or weaving their way through a maze of back-roads. On the other hand, Dylan was crazy if he thought he was getting out of Aston’s sight before coming cl
ean about where he was staying.

  He glanced at the driveway next door. “Come on,” he said. “We can take the Guzzler.”

  He didn’t wait for Dylan to find some objection but headed next door. “Annie?” The door was open, but she wasn’t in the front room. He stuck his head in the screen door. “Annie? Okay to switch?”

  “Go for it.” His neighbor’s disembodied voice floated from somewhere in the back.

  “Thanks, won’t be long.” He dropped Izzie’s keys onto the table next to the door and picked up the other set already there.

  Dylan was still loitering next to Izzie, and Aston waved the keys in the air as he headed for Annie’s Wagoneer.

  “Happy?” He asked as Dylan climbed into the passenger seat.

  “You could have just dropped me downtown.”

  “I don’t mind taking you.”

  Aston concentrated on making the mental switch necessary to go from driving a car not much larger than his personal space to piloting a land boat like the Wagoneer. Dylan slumped against the far door and stared out the window as though Aston didn’t exist. Aston let him stew. They both needed to cool down a bit. Eventually Dylan would have to give him directions.

  Or not.

  “I’m not in the mood to go to Houston, Dylan, so you better tell me where I need to exit.”

  “You can just drop me at the Hilton.”

  “You don’t have a car, and you were working for Joe Bob’s last night. You’re not staying at the Hilton.”

  “It’s close enough.”

  “Or maybe Houston is nice this time of year.”

  Dylan shot him a look that could have felled a longhorn. “We need to U back around right after the airport. I’m on the other side of the highway.”

  Five minutes later they were not at the Hilton. They were not at the Holiday Inn Express or the Comfort Suites. Aston stared at the rundown two-story building and tried not to shudder. It wasn’t condemned? The sign at the entrance had proclaimed they offered hourly, nightly, and weekly rates. This place was actually occupied? By humans?

  Dylan opened the door. “Thanks for the ride. Bye.” He turned and headed toward the building. Aston sat in the car, too stunned to move until Dylan started up the stairs.

  No. Absolutely not.

  He jumped out of the car and followed, pausing a little at the stairs. Jesus, the metal was rusty and the concrete steps were cracked. He took a deep breath and rushed up, not entirely convinced they would hold his weight.

  Dylan was jiggling his key in the door of the last room at the end of the landing. He got it open and stepped inside just as Aston caught up to him. Aston caught the door before it swung shut in his face.

  Dylan turned around, blocking his entrance. “What?”

  “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

  “No.”

  “I need to pee. Let me in.”

  Dylan sighed and stepped aside.

  Aston wouldn’t have thought the interior could be worse than the exterior of this place, but he was wrong. There was water damage on the ceiling, patched plaster on the walls, the carpet…he didn’t want to examine the carpet closely at all. A burst of canned laughter erupted, and he looked around for the television, only to realize the sound was coming, plain as day, from the room next door.

  “Thought you needed to pee.”

  “I lied.”

  “So, you see where I live. Happy?”

  Aston stared at Dylan. “No. I am not happy. I understand why you wouldn’t call me when you got back in town, but this?”

  “It’s cheap and close to work.”

  “Work? What work? You were in Austin last night.”

  “Joe Bob’s was a side gig, not regular work. I’ve got three nights a week at the diner across the street. I can walk there from here.”

  Aston paced around the room, trying not to breathe too deeply. What was that smell?

  “You’re working at a chain breakfast place by the airport?” His voice was rising, and he couldn’t stop it. “You were head chef at Ophelia’s when you left. You were head chef in New York. Why don’t you get a job someplace decent in town?”

  “Well, I plan on it, don’t I? But meanwhile I have to eat and pay the rent.”

  “No. No Dylan, you do not have to pay the rent in this crappy place. Why didn’t you just move back in with your aunt and uncle until you got back on your feet?”

  Dylan hunched his shoulders. “I’m not mooching off of them any more. They’ve got enough people to feed over there, and the boys finally have their own rooms.”

  Dylan had worked steady food service jobs since he was a teenager. Aston doubted his aunt considered him a moocher, but Dylan’s tense stance indicated the subject was closed.

  “Then why didn’t you call me? Even if you didn’t want—“ He stopped, not willing to go there. “Why didn’t you call me?”

  Why didn’t you call me? God, how pathetic was he? Why don’t you love me anymore? Did you ever love me?

