But Frank said nothing, just ate his chicken-salad sandwich with a frustrating stoicism. Tom tried another tack of conversation.
“I did a little research on the Internet. There are a lot more people with Galen’s than I thought.” Galen’s syndrome, named for the Greek physician who treated the first lycanthrope. It wasn’t every day you met a guy who could change into another species.
Frank stared at his sandwich but answered him this time. “Yeah. We’re quiet about it.”
“I can imagine if, well, if everyone reacts as badly as I did.” Tom swallowed. “I’m sorry, again. For that.” For making you feel bad about being yourself. But Tom didn’t say that part. The tension in the room urged him to stand up then, shoving his hands in his pockets and gazing out the window at the tiny strip of shops on the opposite side of the street. The law offices of J.D. Wilkins stood next to the La Batre Voodoo shop on one side and a bait-and-tackle store on the other.
“So what was New York City like?”
Frank’s question Tom by surprise. He turned, seeing a pensive look on Frank’s face, propping his chin on his hand as he leaned on the table.
Tom rested against the warmth of the window. “Loud. Bright. Fun.” He thought back to the sleepless nights he’d spent couch surfing, trying to get a few hours of sleep despite jackhammers during the day and bright neon and flashing signs at night. But then there were good times too. Great times. Like performing onstage in front of a New York audience and getting that standing roar of applause he’d always dreamed about.
“I don’t think I could live someplace like that.”
Tom chuckled. “You mean someplace where you can see the trees blossoming in Central Park in springtime? Or spend weekend afternoons at the Metropolitan Museum of Art? Or stay out at the bars and tiny niche coffee shops until the sun rises over the Bay and you grab warm bagels from the deli while the city wakes up?”
“Yeah.” Frank’s shoulders lowered from around his ears, and he sat back. “I like things a little slower.”
“Ah, but then you’d miss Mama Rosa’s Thursday night spaghetti special at the little Italian restaurant around the corner. Or the posh parties at the Guggenheim.” Which Tom had attended, as waitstaff for a caterer who gave him side gigs. “The bar scene doesn’t just hop—it jumps. And the men would line up to get a piece of you.” Tom tried to summon up a lascivious grin, but it settled like a grimace. The thought of all those men and innocent Frank turned Tom’s stomach.
“I’m happy in Waycroft Falls.” Frank chewed on a cookie. “I’ve got everything I need.”
But not everything he wants. Frank’s reserved uncertainty screamed his loneliness. He was making do with Annie and the bookstore, but Frank was a family man. Tom would bet the quiet man would blossom in love.
“And to answer your original question.” Frank balled up his sandwich papers and potato chip bag. “I like to run as a wolf. That’s my favorite thing about shifting.”
Tom sauntered back over to the butcher-block table and sat down. “Really?”
Frank set up a shot to send the ball of trash ringing into the can near the break room sink. He turned back to Tom with a shrug. “There’s something freeing about running through the woods. The smells are bigger, brighter, the colors unexpected, the textures lush. I bet you can’t get that in New York City.”
“No.” Tom chuckled. “Maybe if you went to upstate New York, but not in the city. I’d like to experience that.”
Tom glanced up to see Frank’s canny gaze scrutinizing him.
“Would you?” A hint of the wolf behind Frank’s eyes pinned Tom. Could Tom get Frank to agree to act in the play if he went around his human wariness to the animal inside? Wait. That was ridiculous. Frank was just a guy. A guy who could turn into a wolf, but weren’t humans all animals in one way or another? Wasn’t Tom just a hairless ape himself?
Tom nodded. “I haven’t been running in a while. I could use the exercise.”
“Okay.” Frank got up, his chair skidding across the linoleum with a screech. “Then meet me behind the apartment building tomorrow night at seven.”
Chapter Nine
As Tom tiptoed down the steps of the apartments, he felt like a naughty teenager sneaking out of his house on a school night. Well, if the teenager dressed for a run in shorts and running shoes. He dashed out just as Mrs. Anderson’s apartment door unlatched.
“I’ve got a date, Mrs. Anderson,” he called, the front door swinging shut behind him.
