by JD Ruskin
Drawing his gaze away, Logan noticed the man hovering in the kitchen that opened into the main room. He was as far away as he could get without climbing onto the back countertop. Caleb had his back pressed against a stainless steel fridge that matched the rest of the appliances in the kitchen. A light sheen of sweat dampened the hairline of his blond hair.
Logan held out his hands, still holding the mailer. “Don’t freak out.”
Caleb’s green eyes narrowed, and he put his hands on his hips. “Is that supposed to be funny?”
Logan winced. “Didn’t mean it like that.” He ran a hand over his shaved head. “People tend to get jumpy when they first meet me.”
Caleb attempted a smirk, but it came across strained. “That’s because you’re a giant.” He took a step forward, keeping the kitchen island between them. “I wouldn’t be surprised to learn you eat angry villagers for breakfast.” He had his uncle’s talent for sounding calmer than he looked, but his body language screamed “scared rabbit.”
Logan noticed the kitchen was spotless, not a dirty dish, half-open cabinet, or food stain to be seen. He remembered Klass mentioning he needed to take out the trash once a week too. He couldn’t imagine being so afraid that a trip to the dumpster seemed impossible. Looking around the kitchen, he didn’t spot a garbage can. Or smell one for that matter. What does the little neat freak do? Wash his trash before hiding it away in a cabinet?
Hoping to put the man at ease, Logan said, “I only eat villagers when I run out of maple oatmeal.” That got him a fleeting smile that looked more genuine and drew Logan’s attention to the rest of Caleb’s face. His hair was shaggy, not like a rock star, but like a woman’s hair gets when she’s growing out a short style, awkward angles of blond locks. Guess there aren’t many barbers who make house calls.
“Now that we’ve bonded over breakfast food,” Caleb said, stepping around the island, “how about you hand over the package?”
Logan eyed his boss’s nephew head to toe, taking in his form-fitting sweatpants and Chicago Cubs T-shirt. According to Klass, they were the same age, but Caleb looked closer to sixteen than twenty-six. Glancing at his watch, he said, “Not for eight more minutes.”
Caleb rolled his eyes, giving Logan a ridiculous craving for the lime Jell-O they served in prison.
“Marco never stayed for the whole ten minutes.” He licked his lips, his gaze drifting down and back up again. “He just came in, asked the three Hs, and left.”
Logan squinted at the paper. “How are you?”
“I’m agoraphobic. How are you?”
“I’m an ex-drunk,” Logan answered automatically. His jaw dropped, and he heard his brain spin in the awkward silence that followed. What the hell?
Seeming to take pity on him, Caleb said, “I once offered to host an agoraphobic group meeting, but nobody showed up.”
Logan snorted, glad the guy could laugh about his condition. He himself had covered his minifridge with every tasteless joke and cartoon he could find about AA and being an alcoholic. Laughing about it made it somehow easier to deal with. He had the bizarre urge to tell Caleb about his fridge decorations, which made no sense. It wasn’t like him to want to share something like that, especially with a man he’d just met. Reading the next question, he raised his brow. “How’s your sex life?” he asked. He stared incredulously at the paper. “Why the hell would your uncle want to know that?”
“I try not to think about it,” Caleb deadpanned.
Suddenly, Logan could think of nothing else. Caleb was the perfect combination of wholesome appeal, with his big green eyes, and sexiness, with the type of lips that made Logan’s dick twitch. High cheekbones and a narrow chin gave him a boyish appearance, making Logan wonder if he tasted as sweet as he looked. His thoughts derailed when he read the last question. “Have you left the apartment?”
“No,” Caleb said, his cheeks flushing bright against his pallid skin.
“How long has it been since you left?”
“That’s n-not on the l-list.”
Logan looked away. “Sorry, not my business.”
Caleb surprised him by answering. “I sometimes go into the apartment across from me when Mrs. Simon needs something, but I haven’t done that for a couple of weeks.” He looked at his clutched hands before continuing. “I haven’t left the building in almost three years.”
