by Lane Hayes
Readers love the
Right and Wrong Stories
from LANE HAYES
The Right Words
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The Wrong Man
“The Wrong Man is a fabulous journey that I am so very pleased to have taken.”
—The Novel Approach
“…a quiet, enjoyable read of getting it right the second time around.”
—Joyfully Jay
By LANE HAYES
BETTER THAN STORIES
Better Than Good
Better Than Chance
Better Than Friends
RIGHT AND WRONG STORIES
The Right Words
The Wrong Man
The Right Time
Published by DREAMSPINNER PRESS
http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com
Copyright
Published by
DREAMSPINNER PRESS
5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886 USA
http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of author imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The Right Time
© 2015 Lane Hayes.
Cover Art
© 2015 Aaron Anderson.
[email protected]
Cover content is for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted on the cover is a model.
All rights reserved. This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of international copyright law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. Any eBook format cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press, 5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886, USA, or http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/.
ISBN: 978-1-63476-216-8
Digital ISBN: 978-1-63476-217-5
Library of Congress Control Number: 2015905064
First Edition June 2015
Printed in the United States of America
This paper meets the requirements of
ANSI/NISO Z39.48-1992 (Permanence of Paper).
To those who embrace laughter
and know the joy of simply being.
For me… Bob.
One
“Is it really possible to tell someone else what one feels?”
― Leo Tolstoy
THE SWEEPING views of the Pacific from the ninth-floor balcony were impressive. An endless ribbon of golden beach and brilliant blue ocean beyond. It was a different slice of California coastline than the quieter one I was accustomed to in Oxnard. In the off-season, young, hip professionals, and those with Hollywood aspirations frequented the beaches. They knew to take advantage before summertime when the area catered to tourists who visited from far and wide to take in the wonders of the entertainment capital of the world. I didn’t care about being close to the action. My only request was to be near the water. As I gazed out to sea, looking past the traffic on Ocean Boulevard and ignoring the bright lights of the Santa Monica Pier in the distance, I decided the view alone could make this the ideal temporary home for me.
Brandon’s animated conversation pulled me from my reverie. I overheard him pointing out the luxury condo’s state-of-the-art kitchen to his boyfriend and smiled as Jake repeated “that’s cool” for the third time in under two minutes. I took one last gulp of fresh ocean air before joining my friends inside.
“Well? What do you think? I told you it was modern and fabulous. You like?” Brandon stood with his arms outstretched in the middle of the great room like a proud game show host showing a prize to the winning contestant.
“I like it. A lot. It’s a good location. Close enough to my project headquarters but still near the beach.”
“You can walk across the street to surf. And if the waves aren’t big enough, Malibu is close,” Jake added helpfully with a grin.
I nodded and made a show of examining the clean lines of the kitchen at the far end of the spacious room, though in fact, Brandon and Jake had my attention. They were an intriguing couple. A study in opposites.
Jake was a good-looking, unassuming firefighter with dark blond hair, blue eyes, and a muscular physique. He was one of those rare people who shunned pretense in favor of enjoying the simple pleasures in life, like hanging out with his boyfriend and his dog. He didn’t care about fashion, cars, or having the latest and greatest gadgets and gizmos. Life had dealt him a few blows in his youth, which undoubtedly influenced his Spartan outlook on life.
Brandon on the other hand was… ultrafabulous. Personalitywise he was a combination of over-the-top meets down-to-earth. Bran was a mixed-race beauty blessed with runway-model features, a lean, toned physique, and gorgeous hazel eyes that complemented his darker skin. He was the first to admit a weakness for designer goods and fine dining, but he also had a huge heart and was quick to offer assistance to anyone in need. Including a shmuck like me, who hadn’t been as welcoming as I might have been when we were introduced over a year ago. “Kill ’em with kindness” was his motto, and it worked. Sure, he was overly familiar at times, but he was also unfailingly generous, genuine, and compassionate. Perhaps I hadn’t understood the blatant adoration in Jake’s eyes at first, but now I could simply appreciate that Bran made Jake very happy. And that was what mattered.
“If you love, then you should take. Should I tell Alex you’re interested?” Bran raised one brow in query.
“Yes.” I chuckled when he squealed like a kid. “You told him I’d only need it for six months, right? The project I’m working on in LA is slated for completion by February.”
“Yawn, yawn. Yes. I told him, and he was cool with it. This is an investment property he was about to put on the market, so your timing is perfect. He said he’d wait till next year now. Win-win. I’ll tell him to e-mail you the contract, and you can iron out the details with him about when you want to move in, etcetera. Did I tell you he lives next door? And my best friend, Luke, and his boyfriend, Michael, own the upstairs unit. They stay there when they have extended business in LA. Lucky you! You’ll have a built-in set of friends!”
“Uh….”
