by BA Tortuga
“That’s it? God, the things I could do with you for two days.” Calvin brushed a little too close as he stepped around Tucker and didn’t even pretend it was an accident.
They headed back out into the snow and retraced their steps to the library. The white stuff was starting to pile up, maybe three or four inches now.
Calvin didn’t say much on the short trip, but as he got close to the library, he poked Tucker with an elbow. “You’re gonna love this.”
He heard voices and laughter as they rounded the corner of the big building and headed into the little park next to it, where a small crowd of people was having one big snowball fight.
“You ready?” Calvin took a few steps backward and then started to run.
It took Tucker a second, but he figured what the hell? He hadn’t wanted to play so bad in a long damn time.
Tucker gave chase, a redneck yell filling the air.
Chapter Two
HOLY SHIT, listen to that. That was the most beautiful thing Calvin had heard all week. That was the sound of a man ready to have some fun.
And if they got soaked to the skin and freezing cold while they were at it? Well, Calvin would just have to show the Texan some of his New York style hospitality—bring him home and warm him up.
He stopped running, bent over, and scooped up some snow. It wasn’t packing as well as he wanted it to, so when he threw it, it kind of disintegrated against Tucker’s shoulder rather than giving him that more satisfying snowball thonk.
The powder did make a nice picture, though, highlighting the stubble on Tucker’s square jaw, the near-black eyelashes framing blue-blue eyes.
He was caught up in the pretty just long enough to make himself a target for someone behind him. He whirled around, scooping up snow as he went, only to discover his assailant stood about two feet high and couldn’t have been more than five.
“Ugh!” He put a hand to his chest. “You got me!”
The kid giggled at him. Calvin chucked his snowball at the kid’s dad.
A snowball hit him right in the asscheek, and he whirled around, catching a second one in the shoulder.
Damn. Tucker was quick on the draw. And a good shot. He rubbed the sting out of his ass. “Where the hell does a Texan learn to throw a snowball?” He gathered up another double handful and pressed it together.
“Twenty-one years pitching in league baseball, honey.”
“And here I thought I would have the home-field advantage. Twenty-one years?” Calvin tried to do the math, but there was a reason he’d nearly flunked out of high school. Math was hard.
“Yes, sir.” Another snowball pegged him.
“Jesus!” Calvin laughed and tossed his snowball. It hit Tucker in the hip. But there was no keeping up with this guy, and every one of his slush balls was being answered by at least one solid hit.
A good one got him square in the chest. “Ugh! You are so buying me dinner!”
“I would love to.” Oh, that was sure, sweet as sugar, and sexy as hell.
“Really?” Calvin didn’t know what angel sent this cowboy into his life this afternoon, but he was grateful. He met all kinds of people in his line of work, from every corner of the country—from all over the world, even. At this point in his career, he could talk to just about anyone about anything. But this was New York. No one ever had time for coffee; everyone always had somewhere to be.
A snowball fight in Bryant Park was almost a fantasy.
So whoever had dropped this crazy-sexy-talented horror painter on him had obviously been looking out for him. Sure, Tucker would do his thing and then go back to Texas, or wherever, in a couple of days, but they were the same couple of days he had free before his next shoot, so that worked just fine.
“Absolutely. I’d love to take you out.” Tucker grinned at him, the look somehow sweet and sly at the same time.
Calvin closed the distance between them slowly. “Now, taking me out isn’t dinner. That’s another thing altogether. Where do you want to go? I mean, what kind of place? What are you into?”
“I like to eat, honey. I like trying new things, learning new things.” Tucker didn’t look away from him, but Calvin got this wicked smile. “I ain’t scairt.”
“I should hope not, with what you’re painting.” Calvin’s tastes were… eclectic. In everything. He had a boyfriend once who called him “mercurial.” The asshole had meant that as an insult; Calvin considered it a compliment. “I can get us in some trouble later if you like. After I find you something to eat.”
“Us. I want to share something yummy with you.”
“All right, us. But it will still be mostly you. I have to watch my girlish figure.” And he’d already eaten today. “Are you cold enough to want to get warm yet?”
