by Noah Harris
His honey-glazed sable hair was cropped short on the sides and the longer top was haphazardly tousled to rest in soft peaks. His cleanly shaved jaw was smooth, allowing his dusty-rose, fuller lips and arched Cupid’s bow to pop against the toasted cream of his skin. Jon’s intense forget-me-not blue eyes rested beneath arched brows and his snub tipped straight nose sliced the flat planes of his cheeks.
Yeah – I can see him playing ball back in the day, if he looked this good back then – he would have for sure been small-town homecoming king.
“Like cars?” Jon finally asked, a teasing lilt playing in the smooth, rich tenor of his voice.
“I’m a mechanic – of course I like cars. I think I almost embarrassed myself with that one,” Charge retorted, gesturing back at the Corvette over his shoulder.
“Nah, that one is gorgeous – you’re a mechanic? I pictured you more for a model.”
“Hah! Don’t have the temperament to do all that preening, and they always have to photoshop my eyes.”
“Sounds like experience.”
“Gotta pay the rent in Vegas somehow,” Charge laughed.
“So you’re from Las Vegas?” Jon asked as he led the way through a side door out of the garage.
“Los Angeles first, but I spent more than a decade in Sin City.”
“How old are you? You don’t look old enough to have spent ten years gallivanting about in casinos.”
“I avoid the casinos. And I was in Vegas since I was 10.”
Jon stopped on the enclosed porch and stared at Charge, “You’re 20?” he asked, dumbfounded.
“Add six and you’ll be there. I said I was in Vegas for more than a decade.”
“Hmph. I guess that’s better.” Jon said as he turned back towards the house.
“What about you? You look awfully young for that silver streak. Don’t get me wrong, it looks good.”
“Oh no. You still owe me why ‘your name fits but doesn’t.’ Tell me that and I’ll tell you how old I am.”
“Ah – yeah. That’s right. Well mama was Sorenson, a flighty, foolish teen who ran off to Los Angeles from somewhere in Idaho. She swore up and down that my sperm donor was the ‘most beautiful Brazilian’ she had ever seen. Apparently, I look like him,” Charge shrugged when Jon looked at him as he opened the back door to his home.
“I’m sorry – your mom decided to try her luck in Vegas then? She still there or is she in Miami?”
“Neither, far as I know, she is still in some condemnable building in Los Angeles, smoking, shooting, sucking and looking for love,” Jon didn’t miss the cynical note coloring the younger man’s baritone – of course, all things considered, Charge probably had every license to be a cynic.
“I’m 38.” Jon commented, hitting the light switch.
“You look good for nearly 40. Nice place.”
“Thanks – you can use the front bedroom. I had originally thought to make it an office, but I learned early on that if I brought my work home with me, four out of my five cars would still be rusted frames.”
“You did the work?”
“Yeah – but it took me a couple of years for each car. I only just finished the Ford. There is something satisfying about bringing a rusted frame back to life. I am actually having my first British car delivered one day this week.”
“What did you get?” Charge asked as he followed Jon through the open floor plan. In the low light, the stone counters in the kitchen glittered softly and the dark wood floors had a satin-esque sheen.
“I dumped some money on an old Morgan Roadster. It is actually more of a car now than I am used to getting, but I am worried that the wood may have issues.”
“A couple of the ones I saw in Vegas came via Hollywood and they would occasionally get termites.”
“One, please do not mention the T-word, I don’t think I could take it. Two, you have worked on a Morgan before?”
“Two, I have always been good with engines.”
“Hmm.” I wonder if he would be interested helping me out for a place to stay – it might save me having to take some classes on how to restore the Morgan.
Jon flipped on the light in the front bedroom, the one he reserved for the rare guest, and certainly never family. Jon turned to bid Charge a good evening and point out the bathroom but rather suddenly found himself framed by two powerful-looking arms, his back against the door jamb.
“So, I’m calling bullshit on the ‘it depends on the woman’ line you tried to slide past me earlier. I think your youthful incident has made you too hesitant to try again.”
