by Ruskin, JD
Recovering, he lay back with his arms folded and cupped behind his head, looking at the water-stained ceiling. He’d considered himself lucky when he’d gotten the “no deposit necessary” lease even though twenty-five ex-druggie, ex-crazy, or ex-con residents also called it home. It seemed like a bad idea to have that many unstable individuals in one place, but choices had been limited to say the least. He needed to open the windows and get the fan blowing. Not that it would do much to stifle the oppressive heat. Catching a whiff of himself, he cringed. He was ripe before the workout; now he smelled like a dead skunk. Maybe that was the real reason Caleb was standing on the other side of the room. The thought made him smile, and he hauled himself to his feet.
After opening the windows and starting up a white, plastic fan, Logan entered the cramped bathroom, turned on the shower, and adjusted the spray to just above lukewarm. Removing his clothes, he got into the stall. He slid the glass shower door shut and let the water wash over his face and body. Even after a week of being on the outside, the luxury of showering without an audience and taking as much time as he wanted was still a heady feeling. He toyed with the idea of a cold shower to get relief from the heat, but his calf muscles whimpered at the thought.
He ran a washrag over his broad chest. He’d always kept in shape, but he had packed on more muscle after his conviction. There hadn’t been much else in the way of entertainment in prison. The weight room became his main escape from tediousness. There were other reasons to want a hard, strong build in prison, but he didn’t like to think about them. He’d closed the door on that life. After he lathered his shaved head, he squatted and turned to try to get the spray to hit the top of his head. The world was built by midgets. Ridiculously, the thought made him think of Caleb. Caleb was probably just shy of six feet, which made him tiny in comparison to Logan, but hardly short.
Logan closed his eyes and leaned forward, resting his hand on the shower wall in front of him as tepid water poured over his back. Thinking about Caleb was a bad idea. He knew it, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. The subtle once-over Caleb gave him after he’d calmed down had sent a thrill running through Logan that he hadn’t felt in a long time. Picturing Caleb’s face as Caleb licked his full lips, Logan slid his hand to his hardening shaft. Caleb’s long fingers would be satin-smooth but firm as he gripped Logan’s cock. For a guy that never left home, Caleb had the lean build of a runner. Logan figured he’d find pale skin rippling with tight muscles under the clingy T-shirt and sweatpants Caleb wore. He squeezed the base of his shaft once before pulling away and applying soap to his hand. He imagined what it would be like to feel that lean body under his, hot and eager to be stroked. Had it been years since Caleb had been touched? He let his hand slide up and down in a slow and steady rhythm over his cock.
As the pressure built, Logan started moving his hips, thrusting into his tight grip. Feeling himself about to explode, he leaned forward, resting his head against the cool tile. As his body rushed toward release, he couldn’t help imagining Caleb’s face, his green eyes turned dark with desire. Logan’s breath caught in his throat, and he dropped his other hand to fondle his balls. One touch was all it took. He threw his head back and shot his load against the tiled wall. Knees wobbling, he made a halfhearted attempt to clean off the tile before shutting off the shower.
As he reached for a towel to dry off, Logan wondered how Caleb would feel if he knew that Logan had just jacked off thinking of him. He cringed. The guy isn’t freaked enough? He’s got to worry about an ex-con wanting to bend him over and fuck him against the countertop? He didn’t know why his libido had suddenly gone into overdrive, but considering Caleb was his boss’s nephew, he needed to get a handle on the feelings.
THE sound of the phone startled Caleb, causing him to spill chamomile tea on the kitchen countertop. With a sigh, he put the kettle back on the stove and snagged a dishcloth from the drawer. He didn’t need to look at the caller ID to know who was calling. Uncle Harrison had been phoning every half hour for the past four hours in an attempt to badger Caleb into talking to him. Why didn’t he tell me he had found a replacement for Marco? Picking up the mug, he cleaned up the spill. Does he expect me to forget to be phobic if I’m surprised? Caleb knew he could answer the phone and ask his uncle directly, but he stubbornly refused to do so.
