Leaning Into Series: The Complete Box Set

by Hayes, Lane

  “You were a quiet rebel.”

  “Maybe I was. It doesn’t take much to push the envelope in a house where everything is forbidden. Our time with anything other than prayer was limited. I had to sneak watch TV when everyone went to bed. I was willing to take the consequences if I got caught. My mind was on fire. There were guys with long hair wearing makeup and playing guitar. Girls with ripped tights, eyeliner for days, and badass attitudes. I didn’t necessarily want to be them, but I wanted what they represented. Freedom. A bright new world was happening somewhere out there…and I was stuck in Podunk, Utah.”

  “So you got yourself kicked out.”

  “Yeah. I did.”

  “Really? I was joking. Did you kiss a boy on purpose?”

  “I took a chance but yeah, I had a loose plan. The boy I kissed was the eighteen-year-old friend of a neighbor’s second cousin. He was leaving town the next day, and I doubted he’d ever come back. Other than our three-day clandestine make-out sessions, he hated his visit. He couldn’t wait to get back on the road and head to San Francisco. He’d never been but everyone said it was awesome. And it was a safe place to be yourself. I begged him to take me with him. I had this great idea that we’d kiss in front of my house, wave to my parents and get the fuck out of dodge, like a scene from a teenage movie. If my dad hadn’t been standing so close, it might have worked. Instead of my heroic farewell, I got the shit kicked out of me so bad I could hardly breathe. I’ll never forget the sheer terror I felt when the car drove away without me, and I was left with my dad in the middle of the street.” Wes gave me a lopsided smile and nudged my knee under the table playfully. “You know the rest. It was a crappy exit, but I’m not sorry it happened. I needed to fall…to start from zero, to make a new beginning. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t be here with you now.”

  “I bet you’re rethinking your strategic genius,” I joked.

  Wes chuckled as he pulled out his wallet and dropped a few bills on the table. “Nope. I like this. And I like you just the way you are.”

  “That was sweet. Cheesy, but sweet. I like you too.”

  “Actually, I’m crazy about you.”

  I opened my mouth and gaped at him for a long moment. “You are?”

  “I am. You have the most beautiful…”

  He didn’t say anything for a heartbeat or two. Long enough to make me flustered.

  “What? Eyes?” I licked my lips and cast a covert glance toward the other occupants as the restaurant door swung open. I didn’t do public displays. I was torn between wanting to run and wanting to see where he was going with this.

  “Mind. Your exterior is lovely, but your mind is a beautiful mystery. I want to unravel you and put you back together.”

  I swallowed nervously. “Is that another poem?”

  “No, it’s just me telling you how I feel.”

  I didn’t know how to respond. It was, oddly enough, the perfect compliment. I felt the same way about him. I’d thought it many times but couldn’t put the sentiment into words. I wanted to capture his words and this moment forever like a butterfly in a net. I wanted to sink into the boyfriend-esque feel of gazing with starry eyes across from someone who wanted to feed me breakfast and play games with me. I’d had lovers who wanted to take care of me in the past. Lisa said I was like an absent-minded professor she worried would lose his way home. Eric left me notes reminding me what to do and what not to say. Hell, he still did. Wes, on the other hand, didn’t let me get away with anything. He demanded my attention and held me accountable. Somehow, he’d figured out how to muddle through my messy mind and reach me.

  As we stared at each other over the sticky table at the aging greasy spoon, I felt myself begin to fall. It was a slow-moving sway rather than a wicked crash. Like a feather floating on a summer breeze. There was no hurry, no real destination…only the certain pull of gravity gently coaxing it to Earth. I swallowed hard and tried to think of something clever to say to end the odd free fall. Nothing came to mind. My mind was utterly clear. Confused still, but clear.

  Chapter 10

  Traffic was light on the drive to San Francisco. We listened to the radio and talked about anything from the thick fog rising over the hills to the east to how to make a drool-worthy grilled cheese sandwich. Wes encouraged me to rest, which may have been an indication the cheese conversation wasn’t exactly riveting, but there was something spellbinding about entering the city by the Bay. It was like Oz. A small but beautiful and diverse haven with a Golden Gate Bridge leading to the great beyond. I’d lived in or around the city since college, but I was still in awe of the steep streets, the eclectic mix of Victorian and modern architecture, and the energetic vibe. I had more than enough money to build a multi-million-dollar glass and steel palace with ocean views from every room, but I never would. This was home.

  I was more exhausted than I realized when we got back to my place that afternoon, and the lure of lounging naked with my lover watching a Mad Max marathon on a drizzly evening was more enticing than making a plan to go out. We were happy ordering take-out, fighting over who had more of the throw blanket, and tossing pieces of popcorn into each other’s mouths. I was where I wanted to be…lying naked, half-sprawled over Wes’s warm body, listening to the rain and the sound of his breathing while bathed in the eerie glow from the giant flat screen. If this was a dream, I wanted to savor it for as long as possible.

