Promises cb-1

by Marie Sexton

  “Is that what you want? Something more?”

  “Don’t we all?” That came out sounding way too pretentious. We definitely needed to change the subject. “So how’s work?” I could tell right away that was a bad question. His grey eyes darkened—I couldn’t see the green at all right now—and he tensed up a little.

  “Not great,” he said darkly.

  “What’s up? Is there a crime wave in Coda I haven’t heard about?”

  He loosened up a little. “I’ve had to drag Dan Snyder away from Cherie’s house two more times. The first time, he was drunk and throwing bottles at her house. The other time, he was inside, and she looked bad. I don’t get it. She won’t press charges, but it was pretty obvious he had been beating on her again. He’s a real piece of work.”

  “Dan was always a fuckup. Even in high school.”

  “Yeah.” He was quiet for a minute and then started pulling at the label on his beer bottle. “I’m getting a lot of shit from the other guys,” he said quietly. He didn’t look at me, and it took a second for me to figure it out.

  “Because of me?”

  A reluctant nod.

  “Then what the hell are we doing here?” I asked incredulously. I had to tell myself to keep my voice down. “You come to my house and bring me out to dinner—of course they’re going to talk.”

  He just shrugged. “It pisses me off.” He didn’t sound pissed though; he sounded sad. “They don’t know what it’s like. They’re all married. The other night when I saw you here—that’s not the first time. They’re always trying to set me up.” I wasn’t sure what to say to that. “I work with them, so I want to get along with them, but at the end of the day, they go home to their families.” And he went home alone to his prison cell of an apartment. He didn’t say that part, but I heard it.

  We ate in silence for a bit, and then a voice said, “Hello, Jared!” I looked up to see Mr. Stevens, the high school band director and the only other gay man in town, as far as I knew. He was in his sixties and well dressed. He seemed to always have on a bow tie.

  “Hey, Mr. Stevens. How’s life?”

  “You haven’t been my student for a long time. You know you can call me Bill.” He always told me this, but it’s hard to call any former teacher by their first name. “And I believe you are our newest police officer?” he said to Matt.

  “Yes, sir. Matt Richards.” He shook Mr. Steven’s slightly limp hand.

  “Mr. Richards, it is very nice to meet you. I’m so glad you’ve joined our tiny community. I hope you don’t mind me asking, but are you actually out with the department?”

  I was trying not to smile. It was obvious that Mr. Stevens assumed Matt was gay. But it was equally obvious, to me, at least, that Matt had no idea what Mr. Stevens meant. I could tell by the look on his face that he was thinking, “out where?” But he nodded gamely and said, “Yes, sir, I am.” Now I was really having a hard time not laughing.

  “That’s fabulous! I’m glad to hear that our department is so progressive.” Matt’s demeanor barely changed. Mr. Stevens obviously could not tell how confused he was, and I realized that I was becoming quite adept at reading his guarded expressions. “Well, I’ll leave you two alone. I want you to know that it makes me so happy to see you two together.” He winked at me. “It gives an old man hope.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Stevens. You know I wish you luck.”

  When he was gone, Matt looked at me and said, “What the hell? What was that guy talking about? And what’s so damn funny?”

  “Don’t you remember me telling you about Mr. Stevens, the band director?”

  I watched him as he thought about it and saw the light come on. Then his eyes shifted from side to side as he replayed the conversation in his head, and a blush crept up his cheeks as the pieces fell into place.

  “Finally figured it out, did you?”

  “Shit.” He didn’t seem mad so much as annoyed at himself. “Sometimes I’m such an idiot.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t worry about it. Mr. Stevens knows all about discretion.”

  “I guess that’s probably true.”

  “Does it bother you that he thinks we’re together?”

  “Does it bother you?”

  “Not at all.”

  “You and he never…?” I noticed he had evaded my question but let it pass.

