Paranormal Lovers Box Set
By Wayne Mansfield
Published by JMS Books LLC
Visit jms-books.com for more information.
Copyright 2017 Wayne Mansfield
ISBN 9781634864718
Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com
Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.
All rights reserved.
WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.
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This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It may contain sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which might be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published in the United States of America.
* * * *
Paranormal Lovers Box Set
By Wayne Mansfield
Before Lovers
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Ryan
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Stranger Things
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Prologue
Unexpected Ending
Before Lovers
Chapter 1
The man was definitely looking at Paul, and if the bus hadn’t been so crowded he would have moved further up the aisle, or maybe he’d have got off the bus altogether. City buses ran every fifteen minutes. He wouldn’t have had to wait long for another one, and he’d be away from the man and his persistent stare.
The bus came to a halt. A woman carrying plastic bags full of shopping manoeuvred her way down the crowded aisle, past Paul, to get to the door. Something heavy in one of her bags pressed into Paul’s calf and he grimaced. When she had passed, he noticed the man had inched his way a little closer.
Paul turned and faced the front of the bus. The only problem now was he couldn’t see whether the man was still looking at him. A sixth sense told him he was. He could feel the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. When the bus pulled in at the next stop, he glanced over his shoulder to check he wasn’t in the way of anyone coming up the aisle. It was also a chance to see whether the man was still watching him, or if he’d moved any closer.
The answer was in the affirmative on both counts.
He frowned. He realised he was tensing his jaw, and grinding his teeth. What the hell is he doing? What does he want? He gripped the rail he was holding till his knuckles were white, and made the decision to get off at the next stop. He’d wait till the last possible moment to make his way to the door so the weirdo behind him wouldn’t have any chance to follow him. To his relief, he could just make out the next stop through the windscreen of the bus.
Six people. There were only six people between him and the door.
The bus began to slow. Paul’s hand tightened and relaxed, tightened and relaxed, on the rail. The bus stopped. The doors swung open.
“Excuse me,” he said, squeezing past two teenage girls who threw him dark looks, past a businessman with a briefcase, a mother clasping the hand of her young son, and a teenage boy holding a battered skateboard.
He tagged off, and as his foot hit the pavement, he turned and directed his attention to the back door of the bus. Two women alighted and the doors closed again. As the bus pulled out onto the road, he studied the passengers through the windows. He had to know the man was still there and that he hadn’t somehow managed to exit the bus without Paul seeing. It would have been an impossible feat, but he needed to reassure himself. And there he was. The man. He had his back to Paul, but at the very last second, the man glanced over his shoulder at him.
Paul’s frown returned.
Like a jingle he couldn’t get out of his head, so were thoughts of the man. He was attractive, just the type of man Paul liked. Tall, tanned, and toned, with black hair and blue eyes—the kind of eyes that smiled along with his lips. But those smiling eyes had been on him an uncomfortable, impolite amount of time. And for what reason? There had to be some sort of explanation for it, though Paul was damned if he could think of one.
After he arrived home, he made a cup of coffee and called his friend, Linda.
“Oh, hi,” she said in her usual, unenthused way.
“How’re things?”
“Pretty good,” she said with a sigh. “My bloody neighbour is pissing me off. He’s building something. Bang, bang, bang all the time. Inconsiderate bastard. How are you?”
Paul couldn’t help smiling. Linda always made him smile. She never got excited about anything, but her glum, depressed, and sometimes-whiny tone did, contradictorily, have a certain comedy about it.
“You’ll never guess what happened to me on the bus today.”
“What?”
“This guy was looking at me. Openly staring at me. Can you believe it? Didn’t say ‘hello’ or acknowledge me when I looked back at him, just kept staring.”
“Maybe he fancied you.”
“No,” replied Paul. “That’s what I thought at first, but I know when someone fancies me. I know that look. He didn’t have it.”
“What look did he have?”
“I don’t know. A kind of handsome pervy-weirdo look. I didn’t get to see much of him. I had my back to him most of the time. But every time I turned around, there he was, eyes boring into me.”
“Mmm. Sounds like you’ve got yourself a stalker.”
“I’ve never seen him before, Lin. I don’t think he qualifies as a stalker.”
Linda chuckled. “Yet.”
“The strange thing is, I can’t stop thinking about him. I really want to know what was going on.”
“You probably won’t ever see him again, so I’d forget about it if I was you. Probably some psycho in a suit. People are idiots.”
It was rare for Linda to say anything nice about the human race. She was more into animals. She lived with her Colombian boyfriend on a property on the outskirts of the city where she had two dogs, a cat, some koi, and a cockatoo.
