And now he wanted the script out of his apartment. He’d finished it; he didn’t have to live it anymore. The printer completed its whining job with a chunk. Frank gathered up the pages and clipped them with a binder. He inhaled. This would only take a minute. He had to knock, hand the pages to Tom, and then dart back into his own apartment. He wouldn’t let Annie down by not finishing the play. The store needed a big splash to open the event area. All he had to do was give Tom what he needed. Then Frank could get back to his life. Forget Tom’s gorgeous smile, his soft lips, and… What am I saying? Frank would see the guy every day at the bookstore while he rehearsed and ran the play. Frank rolled his eyes. He was doomed.
Frank walked as silently as possible to his apartment door, missing the squeaking second board in front as he opened it. The door betrayed him, creaking like it was breaking apart.
Wait. He could just shove the papers under Tom’s door. The gap looked large enough. He bent down and pushed the pages at the door. No luck; they were too big. Well, if he unclipped them, he could make them fit. But then they’d be out of order, and Frank didn’t want Tom coming over and asking him —
Tom’s door opened, and jean-clad legs appeared in Frank’s sight line. Tom stared down at him with a raised eyebrow.
Frank sat back on his heels. Busted. He stood up, grabbing the papers again, trying to smile, but the expression felt a little lopsided on his face.
The smell of simmering tomato sauce with hints of sausage and vegetables buffeted against his senses. Frank’s inner wolf made a hungry whine, punctuated by a low rumble in his stomach. It smelled like Tom was cooking spaghetti and meatballs. Frank’s favorite.
“Here’s the script. I can make changes where needed, or you know, you can make them.”
Tom accepted the bundle, scanning the first page. Frank backed up, hand behind him groping for his apartment’s doorknob.
“Do you mind coming in for a moment while I read over this?” Tom’s mouth lifted in a half smile. Frank’s inner wolf wagged its tail. Traitor.
Frank didn’t want to go in, though. He wanted to escape back to the comfort of his rooms and try to forget about the blue of Tom’s eyes and the shining gold of his hair, dammit. Frank stared longingly at his own door and then nodded. Inside, his wolf gave a happy bark. He clamped down his lips to make sure he didn’t echo it.
When Tom shut the door behind him, it banged loud enough that Frank jumped. The layout of Tom’s apartment was similar to his own, the furnishings sparse but solid.
“Do you want something to drink?” Tom tossed the script down on the glass coffee table.
“No. I’m fine.” Frank perched on the edge of a padded chair, staying away from the couch where Tom sat with folded hands, staring at Frank.
“Okay. I wanted to ask you a question.” Tom was stalling. Frank wanted to hang his head. He’d hoped Tom wouldn’t interrogate him just like every other guy Frank had ever been interested in. Best he cut to the end.
“Look, do you think you’re the first guy skeeved out by finding out I have Galen’s? Well, you’re not.” Frank ran a hand through his hair and studied his shoes. He didn’t want to look at Tom for this conversation. It was awkward enough just having it. “It’s okay. You don’t have to apologize. I will not ask you out or bother you. I’m just handing in the script so you can do Annie’s play, but you don’t have to talk to me anymore, even in the hallway. If you want changes, just tape it to my door or something.”
Frank stood up. There. He’d said it all, no pussyfooting around. He could retreat to his apartment now, eat his cold-cereal dinner, and stop hoping for a fairy tale ending.
“Okay. That was out of left field.” Tom got up from the sofa. “I’m gonna get a soda. You sure you don’t want one?”
Frank shook his head. He should go. He should steel himself and walk out the door. Why wouldn’t his legs move?
“What I wanted to do was invite you to dinner.” Tom’s cheeks darkened a little over the golden stubble that dotted his chin. “As an apology. I reacted badly, and I’m sorry.”
Frank nodded. “Apology accepted. But you don’t need to offer me dinner.”
Tom crossed to the stove and lifted the lid over the bubbling sauce. A fresh wave of savory smells washed over Frank. The whimper from his wolf almost made it past his lips this time.
Tom stirred it and covered the pot again. “I want to. And I made way too much pasta. I’ll be eating it for the next week if you don’t stay.”
