Landry snorted and then covered his mouth. “I’m sorry. That was rude. It’s just ‘It’s fine’ sounds a helluva lot like ‘Fuck you.’”
“Oh God,” Dover said, laughing a bit himself. “That’s not what I mean, I’m sorry.”
Landry waved his hand and moved past Dover to the sinks to wash up and straighten his hair in the mirror. He looked flushed, as though he’d maybe had a few more drinks than Dover. He also smelled really good.
“Don’t worry. I promise, I’ll make it up to you. I’ll be sure the window facing your booth will have an excellent view.”
“Why? Are you planning to model?” Oh, God, did I actually say that?
Landry’s shock was evident. Dover knew he couldn’t take it back. He stood a little taller and kicked his chin out. Maybe all the drinks were a little strong tonight. No way he would have been brave enough to say that.
Landry’s cheeks reddened further, and he dried his hands quickly. He stepped close, really close, well into Dover’s personal space.
“That could be arranged. I was actually going to ask you to model. Perhaps we can pose together.” His voice had taken on a breathy quality that made Dover’s heart race. Heat radiated off Landry, or perhaps it was Dover’s own libido coming to life, warming him from the inside out at the thought of seeing Landry in fewer clothes. But then he picked up on what Landry said.
“Me? Model? No—”
“Oh, please? Why not? It’ll be fun, and you are absolutely stunning, don’t you know that?”
Landry reached up and twirled a loose strand of Dover’s long hair around his fingertip, a quiet moan issuing from his throat.
Dover swallowed and absently swayed closer to Landry, their chests brushing, the contact giving Dover goose bumps. “I—”
Landry closed the distance, cradled Dover’s face in his soft hands, and pressed his lips to Dover’s, taking him so by surprise, he groaned. He didn’t pull away. He stood leaning in, memorizing the feel of Landry’s soft lips—which had some sort of tingly lip balm on them—touching his own and every point of contact between them. Landry’s stubble burned his skin, and Dover wanted closer, wanted to feel that burn on other places. Landry smelled like cherries, menthol, and liquor; the latter so strong it brought tears to Dover’s eyes. It was enough to wake him. What the hell was he doing kissing someone, a fair-someone, in the fucking john at the all-hands meeting?
“I’m… wow…. Dover. I—”
Dover took a step back, stunned. He reached up to touch his still-tingling lips. “Excuse me.”
Rather than freak out in front of the guy, Dover pushed past him and practically ran for the table he was sharing with Miranda. He slid into a chair next to her, and put his head in his hands.
“Where were you? They’re already done talking about the schedule and the build weekends—”
“Sorry. Did I, uh, miss anything?”
Miranda looked at him and blinked. She leaned closer. “Why do you smell like Carmex?”
“I—never mind. Look, are you almost ready to go?”
“What’s wrong, Dover? Are you okay? I know you said you were fine, and not like I believed you, but—”
“See you soon, Dover.”
Miranda’s jaw dropped as Landry walked by their table and winked at Dover.
“Let’s go—”
“You are going to tell me what happened pronto, old man.” Miranda maneuvered her way around the table and waddled toward the door, holding her back as she went.
Once they got in the car, Dover relayed what had happened in the restroom. “He only kissed me because he was drunk.”
“No, no, no, Dover, my dear. That’s not how it works. Alcohol lowers inhibitions—it doesn’t brainwash people into doing something they didn’t want to do in the first place.”
“I’m sure there are people who would disagree with you.”
“Yeah, but not in this scenario.” She glanced at Dover out of the corner of her eye. “What did you do?”
“I’m not sure. I wasn’t exactly expecting it.”
“Well, did you like it?”
Dover had to think about it for a minute, which made Miranda even more impatient with him.
“I don’t know! It was… unexpected. But….”
“But what? Come on! You’re making me crazy over here! Were his lips soft? I need to know these things!”
“He had some sort of lip balm on.”
Miranda gasped. “Carmex! I knew I smelled Carmex on you. He must have given you more than a peck if you smelled like him.”