  “Never. I don’t think either one of us has ever even considered it. There’s a pretty big age difference, obviously. And he was my teacher once, so that would be pretty fucking weird. And I don’t know for sure, but I suspect Mr. Stevens likes his men a little more feminine, if you know what I mean.”

  “And how do you like your men?” His cheeks were bright red, but his gaze was level on mine.

  And boy did that feel like the trick question of the month. Because of course, I liked my men just like him: tall and dark and muscular. The only thing I might have added was longer hair and tattoos—and I had to wonder if there were any under his shirt. But I couldn’t say it.

  What I said was, “Filthy rich.”

  He gave me the pseudo-smile. I had a feeling that he knew the real answer.

  CHAPTER 10

  HE BEGAN to stop by the shop at closing time again, and we had dinner together two or three times a week. Every time, I asked him if it was causing trouble for him at work. At first he would just shrug, but by the third week, the question was making him blush. That confused me.

  “I don’t understand. Does it cause problems for you or not?”

  “Well, it did,” he said hesitantly. “But I’ve made some changes over the past few weeks that have helped.” He wasn’t looking at me when he said it.

  “‘Changes’? Like what?”

  “I actually, umm….” He was fidgeting with the label on his beer bottle again. “I started seeing Cherie.”

  “What?”

  He glanced up at me and gave me the pseudo-smile. “You heard me.”

  “You’re dating Cherie?”

  “No. Not dating.”

  “But you just said—”

  “What I said was I started seeing her. Not the same thing.” He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. I was still confused, and my face must have shown it, because he rolled his eyes at me and said, “Let’s just say we have an arrangement. Like you and your friend, Cole.”

  “Ahh. I see.” Now I was having a hard time keeping a straight face. “Occasionally mutually convenient?”

  He shrugged. “Well, convenient for me, at any rate.”

  “I thought you valued your independence?”

  “I do. But I’m not exactly a fan of celibacy either.”

  “Who is?”

  He winked at me. “Exactly.”

  “Why her? I mean, not to be a jerk, but she’s got, well….”

  “A reputation?” He was back to picking at the label on the bottle.

  “Right.” I was relieved that it wasn’t news to him.

  He shrugged. “I wear a raincoat.”

  That actually made me blush. “Well, that’s good, but that’s not what I meant.”

  “She seemed like the best bet for a ‘no strings’ type of relationship. I have absolutely no interest in anything more serious.”

  “And she’s actually in agreement with that?” I certainly couldn’t claim to be an expert on women, but I had always suspected that “no strings attached” was a lot harder for them than for men.

  “Look”—and I could tell he was getting a little annoyed that he had to explain it to me—“I’m not a total asshole. I have been completely honest with her. She knows that we’re not dating. There will be no romantic moonlight strolls or anniversary dinners. I’m not meeting her parents, or buying her flowers, or moving in with her, or even meeting her friends. We fuck. That’s it.”

  “She’s actually okay with that?”

  “She says that she is.” He shrugged again. “I’m sure she thinks that I will change my mind over time. I won’t, and I’ve told her
that I won’t. It’s not my fault if she chooses not to believe me.” I couldn’t help but think that Cherie might be right. I figured after a few weeks, he wouldn’t object so much to “dating.” I was pretty sure the way to a man’s heart was actually a little lower than the stomach. “She has requested only that I be ‘faithful,’ and not date or sleep with any other women while we’re seeing one another.”

  “And that’s acceptable to you?”

  “Absolutely. The whole point is to keep the complications to a bare minimum, and adding another woman to the mix would definitely qualify as a ‘complication’.”

  “Yes, I suppose it would.”

  “Plus, the arrangement has other benefits.” He had the pseudo-smile again.

  “Such as?”

  He actually almost smiled over at me now. “First, the guys at work are no longer trying to set me up. And, more importantly, I am now free to hang out with you as much as I like without having to put up with annoying accusations.”

  “So let me get this straight: you’re willing to have sex, no strings attached, with a hot bimbo, just so you can hang out with me more?”

