by Ava Hayden
“Not my fault,” said Haruni. “Totally on the other guy, but there’s a pileup, and your van’s going to need a tow. The cops already called for trucks.” In the background Paul heard cars whizzing by and the tinny voice of a dispatcher. “It’s going to be a while.”
Paul squeezed his eyes shut. “Yeah, okay. Thanks for letting me know. Have the driver take the van to Calhoun Brothers Auto Repair.”
“Will do, man. I’ll check in when the cops are done.”
Paul massaged the bridge of his nose. Stay calm. Do not panic. You can do this. He needed a reliable driver who could work fast. He scrolled for Carson’s number.
HUXLEY AND Bishop entered Sukey’s and joined the line, right behind Carson and another man.
The man shook his head, grinning. “That whole one-true-love thing is bullshit.”
Carson clutched at his chest. “How can you say such a thing? I am dismayed, Ricardo. Seriously dismayed. Are you not a married man?”
Ricardo laughed. “Yeah, with four kids. Not the point. I’m just saying there isn’t only one person out there for anybody. It’s timing. You meet someone at the right time, and you marry that person, but if you met that person at a different time, maybe you wouldn’t have gotten married.”
Carson huffed and glanced back as he did. His eyes widened. “Huxley.”
“Hey, Carson,” said Huxley.
Carson gave Bishop a speculative look.
“This is Bishop.” Huxley flushed. “He drives me. I—I can’t drive right now.”
“I knew it,” said Carson under his breath.
Huxley opened his mouth to ask what he meant just as Carson’s cell rang.
“Paul. What’s up?” Carson frowned. “Oh no. Mmmhmmm. Right. Let me think.” Carson stared at Huxley as he listened. “Just a minute.”
Carson pressed the phone to his chest and spoke to Huxley. “Paul’s van was in an accident. He doesn’t have anyone to deliver the rest of the day’s orders. I’ll do the driving if you can do the drops.”
Huxley could feel the blood draining from his face. “Me?”
“I used to deliver for Paul’s parents back when I was in high school. I know the routine. But I don’t want to do it alone.” Carson shrugged. “If you can’t, you can’t, sweet pea. I’ll find somebody else. If those orders aren’t delivered, it’ll be a catastrophe for his business.”
“No. No, I’ll do it.”
Carson beamed. “Sugar, we are going to have such a good time.” He lifted the phone. “Paul. I have somebody. No, I know you didn’t, but—sugar, I am doing this, and if you try to stop me, I’m going to have a big old tantrum right in your store. Mmmhmmm. That’s better. Now Ricardo’s going to drop the van at your back door. He’s really close.” Carson winked. “Get it loaded, and we’ll take it from there.” He nodded. “Yes. I know. Of course. Sweetheart, we’ll sort the details later. Okay. Tchuss.” He smacked a kiss into the phone and signed off.
“Right, here’s the plan. Ricardo, take the van around and help Paul load it up. Then drive it to the law firm parking off the alleyway at the end of the block and wait for us.” Carson swiveled to Huxley. “Can Bishop drop Ricardo?”
“Wait, boss,” said Ricardo. “Don’t you want me to do the driving? I mean—”
“Honey, you’re my foreman. You’ve got to do the Valencia walkthrough today.” Carson waggled his brows. “Remember?”
Ricardo stared. “Oh. Oh right.” He nodded. “Got it.” He accepted keys from Carson and left.
Huxley and Bishop exchanged a look. What was that about?
“Do you mind driving Ricardo?” Huxley asked. “You don’t have to pick me up.”
“No problem. And I can still pick you up.”
Huxley shook his head. “No. Drop the SUV back at the condo, and I’ll see you in the morning.”
Bishop nodded as Carson stepped up to place his order. Huxley dropped out of the line and stepped to the side, pulling out his phone.
“Sherrilyn, hi. No, actually I’m not. I’m… feeling queasy.” He should have come up with a good excuse before calling. “I don’t think I’ll be in today at all.”
Huxley pocketed the phone just as Carson pulled his out. “Ricardo just texted. Okay, here we go.”