Charge considered pushing his case, but he noticed the uneasy tension that had gripped Jon. Charge didn’t get out of the doorway, but he did drop the arm blocking the way into the room. Jon didn’t surge away from him, but he did perceptibly relax.
“E-even if that is t-true, that isn’t something that I can do,” Jon stammered ambiguously, without meeting Charge’s eyes.
Charge lightly cleared his throat and waited. Several moments had passed before Jon consented to look at him.
“Why?” Charge asked simply. “I seriously doubt that you would face the kind of debacle as you did 20 years ago.”
“I work at a very conservative firm,” Jon mumbled.
“And you have to report what you do in your private time to them?” Charge asked incredulously.
“Well, no…but…”
“Hey – I’m not pushing. I just think that you should think about it. You seem sad and lonely, and from someone who has seen it and done it, hiding doesn’t make it any better.” Charge dropped his other arm and stepped back from the doorway. “Is there a shower I can use?”
“Umm – Yeah. Right there, the door to your left.”
Charge offered Jon a smile before letting himself into the bathroom, shutting the door, and giving his host a chance to escape.
Jon had listened to the shower come on before slipping down the hall to the master suite. Now, after rinsing off the end of his day, he lay in his bed and stared at the ceiling in the dark. Charge hadn’t pushed in that moment when he had trapped Jon against the doorframe. Still, his interest had been stamped on his face. It had been a long time since Jon had allowed that sense of interest in another man to stir within him. Somehow, Charge had stirred it for him without his conscious acquiescence.
Jon grabbed the pillow from beside him, put it over his face and groaned in frustration. He had no idea what to do. His body was hard, and for the first time in his adult life there was a particular face driving his need. Lifting the sheet, Jon scowled down at the tenting fabric of his boxers.
“No – I am sure it was a moment of curiosity for him. It will no doubt be gone by morning, and then what are you going to do?”
Dropping the sheet, tossing aside his groan smothering pillow, and flipping onto his stomach, Jon closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep. His alarm always came early.
It wasn’t the worst alarm Charge had ever heard. It was an easy chime as opposed to an air-raid alarm and several rooms away; still, it annoyed the slumbering feline. Unfortunately, the years had trained Charge to come suddenly and fully awake – and once awake, he could never get back to sleep. Snarling softly, Charge dropped to the floor and stalked over to the door.
Staring at the door knob – the eye-level doorknob – Charge realized he had shifted at some point in the night. Not only had he shifted into his 280 pound Brazilian Jaguar self, but he had also done so in a house with a full human. His fur covered ears twitched as he heard the nearly silent rush of water within pipes, then as clearly as if he had been in the same room, the gush of water splattering on tile from above reached him.
A shower in the morning – I guess he just rinsed off last night.
Charge slowly straightened, his heavier cat body lightened, his arms and torso lifted onto his back legs as he shifted back to a bipedal. His spotted pelt receded, the only hint of his multi-colored fur was the spattering of blonde in his dark hair and the burnish o
f short grizzled curls that covered his chest and the more obviously two-toned trail that lead from his belly button to his groin. His happy-trail actually shows spots, his hair there growing a tad denser than a normal human. Some of the full human lovers he had taken had been charmed, or more often amused, thinking he had had his trail and pubes bleached to hint at his animalistic lovemaking.
If only they had known the truth, Charge thought with a shake of his head. He flexed his hands and set one to the door knob. Sighing he took his hand from the cool metal and stalked over to the chair in the corner of the room that he had dropped his duffle in the night before. He rummaged in it and pulled out a faded pair of lounge pants. He stepped into them and slid the soft cotton up his legs.
“Ugh! Too early,” he muttered as he approached the door once more. What time is it? He wondered as he pulled the door wide and wandered out into the living areas of Jon’s home. The scent of coffee caught his attention immediately.