Frank grimaced, thinking about the bran cereal waiting for him across the hallway. His stomach gurgled, adding its two cents. “Okay.” The word came out as a harassed huff.
“Great.”
Frank looked up just in time to see Tom’s Broadway smile spread across his mouth, making Frank’s breath catch. I’m so screwed.
TOM HADN’T REALIZED he’d been holding his breath until Frank muttered his begrudging “Okay.”
“Great.” The timer on the oven gave a ding, and he pulled out the meatballs and garlic bread. “Is spaghetti and meatballs okay?” The heat from the cookie sheet seeped through the thin pot holder, and he dropped the dish on the counter with a gasp, shaking his burned fingers.
“Yeah.” Frank walked into the kitchen. His big athletic frame swallowed up the small space. “Can I help?”
Tom’s skin prickled. He restrained himself from reaching out to touch the sinew of Frank’s arms, the bulky muscles of his back that Tom remembered caressing. He’d spent hours arguing with himself over the past few days. Questioning why he’d been so discombobulated by Frank’s ability to turn into a wolf. That kiss they’d shared. Frank had been all human. And dangerous to Tom’s love-’em-and-leave-’em plan that involved going back to New York at the end of the summer. It had been easy to grab on to Frank’s curse as a way to push him away.
“Here’s your plate. Fill it up.” Tom handed Frank one of Annie’s fourth best plates and the tongs for the pasta. Tom turned away as he realized he was staring at Frank and the way his T-shirt pulled tight across his chest. “Soda? Beer? Water?” He peered in the refrigerator at the bottles and cans. He’d promised himself no alcohol today. The conversation was too important. Tom wanted nothing clouding his mind when he needed to both test out the waters on getting Frank to be in the play and making amends for being an ass.
“Soda’s fine.” Frank shoved an errant noodle back onto his plate with the tongs.
Tom grabbed two cans of Coke and plunked ice cubes in two glasses. His hand shook a little as he poured the drinks over the ice, halting just a hair too late on the second one. The foam rose over the ice and splashed down the side.
“Shit.” Tom reached for a paper towel, only to have Frank hand him the dishrag. As Frank’s warm fingers brushed Tom’s hand, a frisson of want stirred. Tom grasped his glass and gulped down a swallow to distract himself. He mopped up the spill and topped up both glasses before handing Frank the untouched soda. “Sorry it ended up on the counter.”
“It’s only Coke.” A half grin flashed on Frank’s face and then vanished again. He took his full plate of spaghetti to the tiny breakfast-nook table and sat down.
Tom scrambled to fill his own plate and join Frank. He set the bowl of garlic bread on the table and scooted his chair in closer.
“Dig in.” He pointed his fork at Frank’s plate. “I learned how to make marinara from an Italian grandmother, so it should be good.”
Frank tangled his fork in his noodles and took a bite. “I didn’t know you were Italian.”
Tom smirked, taking his own mouthful and letting the rich, meaty sauce coat his tongue. “Not. In New York I lived down the street from an Italian restaurant, and the matriarch made it her mission to fatten me up. I pried her secret sauce recipe out of her one day with a bottle of good Italian wine and two tickets to the theater.”
Frank nodded. “It’s delicious.”
“Don’t let Mama Rosa hear you say that. Her pasta is molto squisito.” Tom kissed his fi
ngers in an exaggerated motion.
“So you’ve always wanted to live in the big city?” Frank asked before taking another bite.
Tom hesitated before answering. Once he would have jumped to say yes and then extol all the wonders of NYC that awaited. Did it matter that his answer had changed? That he had changed?
“Well, Waycroft Falls is a small town. There aren’t that many acting parts available here after high school drama. We don’t have a thriving community theater.”
“I can see that.” Frank glanced at Tom with his golden-brown eyes, auburn brows dipping down in a self-deprecating frown. “I guess I’m just a small-town guy. I moved from Hendersonville to Waycroft Falls. There are fewer people here than where I grew up.”
Tom swallowed his mouthful. “Ah, but Waycroft Falls has decorated bed races on Founder’s Day. You can’t get that in any old hometown.” Ridiculous pleasure flooded Tom as Frank chuckled at the remark.