Jake laughed at my pained expression. He knew me well. The last thing I wanted was insta-buddies. I had friends, and I liked my quiet life in Oxnard. This was a temporary arrangement while I was in Los Angeles overseeing a new project development downtown. I was here to do a job. Maybe I’d occasionally see Jake and Bran, but otherwise I was on my own, and that was exactly how I liked it.
Bran shot a look between us but let my less than enthusiastic response slide. Jake wrapped his arm around his boyfriend’s waist and kissed his cheek, then pulled back with a smile before turning to me.
“Are you coming by for dinner?”
“No, thank you. I need to get back.�
��
Bran tugged at Jake’s hand. “We should probably get home to Mack.”
I smiled at the mention of their fourteen-year-old yellow Lab as I took one last glance around the smartly furnished condo’s interior. It was stunning, with a spacious open great room, contemporary sleek lines, and high ceilings. I had the sudden notion six months away from my usual routine and the specter of heartache was exactly what I needed. A new beginning.
TWO WEEKS later I was completely settled into my new, temporary home. There wasn’t much to bring from Oxnard. I wasn’t selling or renting my own house on the sand, and the condo had come furnished. It was only a matter of packing some clothes and my surfboard. I tended to travel lightly, so I doubted I’d go back other than to occasionally make sure my house was still standing. Thankfully I had friends in the area who could do that for me too.
As I tied my running shoes, I made a mental list of items I wanted to tackle over the weekend. There were spreadsheets and slides to prepare for a meeting with a persnickety architect and an abrasive city official next week. If I concentrated on the numbers and content, I might be able to forget I was dreading the potentially caustic encounter. My tolerance for bullshit was exceptionally low. Knowing I’d have to put up with it to a degree made my skin crawl.
I gave myself a mental smack upside the head. What I really needed was to stop thinking about work at all. It was a beautiful Saturday in early August. The cloudless sky was a gorgeous shade of blue, and the temperature was a perfect seventy-five degrees. Ideal conditions to burn off some excess energy and enjoy the weather before I got back to my computer. I grabbed my cell, tucked my condo key in my black workout shorts, and made my way to the elevator.
I glanced over e-mails as I waited and was about to respond to one particularly annoying one when loud Spanish music spilled into the corridor. It was silenced a moment later, then followed by a slamming door and pieces of a one-sided conversation coming closer. Great. I didn’t feel like sharing an elevator with some idiot talking on a cell phone. I actually didn’t feel like sharing the ride at all. I hit the button again hoping the extra bit of pressure I applied would command the doors to open before the moron rounded the corner and jumped in with me.
No such luck. I was trapped. And the worst part was I’d realized I was going to be meeting my landlord for the first time. The music and now the voice speaking into the phone were Spanish. I knew Alex was Latino, thus my clever deduction. Unfortunately, the selectively social part of me reared its ugly head. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. Certainly not the friend of a friend whom I owed a certain amount of gratitude to for agreeing to let me lease his amazing condo with short notice. I’d have to put on my best friendly face and be… nice. So much for new beginnings, I groused crankily. I was a lone wolf, and it was a joke to think a change of address would make a difference. I took a deep breath and gave my attention back to my e-mails. Where was the fucking elevator?
“Sí, sí. Yeah, okay. Y tú también. Bye.”
I sensed his presence but didn’t look up until I heard a bing. I stepped inside and politely held the door before glancing inquisitively at the man standing outside the car with his dark shaggy head bent over his phone. He had to have heard the sound too. Why wasn’t he getting in? God, I really hoped he wasn’t one of those annoying types who thought the world stopped to wait for them. My neighbor slash landlord might just be the type to bug the shit out of me without me saying two words to the guy. Patience, I warned myself. It was a good thing I was going for a run. My mood was dangerous. Everything had the potential to irritate me.
“You going down?” I was proud of my neutral tone in light of the tension I could feel radiating from my body. I was getting myself worked up over, what? Sharing an elevator? Talking to someone I’d never met? Fuck, I was a head case. I’d already decided I didn’t care for this guy anyway. He was probably a self-absorbed prick, a real jerk—
“Hi there! Sorry about that. My sister can talk like crazy. I’ve been trying to get off the phone for fifteen minutes. I’m Alex, by the way. I live in 910. Whoa. Wait! You’re Bran and Jake’s friend, right?”
All negative thoughts flew out the window the moment he looked up and met my gaze. Alex emanated effusive sincerity with a radiant smile. And the guy was stunningly handsome. His dark hair was longish and curled at his nape and around his ears. He had a wide, generous mouth, even angular features, and twinkling green eyes. He was someone you literally wanted to look at more than once. He stepped into the elevator, put his cell in the pocket of his workout shorts, and extended his right hand.
“I’ve been so busy lately. I apologize for not stopping by to introduce myself. Alex Reyes. Pleased to meet you.”