He have it on a timer? Oh, please be more than one cup…
Entering the kitchen, Charge found the light switch – he didn’t need it, but figured it would best not to scare his host first thing in the morning, should Jon wander in and find him rummaging in the dark. The overhead lights came on and lit the sleek kitchen. As he had noticed in the bathroom the night before, the counters were not the standard stone one often found – no, they looked to be quartz. The dusty gray was heavily veined with copper and chocolate hues and glimmered all the brighter under the light.
Charge breathed a sigh of relief, when he noticed a full restaurant-size pitcher of coffee, hot and waiting. He checked the upper cabinet nearest the coffee maker and found Jon was a thoroughly sensible man as he considered the various coffee mugs neatly arranged by size. He decided he needed a big mug, but pulled one from the back, not wanting to take his host’s preferred vessel. Pouring the coffee, his nose told him it was strong and dark – just as it should be.
Leaning back against the counter he took his first sip of the scaldingly hot, life-giving elixir. He heard a door open and quietly waited. Hard-soled shoes clacked against the wood floors, as they neared the end of the hall they slowed. Charge pointedly reclined his posture even more, and closed his eyes as he braced his head against an upper cabinet – he suspected Jon would be more comfortable if he wasn’t faced with Charge’s immediate attention.
That suspicion proved correct, as Jon’s footsteps paused at the mouth of the hall.
Probably peaking around the corner, Charge thought.
Then, Jon began walking again. When he reached the edge of the kitchen, Charge squinted through one eye at his host. He almost dropped his mug of coffee. Jon cut an imposing image in a flawlessly tailored suit.
“I’m sorry – I didn’t mean to wake you,” Jon began as a way of greeting.
Charge waved away the concern, opening both eyes as he lifted his mug of coffee to his lips again. It was hard to purr while swallowing and Jon’s sleekly muscled limbs encased in a not-quite-dark-enough-to-be-navy blue suit was something to purr over. The rich blue was just the right shade to highlight the intense shade of Jon’s eyes.
“You look different all dressed up,” Charge commented as he lowered the cup.
“Not so much dressed up, as for work.” Jon muttered as he reached past Charge into the cupboard. He pulled out a large coffee mug and filled it three-quarters of the way. Setting it on the counter with a soft click, Jon turned toward the refrigerator and pulled out a carton of half and half.
Charge hid his smirk as Jon turned back around by taking another gulp of his coffee.
“You want?” Jon asked, lifting the carton.
“No – thanks though. Its exactly as I like it,” Charge answered, lifting his mug in salute. He didn’t miss the way Jon shivered in revulsion.
“Too bitter for me,” he commented. “I was going to ask,” Jon continued, “If you don’t have any plans, prospects, whatever…if you might be interested in staying here and helping me with the Morgan? I got the confirmation message that it should be out for delivery today. We can arrange to have your car towed here – if there is anything left of it, and you are more than welcome to make use of whatever I’ve got in the garage to fix it.”
Charge considered; it was a generous offer. He couldn’t afford to have the Corvette – crappy as it was – fixed. Jon doubtless had the tools for him to do the job, but there was still the question of capital, of affording the parts. Still…
“I’d love to work on your Morgan. I might have to get a job at least part time at some shop in order to pay for the parts for my heap though.”
Jon briefly considered offering to include whatever parts Charge needed for his car in exchange for working on the Morgan, but he saw a degree of pride lurking beneath the surface of Charge’s youthful exterior.
“Sure – I completely get that. If you would like, I can call a friend of mine – he owns a couple of shops. There isn’t one far from here. They tend to specialize in foreign cars as a lot of people in the area drive them. Would the shop you were with in Vegas vouch for you?”
Jon watched Charge’s face closely, noting the slight twitch of the muscle in his cheek. Finally, the younger man seemed to finish considering the offer and his options.
“Yeah – I would appreciate that. And yes, Murphy will vouch for my skills, but he is probably going to be annoyed to receive confirmation that I am not coming back. There’s just one problem – I don’t have my own tools…that is part of the reason I left Las Vegas. My former roommate pawned them.”