Dover couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped. “Yeah. More than a peck, less than a French, are you satisfied?”
“The question is, are you?”
No, he wasn’t satisfied. That realization happened instantly. He didn’t have to think about it. Yeah, he’d practically run out on the guy, but it wasn’t because he hadn’t liked his kiss or hadn’t wanted more, but that was the problem. Dover preferred solitude to company. He’d tried his luck with pretty faces and had never found what he’d imagined he’d want in a relationship. There was something about Landry, though. The way he smelled, the way he was so comfortable in his own skin despite his young age, and the way he seemed to really see Dover… as though no matter how hard Dover tried to blend into the woodwork, Landry still saw him. It was unsettling and also a little bit exciting. But then what did they even have in common besides Dickens? Not music, not personalities…. The situation felt hopeless.
But that kiss….
Chapter Four
October
Landry
“YOU STILL look like the cat who ate the canary, Landry James. Are you going to tell us what happened last night?”
Gwen, Trudy, and Landry arrived at his shop bright and early Saturday morning, ready to pack up their inventory for fair. The next weekend they’d be able to start building their booth, and the following week, they’d be moving in, so this was their last shot. The shop would be open during the week. Landry’s grandmother, mother, and aunt would be helping out while he and his best girlfriends worked the lucrative holiday fair.
It was true. Despite feeling a tad hung over after the three of them had done several rounds of shots with some of the other cast members, Landry hadn’t been able to stop smiling. He’d gone home, fallen into bed fully clothed, and proceeded to dream about the elusive Dover Billings.
He’d followed him into the restroom with the sole purpose of apologizing to him. He’d taken one look at the man he’d fantasized about for months, and he’d acted. Dover’s lips had felt like heaven; the bitter taste of scotch had made Landry crazy. He’d wanted to explore with his tongue, his hands…. Basically, he’d wanted a helluva lot more than a quick kiss in a bathroom. He just hoped it was enough to maybe get Dover thinking Landry wasn’t someone to be avoided.
“I ran into Dover. And then my lips ran into his. As is commonplace in a men’s restroom.”
Gwen squealed. “Oh! He’s so cute!”
“How did he react?” Trudy asked.
Landry’s smile fell a little. “I’m pretty sure I freaked him out. He kind of ran away. First time that’s happened to me. It kind of makes me want him even more, is that creepy?”
His two best friends laughed hysterically, clutching their stomachs while they gasped and barked like seals.
“He’s so serious! I can only imagine he panicked.”
“He kind of did.” Dover had frozen for a millisecond before he’d kissed Landry back with gusto. Landry had expected perhaps a tentative kiss, or even an abrupt rejection. Dover’s kiss had been a welcome surprise. He had a feeling he’d only felt the tip of the pent-up passion iceberg within the quiet man.
“Are you going to message him? Maybe take him out?” Trudy had her hands full of fabric, her expression so hopeful.
“I don’t know how to proceed, honestly. Do I press on, be persistent? Or will that scare him away even more?”
Gwen brought over a box for Tr
udy and helped her pack it carefully, taking care not to rip the silk or get runs in the delicate pieces. “If you ask me, you are going to need to approach this with caution. From what I heard, Dover hardly talks to anyone except his friend Miranda, who works with him, and some of the old-timers. You know he’s been doing fair since he was a teenager? His father used to play Bob Cratchit every year.”
“Really? So his father was an actor and he’s the quiet artist. I’m intrigued. What else do your sources tell you? Wait, are we talking about actual people sources, or from one of your readings?”
Gwen threw a tape measure at him, and he caught it in one hand. He couldn’t help teasing her. He trusted Gwen’s intuitions on people, but he wasn’t sure he bought into her tarot reading. He needed something more tangible when it came to problem-solving.