“Take your key,” she reminded him. Tom patted the key in his pocket.
He ducked around the apartment building and saw Frank standing just inside the tree line at the back of the lot. Frank had a backpack on his shoulder and stared at his sneakers like they held the answer to why the sky was blue and the grass green.
“Hey.” Tom waved. “Just got caught by Mrs. Anderson.”
“You didn’t tell her—” Frank’s face paled.
“Naw. Told her I had a date.” Tom smirked, watching Frank’s face go from white to red in six seconds.
Frank motioned him into the woods. “Come on, we’ve got at least an hour of daylight left.” And he took off at a trot.
Tom caught up to him. “Wait. I thought you were going to, you know—”
Frank slowed to a walk. “I thought I made you uncomfortable. We can still enjoy the forest if I’m like this.”
Tom panted a little, realizing he was getting out of shape without his daily trips to the gym. “Yeah, but the whole point for you is that you enjoy it.”
Frank stopped walking and faced Tom. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah.” Tom nodded. “Do it.”
Frank stood still a moment longer and then took off his backpack. The speed at which he unzipped the pack and skinned off his T-shirt told Tom how much he’d wanted to do this. The burnished auburn of Frank’s chest hair winked in the afternoon light and dipped into the hard musculature of his abdominals. Tom wanted to drool. So when Frank stopped at the button of his jeans, Tom raised an eyebrow.
“I’ve seen it before.”
“Just turn around.” Frank made a twirling motion with his finger.
Tom groaned and spun, his imagination filling in the rest of the naked picture he’d seen so fleetingly before. A sharp bark had him wheeling back around to see the large auburn-furred wolf in front of him, the backpack cinched tight around its torso.
Its tongue lolled out of its mouth around sharp teeth, but since there were no growls, Tom tamped down the instinctive frisson of fear.
“Hey, Frank.” Tom held out a hand, and the wolf nudged its head into his palm, encouraging Tom to run his fingers through the thick fur at its neck.
And then with a sudden bolt, the animal took off, scampering into the woods. Tom lit out after it. The wolf’s initial dash turned into an lope as Tom caught up to him, jogging at an easy pace, hopping over underbrush, and keeping the worn trail that the wolf guided him on in sight. Tom skidded on a patch of moldy leaves, and the wolf danced around him like a happy dog, sniffing into the pile of grubs and fungus until Tom could right himself. Then man and beast took off down the trail again.
Frank must run this way often. The grass and brush had been beaten into a rough path. A little atypical for a wolf, but then, Frank wasn’t a wolf, was he?
Tom drew in a deep breath, the humid air close and piney in the woods, a far cry from the exhaust of the city. He focused on the rhythmic sound of his feet crunching on the ground and the loping of the wolf just ahead of him, the heavy pants and the small sounds it made on their trek. Above them, the sky still shone robin’s-egg blue, framed by the tops of the trees. A warm breeze blew on the skin of his sweaty legs. The burn in his thighs made him lengthen his stride. Tom took in great gulps of air, his heart lifting as he ran, the wolf by his side now, leaping over fallen logs and weaving around the saplings to stay beside him. Its powerful legs propelled it forward, and it gave a yawp as it bounded ahead of him again.
T
hey ran until a small clearing opened in the trees. The wolf trotted around in a circle, panting, its pink tongue on display. Tom slowed to a walk. He caught his breath, stretching out a little and then moving to sit. The wolf clamped its mouth around his wrist, and Tom tried to pull away. But the wolf didn’t bite down, just tugged Tom to the other side of the clearing and then let him go. Frank’s eyes watched from the wolf’s face, and Tom understood, sitting down where the wolf led him. He leaned back against a tree and closed his eyes, listening to the sounds of the woods creeping back in around them. He could hear the wolf pacing and then walking a little farther away, but the drowsy satisfaction that swamped Tom kept him from opening his eyes. When he didn’t hear the panting of the wolf anymore, Tom grew concerned.
“Frank?”
“I’m here.”
The answer surprised Tom enough that he opened his eyes. Frank, dressed again in jeans and T-shirt, stood in front of him.
“Hey, aren’t you going to run back?”