Logan glanced at Caleb’s pale face, noticing the dark shadows beneath his eyes. He felt like apologizing again, but he held his tongue. He doubted Caleb would appreciate pity from a total stranger. He wouldn’t in the same circumstances. Glancing at his watch, he struggled to think of something else to talk about; small talk wasn’t one of his strengths, especially not while sober. “Do you have any mailers for me to take back?”
Caleb sighed as if relieved to have a question to answer. “Not today.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I run a small web design and editing business… from home.” He winced. “Obviously.”
Logan had wondered how a guy who never left his apartment could afford the rent. Caleb had to be pretty good if companies hired him without even meeting him. Given the jumpiness, he doubted Caleb entertained clients here. A trained monkey knew more about computers than Logan did, so the conversation stalled once again. It had been a long time since he’d been so tongue-tied around someone as attractive as Caleb. But setting his sights on a hot guy and making a move wasn’t the same as making chitchat. No wonder Marco usually bailed in the first few minutes.
“You’ll need me on Mondays and Fridays, right?”
“Yes, and I’m hoping you can pick up my grocery order this coming Monday from Meng’s Market.” He walked over to the desk, giving Logan a nice view of his tight ass. “Meng’s is just three blocks south from here.” He brought back a store flyer and handed it to Logan. “If you need to switch days, just let me know. I listed my number.” Shifting his weight from side to side, he continued. “Leave a message on my voice mail if I don’t answer.”
Logan blinked. “Because you might be with your neighbor?”
“Right.” Sighing, Caleb rubbed the back of his neck. “Or, I don’t always do well on the phone.” He looked straight at Logan, his eyes verging on desperate. “Please tell me it’s been ten minutes. I swear I’m not normally such a freak. I just have trouble with first-time meetings.”
“You’re no worse at it than I am,” Logan muttered. He didn’t have the excuse of a severe phobia. He’d never been much of a conversationalist, but he didn’t remember being this bad before prison.
“Do you want something to drink?” Caleb’s eyes widened in realization at the implication. When he continued, the words poured from his mouth. “Water, water to drink. I don’t have alcohol, and I never do, or coffee or pop because the caffeine makes me hyper, or more hyper and—”
“Water’d be great.”
“Right, sure.” He headed for the kitchen. “Oh, the part about me not being a freak. Total lie.” He pulled out two bottles of water and handed one to Logan.
Grinning, Logan accepted the bottle. “At least you’re an honest freak.”
“Only when forced,” Caleb said.
LOGAN UNLOCKED the door to his studio apartment and made his way inside. After securing it, he stood in the middle of the dank room, his mind going back to the conversation with Caleb. Three years! This place wasn’t much bigger than the cell he’d lived in for the past year. He’d been sentenced to three years, but lucky enough to get out in one. Caleb was as much a prisoner. Except he hadn’t done anything wrong and had no guarantee of ever being released. That’s a fucking depressing thought.
Logan walked over to his kitchen, which consisted of a wheezing minifridge covered in cut-out comics, a microwave, and a coffee machine. He opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water. It wasn’t the drink he wanted, but he unscrewed the top and downed the contents. Needing to rein in that train of thought, he dropped to the floor and did twenty push-ups. He alternated between sit-ups and push
-ups until all thoughts of oblivion in a bottle fled his mind.
Recovering, he lay back with his arms folded and cupped behind his head, looking at the water-stained ceiling. He’d considered himself lucky when he’d gotten the “no deposit necessary” lease even though twenty-five ex-druggie, ex-crazy, or ex-con residents also called it home. It seemed like a bad idea to have that many unstable individuals in one place, but choices had been limited to say the least. He needed to open the windows and get the fan blowing. Not that it would do much to stifle the oppressive heat. Catching a whiff of himself, he cringed. He was ripe before the workout; now he smelled like a dead skunk. Maybe that was the real reason Caleb was standing on the other side of the room. The thought made him smile, and he hauled himself to his feet.