“I am. Lead the way.” Tucker wrapped one arm around him, just for a second. “So do you really have to starve yourself? That’s not, like, a myth.”
“Do I look like I’m starving?” He leaned back a little, already missing the strength in that arm. “I work out.” Hm. His place or Tucker’s hotel? “Where are you staying? Is it close? You need to change?”
“I took a taxi here, honey. I haven’t the foggiest idea.”
He laughed. “Roomie and I are decent housekeepers. Plus, I’m close to where you’re taking me to dinner.” He threaded his arm through Tucker’s and gave him a tug toward the subway. “This is our line.”
Tucker flinched. “I’m not so sure about this whole underground thing….”
“Didn’t I just finish telling you there is no way to get a cab in the snow? What happened to trying new things and ‘I ain’t scairt’?” He did his best impression of Tucker, wicked smile and all.
Tucker’s lips tightened, but the guy nodded once. “Right. And I got you to show me the ropes.”
The tension was written all over Tucker’s body, but the man didn’t hesitate again.
“I do this every day, cowboy. You’re going to be fine.” They really weren’t going to find a cab, and it was a long-ass walk to Chelsea even without snow. There really wasn’t another option. He tightened his hold on Tucker’s arm, kept talking to distract him, and led him down into the tunnels.
“I bet you could find some awesome inspiration on the platform while we wait for the train.” Yeah, that’s just great, Cal, tell him the subway is the stuff of nightmares. Brilliant. “I mean, all the people-watching, you know.”
He pulled out his MetroCard, swiped it in the reader, and went through the turnstile first. Then he handed the card back to Tucker. “Your turn. Come on.”
“Is it expensive to ride?” Tucker followed his lead, then handed the card back.
“Two seventy-five a ride,” Cal sang in his best F U voice. “I can spend eleven bucks a day just getting around. Seriously, it’s a crime. I do a lot of walking.”
Once on the platform, Calvin leaned out over the track a little, peering down the shadowy tunnel that faded into total darkness. “See? I bet you could find something to paint.”
“I bet I could.”
When Calvin looked back, Tucker wasn’t staring at the tunnel. Those blue eyes were focused right on him.
Holy. Shit. They sure made ’em hot in Texas. Calvin thought he might be blushing all the way to his knees.
And his heart was pounding. Pounding.
He stared into all that blue for a bit, completely thrown by his lack of words. He always had a flirty comeback. Always. What the fuck was the matter with him?
Tucker didn’t seem the least bit self-conscious either, looking at him as if memorizing every line.
God. “You’re… feeling inspired?” Finally. Words.
“You know it. I could explore every goddamn inch of you and come back starving for seconds.”
Damn. Tucker was definitely not the kind of tourist who needed a map.
He took two steps closer. “Admission is free. Mostly.” He started to reach, curious fingers going for Tucker’s collar, when a train came roaring into th
e station.
“Honey, nothing’s free. You’re worth spending time on.” The words were confident, warm, but Calvin didn’t miss the way Tucker immediately drew him in, away from the train.
He knew Tucker was a little freaked-out by the whole underground thing, but Calvin still liked the feeling of someone looking after him. He slid an arm around Tucker’s waist, going for reassuring without a lot of fuss. “The A train. We can take this one or wait for the 1. I’ve got all the time you want.”
“I’m at your disposal, honey. You lead and I’ll hunt.”
He took Tucker by the hand and led him onto the mostly empty train car. “You’re just throwing lines at me now, tiger.” He put a hand on Tucker’s chest and shoved lightly. “Sit. It’s a long ride.”
“Yes, sir.” Tucker settled down, pulled a tiny book out of his pocket, and scribbled madly for few seconds before hiding it away again.
“I have a bunch of other raunchy lines if you want to write those in your book too.” Calvin laughed and took a seat right on Tucker’s knees. He’d just see how the cowboy liked that.
“Promises, promises.” Tucker’s hand came to rest on his hip, steadying him easily. “I needed to make sure I remembered a couple of images.”