  His green-in-grey eyes were sparkling, crinkling at the corners like he was about to laugh. “It is quite a sacrifice on my part, I admit. Don’t say I never did anything for you.”

  “Wow.” I couldn’t help but laugh. “You are a manipulative bastard.”

  “I am. I can’t deny that.” He said it lightly but then suddenly became serious. “Are you thoroughly disgusted?”

  “By the idea of you fucking Cherie? A little. By the fact that you’re a manipulative bastard? Not so much. She’s a big girl, and if you really are being honest with her—”

  “I am.”

  “Then it’s just a matter of consenting adults.”

  “Exactly.” He seemed relieved to have that out of the way. “So, what about your friend Cole? How often do you get to see him?”

  “He’s only here during prime ski season, but I usually see him two or three times between December and the first of April.”

  “So never between April and December?”

  “Right.”

  “Wow,” he said sympathetically, “that’s a hell of a dry season.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  Our food came then and put an end to that depressing topic.

  “Are you working next weekend?” he asked as I started to eat.

  “Yeah.”

  “Can you get it off?”

  Getting the weekend off would actually be easy. Since it was summer vacation, Ringo was able to work full-time. Plus, Lizzy was willing to take more hours than usual, because we both knew that once the baby came in the fall, the tables would be turned.

  “Sure. What’s up?”

  “I’ll be working overtime on July third and fourth, but then I have a three-day weekend after that, starting Friday. I thought we could go camping. I bought a bike last week, too, so we could do some riding.”

  I was elated. I always loved spending time in the mountains, but usually I had to go alone. Sometimes Brian and Lizzy would go with me, but between Brian’s job and the shop, it was hard for us all to get away together. The idea of having company, especially Matt’s company, was exhilarating. “That sounds great!”

  “Should I pick you up?”

  “Yeah. Come by early on Friday. We can get breakfast first, then get our gear together, and head up.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “Are you planning on inviting Cherie?”

  He looked up at me, horrified. “Why would I want to ruin a perfectly good weekend?”

  CHAPTER 11

  HE WAS knocking on my door at seven thirty on Friday morning. I was still in bed.

  “Jesus Christ,” I groaned as I let him in. “When I said early, I didn’t mean at the butt crack of fucking dawn.” I’m not good at being cheery before nine o’clock.

  He didn’t quite laugh but was obviously amused. His eyes crinkled at the sides a bit, and he smacked me playfully on the back of the head. “What are you talking about? The sun’s been up for almost two hours now.”

  “Oh man, I hate morning people.” I went into the kitchen and started making coffee. “For the record, ‘early’ means ‘before lunch.’”

  That actually made him laugh. I had now heard him laugh exactly two times. And yes, I was counting.

  We went out for breakfast first and then started getting our gear together.

  “Make sure you pack plenty of warm clothes,” I told him.

  “What do I need warm clothes for? It’s summer!”

  “We’re gonna be camping at over ten thousand feet. It’ll be cold when the sun goes down, believe me!”

  “Where exactly is the campground?” Matt asked suspiciously.

  “The what?” I was laughing.

  “We’re not going to a campground?” His confused look made me laugh even harder.

  “Hell, no! We’re going somewhere better than any campground!”

  We were loaded up and on our way out of town by eleven o’clock.

  He followed my directions, farther up into the national forest, then onto a dirt road, and from there, onto a rocky four-wheel drive track.

  He glanced around us doubtfully. We were headed crossways up the side of the mountain. The ground rose sharply up on our left and dropped just as quickly on the right. “Are you sure you know where you’re going?”

  I grinned over at him. “Trust me.”

  I showed him where to pull off the side of the road—there was just enough room in this spot to get the Jeep off the trail—and we started unloading. He was still looking around skeptically.

  “We’ll probably have to make two trips,” I said as I handed him the cooler.

  “How far are we walking?”

  “Not far. It’s sort of steep though, so don’t try to carry too much at once. The shitty part is carrying it back up here on Sunday.”