After opening the windows and starting up a white, plastic fan, Logan entered the cramped bathroom, turned on the shower, and adjusted the spray to just above lukewarm. Removing his clothes, he got into the stall. He slid the glass shower door shut and let the water wash over his face and body. Even after a week of being on the outside, the luxury of showering without an audience and taking as much time as he wanted was still a heady feeling. He toyed with the idea of a cold shower to get relief from the heat, but his calf muscles whimpered at the thought.
He ran a washrag over his broad chest. He’d always kept in shape, but he had packed on more muscle after his conviction. There hadn’t been much else in the way of entertainment in prison. The weight room became his main escape from tediousness. There were other reasons to want a hard, strong build in prison, but he didn’t like to think about them. He’d closed the door on that life. After he lathered his shaved head, he squatted and turned to try to get the spray to hit the top of his head. The world was built by midgets. Ridiculously, the thought made him think of Caleb. Caleb was probably just shy of six feet, which made him tiny in comparison to Logan, but hardly short.
Logan closed his eyes and leaned forward, resting his hand on the shower wall in front of him as tepid water poured over his back. Thinking about Caleb was a bad idea. He knew it, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. The subtle once-over Caleb gave him after he’d calmed down had sent a thrill running through Logan that he hadn’t felt in a long time. Picturing Caleb’s face as Caleb licked his full lips, Logan slid his hand to his hardening shaft. Caleb’s long fingers would be satin-smooth but firm as he gripped Logan’s cock. For a guy that never left home, Caleb had the lean build of a runner. Logan figured he’d find pale skin rippling with tight muscles under the clingy T-shirt and sweatpants Caleb wore. He squeezed the base of his shaft once before pulling away and applying soap to his hand. He imagined what it would be like to feel that lean body under his, hot and eager to be stroked. Had it been years since Caleb had been touched? He let his hand slide up and down in a slow and steady rhythm over his cock.
As the pressure built, Logan started moving his hips, thrusting into his tight grip. Feeling himself about to explode, he leaned forward, resting his head against the cool tile. As his body rushed toward release, he couldn’t help imagining Caleb’s face, his green eyes turned dark with desire. Logan’s breath caught in his throat, and he dropped his other hand to fondle his balls. One touch was all it took. He threw his head back and shot his load against the tiled wall. Knees wobbling, he made a halfhearted attempt to clean off the tile before shutting off the shower.
As he reached for a towel to dry off, Logan wondered how Caleb would feel if he knew that Logan had just jacked off thinking of him. He cringed. The guy isn’t freaked enough? He’s got to worry about an ex-con wanting to bend him over and fuck him against the countertop? He didn’t know why his libido had suddenly gone into overdrive, but considering Caleb was his boss’s nephew, he needed to get a handle on the feelings.
THE SOUND of the phone startled Caleb, causing him to spill chamomile tea on the kitchen countertop. With a sigh, he put the kettle back on the stove and snagged a dishcloth from the drawer. He didn’t need to look at the caller ID to know who was calling. Uncle Harrison had been phoning every half hour for the past four hours in an attempt to badger Caleb into talking to him. Why didn’t he tell me he had found a replacement for Marco? Picking up the mug, he cleaned up the spill. Does he expect me to forget to be phobic if I’m surprised? Caleb knew he could answer the phone and ask his uncle directly, but he stubbornly refused to do so.
After the voice mail kicked in, he picked up the kettle again and filled the mug with the fragrant brew. He needed the soothing properties of the tea to untangle his jangled nerves. Taking a deep swallow, he let his thoughts shift to the new package handler. He didn’t know what to think of Logan other than he was huge and hot. There was something strangely vulnerable about the way Logan had sat with his broad shoulders hunched as his secret spilled from his tongue. Shock had been plain on his face when he admitted to being an alcoholic. The look was quickly replaced with resignation. He expected me to be afraid of him. For some reason, Caleb had felt compelled to show Logan otherwise.
When the phone began ringing again, Caleb was tempted to disconnect it. But he wasn’t sure if his uncle would follow through on his threat. Uncle Harrison had found a behavioral therapist that was willing to come to the apartment. He said he would show up at the apartment with the therapist in tow if Caleb disabled the phone again. Caleb couldn’t take the risk. What if the therapist declared him unfit? Would they force him to leave his apartment? A tingling shiver raced up Caleb’s arm, chasing away the warmth of the tea. He snatched the phone from the charger and hit the Talk button. “I’m fine.”