Paul nodded. “A lot of them are.”
* * * *
By five-thirty the following day, Paul had forgotten about the man on the bus. As usual, he walked to the bus stop and waited in line with about fifteen or sixteen other people. He checked his watch, then glanced back along the road to see whether the bus was coming. It wasn’t, but something else caught his eye. The man from yesterday had joined the line. He was wearing a tailored suit, as he had been the previous day, and carrying a briefcase. The man smiled at him and gave him a discreet nod. Paul turned to face the front of the queue. His heart was racing.
He was about to turn around once more, to ascertain whether he’d
been seeing things or not, when the bus pulled into the stop. He got on and made his way to the back of the bus where he’d have the advantage. Most people stood in the aisle facing the front, some faced the side, staring blankly out of the windows, but no one ever faced the back. He found a seat two down from the very back one, and as he watched the man make his way along the aisle, he realised his mistake.
The man had stopped level with the rear door. Paul was going to have to walk right past him in order to get off the bus.
As the bus neared Paul’s stop, he began to fidget. Now it was his turn to watch the man, who stood in profile facing the rear door. Twice he caught the man’s eyes upon him. There was no mistaking it, and he didn’t just casually cast his eye over the back section of the bus and find Paul. He looked directly at him. The second time he caught the man looking at him, the man smiled. Paul frowned.
This is ridiculous, he thought as the bus approached his stop. I’m a grown man, for God’s sake. This isn’t high school.
He climbed out of his seat and eased his way past an overweight woman, who was soon squeezing herself into the seat he’d vacated, much to the consternation of the gent in the window seat.
The bus stopped. The door opened. He watched the man step back, out of the way of two teenage girls and their school bags. Paul followed behind, keeping his eyes on the floor, determined not to make eye contact with the man. He hurried off the bus, and even as it pulled back onto the road, he didn’t look up. He was damned if he was going to give the man any encouragement.
Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t stop thinking about the man. He was conflicted between feelings of curiosity and interest, and feelings of concern and annoyance. The man was handsome. Classic Irish—blue eyes and black hair. And that afternoon, as Paul had passed the man to get off the bus, he’d detected the scent of cologne. A manly aroma. Fresh and masculine. But the sudden appearance of the man in his life, and his constant staring, was unnerving, unsettling.
He called his best friend, Rick, a stocky, solidly built, and rather hirsute man into wearing women’s silky underthings.
“Why don’t you come over?” said Rick. “I’ve got a new black, lacy number to model.”
Rick lived three blocks away, so Paul grabbed his mobile phone and walked to his friend’s place. He knocked on the door and was greeted by Rick wearing, as promised, his new black, lacy teddy.
“You like?” asked Rick, performing a little twirl, his voice deep and manly.
Paul nodded. “I’m constantly surprised they make those things in your size.”
It wasn’t the only thing that surprised him. Rick was as masculine as they came. His thick, dark chest hair made it difficult to see where the teddy ended and his chest began. And the fact that Rick possessed a rather sizeable cock meant the fabric at the crotch was stretched to capacity; Paul could see half a hairy ball poking out.
Rick invited Paul into the kitchen and made some coffee.
“To what do I owe this honour?” he asked.
Paul shrugged. “Can’t I just drop in and see my best friend?”
Rick walked to the cupboard to get the coffee mugs, his gait anything but feminine. He looked like a truck driver in drag. In fact, the only thing feminine about him was the negligee, and even then it tested the imagination to its very limits to think the garment had been designed to tempt and seduce.
Rick shook his head. “Not on a school night.”
“Ah, but I have something to tell you. There’s this guy on the bus. He’s only started catching it, but the thing is, he keeps staring at me. It’s freaking me out.”
“Is he a looker?” asked Rick, chuckling. “Maybe he wants your hot body.”
“That’s what Linda said…”
“Oh, that one. Does she still hate people?”
It was Linda’s habit to arrive at any given destination and announce upon entering a room, “Gee, I hate people.” There was usually a story to follow about how someone had cut her off on the highway, or how a telemarketer had called to ask if she was happy with her health insurance company.
“Always,” replied Paul. “Now, back to me. Do you think it’s weird that a guy starts catching my bus and happens to focus every second of his journey on me?”
“What I think,” said Rick, pouring the hot water, “is that you’re becoming Peggy Paranoid.”
“I don’t think I am. You don’t know what it’s like. And besides anything else, it’s bloody rude. Nobody likes being stared at.”
Rick brought the coffees to the kitchen table and set them down. “I do.”
“Yeah, but look at you.”