“Don’t sass me! It just so happened that last year I got to know the gals from the Dickens Family Parlor, and their director has known him for a long time. I asked about him, and she gave me the goods.” She rested her hands on her hips. “You know, his mom died when he was a young teenager, maybe before high school even. Stroke, I think. Totally unexpected. He and his father were really close, but she said he had a hard time of it.”
Landry unspooled the tape measure and wound it around his finger over and over. “He told me that when I saw him over the summer. It’s so sad.” He couldn’t imagine what his life would have been like without his mom. Dad was a good man, but his mother and grandmother were his biggest fans. They supported all of his thespian dreams and his choice to follow his grandmother’s footsteps and become a well-sought-after tailor and costumer. He’d worked his way up from the shop to local theater, and he’d even done a few small-budget films, with grand designs to do more. His ultimate goal would be large productions in the city or even Hollywood. It could happen. In the meantime, he enjoyed the shop and the events. He’d bought out his grandmother’s business in Oakland and used his trust fund to modernize things a bit. Life was good. He was close to his family and worked with his two best friends. Maybe it was too much to hope for: finding a companion. Couldn’t hurt to dream—and he’d been dreaming about Dover—but perhaps he should be satisfied with his life for once instead of reaching for that next milestone. He was only twenty-seven. There was time, even if he was an impatient bastard.
“Speaking of the Naughty Postcards show… the director’s looking for a male understudy.” Trudy looked pointedly at Landry.
He scoffed at her. “You think just because I am an unapologetic exhibitionist, I would jump at the chance to be in her show that I loved so much last year?” He tapped his chin with one finger. “You’d be correct!”
Trudy clapped her hands in delight while Gwen rolled her eyes dramatically. “Great, so now I’m going to have to cover for both of you while you dillydally with those nudists.”
“They’re not nudists,” Trudy said with a frown. “The Postcards are naughty, but not pornography. It was so much fun last year. Oh, please say you’ll do it, Landry! You’ll be amazing. I heard they were going to use a theme of the Olympics this year. I’d love to see you pose as one of the famous statues, wearing only a wreath of laurel leaves… and a nude thong.”
“Sign me up,” Landry exclaimed, more than ready to shed his clothes for the good of the order. Hell, he’d done a production of Hair in college. He could certainly go full monty in the name of Dickens.
“Great! You’ll have to come to the workshops next weekend. I’m not sure you were planning to….”
Landry shrugged. “As long as Gwen doesn’t mind bossing our handymen around.”
Gwen’s eyes flared. “I will hate no such thing! Tell me, is that sex-on-a-stick Terrence coming? He’s way too hot for his own good.”
Landry smiled. Terrence and his brother, Sam, were two of Landry’s college buddies. They’d been stagehands in the theater program with Landry at Cal State East Bay. They’d gone into business as general contractors, but they were always down to help with stagecraft, and what Landry wanted to put on at Dickens was an entire experience for his patrons. A lovely shop, plenty of personal attention, beverages, and the finest corsets and other garments their hard-earned dollars could buy. Everyone deserved to feel beautiful when dressing up for their favorite occasions.
“Terrence and Sam will be building the booth for us, under your direct supervision. I’ll give you the plans, and you’ll be the perfect person to crack the whip on those two.”
Gwen fanned herself. “Fantastic. Can I order them to work shirtless?”
“You can try.” Landry didn’t think it would take too much to get Terrence shirtless. Gwen was a gorgeous lady with dark brown skin and natural hair. She was a trained opera singer with a voice that could slay whole auditoriums, even a cappella, and she was a damn fine seamstress. He’d hired her right after taking over the business, and she made a perfect second-in-command. She had many suitors trying to win her affections.
“Do or do not, there is no try,” Trudy said in a Yoda voice. She was an adorable oddball with dyed black hair cut in heavy straight across bangs and pigtails with knee-high socks and minidresses whenever she wasn’t in costume. She was a cosplayer extraordinaire, and her talents had been a welcome addition to Landry’s shop. If only she could do math. Gwen and Landry took turns overseeing her orders and measurements. She totally understood and encouraged their oversight, fully acknowledging that her math skills left much to be desired.
