Tartan Candy

by KC Burn

  He flipped over and stared at the ceiling, the constant thrum of the perfectly functional A/C unit mocking him. Berating him. If he went through with this, what was he going to do? Was he seriously going to try and seduce the handyman like some undersexed, unappreciated housewife?

  Pursing his lips, he tried to imagine the scenario. It was almost like one of those books he’d read as a kid, where he’d flip to a different page depending on what choice he made. Option one: gentle rejection; go to page six. Option two: violent rejection; go to page fifteen. Option three: enthusiastic acquiescence; go to page sixty-nine. None of those options led anywhere useful for his mental or possibly physical health. Even if he got to page sixty-nine, the storyline would have an abrupt ending when Raven admitted he wasn’t interested in having sex.

  Then they might have to go back to page fifteen, the violent rejection where Raven gets his head bashed in by a raging homophobe.

  None of this made any sense, and yet Raven had still booked another night at the hotel. Still hadn’t completely given up on the idea of calling down to the front desk and complaining about the lack of air-conditioning in the room.

  Option four suddenly materialized… the front desk telling him they were going to move him to another room rather than send a technician. Hell, option five could be a completely different technician showing up. Maybe spending all that time in Jeremy’s company had broken his brain somehow. Maybe he’d imagined how sexy the handyman was because he’d been so depressed by Jeremy’s company. Maybe he’d imagined that split second when his gaze had connected with the handyman’s and all the air had been sucked from the room in the heat of that connection. After all, his room had been only a couple of degrees off sauna-ish.

  Heat stroke. That must have been it. He’d heard a record number of people had been treated for heat stroke during the past week. Today was only marginally better, approaching record highs but not actually beating them.

  There was only one way to be sure. One way to convince himself.

  Raven rolled over, yanked up the receiver, and stabbed the button for the front desk.

  “Yes, Mr. McIntyre, how can I help you?” The chirpy voice would have made him cringe even without the use of his last name. Raven was the name he’d chosen, and Raven was the man he’d grown into. Finlay McIntyre was some loser who got beat up on a regular basis and whom nobody liked, not even his mom. Raven, on the other hand, was admired and lusted after by thousands of gay men and a number of straight women.

  “My air conditioner isn’t working. Can you please send someone up to take a look at it?”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. I’ll put in a call right away.”

  “Thanks. Do you know how long it will be?”

  “As soon as possible, Mr. McIntyre. Can I send someone up with a cool drink and some ice, perhaps?”

  Not a bad idea, but he wasn’t going to give them the chance to add another room service charge to his bill. This was already a bit of an extravagance for someone who didn’t have a job. He hadn’t even gotten fully paid for the Jeremy gig yet, and the hotel wasn’t that far away from his condo. He just hadn’t been able to shake the idea of trying to recreate that one tiny moment from Friday, and the promise of another paying event next weekend wasn’t enough to make him forget Caleb. He wasn’t even sure if he wanted to confirm that the heat between him and Caleb was real or if he’d imagined that searing moment and could continue on with his lonely celibacy. After all, he had things to do. Figure out his future, figure out what he wanted to be when he grew up, and least of all, he needed to find someone else to work the romance conference with him next weekend.

  “Mr. McIntyre?” The chirpy voice made him blink.

  “Oh, sorry, no, thank you. Just please put a rush on getting a technician here.” The woman on the other end of the phone assured him she would, and Raven disconnected the call.

  He stood and twirled in front of the mirror, checking himself out. His top was a snug black T-shirt, his kilt sedate and casual: black with narrow red and yellow lines. Didn’t look too over the top desperate, but that front desk lady had a good idea—something cool to drink wouldn’t hurt, and it might help him look relaxed when the technician showed up.

  Five minutes later, Raven skidded back into his room, clutching a couple of soda cans to his chest, foolishly fearing that he might have already missed the handyman in the time he’d been gone.