Carson led the way out of Sukey’s, strutting—somehow—in work boots, carrying a wide pink box full of treats for his crew. He wore a fuchsia tuque with a pom-pom. Huxley pulled his beanie down low and his scarf up over his mouth and nose and followed Carson, hoping Paul wouldn’t spot them. Bishop fell in behind.
At the corner Ricardo waited by the idling van. Carson handed over the box and climbed up into the driver’s seat while Bishop led Ricardo off to the SUV. Huxley stood at the passenger door, frozen.
Carson tilted his head, made a “come in” gesture.
Huxley opened the passenger door and peered inside the van. Behind the driver and passenger seats, the van was wall-to-wall flowers.
“Come on,” said Carson. “We’ve got a lot of deliveries.” He narrowed his eyes. “Are you okay?”
“There’s something I didn’t mention,” said Huxley. He swallowed. “I’ve been practicing. I mean—Bishop was driving me because—well, I mean I couldn’t drive, but—”
“Yes, sugar, spit it out. But come inside to do it. The cold isn’t doing the flowers any good.”
Huxley shut his eyes and lifted a foot, feeling for the floor of the van. He pushed up, fell into the seat, slammed the door, and let his head fall back, eyes still closed. Push out the air. Let in the air.
“Honey, what the ever-loving fuck?” For once Carson was at a loss.
“I’m sorry.” Push out the air. Let in the air. “I was in an accident. I can’t drive, and up until now, I haven’t been able to ride in a front seat.” He opened his eyes to find Carson staring at him in horror. “But I’ve been working on it, and I was supposed to try it today for the first time.”
Carson closed his eyes. “Jesus Christ on a pogo stick.” He exhaled and opened his eyes. “Right. There’s a paper bag in the glove compartment. Pull it out. If you hyperventilate or hurl, use it.”
Huxley pulled out the bag with trembling fingers.
“You don’t want to destroy Paul’s business, do you?”
“No! No, of course not.”
“Fine.” Carson pointed to the dash. “Pick up that clipboard.”
Huxley took the board and tried to decipher the words on the paper in front of him.
“Okay, here’s how we do this. Paul divides the route into zones. Each zone has one or more deliveries. Deliveries are plotted out in order. So we’re starting with zone one, and you’re going to read me off the first address in zone one. You’re the navigator if I need directions. Google Maps—comprende, sugar?”
Huxley nodded.
“When we get to the first address, you’re going to hand over the bouquet, and then we go to the second address in zone one. Got it?”
“I think so.” Push out the air. Let in the air. Huxley licked his lips. “Yeah. Got it.”
“Great. Now buckle up, read me that address, and keep that paper bag close by.”
Huxley leaned back and kept his eyes shut as Carson maneuvered the van through the city streets to the first address on the list. Sweat dampened his shirt. At last the van stopped, and he opened his eyes.
“Okay, sugar, you’re up.”
Huxley fumbled with the seat belt latch, untangled himself, and slid from the van. He walked on shaky legs to the back. A long holder marked with a 1 was the first thing he saw inside. He pulled a bouquet in a hand-blown vase from the holder slot also marked 1, secured the doors, squared his shoulders, and marched to the porch of a small bungalow.
He rang the bell and waited. After a minute the heavy wood door opened, and an elderly woman with stooped shoulders pushed open the storm door.
“Oh my, are those for me?”
Huxley double-checked the card. He should have done that first. “Um. Yes, ma’am.�
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“Oh, they’re lovely.” The woman accepted the flowers. Huxley wondered if he should have offered to carry them in. They looked as if they weighed about what she did.
“Well, thank you. Here, let me….” She placed the bouquet on a small table by the door and pulled a change purse from her pocket.
“Oh, no, no, no, that’s not—really, that’s not….” Huxley waved both hands.
“All right. Thank you again. It’s not every day a handsome young man shows up at my door with flowers.”
Huxley managed to extricate himself and climbed back in the van, dabbing sweat from his temples with a handkerchief. He turned to find Carson watching him. “That went okay, I think.” He adjusted his tie. Maybe he should have taken it off. Delivery guys didn’t usually wear expensive suits and London Fog wool-cashmere coats.
Carson nodded. “That’s good, sugar. But you need to work on your speed. We do have to finish these today. Buckle up.”
