Walk a Mile

by Sarah Madison

  Maybe that’s why he liked cooking for Flynn. If he couldn’t keep Flynn’s attention with sex, then maybe with food, was that it?

  Jerry told himself to shut the fuck up.

  Flynn came back to the car, flipping the key ring in a circle around his index finger. He held a small white envelope in the other hand. Crossing in front of the car, he let himself in, handing the packet to Jerry as he got in behind the wheel and fastened his seatbelt. “I got us a good room. Back side of the hotel, away from the highway. First floor.”

  Jerry soundproofed his reaction. He just bet Flynn had gotten them a good room. The woman at the desk probably gave him her number, too.

  Flynn started the engine and turned to look at Jerry curiously. “What part of that sentence made you put that in the soundproof booth?”

  If I’d wanted you to know, I wouldn’t have put it in the booth. The nasty comeback flared before he could even think of containing it, and he cursed silently when Flynn turned the key in the ignition and gunned the engine. They drove round to the back of the building at a higher rate of speed than was probably wise.

  Joy. It’s going to be one of those nights. Jerry didn’t bother hiding his thoughts, and was not surprised when Flynn slammed the car door shut with excessive force. He pretended to check the messages on his phone, as Flynn went to the trunk and began unloading their bags. A small part of him knew he wasn’t being fair, that Flynn’s mood had actually been improving until he messed things up, but a spurt of resentment followed hard on that thought. Why did he always have to be the considerate one?

  Jerry watched as Flynn grabbed his duffle and then waited impatiently at the door to the hotel. Oh, right. Jerry had the keycards. It wouldn’t have killed Flynn to grab at least one of Jerry’s bags.

  He pocketed his phone as he got out, determined not to hurry as he collected his suitcase and laptop from the still-open trunk. He was checking the trunk to make sure the keys weren’t still in it before closing the lid when Flynn used the key fob to lock the vehicle. The car sounded an error alarm, and Jerry hastily shut the trunk, feeling foolish. Of course, Flynn wouldn’t leave the keys in the car.

  He couldn’t help it if he was paranoid. For a split second, Jerry found himself bound and gagged in the trunk of his car, his muscles remembering how it had felt to wake up in that situation. He’d been pretty certain he was going to die that night, and if it hadn’t been for Flynn, he probably would have.

  He recalled, too, the look of profound relief on Flynn’s face when he’d opened the trunk to release Jerry. A look of relief, and something more. It had been Jerry’s first indication that maybe Flynn wasn’t quite as straight as he’d seemed.

  Sometimes, Jerry wished they could go back to the beginning again. Not exactly start over, but find whatever it was that wasn’t right and fix it. The worst part was wondering if it was something he’d thought that had put this tension into their relationship.

  The wheeled bag bumped along awkwardly on the uneven pavement, turning sideways in Jerry’s hand when it hit a small pothole. He picked it up by the handle, feeling like the clumsy comic relief in a bad action movie.

  The outside lighting cast a subdued, yellow glow over Flynn as he waited for Jerry. All thoughts placed solidly in the soundproof booth, Jerry banned any notion of how, under different circumstances, he would be looking forward to sleeping with Flynn in a hotel as nice as the Crown Regent Inn. Now was not the time to be thinking about the gradual decline of sex with his partner or what he could possibly do about it. They just needed to get in, decompress, and manage some sleep. Still, they’d spent far too many nights like this one lately for Jerry not to obsess about it.

  Jerry got the door open and fumbled his way in with his luggage. Flynn pushed impatiently past him and strode off down the corridor, checking the room numbers as he went. He stopped in front of Room 110 and leaned against the wall, waiting for Jerry to catch up. With his hip and shoulder against the doorframe, and his long legs crossed at the ankle, he might have been practicing another sexy pose. Even at a distance, Jerry could see exhaustion in the lines of Flynn’s face; a rush of guilt swept over him. If today had been tough for him, it must have been excruciating for Flynn.