After the voice mail kicked in, he picked up the kettle again and filled the mug with the fragrant brew. He needed the soothing properties of the tea to untangle his jangled nerves. Taking a deep swallow, he let his thoughts shift to the new package handler. He didn’t know what to think of Logan other than he was huge and hot. There was something strangely vulnerable about the way Logan had sat with his broad shoulders hunched as his secret spilled from his tongue. Shock had been plain on his face when he admitted to being an alcoholic. The look was quickly replaced with resignation. He expected me to be afraid of him. For some reason, Caleb had felt compelled to show Logan otherwise.
When the phone began ringing again, Caleb was tempted to disconnect it. But he wasn’t sure if his uncle would follow through on his threat. Uncle Harrison had found a behavioral therapist that was willing to come to the apartment. He said he would show up at the apartment with the therapist in tow if Caleb disabled the phone again. Caleb couldn’t take the risk. What if the therapist declared him unfit? Would they force him to leave his apartment? A tingling shiver raced up Caleb’s arm, chasing away the warmth of the tea. He snatched the phone from the charger and hit the Talk button. “I’m fine.”
“You’re angry with me. Is that why you refused to answer? I’ve been worried sick.”
Caleb wanted to ask him why he had called instead of coming over and knocking on the door if he was so concerned. Hell, he had a spare key. He could walk right in. Caleb hadn’t bothered to get the lock changed after the last time his uncle showed up unannounced six months ago. “It would’ve been nice if you had told me Logan was coming today. What if I had been out?”
“You’re deflecting.”
Caleb bit down on the urge to say am not like a recalcitrant child. He’d be listening to his uncle spout pop psychology proverbs all night if he didn’t get a better handle on his emotions. “Like I said, I’m fine.”
“Do you want me to try to find someone else to deliver your mail? Did Logan upset you?”
“Logan didn’t do anything to upset me. I’m fine with him coming over,” Caleb said, surprised to realize it was the truth.
“If you are sure,” his uncle said, sounding doubtful.
“I am. Good night, Uncle Harrison.”
He sighed. “Goodnight, Caleb.”
Chapter 2
ON MONDAY morning, Klass had Foster fetch him a couple of hours into his shift. Logan knew he should tell Klass he wasn’t interested in the job. He should make up an excuse about being too tired or not knowing if his parole officer, John Dabb, would approve the job. Both were true, just not the reason. He’d cleaned the reason off the shower wall on Saturday morning.
Sitting behind his impeccably neat desk, Klass asked, “How did it go?”
“It went fine. I followed your instructions,” Logan said, silently hoping his boss didn’t expect a report on his nephew’s sex life. He really needed to stop thinking about sex and Caleb in the same sentence.
Klass sighed. “I know he’s a grown man and I’ve no right to pry into his life.” He straightened an already straight stapler before continuing. “I loved my sister, Mr. Sellers. And she loved that boy. I just want to do right by her. Since she died three years ago, he’s been slipping further and further away.”
Logan swallowed hard. The guy’s worried and I’m perving over his nephew. “He looked okay, a bit on the skinny side. I don’t think I would’ve noticed if you hadn’t told me he was phobic.”
Klass nodded. “Let me know if anything changes.”
This was the opportunity to get out of the job and just walk away. Let someone else help Caleb. Logan sighed. Who was he kidding? The money
was too good to pass on. His dick would just have to get with the program. “Sure thing, boss.”
Klass hunched forward, dropping his chin to his chest. “Also, please tell Caleb to fill you in on the details about the radiator.”
Logan returned to his work station, wondering what would be up with the radiator in July. It was busy, so the rest of his shift passed quickly. When he saw the clock and realized it was almost time to go, it came as a pleasant surprise. He wiped his forearm over his sweating forehead and wondered if he ought to go home for a quick shower before picking up Caleb’s groceries. In the end, he decided not to. For all he knew, Caleb might not have any food in the apartment and was quietly starving. The guy was skinny enough already.
