William

by Anyta Sunday

  For an hour they bantered. Until someone cranked the music to well over deafening. He had to mime he needed a drink.

  Candice told him to help himself to her coke or L&P—whatever that was—in the kitchen. His ears thanked him for the comparative quiet of the empty kitchen. Stalking to the fridge, he peered inside. Coke. L&P, where are ya hiding? He spotted them on the bottom shelf and crouched, somehow knocking someone behind him.

  He straightened. “Sorry,” he threw over his shoulder, then froze when he recognized the sharp nose and vivid green eyes.

  It was one of Heath’s friends.

  The one that’d called him a poof.

  And the guy recognized him too, his frown deepening to a scowl. God, this city was turning out to be so small.

  “What the fuck are you doing in my fridge, man?”

  Will held up his hands in what he hoped was a widely recognized ‘chill’ sign. Either that or he was looking like one of those miming guys on silent television. If only there was an invisible wall between them. Now, where were his words when he needed them?

  “Were you pinching our beer?”

  “What, with a free keg in your lounge? Yeah, I’m swiping you clean of your beer.”

  “Fuck you, man. Get the fuck out of my house.”

  “Oh Candice,” he said under his breath. “Seriously with this guy?” She couldn’t have found less homophobic dicks to flat with? Christ.

  “What the fuck are you muttering about?”

  “Bit of a potty-mouth, aren’t you?” Will shook his head.

  “And you’re a fucking homo.”

  “And you’re fucking drunk,” he said and turned back to grab a can of Coke from the fridge. He wasn’t too worried; the guy didn’t look like he was the type to bust a move or anything, just big-mouthed—and by god, he’d had his share of big-mouthed in the past. It was sad, but he was almost immune to it. Now he just shrugged, walked away, or gave as he got.

  He cracked the coke open in front of the guy and shut the fridge door with his elbow, watching as the guy’s eyes bulged in fury. “And while we’re being so honest with each other,” Will said, “next time you throw such an awful frat party, you should discuss it with your roommates. Make sure you’re all on the same page.”

  He stepped backwards at the same time the guy drunkenly lunged for him. “You fucker,” he cursed, snagging Will’s shirt and tearing the two top buttons, exposing the top of his chest, and making him drop his coke.

  Damn, he’d wanted that. Now it was spilling uselessly onto the floor. If this were a movie or something, and he were the violent type, he’d have made the guy suck up the mess or mopped it with his hair.

  Blast it—this guy wasn’t worth it. He stepped back towards the kitchen entrance, departing with a scowl. That’d do. But with his next step a firm hand locked around his upper arm.

  What the—? Will’s heart leaped into his throat. Was he being cornered by more of the guy’s friends? Okay, so maybe this wasn’t so good. He glanced down the arm holding him and up to a pair of stunning blue eyes: cold and locking with his for a moment. Heath.

  Phew. Yeah, okay, so what he disliked the guy—or at least was really confused by him—Heath would never hurt him. Even if only for his mom’s sake.

  A frown etched between his brows and for a second, Will thought he saw concern on Heath’s face. But he could have been imagining it. Heath let him go and refocused on Candice’s flatmate.

  “Rory,” he called, stomping over to his friend and clapping a hand on his back. “Man, I’ve been looking for you. Can we talk?”

  Heath steered Rory toward the back door leading from the kitchen. Will, stunned, watched Heath’s back as he disappeared, the kitchen light bouncing off his blond hair just before the door banged shut behind them.

  Well, huh. He shook his head, took his bearings, decided against another coke and headed back out to Candice and Sig.

  He was only half-way to them when the bitch Harriet stepped in his way. She smiled at him and placed a hand on his chest like she had every right to do it. “Bit of friendly advice,” she said. “That girl you’re into tonight, she’s a freak. A jealous freak and she goes nuts. Bit psycho, if you ask me.”

  Removing her hand, he said “Jealous freak or not, I like her. So if you’ll excuse—”

  She interrupted him. “I was only trying to give you some friendly advice. That’s all.”