Artists were always artists. Anywhere. Every artist he’d ever met got distracted by something now and then, making notes, drifting into dreamland. Calvin wasn’t going to have any trouble remembering the images he was dreaming up right now. “What did you write down? Or is it super-secret artist stuff?”
“I got no secrets, honey.” Tucker pulled the notebook out and opened it up.
He was there with birds and a tunnel—this bare sketch that was him. Really him. “Everybody has secrets, tiger,” he half mumbled, distracted by the sketch. “Wow.” That was almost embarrassingly real. He just knew his cheeks were turning pink again. He closed the book and handed it back. “I like the birds.”
“I do too. I may have to find a studio for a week or two. I’ll call Marge.”
“Who’s Marge? Your beard?” Calvin winked at him and hooked a hand behind his neck for balance.
“My agent. She’s this amazing, wild, wonderful woman—I’ve known her since I was a kid.”
“Oh, cool. She’s back home?” His heart had finally stopped pounding, but he wasn’t sure that warm feeling was going to go away any time soon. He could listen to Tucker talk all day—that rich, confident voice, the way he just said “wonderful” in his smooth accent. “Michael is this short little nerdy Jewish guy from Queens.”
“She’s here. She was my granny’s roommate in college. Granny went to Texas to work in Lady Bird’s gardens and met my Pappy at the Broken Spoke. She never left.” Tucker had told that story again and again, Calvin could tell, and he seemed very proud of it too.
So Calvin wouldn’t insult him. He’d just pretend for now like the whole story wasn’t completely lost on him and google it later.
“So you do know someone here.”
A voice came over the PA system—overly loud and completely unintelligible as usual—but Calvin knew it meant they had two more stops. Another short little walk in the snow and then his place… and then?
“Sort of. She’s a bit of a barracuda. Everyone says that’s important in an agent.”
“Oh, yeah. Definitely. As long as you remember you’re the boss.”
“I’m just a man that wants to work. She deals with the rest.”
That was sweet, that Tucker just wanted to work. It sounded so much more relaxing than the whirlwind that was modeling. Calvin shifted and leaned in to kiss Tucker’s cheek. “Almost home.”
Tucker’s eyes closed for a second, the black eyelashes casting a heavy shadow. “You smell good, honey.”
“Thank you.” That was all he could really say, because just like that, his heart was at it again, beating hard, knocking against his sternum. He wondered if Tucker could feel it.
The train pulled into the Twenty-Third Street station, and Calvin stood up. “Your tour of the MTA is just about at an end, Mr. Williams.” He hooked his fingers around a pole and swung himself in front of the doors.
“Look at you. I never met a man quite like you.” Tucker was right next to him, right in his space, hand on his lower back.
Like it wasn’t already hard enough to breathe. Calvin clucked his tongue. “I’m not that special. You just like to make me blush.” But Tucker was something else. And warm too. He just had to lean in.
“Uh-huh. You pink up pretty, but it’s not that. I want to draw you.”
“Oh.” The doors opened, and he led Tucker onto the platform. Draw him? No. Nope. That little sketch of him was plenty scary. And it didn’t even have any of Tucker’s demons in it.
“So do you know what you want to eat? There’s Mexican and cheesy barbecue and Italian… burgers… pretty much anything you want.” They headed through the turnstiles and up the stairs, and Calvin zipped his coat higher against the snow. The wind was fierce in Chelsea.
“Surprise me. What’s your favorite?” Tucker winced and pulled his ball cap down. “Lord, it’s colder than a witch’s tit in a brass brassiere.”
“Than a what?” Calvin laughed. “You do have a way with words, Texas.” Brass brassiere. God. In this weather? That would totally hurt.
Dinner was a thing, though. Assuming they made it back out the door. Maybe the tapas place. That was all shared plates, so he could fake it. He could even eat some of the veggies, maybe. “Tapas. They have fabulous margaritas.”
“Olives. Shrimps. Tequila. Fun cheese. I’m in.”
Calvin grinned. Good choice, then. Tucker made it sound like an adventure instead of just dinner.