“You’re angry with me. Is that why you refused to answer? I’ve been worried sick.”
Caleb wanted to ask him why he had called instead of coming over and knocking on the door if he was so concerned. Hell, he had a spare key. He could walk right in. Caleb hadn’t bothered to get the lock changed after the last time his uncle showed up unannounced six months ago. “It would’ve been nice if you had told me Logan was coming today. What if I had been out?”
“You’re deflecting.”
Caleb bit down on the urge to say am not like a recalcitrant child. He’d be listening to his uncle spout pop psychology proverbs all night if he didn’t get a better handle on his emotions. “Like I said, I’m fine.”
“Do you want me to try to find someone else to deliver your mail? Did Logan upset you?”
“Logan didn’t do anything to upset me. I’m fine with him coming over,” Caleb said, surprised to realize it was the truth.
“If you are sure,” his uncle said, sounding doubtful.
“I am. Good night, Uncle Harrison.”
He sighed. “Goodnight, Caleb.”
ON MONDAY morning, Klass had Foster fetch him a couple of hours into his shift. Logan knew he should tell Klass he wasn’t interested in the job. He should make up an excuse about being too tired or not knowing if his parole officer, John Dabb, would approve the job. Both were true, just not the reason. He’d cleaned the reason off the shower wall on Saturday morning.
Sitting behind his impeccably neat desk, Klass asked, “How did it go?”
“It went fine. I followed your instructions,” Logan said, silently hoping his boss didn’t expect a report on his nephew’s sex life. He really needed to stop thinking about sex and Caleb in the same sentence.
Klass sighed. “I know he’s a grown man and I’ve no right to pry into his life.” He straightened an already straight stapler before continuing. “I loved my sister, Mr. Sellers. And she loved that boy. I just want to do right by her. Since she died three years ago, he’s been slipping further and further away.”
Logan swallowed hard. The guy’s worried and I’m perving over his nephew. “He looked okay, a bit on the skinny side. I don’t think I would’ve noticed if you hadn’t told me he was phobic.”
Klass nodded. “Let me know if anything changes.”
This was the opportunity to get out of the job and just walk away. Let someone else help Caleb. Logan sigh
ed. Who was he kidding? The money was too good to pass on. His dick would just have to get with the program. “Sure thing, boss.”
Klass hunched forward, dropping his chin to his chest. “Also, please tell Caleb to fill you in on the details about the radiator.”
Logan returned to his work station, wondering what would be up with the radiator in July. It was busy, so the rest of his shift passed quickly. When he saw the clock and realized it was almost time to go, it came as a pleasant surprise. He wiped his forearm over his sweating forehead and wondered if he ought to go home for a quick shower before picking up Caleb’s groceries. In the end, he decided not to. For all he knew, Caleb might not have any food in the apartment and was quietly starving. The guy was skinny enough already.
The end of his shift rolled around, and Logan walked out into the sunshine, temporarily a free man. Oh, except for the fact that he now had to find a place called Meng’s Market and pick up a grocery order for the boss’s nephew. The thought of groceries made him remember how inadequate his hasty breakfast had been several hours earlier. Hopefully this delivery wouldn’t take too long and he would be able to go home and grab a bite.
LOGAN STEPPED through the sliding door at Meng’s Market. The place featured high-quality meats and locally grown produce, making it worlds away from the 7-Eleven convenience store he shopped at. He walked past the aisles, ignoring his grumbling stomach, and made his way to the service counter next to the produce. He stopped when he spotted an advertisement for instant oatmeal. After grabbing a box of maple flavor, he continued to the back.
At the counter, a short, wiry Asian man scowled at a computer screen as if it had insulted his mother. Logan could relate. They had kicked him out of the technology course in prison after his third computer committed suicide. When the old man smacked the side of the monitor, a sweet-faced Asian woman with glossy black hair down to her hips appeared at his side.