Jacob Michaels Is Tired (A Point Worth LGBTQ Paranormal Romance Book 1)

by Chase Connor

  Oma was in the kitchen, which I knew immediately, because she was talking to herself again like a crazy person. I rolled my eyes with a smile and closed the door gently behind myself before heading towards the kitchen. I was going to show her that I had gone and got “normal people” clothes. Then I would go get her auger out of the back of the car. If she found a reason to be mad with me after all of that, I was just going to give up. Something told me that she would be pleased, though.

  “Just don’t go in his room while he’s here. Okay?” I heard Oma saying as I approached the kitchen doorway.

  I stopped, holding all of the bags.

  “Leave his things alone, especially his laundry.” She demanded gently. “Just do it for your own sake, okay?”

  I made a coughing noise and stomped towards the kitchen, signaling my presence. Immediately, I heard a flurry of motion and movement and the slamming of cabinets. I entered the kitchen, looking expectant, my arms overladen with my purchases. Oma was standing at the kitchen sink, her back to me, washing dishes.

  “Who’s here?” I asked, looking around.

  “What?” Oma asked in a sing-song voice.

  I frowned at her back and looked around. There was nobody in sight. Was the old lady going fruitcake crazy or what?

  “I guess…nothing.” I shrugged, deciding to let it go. “I bought some clothes.”

  “Oh, good.” She said in the same chipper voice over her shoulder. “You needed something not quite so…”

  “Fancy.” I rolled my eyes as I placed my bags on the table. “I know.”

  “You go to the Men’s Wholesale down there on Main?”

  “No.” I shook my head as I sat down at the table. “I had coffee with Lucas to apologize for being rude and he suggested I go over to the Franklin Park Mall in Toledo.”

  “No wonder you were gone so long.” She turned to me, wiping her hands on a towel. “You had coffee with Lucas?”

  “Yeah.” I nodded. “I apologized, okay?”

  She just looked at me.

  “He invited us to dinner at his house Friday.” I added.

  “Well…that’s…something.” She seemed concerned.

  “What?”

  “Nothing, nothing.” She waved me off. “I’m just surprised he was willing to have coffee alone with you, that’s all.”

  It was my turn to look concerned. “He may be a country boy from Ohio, but I don’t think he’s all that worried about me being a homo.”

  “Don’t say ‘homo’ like that.” She frowned back. “And that’s not what I meant at all, ya’ asshole. He’s just…Lucas…he doesn’t warm to people quickly. That’s all.”

  “Oh.” I nodded. “Well, I let him pay for coffee, so you’d be proud.”

  “You didn’t pay for the coffee?!?!” She squealed.

  “Can’t win for losin’.” I shook my head at her.

  “Well, it just would’ve been nice.” She corrected herself. “Did you get my auger?”

  “Yeah.” I sighed. “It’s in the car. Did Carlos’ heels come in?”

  “They’re up on your bed.” She gestured vaguely. “You sure bought a lot of things.”

  I shrugged sheepishly.

  “Seems like a lot of stuff for a…short stay?”

  “I see.” I smiled at her.

  She rolled her eyes.

  “I got some things for spring, too.” I chewed my lip. “Just in case, you know, it gets a little warmer before I go.”

  She just stared at me.

  “If that’s okay?”

  “Of course it’s okay.” She answered simply. “You’re welcome here as long as you like, Robbie. I just…well, you’re here. And you’re welcome until you decide you don’t want to be here anymore.”

  Her smile told me all I needed to know. Maybe she was starting to believe me that I was truly in Point Worth to relax, spend some time with her, and not abscond in the middle of the night again.

  “Maybe you’ll be here for your birthday?” She suggested. “Only a month away after all.”

  “Well…” I didn’t want to show too much of my hand, “it’d be pointless to leave before then. I can’t really put on all the weight I need before a month is up, right?”

  “Right.” She smiled.

  A slamming door upstairs made me jump in my seat. I looked up at the ceiling quickly, then looked over at Oma. She looked perfectly calm and collected.

  “What was that?” I looked back up again.