  The room was exactly as he’d left it, silent except for the hum of the obviously functional air conditioner. The moment the technician stepped in the room, there would only be two conclusions the guy could draw. Either Raven was incredibly stupid for thinking the unit was malfunctioning or he was looking to get laid in one of the lamest porn plots ever created. Raven groaned. That was actually what he was doing—recreating one of the old standby plots from porn. In fact, he’d done that movie at least twice that he could recall. And where exactly did he think he was going with this? Because it wasn’t going to involve being naked. Sure as shit, he was going to look stupid or desperate. Or possibly both, which was so fucking attractive.

  After dumping the cans beside the television, Raven walked over to the air conditioner and poked at it. Crouching, he felt around the bottom edge and discovered a couple of wires hanging down in a loop. Without another thought, he yanked.

  A split second later, the annoyingly healthy thrum ceased.

  The immediate satisfaction of creating a situation where his air conditioner wasn’t working in truth was promptly followed by a wash of shame. In the hotel where he was hoping to get paid for attending an event, he’d sabotaged the air conditioner. Deliberately destroyed. All to meet a man he wasn’t even going to have sex with. Even worse, he’d broken the machine that the same man had just fixed two days ago. Maybe going over a year without having sex was more detrimental to his mental state than he’d realized.

  He paced a little more, wondering if he should just call the front desk and admit his fault. Not that it would do any good. Because of his monumental stupidity, the air conditioner really wasn’t working now and required a technician. If it turned out that the unit was irreparably damaged, then he’d have to reconsider admitting his part in its malfunction.

  Nervousness bubbled in his stomach, worse than before his first on-screen sex. Should he appear impatient? Casual? He checked the time. Twenty minutes. He’d been tied up in knots of tension, and it had only been twenty minutes since he called the front desk. At this rate, he’d be a raving lunatic by the time the technician showed up.

  To keep himself occupied, he turned on the television and flung himself down on the bed. Then flung himself back out. Waiting in the bed seemed too suggestive. The chair would do. After grabbing a soda, he sat and flipped through the available stations, trying to find something engaging enough to distract him.

  Chapter SEVEN

  HUFFING OUT a breath, Caleb set down his toolbox to wipe unexpectedly damp palms on his jeans. When he’d arrived at the hotel, the manager had given him a list of four rooms that needed his attention. Seeing 305 on that list set a bundle of butterflies loose in his stomach. There was no chance in hell the vibrant dark-haired man would greet him in a towel again. That guy was probably already on a plane headed back home, wherever that was, maybe San Francisco, or Seattle. New York, perhaps. Caleb was never going to see him again, which made his racing heart and sweaty hands ridiculous and illogical.

  He was doomed to disappointment, and yet, he’d left 305 to the last, anticipation building in his belly until he was almost nauseated with nerves.

  Stupid, so stupid. Even his voice when he’d spoken to the occupants of the other rooms had been a little too breathless, a little too fast.

  Torn between rushing the other jobs and taking his time to postpone the inevitable disappointment, he’d fixed three other A/C units while looking like a complete incompetent, and here he stood, outside 305, unable to raise his hand to knock on the door. Hell, the occupant probably wasn’t even inside. It h
ad been a couple of hours since 305 had called the issue in. Most likely they were out sightseeing, and Caleb would have to radio housekeeping to let him into the room.

  Caleb would be in and out, and the memory of 305 from Friday night would keep him company for the foreseeable future.

  Gritting his teeth, he raised his hand and knocked, his fist sounding like a hammer in the Sunday evening quiet of the hall. The temptation was strong to press his ear to the door to listen for anyone moving around, but he resisted. He wouldn’t bother on any other job, so he shouldn’t do it now, either.

  Instead, he forced himself to stand still and wait. Early on, he’d learned it was prudent to wait much longer than he’d wait at someone’s front door, because he’d had housekeeping open the door during some embarrassing moments. Giving the room occupants time to dress or finish showering or finishing… other things was best for his peace of mind.

  After a few minutes, he pounded on the door again, and waited.