  She stalked off and he didn’t hold back on the urge to wipe his shirt where she had touched it. It was like he could feel the bitch-vibes crawling over him.

  Candice was scowling in Harriet’s direction, and when she looked at him he let her see his shudder. She grinned and then pointed to the keg, motioning him to get her and Sig another beer.

  He was obliging when he felt the heat of someone come up behind him. It was strange, since he couldn’t see the person, how could he sense them? It was without a doubt Heath, but how on earth did he know that? Maybe it was the deodorant. Or the lazy feet scraping over the carpet—were little signs like that clueing him in?

  Whatever the case, his arms exploded with tiny shivers, and those shivers reached further inside when Heath spoke.

  “Will,” he said and waited for him to finish getting the two drinks.

  Will faced him. “Heath?”

  “Maybe,” he said slowly, “maybe being at this party isn’t such a good idea.”

  Will’s eye twitched along with his jaw, and any arousal he felt being near the guy fizzled away. “Are you seriously doing that asshole’s bidding? Wow, I don’t know whether to clap you on the back for being such a loyal friend despite what a fucker he is, or tell you to piss off and leave me alone.” He gave a dry laugh. “What am I kidding? The choice is easy. Piss off.”

  And with that he turned his back on Heath and handed Candice and Sig a beer.

  “You know that guy?” she asked curiously.

  “Yeah, I’m boarding at his place. Until we find something better for the both of us,” he said waggling his brows at her. Then adding on a more serious note, “’Cause your roommate Rory is an absolute pig-head. If you weren’t such a cool freak, I’d be judging you for choosing to room with that guy.”

  “Believe me, it wasn’t a choice,” she hurriedly defended herself. “My two choices bailed on me and these were the only replacements I could find short notice. I guess now I know why. No one in their right mind would take them, would they?” She looked around the flat, sighing. Then she snapped out of the moment and honed in on him. “But you’re living at the Wallaces’? I had no idea.”

  “Well, no, because I didn’t tell you, silly. How do you know the Wallaces?”

  “I know Heath. He’s, well, he’s sort of a friend. A friend of a friend.” She was frowning, looking past him across the room and back again. She shook her head, and it looked like she had more to say, but she lost her thought when a petite girl with smooth brown hair and an hour-glass figure, moving through them, suddenly twisted her foot on her heels, lurching to the side and stumbling into Sig’s lap.

  Candice’s attention slid to the two of them as Sig gently helped her up, smiling. “Hey, you okay there?”

  She murmured an embarrassed ‘sorry’ and picked herself off him, but her eyes were trained on him in awe. “Can I say a proper sorry by making you a mojito?”

  “Ahh.” He looked at Candice, who Will caught quickly schooling a frown.

  Candice shoved Sig’s side, encouraging him to go with her. “Go on. Have fun, if I don’t see you, catch you Monday.”

  Sig disappeared and Candice sighed. “I hope this one’s better than Harriet. Honestly, the guy seems to attract an awful lot of bitches.”

  Will laughed. “How long have you known him?”

  “Since second year. I had a broken arm and he typed the class notes—and they were way better than anything the university note takers did—I mean, he wrote everything. So I asked him if I could score a copy in return for allowing him to sign my cast. He shoo
k his head and told me no deal, but that if I let him draw on it, then he’d be my personal note-jockey for the rest of the semester.”

  “So you let him draw on it.”

  “Honestly, it should be him with the canvas. He’s good.”

  “But it’s not him with the canvas, because . . . ?”

  “Because it—” she stopped suddenly and narrowed her eyes at him. “Was this your plan all along, Will? Get me drunk and try to trick me to tell you what it’s about?”

  “Was it working?”

  “Not even close.”

  They watched the crowds a little longer. When they saw some dude start to take a leak in a pot-plant, Will knew it was time to go. He turned to Candice. “Want to crash in my room tonight?”

  “Good God yes. Let me just save my grandmother’s quilt.”

  Sure thing. Maybe he could wrap it around him to save him from the cold as they trudged back to his, too.