  Jerry opened the door with the keycard. The switch inside turned on a bedside lamp, casting a comforting, cozy pool of light across the nearest bed. Jerry staggered his way into the room, setting down his belongings on the far bed. Flynn tossed his bag at the foot of the closet just inside the door. Without a word, he went back out into the corridor.

  “Where are you going?” Jerry leaned out the open door to watch him.

  “Out.” Flynn moved with brisk determination for the exit.

  Jerry pulled the door shut behind him and ran after Flynn. Ahead, Flynn opened the exit door and left the building. He strode to the car, holding the keys in front of him and depressing the fob as he went. The lights on the rental flashed as the doors unlocked.

  Jerry followed him out into the parking lot. “Wait! What about food? Aren’t you hungry?”

  Flynn paused with one hand on the open door, the other on the steering wheel. His expression was impossible to read in the dim lighting. “Not everything can be solved with food.”

  He got into the car and slammed the door.

  “Wait!” Jerry went up to the window and tapped. Inside the car, Flynn’s shoulders rose and fell. Flynn turned the key in the ignition and depressed the switch to roll down the window.

  “I’ll come with you,” Jerry said when the window stopped at the halfway point. It was starting to drizzle again. The sensation of being in a bad movie hit him again, though this time it felt more like a cheesy romance-of-the-week. The idiocy of the moment didn’t negate the dread he felt.

  The outside light caught the inside of Flynn’s eye when he looked up, and a flare of gold flashed as he turned his head. His smile was tight and unforgiving. “That would defeat the purpose of giving you some time away from me—where you don’t have to police your thoughts.”

  A thousand possible responses ran through Jerry’s mind, but all he said was, “You’ll need a key.” He held out one of the key cards. An eternity passed before Flynn reached up and took it. Jerry tried hard not to heave a sigh of relief, even though he knew Flynn knew all about it anyway. He headed back to the building, turning his collar up against the cold rain seeping down the back of his neck. He didn’t look back until he reached the door. There, he paused to watch Flynn drive off, the car splashing through the puddles in the lot as he went.

  He slid his card into the lock and stepped inside the room, greeted by that peculiar combination of artificial freshness and stale air common to most hotels. Jerry didn’t mind staying in hotels for the most part. There was an order and symmetry to them that appealed as long as the room was clean. He’d been part of too many crime scenes to ever feel completely comfortable in a hotel room, as he knew just what kind of things would be found on close examination. The Crown Regent Inn, however, was within his standards of acceptance.

  He carefully placed his keycard in the inside pocket of his jacket before hanging it up in the closet across from the bathroom. It took but a moment to unpack, placing his things in the drawers and hanging his clothing to minimize further wrinkling. He took his shoes off as well, lining them up underneath the row of shirts and pants. The ritual of putting things away was soothing, no matter how tired he was. It made him feel that anything was manageable.

  Walking in sock feet to the bathroom, he deposited his shaving kit, sparing a quick glance at Flynn’s duffle. Even though his fingers itched to put Flynn’s things away, he knew from experience it would not be appreciated. Flynn rarely unpacked on their work-related trips, and his bag seldom went farther into the room than right by the door. Jerry thought back to the days when Flynn had first stayed with him, and how he frequently expected to wake up in the morning and find Flynn’s bag gone.

  He certainly hoped that wouldn’t happen this time. It was unnerving
to realize for the first time since those early days, he didn’t know what Flynn was planning to do.

  He’ll come back.

  Jerry hoped he wasn’t whistling in the dark.

  He set up his laptop at the desk, and turned it on. As it booted up, he unpacked his toiletry kit, placing his toothbrush and toothpaste to the right-hand side of the sink, leaving the left for Flynn’s use. While the laptop hummed and whirred, Jerry picked up the hotel brochure and found the room service page. The folder said room service was available until midnight. He glanced at his watch: 2:45 a.m. The bagel at the airport was a distant memory. He just wanted food, damn it. With a sigh, he added that to the list of things he wasn’t getting tonight. He’d be damned if he raided the minibar. There was no way he was paying four dollars for a candy bar.

