by J. M. Snyder
Damn, he’s one fine mother.
Eyes as gray and faded as his shirt, slightly too big for his face, shielded by lashes a little too long to belong to a guy. Strong, straight nose. Wide mouth and thin lips that slide easily into a welcoming grin. Teeth so white and perfect, he could do toothpaste commercials. The faintest blond fuzz on the corners of his chin, as if he forgot to shave this morning, the bristles curling up along his jaw to meet the darker hair in front of his ears. It’s cut close at the sides and back but kept long on top so it sort of flops over his forehead. I bet he spikes it up sometimes, though. He looks like the type.
You’re staring, I warn myself. I know I am, and worse, I know Nadia knows it, because the slightest little grin toys at the corners of her mouth, a smirk that says, Look all you want, but you know he’s mine, right?
Yeah, yeah, bitch. Rub it in.
As I carry the case of water over to the terrace, Kyle seems to shake himself awake. “Hey, man. So you’re our new neighbor, huh? That’s cool.”
“Just got the key.” God, I sound so fascinating. I wish the ground would open up and swallow me whole right about now.
“Don’t just stand there gawking,” Nadia says, miffed. “A little help would be nice.”
Is she talking to me? I move faster, hefting the case up onto the railing. When Kyle takes it from me, our hands brush together and I imagine I feel electricity arc down my arms, igniting my blood. We’re so close now, his face mere inches from mine; all I’d have to do is lean forward over the bottled water and touch my lips to his to claim a kiss.
What’s gotten into me? I’m never this horny, falling head over heels for a guy I just met—a straight one, at that, with a cute girlfriend watching us as if she knows exactly what goes through my head every time I look at him. You know it’s been too long since you’ve gotten laid when…I think, and if Rob was here, I’d say it out loud, joking around, but I don’t know these people, I can’t just kid about something like that right off the bat.
Instead I smile weakly at him—so close!—and take a step back, relinquishing my hold on the water. I feel awkward and dumb, and I’m almost thirty percent sure he knows I’m sporting wood. Nadia, I’d guess ninety percent; she’s one sharp cookie, and I can tell she finds this whole encounter pretty amusing. Later, when they’re lying in bed, she’ll tell him how badly I was crushing on him and he’ll be surprised, because straight guys never catch on, ever, and then things will go from awkward to downright embarrassing between us. The next time I see him in passing, he’ll smirk at me like he knows he gets me hard, and then I really will have to move, jeez.
And I haven’t even seen the apartment yet.
“Well,” I say, hoping to start something that will end with us parting ways, them back to putting away their groceries and me upstairs in my new apartment, alone at last. Relaxing with my thoughts, my mind whispers, and right on the heels of that, Christening my new bedroom…and why not? I’m half-hard already. A good jerk off session thinking of Kyle under me, in more ways than one. Might as well break in the new place now, really make it feel like home, know what I mean?
But apparently getting away isn’t going to be that easy. “You moving in tonight?” Kyle asks, leaning on the case of water. He obviously has no intention of taking it inside just yet.
“Tomorrow,” I tell him. “I have a few things in the car, but my buddy and I will be renting a U-Haul in the morning.”
Kyle nods and shares a look with Nadia that I can’t read. “Hmm. Your buddy.”
She’s finished depositing the last of the grocery bags on the terrace; now she turns and leans back against the railing, squinting at me in the setting sun. “You know, I’ve never seen any of the one bedroom apartments. Let me get these bags inside, and then we can help you carry your things upstairs and check it out?”
So much for my solo plans. I don’t have too much, only what I managed to grab before I rushed over to sign the lease. The backseat of my car overflows with trash bags of clothing, and my trunk is filled with shopping bags of new items I’d been buying for the past few weeks, ever since I knew I was going to move. Pots, pans, silverware, dishes, towels, cleaning supplies, things I didn’t have to have at Rob’s but would need in a place of my own. The thought of making several trips upstairs was exhausting. Any help would be appreciated.