As Huxley focused on directions and deliveries, his anxiety dropped, and the nausea began to pass as they finished zone one.
Carson glanced at Huxley as they cruised up a major artery to the northwest suburbs. “Your color’s much better now.”
At some point Huxley had forgotten to worry about riding in the front seat. And he’d started enjoying himself. Some of the deliveries were a pain in the ass—the ones marked “can leave with a neighbor”—but for the most part, he found people at home or at work. He’d gotten some strange looks, and at one office, he was mistaken for a woman’s piece on the side, but on the whole, it had been—well—fun.
Carson settled back in his seat. “Do you mind if I ask why you didn’t mention Bishop to Paul?”
Huxley groaned and thumped his head against the headrest. “I can’t tell you how much I regret that. I just didn’t want to look—you know—like a guy with a lot of baggage. Or wimpy.”
“Better that than looking like you’re hiding a boyfriend. Paul isn’t the kind of guy to judge you for having a phobia.”
Huxley exhaled. “I know.” Please don’t let it be too late to explain.
Carson didn’t pursue the topic, to Huxley’s relief. An hour later they’d finished the fourth zone and pulled into a drive-through to grab a late lunch. As they waited in line, Carson called Paul.
“We’re more than halfway through. Are there any more pickups?” Carson nodded. “Mmmhmmm. Okay, I’ll give you a heads-up when we’re on our way back. Tchuss, dahlink.”
Carson pulled into a parking spot and let the van idle. Huxley was starving. They devoured their sandwiches.
“No more pickups,” said Carson between bites. “He didn’t take any new delivery orders for today.”
Thank God. “So,” said Huxley. “You used to do this in high school?”
“That’s right.” Carson grinned. “Two teenagers and a delivery van. Oh my.” He winked. “We had to be mostly good on-duty, though. Off-duty was a whole other story. Paul drove an old van his dad retired from service, and it had a couch in it right behind the driver’s seat. We’d go driving around with kids sitting on the couch—never thought twice about it. God only knows what would have happened if we’d wrecked.”
Huxley laughed. “That’s awesome.” He imagined a teenaged Paul.
“I got my cherry popped on that couch.” Carson stared into the distance and sighed. “But then, so did most of our friends. Paul had an old bedsheet that people could string up behind the driver and passenger seats to block the view. People would borrow it at lunchtime.”
Huxley’s eyebrows shot up.
“True story.” Carson wadded up his lunch trash. “I don’t know how it is now, but back then you could go sit in your car or truck on campus during the school day.” He gave Huxley a sly look. “One of our friends went on eBay and bought an old vintage seventies bumper sticker that said If this van’s a-rockin’, don’t come a-knockin’ and put it on as a joke. Paul’s mother had a cow when she saw it. And not just one—she could have started a dairy farm.”
Huxley was laughing so hard he couldn’t reply. Carson dumped their trash, and then they set out to zone five. Carson kept telling stories, and Huxley related some of his own funny tales about life in boarding school.
He checked his clipboard before delivering the last bouquet on the delivery sheet. After dropping it off, he climbed into the back of the van and crab walked to a bouquet that had been obscured behind two empty holders.
Carson twisted to look at him. “What’s up?”
“There’s a bouquet here that isn’t on the list.” Huxley pulled the card free to examine it. “Oh.” His mouth went dry.
“What, sugar?” Carson’s forehead creased.
Huxley’s name and address were on the outside of the envelope. Huxley ripped it open with shaking fingers and pulled out the small card inside.
Paul had printed tiny letters with a fine-point marker. Huxley, I made a terrible mistake. I was an idiot to send you away without talking first. I’ve been miserable ever since. I’m sorry, so sorry. Can you forgive me? Will you give me another chance? I miss you. Paul
“Sugar, you’re killing me. What?”
Huxley looked up. “It’s from Paul to me. How did he know I was with you?”
“He didn’t.” Carson nodded at the lush dome-shaped bouquet in a hand-blown vase—an armful of white and red roses, at least three dozen, set off by greenery and small white flowers, the vase accented with a fat crimson satin ribbon tied in a bow. “You don’t put that kind of arrangement together in five minutes. It was already made and the card written before we came on the scene. He was probably about to add it to the delivery sheet when Haruni called.”