The end of his shift rolled around, and Logan walked out into the sunshine, temporarily a free man. Oh, except for the fact that he now had to find a place called Meng’s Market and pick up a grocery order for the boss’s nephew. The thought of groceries made him remember how inadequate his hasty breakfast had been several hours earlier. Hopefully this delivery wouldn’t take too long and he would be able to go home and grab a bite.
LOGAN stepped through the sliding door at Meng’s Market. The place featured high-quality meats and locally grown produce, making it worlds away from the 7-Eleven convenience store he shopped at. He walked past the aisles, ignoring his grumbling stomach, and made his way to the service counter next to the produce. He stopped when he spotted an advertisement for instant oatmeal. After grabbing a box of maple flavor, he continued to the back.
At the counter, a short, wiry Asian man scowled at a computer screen as if it had insulted his mother. Logan could relate. They had kicked him out of the technology course in prison after his third computer committed suicide. When the old man smacked the side of the monitor, a sweet-faced Asian woman with glossy black hair down to her hips appeared at his side.
“Let me do it, Grandfather.” She adjusted her thick black glasses and set to work, fingers flying over the keys.
The man grumbled and turned his attention to Logan. His bald head gleamed in the fluorescent lighting. “How I help you?”
“I’m here for Caleb Klass’s order.”
The man traded a look with his granddaughter, and they began having a heated conversation in a language Logan couldn’t understand. He thought it might be Korean, but that could be his stomach talking. Korean barbecued pork was on the list of things he’d longed for in prison. That the list mostly consisted of food and liquor was a bit disconcerting.
“Is there a problem?”
The little guy straightened his shoulders. “Mister Klass good customer.” He pointed a finger at Logan. “He… e-mail order.”
Logan looked at the girl, but she just covered her mouth with her hand. Her olive-black eyes held amusement and affection. After a moment she said, “You must be Logan. I’m Min.” Her voice was bright and cheery with no trace of her grandfather’s thick accent.
He shook hands with Min, her strong grip in contrast with her delicate frame. She said something else to the man before grabbing a partially filled box. “I’ll go get the perishables, Grandfather.”
The man waved her off. “I only give what Mister Klass order.”
Logan looked at the box of oatmeal in his hand, finally understanding. “I can buy my own oatmeal.” Barely, but he hadn’t planned on sticking Caleb with the bill. He pulled a five-dollar bill from his wallet and tossed it on the counter.
The man spent an insulting amount of time examining the money before he rang up the order and placed the box in a plastic bag. Who would use counterfeit money to buy oatmeal?
Min reappeared, carrying the box. “I’m sorry about that.” She placed the now filled box on the counter. “Grandfather’s a bit protective of Caleb.” The glint in her eyes said Mr. Meng wasn’t the only one. “He’s a long time customer and he’s helping us set up a website.”
“Not a problem,” Logan said, thinking there was probably a reason for the caution. The thought pissed him off. Some asshole must have tried to get Caleb to pay for his booze or cigarettes. It was no wonder if Klass was hiring ex-cons to help his nephew.
Looking at the grocery bag, an idea occurred. “Can I borrow a marker?” He pried open the box of oatmeal and pulled out one of the brown packets. Maple, the preferred flavor for giants. After accepting the marker, he scribbled “in case of emergencies” on the packet and dropped it into the box. Min’s lips quirked as she took back the marker but she didn’t comment.
When an uncomfortably familiar female voice called out his name, Logan stifled a groan, not wanting to turn and face the hundred and ten pounds of hairspray and cheap perfume heading for him. This day just keeps gettin’ better and better. As he turned, he schooled his expression, thinking neutral preferable to irritated when dealing with his supervisor, if he wanted to keep getting a paycheck. “What’s up?”