Hell, I could always yank one out once we were done. Watching Kyle get all sweaty and seeing the muscles in his arms bulge as he carried boxes of my stuff, or in his legs as he hurried up and down the steps, would fuel my fantasies later.
Jingling the keys in my pocket and trying very hard not to accidentally cop a feel at the same time, I shrug. “Sure, that’d be great.”
* * * *
For someone who’s never been inside the apartment upstairs before, Nadia sure seems to know where everything is. The moment I unlock the door, she walks right in and starts the tour. “This is my bedroom,” she says, pointing down the short hall leading off the door. “Downstairs, I mean. You’re going to love the closet.”
Kyle and I follow her into the apartment’s only bedroom, which looks spacious now but I’m sure will shrink once I move my full-size futon in. There’s a ceiling fan, which is nice, a window covered with mini-blinds that looks out over the street, and a single walk-in closet. She’s right, I do love it—there are three rods for hanging clothes and, along the back wall, enough shelves for storage that I won’t have to bother buying a dresser. I’ve been using a system of stackable cubes since I graduated from college. As I was packing up my things, I thought they might be a bit dated, but an actual piece of honest-to-God furniture isn’t in my budget. Problem solved.
Nadia spins around in the center of the bedroom, arms flung wide, face turned up to the fan above. “God! I forgot how big these rooms are!” she says with a laugh. Then she stumbles to a stop and holds up her hands. “Wait! Listen! Hear that?”
Kyle and I exchange a look. “Hear what?” he asks, bemused.
She laughs. “That’s my fan! You can hear it through the floor!”
Maybe I hear a very faint squeak, but I can’t be sure because, at that moment, the central air conditioning kicks in and the fan drowns out everything else. Still, she laughs again, pleased. “Did you hear it?”
With a shake of his head, Kyle says, “If he can hear your fan, I bet he’ll hear that plug-in vibe of yours whenever you rub one out.”
Her smile disappears. Balling her hand into a fist, she punches him in the arm, hard enough for him to flinch. “First off, it’s cordless,” she snaps. “You’re thinking of the Magic Wand I used to have, but I had to pitch that, remember? Damn thing just about blew a circuit when the cord frayed.” She glares at me, as if daring me to say something.
I take a step back, hands up. “I don’t even know what you two are talking about. A magic what?”
“It’s a vibrator,” Kyle mutters. “Almost set her bed on fire—”
“Hey!” She punches him again, harder this time. “You don’t hear me airing all your dirty laundry, do you? Like the time when maintenance came by to change the filters and you were—”
“Moving on!” Kyle storms out of the bedroom and back down the hall. At the door to the apartment, he stops and hollers, “Danny? Come on, man. Don’t listen to her. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”
Nadia smirks. Under her breath, she mutters, “Bullshit. I know all the downlow. You want the dirt, you come to me.”
Back out in the hallway, Kyle’s waiting at a door catty-corner to the apartment’s tiny entrance foyer. “This is your utility room,” he says, glaring at Nadia as we approach. He opens the door and clicks on the light inside the room, where there’s a washing machine, clothes dryer, and water heater. “Breaker panel’s in here, too. We had to flip the switches back when she blew them with her Magic Wand.”
“Keep it up. I’m going to deck you,” Nadia warns.
Kyle continues the tour. “A/C control,” he says, pointing
at the thermostat on the wall beside the door to the utility room. Across the narrow hall is another door, which Kyle tags, “Bathroom.”
Then we walk out into the main part of the apartment. A large space opens out towards the balcony and the kitchen is off to the right, hemmed in by a chest-high countertop that could double as a bar. “Kitchen,” Kyle says with a sweep of his arm. “Oh look, Nads, he has a microwave installed under the cabinet. That’s nice.”
“Don’t call me Nads,” she grouses. “We had to buy our own microwave. Lucky bastard.”
That is pretty cool. There’s also a full-size fridge, an oven with a four-burner stovetop and fan, ample cabinet space for all the new pots and pans I’ll probably never use, and a dishwasher so I won’t have to actually use the sink to clean up after myself like Rob’s girlfriend is always saying I should. I’m half in love with this place.