  He checked his watch. He’d allowed plenty of time, but he was still reluctant to have housekeeping open the door. It was like Schrödinger’s cat, but in this case, Caleb could hold on to the idea that a hot, half-dressed man was inside, when more than likely the occupants were a pair of worn-out parents with a couple of overstimulated kids. Instead of a possibly dead or possibly not-dead cat.

  No hope for it. He was going to have to call housekeeping. He pulled out his phone and had his contact screen ready when the door opened, startling Caleb into almost dropping his phone. After fumbling wildly to keep it from falling to the floor, he got a firm grip on the slippery bastard.

  “Nice catch.”

  Caleb looked up, the word “thanks” on his lips, but all that came out was a strangled breath.

  He must have woken 305 up, but the pillow crease on his cheek didn’t detract from his good looks, which were even more devastating shirtless and in a fucking kilt, no less. Caleb’s mouth dried out as he took in every detail as quick as he could. The mussed hair and sleep-heavy eyelids made him think of waking up next to this hottie some morning. Every morning, maybe. Pouty pink lips pulled up in a lazy grin made him think of cocksucking. Pale skin taut over a sculpted chest and abs, flat pink nipples, and a narrow black treasure trail above the waistband of a subdued black and red plaid kilt only made Caleb hotter.

  Standing here gaping while his cock hardened was hardly appropriate, and with some effort he wrenched his gaze up to 305’s face. Unfortunately, those big blue eyes didn’t give his lust much of a break, and he swallowed heavily, determined to speak and not sound like a fucking moron when he did so.

  “Nice kilt.” His words came out low and breathless, as seductive as Caleb had ever sounded, and he wanted to smack himself in the forehead. First he’d obviously checked the guy out, then hit on him, in an embarrassingly heavy-handed and clumsy way, without even knowing if the guy was gay or available. This could jeopardize his very lucrative contract as an on-call technician. He’d managed to converse almost effortlessly with this guy the last time, and he’d have to do so again, but then, the last time, 305 hadn’t featured in all his erotic fantasies.

  Surprisingly, 305’s pale skin blossomed with a pink hue as he ducked his head and moved out of the doorway.

  “I’m Caleb. You called about the A/C unit?” Better put this back on purely professional footing. Safer for all concerned.

  “I remember, Caleb. Come on in.”

  That voice, saying his name, was like fingertips trailing lightly along his erection, and Caleb angled his hips away from 305 as he brushed past him into the room.

  Getting hard for one of the hotel guests was one of the stupidest things he’d ever done, and yet he couldn’t help it.

  OH GOD! Why did Raven have to go and fall asleep? Of all the bonehead moves, that might have been the… bony-est. Darting his gaze to the bedside clock, Raven nearly groaned. He’d been asleep almost two hours. The knock at the door had startled him awake despite the discordant laugh track on the television, sending him stumbling and favoring his leg to answer the door, already at a disadvantage in this pseudoseduction. He wasn’t prepared, and napping had never factored into his plans. Napping made him super sluggish, and the heat in the room only made him groggier.

  Caleb was here. Caleb was back. Raven had created this elaborate ruse to meet him again, and he could barely speak. He had a crick in his neck and his hip ached like a bitch after falling asleep in a chair. This time, he reluctantly swept his gaze over to the mirror, confirming he was pale, his hair was all over the fucking place, and… he squinted. Fuck. Sweating too.

  Taking advantage of Caleb’s concentration on the air conditioner, he grabbed at the T-shirt he must have pulled off sometime during his nap and used it to wipe his face and chest before flinging it on the floor.

  His gaze was drawn back to Caleb, squatting in front of the air conditioner. The faded jeans molded to Caleb’s ass lovingly and Raven was utterly mesmerized. Blood rushed to his groin, thickening his cock. Desire warmed his belly in a way he’d thought he’d never feel again. Not in someone else’s presence.

  One question answered. Even sleep-stupid, this guy was like Raven’s catnip. He hadn’t imagined that. He still hadn’t figured out if the guy was gay, and even if he was… so what? It wasn’t like he was going to pursue anything. He couldn’t. Couldn’t do it.