“I had no idea you shopped here,” Ms. Foster said. “After the shift, I had a craving I just had to fulfill.” She tilted the plastic handbasket, drawing Logan’s eyes to the contents: a bag of limes, a jumbo-sized box of condoms, and a bottle of tequila so cheap even the college kids wouldn’t touch it. She tossed her too-red-to-be-natural hair over her shoulder and he felt a pang of sympathy for her boyfriend. He’d heard the man used to work at the warehouse. Logan hoped never to meet the guy, but not because he feared his reaction to his girlfriend’s obvious interest in another man. The guy had to know Foster slept with every man she could sink her claws into even if he wasn’t around to see her blatant flirting.
Ms. Foster’s hand on his chest drew his thoughts back to her. “It must be fate us meeting here. I normally never settle for shopping at a place like this,” she said, her nose wrinkling in disgust.
Logan heard Min mutter something that he guessed meant bitch in possibly Korean. He looked over his shoulder and mouthed the word “sorry,” feeling responsible for subjecting them to his supervisor. Min gave him a brief, sympathetic smile.
A manicured hand on his chin had Logan turning back toward Ms. Foster. She gave an annoyed huff. “As I was saying, it must be fate that I stopped here today. How about we get out of here and toss back a few?” By the sour smell of her breath, she’d already started with beer.
Logan had always been a working drunk, putting in his hours at the construction site before heading out to get plastered. He’d placed five different alarm clocks around his apartment that were loud enough to drag his ass out of a drunken stupor. He’d always made it to work on time, even if it meant hacking his guts into a garbage bag before getting out of his truck. Just a few beers to relax after work, a shot or three to forget about the asshole foreman. Rinse and repeat until he stumbled home. He saved the weekends for the real hard stuff, waking on Sunday morning smelling of booze and sex with no memory of how he’d gotten home or who he’d fucked. He was damn lucky not to have gotten seriously hurt, or caught a disease from one of the nameless people he’d slept with while trashed. With all those turbulent memories tumbling through his brain at the first whiff of alcohol, a quiet voice in the back of his head still whispered to him. Tequila was rough stuff, but a couple of beers wouldn’t be so bad. A six-pack of Corona would go great with the limes. He’d worked hard. Didn’t he deserve to kick back and relax? He could just take the night off and then get back on the program tomorrow. He shook his head, stepping back until his body jammed against the counter. “I can’t do that.”
“You better get those groceries home,” Min said, ignoring the scowl on Ms. Foster’s face. “It isn’t good for them to be out in this heat.”
Ms. Foster shoved her basket on top of a pile of oranges and walked away, stepping around the falling produce. When Logan could breathe again, he opened his wallet and pulled out a business card, handing it to Min as he turned around. “You see me buying liquor, I want you to call this guy, John Dabb, and let him know.”
She looked at his parole officer’s business card, her brows puckered. “Won’t you
get in trouble?”
“Yeah.” Logan grabbed the box. “But not as much trouble as I’ll cause if you don’t.” He left before she could comment.
AS HE lumbered up the stairs with the groceries, Logan wished Caleb’s building had an elevator. He’d worked his own shift and half of another guy’s today. He shook his head and gave himself a mental note to start using the stairs at his third-floor apartment to avoid sounding like such a pussy in his own head.
Caleb looked surprised when he opened the door, wearing another pair of obscenely tight sweatpants and a different Chicago Cubs T-shirt. The chilly air was enough to make his nipples as perky as a cheerleader during homecoming. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be back.” Caleb took the box from Logan and walked into the kitchen, setting it on the counter. “I went through half a dozen guys before Marco.”
Logan did not need that image in his head as he avoided looking at Caleb’s ass. “The money’s good and the job’s not hard.”
“Oh,” Caleb said, throwing up his hands. “I forgot last time.” Opening a breadbox, he pulled a twenty from a stack of bills in a bank envelope. Logan resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Caleb obviously had no common sense. Why don’t you hand over your wallet while you’re at it?
Handing the money to Logan, he said, “This is for travel expenses for today and last time.”
On Friday, Logan had been kicking himself for not remembering to get a receipt from the cab driver. He’d assumed Klass would make him track everything if he wanted to get reimbursed. “It didn’t cost me this much to get here,” he felt compelled to point out.