Beside the kitchen is a small nook Kyle generously calls the dining room. It’ll fit a small table and chair set, so I’ll have to add that to my list of things to buy at some point. The living room takes up the rest of the apartment. One corner is given over to a nice fireplace that I’ll try out when the weather cools down, but it’s July and too hot to even think about lighting it up just yet. Actually, the whole room is pretty toasty thanks to the sun slanting through the mini-blinds drawn down over the balcony doors beside the fireplace.
Well, door—only one opens. The other is a floor-to-ceiling door-shaped window fashioned to look like the door beside it, but other than let in a lot of light and heat, it doesn’t have much purpose.
“You’re going to want to invest in a pair of blackout curtains,” Nadia says, turning the wand on the mini-blinds to let even more light into the room. “We get the afternoon sun and, believe me, it can get pretty damn hot up in here during the summer.”
I frown at her and Kyle. “Well, there’s central air, right?”
Kyle shrugs. “You’re upstairs, heat rises, that’s basic physics. When it’s ninety degrees outside, you probably won’t be able to cool it down past seventy in here if you’re lucky. I’d buy the curtains, if I were you. Keeps the sun out, and keeps nosy neighbors from looking in.”
“I’m up here,” I say with a laugh. “Who’s going to be able to see anything anyway?”
Closing the blinds again, Nadia asks, “What do you plan to do, walk around naked or something? Because if so, I know someone who might be interested.”
Kyle’s arms are crossed in front of his chest; now he leans forward and nudges her with his elbow. “Nads, stop.”
Does she mean herself or him? I’d love to ask, but I’m almost afraid to know.
* * * *
First thing Saturday morning, I rent a U-Haul truck and back it up onto the lawn in front of Rob’s townhouse. He stands bleary-eyed on the stoop, a cup of joe in one hand, the other waving me to keep coming. I take turns watching him in the sideview mirror and leaning out the driver’s side window, hoping I don’t run over my stuff, which he helped me haul outside earlier, before the U-Haul place opened.
Then I hear him holler, “Stop, stop!” A second later, the truck shudders as the back bumper crunches into something.
With a wince, I pull up the handbrake and throw the truck into park. Climbing out of the cab, I ask, “What’d I hit?”
“My damn railing.” Rob sips his hot coffee as he stares at where the truck is pushed up against the other end of the stoop.
Before I can climb into the truck and fix my mistake, Lara comes out of the townhouse. She takes one look at the little mishap and wails, “Danny! God! You’re going to have to pay for that!”
“He didn’t break anything,” Rob mutters.
Only I did, as I find out when I pull the truck forward enough to get it off the stoop. The railing is bent enough to be noticeable, and there’s a dark, ugly smudge on the steps where the tire ran up them. A few inches to the left or a little more goose to the gas pedal, and I would’ve plowed Rob over before ramming the truck through his front door.
Hands on her hips, Lara glares at me as Rob and I start to load the boxes into the truck. “I hope you know you’re not getting your half of the security deposit back now.”
Rob smirks, but we both wisely stay silent. When she’s in this sort of mood, it’s best to keep your head down and your mouth shut. Lara’s a nice enough girl, but she can be a bit bossy sometimes, which is reason number one I’m moving out. How Rob puts up with her, I don’t know. When I asked him once, he just shrugged and said, “She puts out for me, what can I say?”
He may be my best friend, the guy I’ve known the longest, a buddy I’d do anything for, but I have to admit, sometimes he thinks with the wrong head. I called him out on it, but he only laughed. “Please, like gay guys don’t,” he teased.
“You don’t see me shacking up with some jerk just because I want to get laid,” I pointed out.
Rob gave me an arched look. “Excuse me, but when’s the last time you actually got laid?”
Touché.