Rick poked out his tongue. “Listen, why don’t you talk to him? Ask what the fuck his problem is. Tell him you don’t appreciate being gawked at. Or…” He took a sip of coffee and held up a thick, hairy finger to indicate there was more to follow. “You could catch a later bus. Or ride a bike to work. You could stand to lose…”
“Uh uh uh,” said Paul. “Pot calling kettle.”
“My point is there are tonnes of things you can do. I can’t see there’s a problem. Just deal with it.”
Paul nodded, unamused. “Such a good friend.”
* * * *
The following evening, Paul approached the bus stop with more than a little trepidation. He scanned the queue, and the throng of people walking towards him on the footpath. There was no sign of the man. The fact made him smile. Even better, the number 21 bus had just come into view. His smile blossomed into a grin.
He’d taken a single step when he felt someone tap him on the shoulder.
“Excuse me.”
Paul turned around and a small gasp escaped his throat.
It was the man. He was even more good-looking up close. He had a slight five-o’clock shadow and large, dark pink lips. A breeze blew his suit jacket open and Paul glimpsed the outline of a nipple, poking against the cotton fabric of his immaculate white shirt.
“This might sound like a line, but I assure you it isn’t,” said the man. “Do I know you?”
Paul slowly shook his head. He’d remember having met such a hot-looking guy.
“I saw you on the bus the other day, and ever since then, I’ve been trying to remember where we met. I know we’ve met somewhere. I feel it very strongly.”
Paul glanced over his shoulder. The last of the queue was disappearing into the bus.
“Listen, can I buy you a coffee?” asked the man.
Paul started moving towards the bus. “I really should be getting home,” he said, turning and hurrying to the door.
The man was right behind him.
As it was every day, there was standing room only. At least they were right at the front of the bus.
“I’m aware of how unusual this must be for you, and maybe I shouldn’t pursue it like I am. The thing is, it’s not just a feeling I know you. I…” He lowered his voice until Paul could barely hear it. “I feel…” He glanced away. “I feel a certain attraction to you.”
Ordinarily, an admission like that from a guy like this would have had Paul as hard as a rock. But everything about the situation was, as the man had put it himself, unusual.
“What’s even stranger,” said the man, his voice still barely audible, “is the fact I’m not gay. I’ve never been into blokes. In fact, I split up with my girlfriend of six years only last year.”
Paul couldn’t think of a single thing to say.
“And I’m Calvin, by the way. Calvin Dickson.”
“I’m…Paul.”
He didn’t want the man having too much information. A surname could be traced, which is exactly what he decided he’d do when he got home—log on and do a search for “Calvin Dickson.”
Calvin retrieved his wallet from his back pocket.
“I’ll give you my card,” he said, fishing one out from a small flap inside his wallet. “Call me over the weekend and we’ll go out for a drink. I’m not an axe murderer. And I don’t make it a habit of going up to stra
ngers and befriending them—”
“This is my stop,” said Paul, interrupting.
“Oh,” said Calvin, stepping aside. “Listen, call me. Please. Let’s have a drink. My treat.”
The door opened. Paul held up the card. “Thanks,” he said, descending the two steps. “We’ll see.”
The door closed behind him. He turned and noticed the man give a small wave. He looked at the card and was about the throw it to the ground when something made him stop. He looked at the card again.
Calvin Dickson
Chartered Accountant
Knowing Calvin was educated and professionally employed gave the man a little more credence. And there was no getting away from the fact Paul found him extremely attractive, especially his deep, husky voice and the fact he was well-spoken. It hadn’t been the most traditional of meetings, but these days, what was traditional?
“Why not?” he mumbled as he slipped the card into his shirt pocket.
Chapter 2
They’d agreed to meet at Allegro at half-past four on Saturday afternoon. Paul arrived first, dressed casually in a collared T-shirt and cargo pants. He took a seat at the bar and ordered a beer. Quite frankly, he was surprised he was the first one to arrive, given the enthusiasm with which he’d been pursued.
Ten minutes later, Calvin hurried into the bar, wearing a navy blazer over a navy and white striped T-shirt, and dark trousers.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said. They shook hands. “The phone rang as I was leaving.” He looked at his watch. “Ah, I’m only a bit late. Been here long?”
“About ten minutes,” replied Paul. “What’ll you have?”
“A beer,” he said. “Whatever you’re having.”
Paul ordered a beer and Calvin suggested they get a booth.
“More private,” he said.
Paul followed Calvin to the back of the bar and they found a booth near the corner where the fronds of a large potted palm hung over them like an umbrella.
“I know this is all very unconventional,” said Calvin. “I’m glad you took the chance and called.”
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