“Well, then it’s settled. How do I get in touch with the director? Should I just email? Text? Carrier pigeon?”
“She’s on the directory,” Trudy said, pulling out her phone. “We all are.” She shoved it in his face. “Dover’s number is here as well.”
Landry’s lip curled into a smile. It was tempting, to be sure. He fired off a quick email to the director of the show, and then he sent a text to Dover.
Should I apologize for last night?
Chapter Five
October
Dover
“WHO IS it?”
Darwish leaned over Dover’s shoulder as he frowned at his phone. They’d been practicing for three hours for their show the next weekend, and it was definitely time for a water break. It had been a while since they’d gigged, maybe two months this time. The guys in the band were busy with life, especially Darwish, who’d gotten scary news this week. Miranda had started having contractions, and the doctor put her on bedrest to try to keep the bun in the oven for a few more weeks. Her mother was staying with them to be of support, which meant Darwish was free to hang with the guys for the evening, and given his current distracted state, he really needed the break.
“Nunya,” Carl said. He was their rhythm guitar player, and he and Darwish riffed on each other constantly.
“Who?” Darwish asked.
“None of ya business, dude. Let the man get some play.”
“How do you know he’s getting play?” Darwish tucked his pick into the neck of his guitar before setting the instrument aside. His long hair was sticking to his face. He pulled it back in a hair tie and scowled at Carl.
“Yeah,” Dover asked. “What makes you assume this is about play?”
Carl shook his head. “Look at you, man. Rubbing at your chin, pulling at your lip. Damn, Dover, you got someone?”
Darwish’s living room either got hotter all of a sudden, or Dover’s face was flushed: a dead giveaway he had something to hide.
“Aw, shit. Dude!” Carl must have forgotten he was on Dover’s side here. “Who is it? What’s up?”
“I refuse to answer that question on the grounds I might incriminate myself—”
“Incriminate?” Darwish asked, shocked. “Dover, what have you been up to?”
Dover tapped out who is this? before this texting conversation went anywhere near improper. He had a feeling it was Landry, but he wasn’t sure.
Was there someone else who accosted you in a restroom last night who needs to apologize?
Dover knew it was u
seless to fight the smile creeping onto his face, but he also knew he was about to get a world of shit from his best friends. He tried to be hasty with his response.
Not that I recall. And no need to apologize.
Carl whooped and did a little improvisational spanking dance around Darwish’s living room.
Darwish stood there gaping at him.
Greg, their drummer, walked in and stopped in the doorway. “What did I miss?”
Carl’s dance devolved into a series of pelvic thrusts. “Dover’s gonna get some, Dover’s gonna get some.”
“Wow,” Dover said. “How old are we?”
“Who is it? Do I know him?” Darwish asked.
Dover knew it was pointless to hide the truth. Miranda had probably told him—
“Holy shit! Landry? He texted you?”
Dover turned his back as his phone buzzed again, and both Darwish and Carl looked over his shoulder.
“He accosted you in the bathroom?” Carl asked. “Oh, shit. Dude, we need details.”
“He was drunk. It didn’t mean anything.”
“Uh, I’ve been around a lot of drunk dudes, and none of them kissed me in the can. That’s some bold moves.”
“But Landry?” Darwish asked. “I thought you guys were like rivals or something. Miranda said you had a stick up your ass about him. What’s the deal? Wait, were you drunk too? You must have been. You don’t usually kiss random dudes. Or dudes you have beef with.”
“I don’t have beef with him. He’s just… different. We have nothing in common.”
“Well it’s not like you have to have anything in common to kiss someone in a public restroom. You think too much, Dover.”
He wished it was that easy, but Landry didn’t mean anything by it. He couldn’t have. He—
Okay, I’m sorry it was in the restroom, but I’m not sorry I kissed you. I want to see you. I think you want to see me too, at least I hope so. Can we make this happen?
“Invite him to the gig,” Carl said. “I gotta see this dude.”
A Peace Offering Page 3