  He followed me down the hill through bushes and trees. There wasn’t much of a path, but I didn’t need one. We went down about a hundred yards to where the ground leveled off and then turned right for about another thirty until we reached a small clearing.

  Not many people knew about our spot. My family had been coming here since I was a kid, and the location was a secret we guarded jealously. We had teased Brian that we knew he was actually going to marry Lizzy when he finally brought her for the first time.

  We had a large fire pit with rocks Brian and I had collected piled about a foot high around it. We had benches, made by my father and grandfather from old logs. Some families have second homes. This was ours.

  Once there, I dropped my gear and just stood there, soaking it in. Behind us on the right was one of the large rocky abutments like the one Matt and I had climbed the day we met. In front of us was the river. Well, in Colorado, it’s a river. In most of the rest of the country, it would probably be called a stream. My grandpa called it a creek (when he said it, it sounded like “crick”). It’s about fifteen feet to the opposite bank, only about two or three feet deep but rushing fast over its rocky bed. In places, you could cross on the giant rocks without getting your feet wet as long as you didn’t slip on the wet stone. The sun was shining through the trees, and the water splashing off of the rocks created hundreds of tiny prisms over the river. Our side of the stream was mostly evergreens, but directly across from us was a grove of aspens, leaves rustling in the breeze.

  I stood and let the feeling of that place fill me. I have often wondered if this was what religious people feel when they pray. It is a feeling of reverence and awe, serenity and belonging. The light breeze, the smell of the forest, the rushing water, the whispering leaves—they seem to fill me, like my soul is opening up and being swept clean. It is the only thing in my life I could call spiritual.

  Behind me, I heard Matt say, “Jared, this is amazing.”

  “It’s my favorite place in the world.” I knew that sounded childish, but it was true.

&
nbsp; “You were right. It’s definitely better than any campground.”

  We set up camp, then spent some time hiking and biking, and cooked hot dogs over the fire for dinner. As the sun went down, we built the fire up higher and started adding layers of warmer clothes. We never seemed to run out of things to talk about. Finally, long after sunset, we let the fire die down to crackling crimson coals and leaned back in our chairs, staring up at the billions of stars that could never be seen in town. The moon was barely a sliver, and the Milky Way was a bright luminescent stripe above us.

  Matt’s voice in the dark said, “Thanks for bringing me here.”

  “Thanks for coming.”

  We finally headed into the tent. We had debated bringing two, but they were all large tents, and in the end, space in the Jeep was limited, so we had agreed to share one.

  “This is always the worst part,” I said as I stripped down to my boxers. “The trick is to get undressed and into your bag as fast as possible.”

  “Are you crazy?” he asked. “It’s so cold.”

  “You’ll be warmer in your bag without your clothes,” I told him as I climbed into my bag. “That way, it’s just your body warming the bag, and the bag warming you. The layers of clothes will get in the way. Of course, it’s hell when you have to pee in the night. But you’ll be warmer. Trust me.” I was all zipped up now, starting to feel toasty and already getting drowsy. “You can leave your thermals on if you want.” I yawned. “Weren’t you a Boy Scout?”

  “No. We never stayed anywhere long enough.” He was starting to get undressed now. He raised his eyebrow at me playfully and said, “I think this is all just a ploy to get me naked.”

  I laughed. “You’re right. In fact, it’s going to be so cold tonight, our only hope for survival is for you to share my bag.” He laughed a little at that, too, but then he pulled his shirt off, and it was all I could do not to stare. His body was amazing, just as I had always imagined: strong and lean and heavily muscled. There was no hair on his chest but a little around his navel and a dark trail of it that got thicker as went down to where it disappeared under the waistband of his sweats. I could picture all too clearly the thick, black hair that trail led to. Suddenly the idea of him sharing my bag, although it had been a joke, was foremost in my mind. I couldn’t help but imagine having his smooth skin against mine, following that trail with my fingers to the hair below. My body was reacting in a way that would have horrified him, and I was glad that I had managed to get into my bag before he started undressing.