With his help, I get what little I own off the lawn and into the truck. Lara makes herself useful by holding the screen door while we head back inside and upstairs to my room to get the futon I sleep on. She’s watched us the whole time and hasn’t offered to help, keeping one hand low on her flat belly as if to remind me why. Rob’s always told me things weren’t serious between them, and maybe part of him has believed it, even after she moved into the townhouse we’ve shared since college. Six years together seemed like domestic bliss, and I’d probably go on living with him another six, even with her sharing his bed, if she hadn’t announced last month that she’s pregnant.
This is only my third time moving. The first was from my parents’ home to the college dorm. I had a pretty good arrangement on campus, snagged a really great roommate my freshman year—Rob, that’s how we met—and we kept the same room for three years. Our senior year, he found the two-bedroom townhouse for a decent price, not far from campus, so we went in together and split the cost. That was my second move, and the first time I had to actually start paying to live somewhere.
Well, I bought the futon, and the crates where I keep my clothes, and a pair of battered IKEA bookcases I got for a good deal at Diversity Thrift. Rob’s parents donated the dining room set, and the living room couch we found at Diversity for twenty bucks. The huge television in the living room is his, too—he used to work at Circuit City before they closed and snagged some great deals during their final days. I have a handful of electronics of my own to chalk up to his employee discount, namely a 36” old school TV that isn’t a flatscreen and will be heavy as fuck to carry downstairs to the U-Haul and upstairs again to my new apartment, and an aging MacBook Air that weighs next to nothing.
My TV and futon take some finagling, but we get them stowed in the truck with nothing more than a little encouragement from Lara, who refuses to so much as pick up the cord when I almost trip on it in passing. “Oh, I can’t,” she says as I stumble down the steps. “The baby.”
“Don’t say anything,” Rob warns me once we’re inside the U-Haul. “You might not be coming back here, but I’ll have to listen to her bitch about you all day if you get her riled up. For the sake of our friendship, don’t start with her now, please. I’m begging you.”
So I bite my tongue—why not? It isn’t the first time, but I hope to God it’ll be the last. She blows me an insincere kiss as I head around to the cab again. Rob pulls down the rolling door and earns a real kiss from her for his trouble. I hear him ask if she’s sure she doesn’t want to come along. She’s sure, I think, starting the truck. For good measure, I rev the engine, hoping the exhaust makes her choke.
In the sideview mirror, I see her step back up on the stoop. I can’t hear what she’s saying, but I can read her lips. The baby. Yeah, yeah, whatever.
I rev the engine again. The passenger side door opens and Rob climbs up beside me. Though I already know the answer, I wait until he buckles his seatbelt to ask, “So she
isn’t coming?”
He gives me a sardonic look. “You kidding? If she wasn’t preggers, she’d pop open a bottle of bubbly to celebrate.”
With a laugh, I drive the truck off the yard and back out onto the street. “Don’t tell me she’s happy I’m moving out,” I joke.
“She already has plans to convert your bedroom into a nursery,” Rob says. “You didn’t know?”
Oh, I knew. I saw the catalogues. Thank God I’m getting out now, while I still can. Only partly kidding, I tell him, “You can come with me, you know.”
Rob shakes his head. “Nah, man. She’d hunt me down. Besides, I left all my shit back there. You’re on your own.”
For the first time in my life, at twenty-eight. And it feels so damn good.
* * * *
When I pull into the parking lot of my new apartment building, I see Kyle sitting in a folding chair on his terrace, squinting at the U-Haul. He must see me, too, because he raises a hand in greeting.
Rob notices. “Who’s that? New neighbor?”
“Kyle,” I say, lifting my fingers off the steering wheel to wave back. “He lives under me.”
As I turn the wheel, Rob’s elbow nudges me in my side. “Uh-huh. I see what you’re doing.”
“What?” I scrunch up my eyebrows at him, like I don’t know what he’s talking about.
“Trying to play it cool,” he says. “Like you’re not boning for him. I know you, Dan. I know your type. And he’s it.”
“He has a girlfriend.” But I don’t see Nadia around, and I’d be lying if I say I’m not glad to see Kyle waiting outside for me. He is waiting, isn’t he? Or does he normally spend his Saturdays sitting outside like a retiree waiting for the mailman to show up?