  Rapidly scanning his e-mail inbox, he sorted messages according to those that had to be dealt with tonight versus those that were a waste of his time. There was one from Harding he had to address, in light of the events on the airplane and the contact with Ellis. And there were two jointly addressed to him and Flynn that he knew wouldn’t be answered tonight if it was left up to Flynn. His fingers clattered over the keyboard as he cleared as much as he could before he could reasonably call it a night. He was just about to disconnect the Internet when the IM notification tone pinged on his laptop.

  Damn it. He thought he’d made himself invisible. He could pretend he hadn’t noticed it and shut the laptop down for the night. He smiled instead when he realized it was Jane.

  What are you still doing up? Did you make it to the East Coast okay? I know you were concerned about the flight.

  Jerry had met Jane Wilkinson in one of his online food forums, where restaurants, recipes, food, and more were discussed. They’d struck up a friendship and e-mailed each other regularly off-list as well. In some ways, Jane knew more about Jerry’s life than many of his real life acquaintances. Jerry wasn’t into Facebook, but he maintained an anonymous semiprivate blog, and Jane was one of the people with whom he enjoyed sharing his love of food.

  Got in okay, he typed. Bit of trouble on the flight but nothing we couldn’t handle. What are you doing up so early on a weekend?

  The cursor blinked at him for several seconds before the response came back.

  Couldn’t sleep. Back bothering me again. Time to get up anyway.

  Jerry was cautious about revealing too much about his real life online. Jane knew he worked in law enforcement, that he was gay, and that he had to keep some aspects of his work and life private. Similarly, he knew Jane was a schoolteacher in London who suffered some sort of undefined chronic pain from a past accident. In the forums, they discussed their favorite cooking shows and exchanged their best recipes. In private, they shared more, but there were still some lines they did not cross.

  Asking Jane about her pain was one of them.

  Just got in the hotel after several delays. Exhausted. Internal clock all screwed up. John left in a huff :(

  Jerry looked at the words as he typed them, hesitating a moment before hitting “send.” He couldn’t help it; he wanted a friend’s shoulder to cry on.

  Left?? He’s coming back, right?

  Jerry bit his lower lip. It took him a moment to frame his response.

  I hope so. No, I mean, yes. He’ll come back. I’m sure of it. It’s been a long day, that’s all. I was hoping that we might, you know, enjoy the change of scenery, if you get my drift. That’s looking unlikely again. As usual.

  He waited, and when no further text appeared, he continued.

  It’s just, it makes you wonder, you know? In the beginning, it was like he couldn’t get enough of me—of us, the two of us together. The sex was fantastic. We’d go two, three hours or more. Now it’s more like once every 6 to 8 weeks, and even then, sometimes more perfunctory than not. Um. This isn’t TMI, is it?

  He waited for what seemed like forever, watching for her response at the bottom of the screen. He almost disconnected, figuring Jane was away from her computer, or had dozed off, or was tactfully avoiding his question, but he held on for a bit longer. The need to share his problems was too great.

  How long have you two been together? Six months?

  Jerry stared at the blinking cursor. He didn’t like where this was headed.

  About that long. Yeah. I know what you’re thinking. I’m thinking it myself, TBH. I’m not sure John and I would have ever gotten together had we not met under unusual circumstances. I thought he was straight when we first met. The weird thing is, I don’t doubt his affection for me, I really don’t. But the sex has definitely taken a back seat, and that worries me. Like maybe he regrets this. Like maybe I’m just a phase he’s going through.

  He stared at the screen, tapping his fingers impatiently beside the keyboard as he waited for Jane’s reply. Finally, she responded.

  There are lots of reasons why things could have changed between you. He could have been coming off a dry spell when you met. Maybe his sex drive isn’t as strong as yours. There may be stress factors at work. I don’t know exactly what you do, but I’m willing to bet it’s a high-pressure job most days. You’ve hinted that his past has been full of trauma. You don’t know that he’s worked through all that and if it is still haunting him or not. You thought he was straight at first. That means there are obviously some conflicted emotions on his part somewhere. Have you talked to him?