  “What was what?” She turned to the fridge.

  “Is someone here, Oma?” I frowned at her.

  “Besides you and me?” She was being chipper again.

  “Of course that’s what I mean.”

  “No, Robbie.” She smiled as she turned around, a soda can in her hand. “Just you and me.”

  “Someone slammed a door upstairs.” I started to rise from the table. “You can’t tell me you didn’t hear that.”

  “I think we’ll go to the center tomorrow.” Oma stated nonchalantly. “They’ve got a bunch of envelopes that need stuffing and stuff that needs to be brought out of storage for the spring activities that are upcoming, and they could sure use our help. And you can give Carlos’ his shoes when you see her. They sure could use our help.”

  “Yeah, that’s fine.” I waved her off as I looked upwards.

  The house was dead silent now. Only Oma and I were making any noise in the entire space of the large house.

  “Good.” She said. “I think I’ll make Schnitzel and Spaetzle tonight for dinner, ya’ paranoid asshole.”

  I looked down at her.

  “How fucking German are you?” I snorted.

  “Well, I don’t have much of a sense of humor, ya’ prick.”

  “So, pretty German?” I asked.

  “Oh, fuck off.” She gestured rudely. “Go take your shit upstairs and get it put away. If you just put the bags in the hall I’ll come get ‘em.”

  “I can throw them away.” I rolled my eyes with a smile.

  “I save ‘em.” She waved me off. “We’re not all from Hollywood and just throw shit out because we can’t be bothered to reduce, reuse, and recycle.”

  “California is big on recycling—where the Hell do you get your information, lady?”

  “Oh, just go.” She urged me away.

  With a roll of my eyes, I gathered up my bags once more and exited the kitchen as Oma went about digging through cabinets and generally trying to look busy. I went upstairs, encumbered by all of my purchases, trying not to tip over and tumble to my death. Upstairs, the hallway was completely empty—dark, but lacking any malice. I just shrugged and went down to my room and threw my bags on the made bed, next to the box containing Carlos’ shoes. When I got done putting away all of my clothes, I’d check out Carlos’ shoes, just to make sure there was nothing wrong with them so there’d be no surprises when he was presented with his gift.

  Chapter 7

  All night long, I slept fitfully. I’d sleep for an hour or two, then a loud noise would bring me straight out of a dead sleep, and I’d spring up in bed anxious and trying to catch my breath. In my slumber, I could have sworn that I heard a door slam, or someone talking. I heard scurrying, almost like large animals on the floorboards. I saw shadows. But when I woke up, and sat in the bed, looking around, everything was silent and calm. Nothing was making noise, nothing was moving, and no shadows looked the least bit malevolent. Around three o’clock in the morning, however, I ended up turning on my bedside lamp and I left it on as I went back to sleep. The next four hours of sleep were peaceful.

  When I wandered downstairs the next morning, into the kitchen, Oma was making a hearty breakfast for us again. I grabbed myself a big mug of coffee and sat down at the table with a yawn. Oma glanced over at me, looking concerned. I looked back, wondering what it was that was bothering her so much. Some of us don’t sleep like a log every single night. Sipping at my coffee, I just stared back, waiting for her to say something. She started to spe
ak, stopped herself, and went back to making whatever it was that she was making. Finally, she came to the table with two plates.

  Biscuits and sausage gravy and eggs. Sunny side up.

  “You didn’t sleep well?” She asked neutrally.

  “No.” I frowned at her. “I was having bad dreams all night.”

  “Probably all of that coffee.” She snorted.

  “Or critters.” I mumbled.

  “What?”

  “Do you have rats or something?” I asked her. “Or a pet of some kind? I could have sworn that I heard…I don’t know, scurrying or something.”

  “Of course I ain’t got any pets.” She waved me off.

  “Okay.” I shrugged.

  “Maybe if you kept that room clean you’d sleep better.”

  “It’s pretty freaking clean.” I laughed. “And what does that have to do with anything?”

  “Sometimes disorder can lead to trouble like nerves and anxiety.” She shrugged. “If you keep your physical environment clean, it keeps the head clean. That’s all.”