Frank gestured ahead of them. “We’re almost back.”
Tom levered himself up off the ground. “Huh. You brought us in a circle?”
“It was getting dark.”
And Tom realized that the sun had gone down while they’d been in the forest. Frank tromped back through the brush, and Tom followed him. Up ahead, he could see the safety light behind the apartment building shining through the trees.
“Thanks. I mean, this was fun.” He skidded on a small branch. “Not something I could do in New York. Well, without being mugged maybe.”
Frank’s gentle smile warmed Tom.
“You’ll want to wash your shoes and those shorts when you get in. You stepped right in poison ivy in the clearing.”
“What? Really?” Tom sighed, remembering the wolf’s gentle insistence he move to another spot to rest. “This is why I never go in the woods. The one and only time I went camping, I found a patch and had a rash for a month. I’ll cart the clothes to Annie’s and hope Marcie doesn’t get into them on wash day.
“I’ve got a washer if you want to borrow it.” Frank fished out his key and unlocked the apartment house door. A squeak alerted them to Mrs. Anderson standing sentinel right behind her own apartment door. “It’s just Frank, Mrs. Anderson,” he called out a warning.
“Lock the front door.” The door barely muffled her voice.
Tom sniggered, but Frank quelled him with a look.
“I will. Good night, Mrs. Anderson.”
A distant grouchy harrumph answered him.
“That would be great. I’m so allergic.” Tom’s hopeful voice stayed hushed on the walk up the stairs.
Frank looked sideways at him but unlocked his apartment, waving Tom inside. “Take your shower here then. I’m not allergic. Just drop your clothes in the bathroom, and I’ll get them and pop them in the laundry.”
And didn’t just the thought of being naked in the same apartment with Frank make Tom’s heart think he was running again.
THIS IS TOTAL madness.
Frank pointed Tom to the tiny bathroom, and the other man entered and closed the door behind him. But what had Frank expected? That Tom would do a striptease in the middle of the living room and then invite him in for fun and games under the hot spray?
Frank paced back and forth from the living room to the kitchen. He hadn’t expected Tom to take him up on his offer of laundry and a shower. But then, Tom had also shown up for the run in the woods.
Frank noticed the Chinese takeout containers sitting on the side table and grabbed them to throw away. He heard the water turn on in the other room. Tom had taken his clothes off by now. The faint skitter of the shower curtain tickled Frank’s ears. Tom was naked. In Frank’s bathroom.
Frank’s cock stiffened in his pants, and his inner wolf whined. “Remember last time,” he reminded both halves of himself. He waited a few more moments, ears straining to hear the curtain close again, indicating Tom was safely out of view.
Frank washed his hands and arms in the kitchen sink, unwilling to risk giving Tom a rash. Frank and his dad were immune, but one of his siblings had reacted badly once, and it had taken a week or more to resolve.
Frank collected extra towels from the closet and knocked on the bathroom door before letting himself in.
“The towels are on the sink counter.” Frank kept his eyes averted from Tom’s hazy outline on the patterned curtain.
“I appreciate this, Frank.”
“Use as much soap and shampoo as you like. And leave the water on. I’ll jump in once you’re done.” Frank winced. That sounded like a come-on, didn’t it? Or a bad porn setup for Tom to invite him in. Frank escaped back to the hallway, shutting the bathroom door before Tom could reply.
Frank shucked his own clothes and pulled on an old pair of jean shorts to cover himself, fighting his half-hard cock to stay inside the well-worn denim. Then he dropped everything into the washer to start after their showers. As an extra precaution, he wiped down Tom’s keys and wallet and shoes with a disinfecting wipe.
He was just setting Tom’s things outside the bathroom door when it opened. Steam rolled out, and Frank saw the strong arch of Tom’s feet in the doorway. Frank’s gaze followed the legs lined with blond hairs up to the hem of the towel and then higher to where it wrapped at a toned abdomen.
“Um. I wiped these down too. You should be safe.”
“Thanks.” Tom’s smile warmed Frank down to his toes. His hooded gaze took in Frank’s oldest pair of shorts. “Better get under the water while it’s still hot.”