Huxley breathed in the scent of the roses, his eyes closed.
Carson tapped fingers on the steering wheel. “I’ve got to drop things off at the shop. Are you coming with? Or do you want to go home?”
Huxley hugged the bouquet to his chest. “I’m going with you. How fast can you make this thing go?”
Chapter 18
HUXLEY’S HEART pounded as Carson pulled up to Floribunda’s back door. He descended from the van with care, making sure he kept a tight grip on his bouquet. Meanwhile Carson flung open the back doors and pulled out the transportation containers, the clipboard stowed under one arm. He shuffled to the door, arms fully laden, and banged a fist on the weathered metal.
Paul opened the door and turned on more outside lights against the rapidly darkening sky. He took some of the containers from Carson and disappeared inside with them. Carson followed, glancing back at Huxley. “Hurry up and grab the door, sugar.”
Huxley shoved a foot out to catch the door and maneuvered the bouquet through. The door clanged shut behind him and Paul turned. His face went white.
“I love my flowers,” said Huxley.
“I’m glad,” said Paul.
They stared at each other and didn’t move.
“OH, FOR heaven’s sake,” said Carson from somewhere near Paul.
Two firm hands landed on Paul’s shoulders and pushed.
“You,” said Carson. “Go upstairs and talk. Sue and I will close up shop at six.”
Footsteps receded, and Paul and Huxley were alone.
“I’m sorry,” they said at the same time and then stopped.
Paul shook his head. “I’m the one who owes you an apology. I just panicked. I’m so sorry.”
Huxley rested his bouquet on the table beside him and took a step toward Paul. “The guy with me on Tuesday mornings—he’s my driver. I was in a car accident, and I was trapped for a long time before they could get me out. I haven’t been able to drive or ride in a front seat since then.” Huxley bit his lip and took another step. “I should have told you.”
Paul closed the gap between them.
“Will you—do you want to try again?” Paul held his breath.
“Yeah.” Huxley reached forward, hesitant, and then rested a hand on Paul’s chest. Paul reached out and caressed Huxley’s h
air, then pulled him into a kiss.
A second later Paul was running his hands over Huxley’s body, and Huxley was pushing into the kiss as if he wanted to devour Paul. Paul couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t hold enough of Huxley. He wanted every part of him. “Go upstairs with me?”
Huxley beamed and grabbed his bouquet before allowing Paul to usher him to the apartment. “Not without my flowers.”
Paul laughed, giddy with relief and the rekindling of hope. The weariness that had weighed him down all day was gone. He felt as if he could levitate up the steps.
HUXLEY CARRIED the bouquet into Paul’s bedroom and set it on the dresser. “I want them where I can see them when you’re fucking me.” He turned to Paul, and they kissed hard enough to bruise.
Huxley broke the kiss to yank Paul’s shirt off. Paul’s hands were at Huxley’s belt, and a second later his pants dropped around his ankles. The rest of their clothes followed, and then Huxley grabbed Paul and fell backward onto the bed.
Huxley rolled Paul under him and slid down the mattress to his feet. He licked his way up a calf sprinkled with soft gold hair and delved into the crook behind a knee. Paul jerked and gasped.
Huxley kept going, lapping at the soft flesh of Paul’s inner thigh. When he reached Paul’s groin, he pulled away and began tracing the same journey on the other leg with teeth, lips, and tongue.
Paul groaned as Huxley continued until he nuzzled into a warm, musky crevice. He kneaded Paul’s ass, slipping fingers in to rub the sensitive spot just behind his balls as he tongued and sucked them.
Paul panted and arched. “Please, Huxley. I want your hand.”
Huxley raised his head. “I’m using my hands.” He dropped down and sucked hard on a warm, wet globe.
“On my dick.” Pant. “You….” Pant. “God. Please.”
“Oh, here?” Huxley palmed Paul’s cock. He smirked. “How did I miss that?”
Paul growled.
Huxley tongued the leaking slit and traced around the mushroom head. He pumped Paul’s cock, then mouthed the top, teasing, lapping, nibbling.