  Candice came out with her arms full and Will happily followed her out the door to the cool, but more refreshing, air. Quilt practically spilling out of her arms, and a black backpack hooked on a finger, she awkwardly jangled something in her grip. “Grab the car keys, Will.”

  “No way you’re driving, love.”

  She snorted. He was getting used to her snorting laugh; it was quickly becoming quintessential Candice. “No, you’re driving, freak,” she said as she led him to a white Honda Civic, which happened to be parked in front of an all-too-familiar ’89 Commodore.

  Just looking at that car gave him shivers, and made him look back towards the house, where in the shadows of the outside doorway, he could see the tapered torso of Heath’s figure watching them.

  Candice chucked him the keys and he opened the doors for them both, helping to stuff the quilt into the back seat. He hoped into the car on the left and scrambled back out again at Candice’s shrieking laugh.

  “Are you sure you want me to drive?” he asked her. “It’d be my first time using the left side of the road and all. . . .”

  She rolled her eyes. “This is Dunedin, not New York or Chicago or wherever. Probably the easiest place in the world to practice. Let’s go.”

  He nodded and slipped in behind the steering wheel, gulping when he caught the stick-shift.

  Well this was going to be fun.

  * * *

  “You were right to warn me,” Candice said as they stepped out of the car. “We should never have driven.”

  “I wasn’t that bad . . . considering.”

  She raised a brow.

  “Well, there are just too many goddamn hills here. And why on earth do they have to be so steep?”

  Will led them into the house, catching in his peripheral vision the Commodore sliding into the driveway as he shut the door. He stuffed down a shiver thinking of his and Heath’s earlier confrontation. It was a pity, really. If it weren’t for Heath and the dog . . . he really liked Vicky—the two of them clicked nicely and it just worked. Though the poor woman had been sick the last week and barely around. But when she was around and Heath was out, living here was all right.

  He sighed, and Candice asked him what was wrong. “Nothing. I just—next semester, yeah?”

  She nodded. “Now where’s the bed so we can crash?”

  He took her to his bedroom and told her to get comfortable, that he was just gonna nip to the shower. Because after the stench he’d been standing in all night, he sure needed one. He took gear to change into too, not wanting to come back half-naked with Candice around.

  “Fine,” she said, flopping onto his bed with her backpack and yawning. “But I may as well warn you now, I’m a blanket hog.”

  He snatched her car keys and jiggled them. “Want me to bring up your quilt?”

  She waved a dismissive hand. “Just kick me or something, I’ll let up. And thanks, Will, you’re doing my flatmates such a service. You’re practically saving their butts.”

  “Hmmm,” he said, pretending to think it over, “maybe I should have left you there after all. That Rory sure needs a butt-kicking, if you ask me.”

  “No doubt he’ll earn it some other time.”

  He was just about to leave when Candice said softly, coming out almost a hum toward the ceiling. “Do you think Sig’s getting lucky tonight?”

  Hot Sig? Yeah, he would definitely have no problem scoring out of his wizarding robe. He was about to tell her a gentle ‘yeah, think so’ when he re-thought it. The guy didn’t really know how attractive he was; that didn’t seem to matter much to him. He was the confident guy who cared enough to rub a friend’s back when she had the hiccups, who’d looked at Candice for permission to leave a friend to follow a hot-girl. He honestly seemed more the guy to take things slow. Three-date sort of man, he’d guess. So he shook his head. “Nah, not tonight.”

  And as he left and hit the showers, he was glad he’d said it. Even if he was wrong and it wasn’t the case, hearing Candice’s relieved sigh was totally worth it. Sometimes the truth could be too much to handle.

  After dressing in his flannel pajama bottoms and t-shirt, then brushing his teeth, he headed back to his room.

  He got as far as three steps down the hall, when he caught Heath’s figure sitting on the bottom steps. There was only shattered light stretching in from the corner where the windows were, leaving them both mostly in the dark, but Will could make out Heath’s frown as he sat there staring at the carpet.