“Oh. Yeah.” Frank rose to slide past him and into the bathroom, but Tom didn’t move. It was a tight fit, and there was a momentary brush of skin and towel, but Frank squeezed inside the bathroom. He closed the door on Tom’s smirk.
Frank didn’t quite finish before the water turned tepid. He stood there in the cold spray, scrubbed clean from fingernails to toes, and reminded himself of Tom’s reaction when they’d kissed.
Teeth chattering, he turned the water off and grabbed the extra towel he’d left for himself. He scrubbed at his skin, rubbing warmth back into his chilled flesh.
A soft knock had him whirling around. Tom stuck his head into the room. He gave Frank an appreciative once-over. “I’m ordering pizza. Do you like meat lovers?”
Frank held the towel over his privates while he tried to tie it around his waist. “Yeah. Yes. That’s fine.”
“Great. Least I can do for you saving me from poison ivy.” Tom ducked back out, and Frank heard him on his cell phone, ordering the pizza. Frank picked up his cutoffs and sidled out of the bathroom toward his bedroom.
Clad in fresh clothes he’d retrieved from his own apartment, Tom waved at Frank as he talked to the pizza delivery. Frank shut the door of his bedroom before he dared to turn around. He dropped the shorts and towel, grabbing sweats and a clean tee to jerk on.
Frank balled the cutoffs in front of him like a shield and marched to the washer. He threw them in on top of the others and turned it on.
“I’ve got to get me one of those. Even in NYC I took everything out to the laundry.”
Frank jumped and spun around to see Tom lounging in the doorway. Even in drawstring shorts and a tank, he looked gorgeous. His clothes were looser than the gear they’d gone running in, but Tom still looked like a model on the cover of a sporting magazine.
“Um, what did you want to drink with the pizza?” Frank scooted past him again, Tom still refusing to move out of the doorway. A shiver of want thrummed in Frank as his body brushed chest to thigh against Tom. “I’ve, uh…” Frank coughed, his voice going husky. “I’ve got soda, beer, water?”
“Water for me today.” Tom’s Broadway smile was blinding and so close. Just a few inches more, and Frank could taste it.
“At the risk of sounding like a bad gay porn, I’d like to kiss you, Frank.”
Frank swallowed, or tried to. His mouth went dry as dust. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” he squeaked. “The la
st time—”
“The last time I was an idiot.” Tom’s expression sobered. “I’m smarter now. And I’d like to try again.”
“Oh.” Frank’s insides shimmied. “Okay.” He should play hard to get here, but his inner wolf was howling at the thought of getting close to Tom again.
“Okay?” Tom’s hips knocked against Frank as he grabbed a handful of the material at Frank’s waist.
And then Tom kissed him.
TOM HAD A second of uncertainty as his lips met Frank’s, but he powered through it, deepening the kiss. Frank responded like a starving man, kissing back with a hunger that shocked him. Frank’s fingers tunneled through Tom’s hair, hands positioning his head to kiss deeper, opening his mouth and thrusting his tongue inside. That small measure of desperation, lack of control, had Tom’s cock hardening in an instant. God, how was this guy not swimming in dick when he could kiss like this?
Tom explored with the tips of his fingers, under the loose waistband of Frank’s T-shirt, finding soft skin layered over muscle. He clawed gently at the thin pelt at Frank’s nipple. Frank groaned in Tom’s mouth as he teased the peaked flesh. The whimper that followed made Tom bite at his lip, and he soothed the pinch with his palm.
The low, guttural moan that erupted from Frank surprised Tom, sending a bolt of lust straight to his groin. He pulled back, panting. Frank gulped great breaths of air, his eyes wide, the pupils blown. Tom swallowed. Frank was beautiful, from the sweat-curled auburn hair at his temples to the red lips that remained parted as he gasped.
“If you think I’m anything but turned on, you’re a fool.” Tom dived back in for another kiss. Frank scrabbled his hands under Tom’s tank, sweeping over the skin of his back, the touch lighting a flame deep in his core. The urgency of the touch, the raw want, tore at Tom, the lust of the moment obscuring everything but the man in his arms.
Wolf Around the Corner Page 7