He took Tucker’s hand and pulled him around the corner at Twentieth Street, then gave him another tug about halfway down the block as he headed up a set of steps into an unremarkable-looking building. He keyed through two sets of double doors, making sure the second set closed behind him. That was a habit, but it almost seemed absurd given he was bringing home someone he’d known for maybe three hours.
“It’s two floors up. No elevator, sorry.” He didn’t give it a second thought, but it always seemed like people visiting New York were confused by all the walkups.
Chapter Three
RIGHT, LIKE Tucker couldn’t jog up two flights. “No worries.”
How do folks live in boxes like this? The building was like a dorm, with less signage on the doors and no RA.
Calvin headed up the stairs at a trot, then stopped on the second floor landing to pull out his keys. “Number twenty-one,” he said, opening the door.
They stepped into the kitchen, which was small but clean. It had dark wood cabinets, and the plaster walls were painted a bright yellow. Calvin took off his coat and hung it over a kitchen chair. “Mm. Warm in here. Can I take your coat?”
“Thank you.” He shoved his gimme cap in his pocket and shrugged off his jacket. “You have a neat place.”
“Thank you.” Calvin took Tucker’s jacket and hung it on another chair. “Timmy likes color, so he painted the walls all kinds of ways and did the trim and everything. It’s bright, but it’s ours!” Calvin laughed, leading him by the hand out of the kitchen and into the living room, which was steel blue with white trim and had a couple of tall windows on one wall and a high ceiling. There was a huge leather couch against one wall and a giant TV against the other. “If you want more coffee, there’s the Keurig thing. You wanna warm up while I change for dinner?”
“I’m good, honey.” Lord have mercy, he sure hoped Timmy was a roommate and not a lover. He wasn’t a prude, but cheating made him itch.
“I just bet you are.” Calvin turned to face him and flattened his hands on Tucker’s chest. The touch was light, but Calvin’s palms were hot. “If you kiss me, will you still want to take me out?”
“I can’t promise that I won’t want to take you out later, but I will be happy to take you to supper.” He found Calvin a smile. “Your Timmy, he ain’t y
our lover, is he?”
Calvin stared at him a second, one eyebrow arching indignantly. He was calm, but Tucker didn’t miss the brief flash of outrage in his eyes. “I don’t know whether to be insulted or flattered.” He pushed away from Tucker. “I understand that you’ve known me for all of an afternoon, so I’m not going to hold that against you. I may seem easy, but if Timmy were indeed mine, I would be faithfully his.”
“Good deal.” Tucker wasn’t going to apologize. He knew folks that did the open relationship thing. He knew lots of them. It wasn’t his thing, even for a weird meeting in a city in a snowstorm. “I just had to know. I got friends that have agreements.”
“Oh, I know. Lots of people have agreements.” Calvin stepped close again, that flirty smile back on his lips. “Not me. I won’t give a lover cause to be jealous.”
“Does this mean I get to kiss you now, honey?”
“Please.” Calvin licked his lips.
He stepped right up, cupping the back of Calvin’s head and tilting it just so.
Calvin didn’t wait for Tucker. With a soft, urgent sound, he went up on his toes and pressed their lips together.
Oh, now that was sweet as sugar. He’d known they had chemistry, but the little jolt of electricity? That was fine as fuck.
Trembling fingers tangled in Tucker’s hair and bunched in his shirt. Calvin ran a wet tongue along the length of his lower lip before drawing it in and pinching it between careful teeth.
Fuck him raw, that was pure fire. He eased one thigh between Calvin’s legs, giving that sweet little bastard something to feel.
“Mm. That feels… like a promise.” Calvin pulled away just enough to catch his eyes.
“Does it?” He had zero problems with that.
“Yes. And one I’m going to hold you to.” Calvin held his eyes and rocked his hips, answering with pressure and friction.
“Fair enough.” He took another one of those kisses, moaning deep in his chest when Calvin met him more than halfway.
“I don’t… fuck men I’ve only known for… three hours,” Calvin told him around their kiss, his fingers going after the buttons on Tucker’s shirt.