“True. The bookstore came in third last year.”
“I remember Annie calling me, all excited.”
Frank’s face transformed under the smile, and Tom hadn’t realized he’d been missing it. Missing Frank.
“We decorated the bed to look like a bookstore. Annie and Marcie sat on top, balancing books in both hands as all the bookstore staff pushed.”
“All the way to victory.” Tom smirked, shoving his empty plate away.
Frank sat back, the pleased expression stretching across his face. “It was fun. And we had an uptick in sales just from people coming to congratulate us the week after.”
Tom stared mesmerized as Frank took a long pull on his soda, his Adam’s apple bobbing. When Frank put his drink down, he was still smiling. Tom steeled himself to get back to the play. This easy companionship between them settled like a spell, and Tom didn’t want to break it.
“So I wanted to apologize again and tell you how much I appreciate you working on the play with me, Frank.”
And just like that, Frank’s shoulders tensed, and his posture froze. The wounded look returned, the one Tom had seen in Frank’s eyes when he’d first come to his door with the finished draft. The one that had been there the night he’d kissed Tom and Tom had acted like a fool.
Frank nodded, not looking at him. “The play is important to Annie.”
“Yeah. I haven’t always been there for her.” Tom ran a hand through his hair, realizing this wasn’t a new development. He’d been in New York through their dad’s slow decline and death, through the financial complications with Annie’s store, through much of Marcie’s childhood. He’d been pursuing his dream. But it had been at the expense of his family and his sister. Putting on this play wouldn’t make up for that, but he needed it to succeed for her. “I need your help to make sure this works.”
“I finished the draft.” Frank stared, the tension radiating from him.
“I know.” Tom got up, clearing their plates from the table. “But there’s something else I want to talk to you about if you’re willing.”
FRANK FOLLOWED TOM to the sofa again and picked up the copy of the script. He flipped to the last few pages, eyes hooded as he read. He pointed.
“Here. The transformation scene. How do you picture that?”
Frank shrugged. He hadn’t, actually. The movies had a blinding flash of light, and the beast’s features just morphed. “I thought maybe there were theatrical tricks.”
Tom nodded, taking a swig from his glass before setting it down on the coffee table. “There are. Some productions use a mask, which has the drawback of muffling the actor’s voice and not looking very realistic. Others do makeup and have different actors portray the beast and the prince at the end.” Tom drummed his fingers on his thigh. “You know what I’ve never seen, though, is someone shift onstage. I bet it would look even more amazing than the computer-generated animation they use in the movies.” Tom turned his keen blue eyes on Frank, unnerving him with his rapt attention. “Can you stop midshift to a wolf?”
Oh God no. “Me? You want me to be the lead in your play? I’m not an actor.” Frank’s palms grew sweaty, and he wiped them on his jeans.
Tom smiled, but it looked a little strained. “That’s not what I asked. I wanted to know if you could turn halfway.”
“Yeah. It’s not something I do a lot, but I can.” Frank concentrated. Paws were for the wolf, fingers for the man, but in between was just a long nose and hairy hands. The auburn fur sprouted up his arms and hands first. He could feel it, itching in his pants as he grew hairy. A sound escaped him, an involuntary yawp as his face reformed, his nose and mouth elongating into a snout. He felt the dig of his claws through his jeans, and he unclenched his hands from around his knees.
“That looks perfect.” Tom’s expression brightened to his million-watt smile, showing off all his perfect white teeth. “Can you still speak?”
“Yes. Although I have to enunciate a little more.” Frank fought to move his mouth and tongue around his longer, sharper canines. His voice sounded strained, more alien, but still understandable.
“Now let me see you change back.” Tom scooted closer.
Frank closed his eyes and concentrated again, the bones in his face warping back into shape, the hair receding, only leaving the itch behind. Frank scratched his arm.
“How does that work? Where does the hair go?” Tom’s expression of awe disconcerted Frank. He hated feeling like a freak, even if he was one.
“I have no idea. It’s just something that happens. I don’t have a degree in germ-line curse medicine.” He rubbed at his jean-clad thighs. His legs still itched from the fur change.