  Will paused. Damn if he wasn’t blocking the only route to his bedroom. He cleared his throat, catching Heath’s attention and the guy jerked to his feet, bracing his hands on either side of the banister and wall. He was looking at him now, right at him, as if despite the dark he could see every angle, every part of him perfectly. Will shivered, wanting both to draw closer and pull away.

  Will gestured to pass him and be on his way, but Heath didn’t move.

  “What do you want?” Will asked with less venom in his voice than he was going for. He was still pissed at Heath trying to kick him out of the party earlier.

  “You brought a girl home,” Heath said.

  “Yes, I did. She’s upstairs now. Am I not allowed to bring people back here? Is that something else you want to tell me not to do?”

  “No,” Heath shook his head, “I mean you brought a girl home.” This time Will didn’t miss the intonation. “I thought you. . . ” he let the sentence drop, cocking his head to study him more, frown deepening between his brow. He stepped off the last stair and into a square of refracted light that seemed to dance with Heath’s blond hair.

  Will’s voice came out more nervous than it should have. “You thought what?” he asked, trying to keep his gaze locked onto Heath’s. He had his hands tight on his sides, steeling himself for whatever crap Heath was going to give him. What would he call him? A poof or homo like his friend had? Or would he crack out something else just as lame, like faggot?

  Or would he be Standing Guy again?

  When Heath didn’t answer, or move his ass out the way so he could leave, Will decided they needed to get this over and done with. “You thought what?” he said. “Come on, spit it out, get what I can see working inside that head of yours out of your system and—”

  Hands pushed against his chest and the hard wall knocked the rest of his words from him. And then Heath was there, right there, his body pressed up hard against his, his mouth slanting down on Will’s.

  Shock had him plastered in place against the wall, and then when Heath’s tongue slipped over Will’s bottom one, Will’s body betrayed him and he let out a gasp.

  He should have shoved him back, asked him what the hell this was about, but weeks of wondering what it might be like to kiss him had him curling his hands around Heath, pulling him closer as he instinctively deepened the kiss.

  What the hell was he doing? He only wished he’d be able to blame it on alcohol.

  Then, almost as soon as it had started, it was over, and he was left panting, weak-legged at the wall as Heath moved away fr
om him.

  “That’s,” Heath said, wiping his lip with a finger, “what I thought.”

  Then he left. Just left. No more words, not another look. Just gone.

  And by the time Will had gathered himself together again, ready to fire questions and demand an explanation, Heath was half-way across the back yard with Murky at his heel.

  5 Pikelets

  So yeah. Sleeping? Not a freaking chance. His night was a wrestle. Between nudging Candice for the blankets and getting slapped every time he did—she certainly failed to warn him of that little habit—and rewinding Heath’s kiss in his head, he felt beaten blue both inside and out by the time morning peeked through the curtains and mocked him with a cheery smile.

  “Right. That’s it,” he said when Candice’s arm flung out and hit his chin. “Up-up-up!” He shoved her until she was at the bed edge, supporting her but only just.

  “Wh-whaa?” Candice groaned, opening her eyes. “Jesus, taking the whole kicking the girl out of bed thing a bit literally, don’t ya think?” She took in the bed; the blankets draped and tangled around her, then grinned and swung herself out of his grip and the bed. “I see I might actually deserve that.”

  She yawned and stretched as if she was home and not in the bedroom of a guy she’d only known a week. Digging her fingers through her red mass of knots, she walked to the windows and with one hand unlatched them.

  A cool gust swept into the room—and it did him good. Pumped just enough life in him to let go of his newly conquered blankets and scramble to his feet. “How about breakfast?” he said, motioning Candice to follow him downstairs.

  She shook her head as they entered the kitchen. “Kick me out of bed. Make me breakfast. You’re hot and cold, Will. Hot and cold.”

  Hot and cold. Ha! Hardly, but he could think of another person who was just that. His gaze slipped out the sliding doors to the olive green hut. Then forcing down the confusion, he slapped a smile on his face. “Who said anything about me making you breakfast, anyway?” he said to Candice as he opened a cupboard and drew out a box of Weet-Bix. He wasn’t a fan of the stuff, but everyone else seemed to like them, maybe Candice would too.