  Jerry didn’t know how to answer that. “I don’t have to talk to him because he reads minds.” He couldn’t exactly type that, now could he? Nor could he share anything about the murder of Flynn’s little sister, Rachel, when he was only thirteen. That was definitely off-limits. Jerry hardly knew much more than that Flynn was supposed to have been watching her that day, but he’d gotten distracted by his friends and hadn’t walked his sister home. Her unsolved murder loomed over Flynn’s entire life.

  He’s not the easiest person to talk to. I’m the open book and he’s the inscrutable one. He’s all very “name, rank, and serial number” when he doesn’t want to talk.

  Her response was quicker this time.

  LOL! Either way, I think you’re going to have to talk to him eventually and let him know how you feel.

  That was the problem, Jerry realized. Flynn already knew how he felt. How was he supposed to take that?

  Easier said than done. Listen, it’s after 3 a.m. here. I’m going to try to get some sleep. Time change and all that. Hope you get some rest and feel better soon.

  He felt bad about the little white lie, but he still wanted a shower before turning in. Besides, he couldn’t talk to Flynn if he wasn’t here, right? As much as he wanted sympathy and advice, there was only so much he could share. The whole “my boyfriend is a telepath” was strictly off-limits. No one would believe him anyway.

  He and Jane signed off, and he closed the laptop. Everything else could wait until morning. Shrugging at the tightness between his shoulders, he knew a hot shower would be just the thing to help him sleep.

  The designers of the bathroom had to have been thinking of shower sex when they’d created the layout for the hotel. A great big walk-in shower with room for two on the tiled surface behind the glass door. A bench inside the stall, along with a forceful jet that sent pounding water against your neck and shoulders as you stood with your hands braced against the wall. Billowing steam surrounding you. Oh yeah, someone with shower fantasies had drawn up the blueprints for this bathroom all right.

  Too bad he didn’t have anyone to share it with.

  Shower sex. Oh sure, it was something of a cliché, but then again, clichés existed for a reason. There was definitely something about the heat and the feel of slick, wet skin beneath his hands. There was something inherently sensual in the steamy scent of soap and the natural inclination of two slippery bodies to slide against each other. Derek, his former lover, had loved shower sex at first. Later he’d complained about getting water in his eyes and mouth when they kissed, and Jerry had been happy to confine th
eir lovemaking to a nice, comfortable bed. It wasn’t until he’d caught Derek banging some hot young guy over his desk at work that Jerry had realized Derek had had other reasons for backing off on the athletic sex.

  Jerry wasn’t sure how Flynn felt about shower sex. They’d tried it once or twice at the apartment, but the shower back home wasn’t really large enough for two adults. Besides, Jerry’s tendency to get light-headed post orgasm in the steamy environment had kind of put a damper on any sort of water-based friskiness. That didn’t keep Jerry from fantasizing about it, though.

  Somehow, despite the perfection of this shower and how it would lend itself to fantasies, the fact that Jerry was alone annoyed him more than anything. All thoughts about a little private time while Flynn was gone did nothing to entice him into jacking off. Instead, it only reminded him of the first time he’d fantasized about Flynn while taking a shower, which was followed by the shock of finding a very aroused Flynn standing on the other side of the curtain when he’d pulled it back.

  At the time, it had been alarming, disconcerting, and extremely hot. It was depressing now.

  Jerry took a perfectly perfunctory shower, letting the water beat down on his neck and shoulders a long time, trying to drown out his thoughts from even himself. When he got out, he towel dried his hair roughly before carefully hanging the towel over the handrail. The thought of tossing used towels down on the floor for housekeeping to pick up made him cringe inside. He wrapped another towel around his waist and reentered the main room.

  Flynn was waiting in the middle of the room.

  Jerry had no idea how long he’d been there or what he might have picked up on as Jerry had showered. He had a rumpled look about him that went deeper than usual. His expression on seeing Jerry come out of the bathroom was bleak, almost angry. Jerry couldn’t shake the feeling he’d been waiting impatiently, however. Expectantly. Almost needy.