  “Okay, crazy.” I rolled my eyes.

  She started to curse but stopped herself.

  “Just keep your room picked up.” She suggested calmly. “Try it. You’ll see a difference.”

  “Fine.” I shrugged, disarmed by her calm demeaner. “I’ll keep things put away. But if I still sleep like I went to bed drunk, I’ll rub it in your face, lady.”

  It was her turn to roll her eyes.

  After breakfast, I helped Oma clean up again and then we both went upstairs to get bathed and dressed. I took time to make my bed, put away things that were lying around, then put my pajamas in the hamper before I got into the bathtub and washed up. Once I was thoroughly scrubbed and dried, I trimmed up my slight beard—the way my management and publicist insisted that I keep it. But, after spending several minutes, making it look the way they had always wanted, I found a razor and shaved myself bare. When I looked up in the mirror, I smiled at my bare skin.

  Instead of styling my hair into the blowout I had been instructed to do over the last year, and which is why it had been cut the way it had, I did a simple side part. Sharp angles and jawbone from losing weight aside, the bare face and restyled hair made me look even more different. I actually…and I hated to admit it to myself…I actually looked good. I blushed from embarrassment at thinking such things about myself, but I was starting to feel healthier. Well rested. I didn’t feel like death warmed over. And I looked fresh and clean.

  I found one of the heavy weight black crew-neck tees I had bought and paired it with some medium wash, classic straight leg jeans, my new boots, and a fleece lined jean jacket that I had purchased at the mall. The overall look was that of someone from Ohio who had decided to up the ante a bit. I’d still stand out a bit—but I’d look like an Ohioan with some fashion sense, instead of a celebrity come to infiltrate the local population. When I met Oma in the foyer, Carlos’ shoe box in my hands, her eyes went wide when she saw my face.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Well, I don’t think I’ve seen you without facial hair since you were sixteen.” She said. “You look…”

  “Good I hope?”

  “Well, yes.” She said. “You look almost healthy.”

  “I’ll take it.” I laughed.

  Together, we left the house, which Oma made a big show of locking up again, and we got in my car. Oma directed me through Point Worth, to Highway 2, and then I basically had to drive in a straight line until we got into Toledo. Less than forty minutes later and she was directing me through downtown Toledo, pointing out this thing and that thing that was new to the area—though I was none the wiser. When we finally reached the center, I suddenly got depressed. It was an old cinderblock building, flat roof, seen better days, and though it had been decorated and manicured beautifully, it felt like there wasn’t much funding. For any area as large as Toledo, it just didn’t feel right that the LGBTQ center wasn’t nicer.

  “Here we are.” Oma smiled as we pulled upfront and I parked in one of the diagonal parking spaces right at the front door. “Now, don’t embarrass me or act all damn fancy.”

  “We’re spending the morning with the gays and lesbians.” I snorted. “I think this would be the time for me to act fancy.”

  “Not every homosexual is as big an asshole as you, Robbie.” She stated simply as she hopped out of the car.

  I rolled my eyes and got out of the car and then retrieved Carlos’ shoebox from the driver’s side backseat. Before I could even close the backdoor, I heard Oma squealing and greeting someone cheerfully. I looked over the roof of the car to see her rushing to embrace some guy, roughly my age. Something told me that this was the infamous Andrew whom had stolen my grandmother’s heart and she wanted to steal mine.

  Whether I wanted to admit it or not, Oma had very good taste, at least as far as physical looks went. Andrew was very good looking. He was solidly built, tall, well-groomed and manicured, looked fashionable without it looking like he had tried too hard. He had a long, elegant, yet masculine neck, close cut hair, masculine features. I glanced down. Big hands. Big hands are always good. His sparkly white teeth shone out as they pulled back from the embrace and held hands, talking animatedly to each other. When I approached, his deep tenor completed the whole package.

  “Oh, Andrew.” Oma schmoozed. “This is my grandson Robbie. Remember me telling you about him?”