  “I can’t pay rent. Even the taxes and utilities on your place are more than this room costs me.”

  Aston hoped a meal at the diner was more than this room, because you couldn’t pay him enough to stay here. He’d be damned if he left Dylan here, either.

  “Get your stuff.” Aston spotted a duffle at the foot of the bed. He picked it up and started cramming Dylan’s things into it.

  “You can’t make me move back to my aunt’s.”

  A sharp rap at the door interrupted their argument. They both turned to look at the man standing in the still-open doorway. He was about six feet tall, bald, overweight, and a plaid shirt strained against the beer gut hanging over his Wranglers. He pointed at Dylan.

  “You only paid for single occupancy.”

  “Because I’m the only occupant,” Dylan said.

  “Looks like two of you to me. You both going to be up here, you got to pay the hourly rate for him while he’s here.”

  “He’s leaving.” Dylan said.

  “And you’re due for next week tomorrow, or check-out is at 9AM.”

  “Fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Well, see you do. I ain’t got no problem with you faggots as long as you pay, but I ain’t running no charity house.”

  Then he was gone, boot heels clomping down the landing.

  Aston looked at Dylan. “Get your things.”

  “I’m not leaving.”

  “I’m pretty sure you didn’t get paid last night. Do you have rent?”

  “I can pay the daily rate until I get my check at the diner.”

  “Or you can spend a few days with me.”

  “I’m not moving in with you.”

  “Well I’m not leaving you here, and in a few minutes your charming landlord is going to be back to collect from me if I don’t go. I hope I don’t have to tell you, I am not giving him a thin dime.”

  Hourly rates. Jesus. And then the argument from earlier caught up with him in a nasty way. He looked pointedly at the bed. “Unless of course, you want to make it worth my while.”

  And it was a big fat bluff because Aston would give anything to be with Dylan again, but he wasn’t touching one body part to that bed.

  “Fuck you, Win.”

  Aston wasn’t sure where the conversation might have gone from there. He was tall but lanky instead of muscular. As much as he might like to fantasize about it, he couldn’t toss Dylan over his shoulder and carry him out to the Wagoneer.

  Then he spotted the answer to his prayers. He swiped Dylan’s prized set of chef knives out of the drawer he had just opened, stuck them in the duffel and headed out the door.

  “Hey!”

  “I’ll be in the car, Dylan.” Aston adjusted the duffel over his shoulder so Dylan could see he had a good grip. “Get the rest of your shit and let’s go.”

  “Win, you can’t just take my knives.”

  “Consider them hostages until you come to your senses.”

  And he was right.
Dylan, who apparently preferred to stay in a flea-ridden hellhole of a motel room rather than with the guy he had once professed to love, came for his knives. The whole situation made Aston feel like shit on a dozen levels, none of them compelling enough to make him leave his ex in a crumbling fire trap.

  “Just for tonight,” Dylan said as he fastened his seatbelt.

  Win waited until they were on the highway and there was no chance of Dylan escaping before he responded.

  “What is so wrong with me? Why can’t you spend a few nights in my house?”

  “I told you. I won’t be able to pay rent.”

  “So? I don’t need you to pay rent, Dylan.”

  “I don’t want to be some leech, mooching off you, Win.”

  “Was I a leech when we were together and you were paying all the bills? Was that why you left?”

  “Oh, hell, baby. You know that’s not true.”

  “Why isn’t it? I couldn’t pay the bills until you came along and took them all over. And then you wanted me to quit waiting tables so I could focus on the art, and I wasn’t bringing in any money at all. In fact, I was spending more than I earned some months. So who was mooching then?”

  “It was your damn house.”

  “Yeah, a house I bought with money from my Dad, not through any effort of my own.”

  “It was your house.”

  Dylan made it sound as though your house meant something, but Aston didn’t know what. He had considered the house their home back then.

  “Anyway,” Dylan went on, “you were selling a few pieces.”

  “Not as many as I thought.”

  No answer. Aston risked a glance at Dylan, who was looking out the window as if he had never seen south Austin before.

  “Did I even sell any?”

  “Winbaby…”

  “Do you think I’m a child? Someone who needs to be taken care of because they can’t manage on their own?”

  “Trust me. I don’t think of you as a child. Not for a second. I just—“ Dylan ran his hand through his hair and heaved out a sigh. “I wanted to take care of you. I wanted to give you all the stuff you grew up with—nice clothes, a house on Lake Travis.”