“You’ve got to be the beast.” Tom’s hand landed on Frank’s arm, warming him down to the bone.
Frank shook his head. “No. I’m not an actor.”
Tom took his hand back.
“Nonsense. Anyone can be an actor. I can teach you to be an actor. Lord knows I took enough acting classes in New York to teach ten people to be actors.” Tom held out his hands palm up. “But you’ve got a unique talent. One even the directors on Broadway would kill for. With you in the lead, this play will bring in the money Annie needs to keep her shop open.”
Frank grimaced. Tom would put him between a rock and a hard place. Frank needed the Little Dorrit Bookshop to stay open so he could keep his job. His wolf whined, wanting to give in, to be closer to Tom. Stupid wolf.
Frank tried out a self-deprecating laugh. “You haven’t even read the entire script yet.”
Tom stared at him for a long moment before sliding back into the cushions of the couch. “You’re right. But will you at least consider it?”
“It’s—”
“A revolutionary idea? A triumph for the stage?” Tom’s Broadway smile stretched, and Frank yearned to keep that hopeful expression on the other man’s face.
“Crazy is what I would say.” Frank shook his head and rubbed at his temple. “Not that many people know in town. About me, I mean.”
Tom sobered. “I thought since Annie—”
“She’s a special case. She’s also my employer.” Frank ran his hand across his face. This could turn into the world’s biggest cluster fuck. What if everyone in town turned their back on him when they found out?
“You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of.” Tom’s voice was gentle. It made Frank jumpy, a little angry.
“Yeah, because everyone reacts so well to finding out about me.”
Tom looked away at that, his ears turning red. “I apologized for that. I’m sorry.”
“Forget about it.”
Tom glanced back. “You haven’t.”
“Well, it hurts, you know?” Frank unconsciously rubbed at his chest. “When people treat you one way, and then you share something about yourself, and they treat you differently, it hurts.”
Tom nodded. “I had a best friend in eighth grade who wasn’t my best friend after I told him I was gay. It’s not the same, but—”
“Yeah.” And that was the problem. It wa
sn’t the same. The only thing Tom risked in middle school was losing a friend or maybe getting beat up in the school yard. Frank’s entire life could change if he gave in to this insane idea. His wolf whined. It wanted to stay with Tom, give Tom anything he wanted.
Frank rose from the chair. “I’ve got a thing I need to get to.” Lie. “I’ll see myself out.” He crossed to the front door and escaped into the apartment house hallway before Tom even opened his mouth.
But it was only when Frank had closed the door to his own place that he exhaled, his wolf’s whimper of displeasure escaping with the breath. On the one hand, Tom appeared to be more accepting of Frank’s condition if only because it could help his play. On the other, did Frank want Tom to want him only because he could become furry on command?
Chapter Eight
Tom had played dirty, bringing in lunch for the bookshop, unsure if he’d convinced Frank during dinner the night before to be in the play. But Tom was unwilling to let go of the idea that Frank shifting onstage would put the play on the map. The publicity alone could ensure a successful run. And by extension, the end of Annie’s problems.
Annie had just pointed to the break room, sending Frank with him to eat lunch while she manned the register.
“So tell me, what is it you like best about shifting?” Tom tried to sound offhand as he crunched on a potato chip.
Frank looked at him sideways, mouth pursing closed.
“I want to know. I want you to know I’m not that guy,” Tom huffed.
Or at least he didn’t want to be that guy. He’d spent the past week tracking down medical articles, documentaries, and even downloaded a few books on Galen’s syndrome. And he’d finished Frank’s book last night. Tom had borrowed Annie’s well-worn copy of the self-published print-on-demand novel about a kid growing up with strange powers and being ostracized from his family and his hometown until he saved them all from an alien attack. The young-adult novel’s metaphor had been bright green neon to Tom. Wish fulfillment. Frank knew firsthand how hard acceptance came to those who were different. Heck, Tom knew too. He’d had more than one run-in with a homophobe. His middle-school heartache had been nothing to some of the slurs and slights he’d experienced in New York.
Wolf Around the Corner Page 6