  “Hmm. Looks like I need to take the panel off.”

  Raven dropped back into the chair, watching Caleb’s strong back as he swiftly opened the unit, exposing its guts. Another hot wash of embarrassment flooded Raven’s cheeks as he noted the bundle of wires hanging limply. Any minute now, the guy was going to turn and accuse Raven of breaking the air conditioner. This whole evening was already humiliating enough.

  “Looks like these wires came loose. Maybe they caught on the maid’s vacuum or something.”

  Relieved, Raven let himself revel in Caleb’s voice. He shivered as he imagined Caleb telling him to go faster or harder in bed. So fucking sexy, and so far he was only talking about repairing an electric device.

  KILTS WERE going to be an obsession of Caleb’s from now on, and it was all this guy’s fault. Because, really, a kilt? So fucking unfair. And shirtless too. Despite the fact he’d first met the guy while he was wearing a towel, the kilt was naughtier. More delicious. More erotic.

  Somehow he wrangled his raging libido into something remotely civilized, crouched in front of the offending A/C unit, and tried to do his job with some semblance of competency. The biggest stumbling block was that his face was at crotch level, and he couldn’t stop thinking about how easy it would be to duck under that kilt and wrap his lips around 305’s dick. Not knowing 305’s name was pretty much the only thing that enabled him to concentrate at all. Random, anonymous hookups weren’t his thing, no matter how much he kept sneaking peeks at 305 and wanting him.

  No. Focus on the machine, not the warm, half-naked, oh-so-sexy kilted man.

  Fortunately, 305’s A/C issues were a simple matter of reconnecting some wiring and didn’t require much brainpower at all, since most of his blood had fled south before he’d even knocked on the door. He was lucky the problem hadn’t been more complex, and he wasn’t sure if his theory about the maid’s vacuum pulling the wires loose actually explained the problem. But he didn’t much care why the unit had malfunctioned again.

  Which didn’t keep him from being disappointed that he was done so quickly, even though his cock was bent at a weird angle, the throb of his erection almost painful. He didn’t dare adjust it. As casually as he possibly could, he untucked his shirt. Better to look unprofessional than perverted.

  The hum of a functioning air conditioner meant his time here was done, and Caleb couldn’t put it off any longer. In one fluid move, he stood and turned around… only to find 305 standing so close Caleb could smell the musk of his skin, and he bit back a groan.

  “Hi.” God. He just couldn’t stop the sex voice from coming out.

  “Hi.”
305 smiled sweetly at him but licked his lips like he was nervous. “I’m Raven.”

  Raven. The name sounded exotic and unreal but also suited him perfectly. “I’m Caleb. Caleb Sanderson.” He rolled his eyes and groaned. “But you know that already.”

  Raven laughed lightly. “Yes. I… uh….”

  Caleb had introduced himself to hotel guests probably a hundred times or more in the course of carrying out his job, and not once had they ever introduced themselves back. He’d never cared, one way or the other, but his belly fluttered as he stared into Raven’s blue eyes. Without conscious direction, his feet moved him toward Raven, who stood his ground.

  Blindly sticking his arm out, Caleb dropped his toolbox on the table hovering at the edge of his peripheral vision, and he drew even closer.

  “You don’t look like a Sanderson.” Raven’s words were breathless and his eyes bright as his gaze skittered over Caleb’s face.

  If the sweet waft of Raven’s breath across his cheek hadn’t made him almost expire from lust, he might have laughed. People told him that all the time.

  “My mom’s an Escobar. From Cuba. I look like her.” Caleb’s voice was just as breathless, and he only had a moment to wonder why he’d said so much when there were better things to do with his mouth.

  Like they’d choreographed it beforehand, Raven stepped into his arms and Caleb flattened his hands on the smooth, warm skin of Raven’s back. It was the most natural thing in the world to press his lips to Raven’s, and with a tiny groan, Raven opened his mouth.

  Raven’s kisses were sweet and citrusy, flavored by the orange soda Caleb had noticed on the table when he’d arrived.