Jon felt his eyes widen, and Charge fidgeted awkwardly. The fact that Charge didn’t have his own tools wasn’t a surprise, and if Jon called Jason Marsters and asked if he would give Charge a job, he doubted Jason would care. However, “He pawned them?”
“Yeah…”
“He still breathing? Or are you actually running from a homicide charge?”
Charge let loose a bark of humorless laughter, “No, but I would have been if I had stayed in Nevada a moment longer than I did.”
“Ok – well, let me call Jason. He’s probably up this early. I’ll let him know you’ll be going by his Montrose branch probably this afternoon – you need to go see if your car is still in one piece after spending the night in one of the scarier pockets still in Rice Military.”
Charge nodded as Jon pulled out his cell. He listened as the phone rang as clearly as if it were against his own ear. When it was answered, Charge could tell that if Jason had been awake already, it was only just.
“Marsters. Christ, who” Jason paused as he obviously looked at the display of his own phone. “Fuck, Jon, why in all of hell would you call me at 5:45 in the morning?”
“Hey, and good morning to you too –” Jon said with a morning person’s disturbingly bright cheer.
“Yeah, yeah, good morning you hateful bastard.”
Charge took another drink of coffee to hide his snicker – he totally agreed with Jason’s sentiment.
“Do you still have an opening at the garage in Montrose?” Jon asked, blithely ignoring Jason’s ill humor.
“Still?” Jason asked.
Charge managed to not roll his eyes.
“Yeah – I wanted to know if I could recommend someone for the opening,” Jon insisted.
Oh – he’s good. Make it look like a misunderstanding, and then play on the buddy card. Charge thought as he watched Jon maneuver the not quite awake Jason into agreeing to meet Jon’s recommendation that afternoon at the shop in Montrose – wherever the hell that is…
“Hey, great! Thanks Jason – have a great day, Jason,” Jon said as he lowered the phone.
“God, why do you have to be a morning perso –” Charge heard Jason mutter as Jon swiped the call off.
Jon looked at Charge with a bright smile, “Jason will meet you at the Montrose shop at 1:00. It’s real close, just a couple of blocks away.”
“That’s good, as my car – if it is still in one piece won’t be running
for a while,” Charge commented.
“Oh – oh no worries, there!” Jon turned to rummage in a narrow drawer in the far edge of the kitchen counter. Charge heard a jingle, then caught a set of keys when Jon turned and tossed them.
Charge looked down at the keys in his hand, then looked up to consider his still sunnily smiling host. “You got some Honda parked on the street?”
“Of course not!” Jon said with a laugh. “Those are the keys to the Porsche.”
“I can’t drive your Porsche.” Charge insisted.
“You can’t drive a stick? How can you be a mechanic and not know…” Jon began, confused.
“I can drive a standard just fine – but I can’t tool your classic Porsche around town.”
“Sure you can – it’s not like those are the keys to the Hudson.”
“Urgh!” Charge growled in frustration.
Blue eyes sparkling, Jon chuckled. “Just say ‘Thank you’ and drive the car. I would prefer you don’t wreck it though. Oh – there’s a copy of my AAA card in the glove box – call them if your car is salvageable. I get free towing.” Jon gulped down his coffee, walked over and set the cup in the sink, put the cream back in the fridge and was heading toward the door. “Gotta get going; even living in town, traffic is still a bitch to get into downtown proper. There is a copy of the house key on the ring and remotes for the garage and gate in the Porsche.” With another full-watt smile Jon called over his shoulder before he closed the door, “Have a great day!”
“What do you do? Work in sales?” Charge shouted before the door closed.
Jon pulled it back open and stuck his head back through into the house, “Corporate investment portfolios eight-figures and bigger.” Then he had the door shut and was gone.
“What the fuck?” Charge asked the empty room. “How can anyone who works with numbers every day possibly be that happy in the morning?”
IV