“Nate Erickson. Nice to meet you too. Thank you for renting your place out to me at short notice. I appreciate it.”
I shook his hand and was immediately struck by an odd sense of awareness. His hand was large, almost the same size as mine, though I was easily four inches taller at six foot four. His skin was hot to the touch too, as though he burned warmer than most. Why I noticed either of those things was a mystery. I gave him a brief smile and pulled my hand away before looking up at the digital display on the elevator panel. I wasn’t good at making small talk. And other than to thank him, I was at a loss.
Alex didn’t have the same concerns. He waved off my thanks with a broad smile and launched into the various amenities offered in the building as the elevator doors opened onto the lush, sunlit lobby with its teak-paneled walls opposite a generous bank of floor-to-ceiling windows bathing the stylish entry in natural light. I listened with half an ear as I observed my landlord.
He was dressed to work out like me in dark running shorts and a snug-fitting white short-sleeved shirt. A tattoo of a cross with some intricate design on his right bicep was partially hidden by the sleeve. I noticed the contrast of his olive skin against the crisp white of his shirt. The juxtaposition of his designer workout duds and running shoes to his moppish curly dark hair and the body ink made him look like a rock star. Or an athlete.
I forgot for a moment Alex was an athlete. A former professional soccer player. Bran had given me a brief bio on the guy, but I wasn’t concerned with the personal angle. I didn’t plan on getting to know him as anyone other than the guy I wrote a check to once a month. However, as the memory of Bran’s colorful description resurfaced, I had to admit he was correct. Alex Reyes was as Bran had put it, “one sexy man.”
“The fitness center has some great equipment, but don’t use it,” he was saying in a mischievous tone.
The sparkle in his eyes begged me to ask him why. I complied with a reluctant smile as I shifted restlessly from one foot to the other, willing myself not to check my watch. I didn’t want to be rude, though I was anxious to get on with my run. Not to mention I was feeling uncomfortable with how ultra-aware of him I seemed to be. His looks, the way he was dressed… that shit never registered with me. I couldn’t begin to contemplate why I noticed now.
“Because mine is better. Come by, and check it out sometime. I’ll give you the friend of a friend discount.” He winked as he moved toward the glass doors.
Alex stopped by one of the large topiaries outside the building and pulled his leg behind him to stretch his quads. I stood like an idiot watching him for a moment before mirroring his pose. Fuck. It looked like he was going running too.
“A friend discount for what? A gym?” I asked, carrying on the topic he’d abandoned in the lobby.
“Yeah. I own a gym in West Hollywood near Bran’s store on Melrose. It’s been open for about a year, and it’s been awesome. Kind of surprised me it took off so well in a way because the one thing WeHo has no shortage of is places to work out.”
“That’s probably the case in most of Southern California, right?”
Alex chuckled good-naturedly before changing his stretch to a lunge position. He gazed up at me and seemed to give me a longer look as if really noticing me for the first time. I
caught our reflections in the glass windows and almost laughed at how we were dressed similarly but couldn’t look any different if we tried. I was tall and lean with brown hair, fair skin, and yeah, glasses. The ones I currently wore were prescription sunglasses. However, my Prada eyewear wasn’t worn for vanity purposes. The truth was my world was hopelessly out of focus without them. I knew I was considered good-looking, but I certainly didn’t have rock star sex appeal. I probably had something closer to professorial geek appeal. If there was such a thing.
“Yeah, there are no shortages of places to work out. Most gyms offer a lot of choices or they specialize in one thing.” His dark eyes twinkled again. It was clear I had been cued once again to ask a question.
“What do you specialize in?” I felt my smile widen in response to his contagious grin. He was really kind of… cute.
It was weird to associate that adjective with a man, but it fit. Alex was engaging, charming, and really cute. Obviously I needed to get laid. It had been way too long since I’d been with a woman if I was nonchalantly sizing up a guy, I thought as I adjusted my baseball cap.
“Hard-core workouts for athletes or those who want to push their physical limit and see if they can keep up with intense strength training. Which way are you heading? Venice Beach is this way. Come on.” He pointed left and stepped out to cross the street to make his way toward the boardwalk.
I considered his retreating back for a couple seconds. This wasn’t what I’d had in mind. I never ran with a partner. Ever. I preferred my solitude in most daily activities, but it was unreasonable to hope to be left alone in business, so I genuinely looked forward to a little quiet when I exercised. But there was something about Alex. I couldn’t begin to explain why I followed him instead of making an excuse so I could get on with my run in peace, but I did.
“Do you run often? There are a ton of great trails around here. One of my favorites is a six-mile trek up to Will Rogers Beach. I’m only going a couple miles today ’cause I need to get back to work. Running on a treadmill is just not the same as being in the great outdoors, you know?”