  I smiled as Andrew turned to me. His eyes betrayed him. He looked delighted. I probably wasn’t the first son or grandson he’d met—and I bet his track record wasn’t great as far as meeting the sons and grandsons of people who set him up went. Then there was the slight ‘haven’t I seen you somewhere before’ flash in his eyes.

  “It’s Rob.” I held my hand out.

  “Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Rob.” He grabbed my hand.

  His skin was velvety and warm and he had a firm grip.

  “Likewise.” I smiled.

  “Esther Jean has told me that you’ve been away working for a while?” He queried. “She’s been promising me that we’d meet eventually.”

  “She delivers.” I gave a slight bow of my head.

  “Is that a gift for me?” He cocked an eyebrow playfully at the box in my hands.

  “Oh, no, Andrew.” Oma grabbed his forearm. “We got Carlos’ some new shoes for his show.”

  My instinct was to snort and say ‘We got Carlos some new shoes?’, but I bit my tongue and just nodded along. Andrew acted like he was disappointed, but he just smiled warmly, understanding.

  “Well, I guess meeting you is a nice enough gift.”

  “But…just barely?” I teased.

  “Plenty nice enough.” His eyes went to my feet and traveled up my body lasciviously.

  The look was almost…hungry.

  I suddenly wasn’t so sure how I felt about Andrew. Maybe these were just his normal facial expressions and mannerisms but it made me want frown deeply. A person should never be sexualized so early upon meeting a potential love interest. That’s like third date territory, as far as I was concerned.

  “Well, it’s nice to meet you.” I stated neutrally, keeping my smile tight and affixed to my face blandly.

  Andrew looked me over again as I stared right at his face and Oma watched us both in our one-sided mating ritual.

  “Well, why don’t we get inside?” Oma, thankfully, interrupted the nearly obscene display of desire. “I’m sure Leslie already has a list of chores that need to be done. And the sooner we get started, the less there’ll be for everyone else when they show up.”

  “That sounds wonderful.” I smiled widely at Oma, wanting to hug her for breaking up the awkwardness.

  The three of us walked inside, Andrew rushing to open the door, which Oma found absolutely charming. When I thought about walking in front of Andrew, I instead insisted that he go first. He smiled and entered, leaving me to enter without someone leering at my backside. Immediately, I mentally ch
astised myself for assuming he’d do such a thing. But, after years in Hollywood, I was too used to being treated like a piece of meat. Sometimes an appreciative look is just that—nothing more.

  Once inside of the center, we met up with the aforementioned Leslie; a complete drill sergeant, though very likeable. She gathered the three of us up, along with three other men and two women who had arrived, and immediately put us to work. Chairs needed to be brought out of storage, envelopes needed to be stuffed, things needed to be cleaned, the center needed to be swept and mopped…and I was glad to do any of it to keep from being left alone with Andrew. When I was introduced to everyone by Oma, they all took it at face value that I was her grandson, Robbie Wagner, come to visit for a bit. I got a few looks, but they weren’t quite looks of recognition. More like a feeling of familiarity and maybe appraising, but nothing that screamed: “We know who you really are”. I was grateful for that.

  I spent the morning working with two women, Joanie and Rebecca, a couple who kept me in stitches, pulling chairs out of storage and putting other items into storage. Then we dusted and cleaned, all while the two of them talked about how they’d been married for ten years and wished they’d never met. Then they’d kiss and giggle and make me smile. When lunchtime came around, the center had sandwiches and chips to eat before we got back to work. I found a quiet space up on the stage and sat in the lotus position, eating my food, drinking a soda, and trying to make myself as unnoticeable as possible.

  Halfway through my meal, a pair of sleek, shaved legs, with feet jammed into six-inch heels came to stand in front of me. I looked up, a chip halfway to my mouth, to find a Latina (Latino out of drag) standing before me, arms folded over her chest. The purple mini was belted tightly around her waist, her breasts (which looked nearly real) pushed up precariously, large hoop earrings, and a pile of hair on her head. She was looking down at me, an accusing smile on her face, one eyebrow cocked precariously high.