  I woke the next morning to coffee in bed with a handsome man. I laid my head on his shoulder and sipped mine while he read the newspaper. He laughed when I kicked it away and then groaned when I buried my head in his lap. We abandoned our coffee and slipped under the covers with soft sighs and gentle caresses. Every time we came together like this, I didn’t think it could get better. But it did. I thought I preferred rough, hard, almost savage fucking when I was with a man. I didn’t know if it was latent association or simply something based on limited experience. Everything was different with Wes. He made love to me. He stilled me with tender kisses when I tried to hasten his movement and urge him to go faster. He slowed me down. Just enough to appreciate the nuances of every touch, until the soft sighs and deep kisses took on a meaning I didn’t know how to quantify.

  And though it was completely out of character, I didn’t overanalyze. I went with the flow. Which was how I found myself wandering Fisherman’s Wharf, bumping elbows with awe-struck tourists craning their necks to get a glimpse of Alcatraz through the parting fog. After a day and a half spent lounging in bed, it felt nice to be outside. I lifted my face to the sliver of sunshine and breathed in the fresh, cool air as we sidestepped a street artist taking refuge behind leafy branches before jumping out to scare unsuspecting passersby. I’d seen the schtick too many times to feign surprise, but I chuckled along with the other bystanders and the leaf man when Wes backed up a step. He grinned good-naturedly before fishing a five-dollar bill from his pocket and sticking it the panhandler’s money jar.

  “Please tell me that wasn’t the first time you’ve seen that act,” I huffed incredulously.

  “Of course not. I know that guy.”

  “How?”

  “He comes into the shelter every once in a while when it’s too cold or too crowded on the streets. Actually, he may not be the guy I know, but I know plenty of people like him.”

  “Were you like him? I mean, did you panhandle to get by?”

  “Yeah, sometimes. Thankfully, I was rescued before life on the streets became a norm. It was scary as hell being out on my own at night. The drug addicts and drunks were bad enough, but the mentally ill population is off the charts here. And they aren’t always obvious. I remember meeting a guy dressed in a fancy suit strolling around Union Square talking about the weather in Vermont. A month later I saw him again on Market near the Tenderloin. Same suit, same story but he was filthy and wild-eyed. Someone told me he was a mentally ill transient from a wealthy family who habitually stopped taking his meds. His brother would come find him once a month, clean him up, feed him,
and get him the medication he needed, but he always found his way back here. He said he could see the future by looking into a cup of coffee. I think it was his way of conning his daily java for free,” Wes said with a half laugh. “I knew another woman who swore she could see ghosts from a century ago. She’d walk along the Mission talking to her invisible friends who she described in crazy detail.”

  I listened with half an ear as he continued until the foot traffic became too thick to walk side by side and hold a conversation. Once we passed through the more crowded section, he pulled my arm toward a vendor selling clam chowder in bread bowls. He bought two and handed me one before moving to an empty bench with a partial view of the Bay. I stirred my soup lazily as he continued his story where he left off.

  “She could describe the buttons on their shirts and the shine on their shoes and—”

  “Did you believe her?”

  Wes gave me an odd look then took a careful sip of chowder before answering. “I think she believed she saw them. That doesn’t mean what she thought she saw was based in reality.”

  “Hmm.”

  “What’s on your mind? You’ve got that faraway look in your eyes like you’re thinking deep, complicated thoughts.”

  “What if I told you I see things?”

  “What kinds of things?” he asked nonchalantly.

  “Numbers mostly. Equations. Like now, they’re right…here.” I pointed to a space in my periphery and traced the first few variables with my forefinger. “Do you think that’s crazy?”

  “Do you?”

  “No, but I’m used to it, and I know better than to brag about seeing invisible numbers. It doesn’t have the same cool factor as seeing dead people,” I said with a snort.

  “Have you always seen them?”

  “I think so, but I didn’t notice them until I needed them to solve problems.”

  “And you never told anyone?”

  “I told my mom. I had to explain why I kept pointing at the simple equation I was working on to my third-grade teacher who’d put the wrong answer on the blackboard. My mom was pretty cool about it. She didn’t make me feel weird or nuts, but she did tell me to keep the numbers to myself in the future. She said I had a gift not everyone understood.”

  “She was right,” he said softly. “She sounds like she understood you pretty well.”

  “She did. At least she tried. I still miss her sometimes. I can’t tell you how many times I wished I’d never come out to my parents. I didn’t think I’d care about my dad’s reaction. I assumed it wouldn’t be good, but I didn’t think I’d lose my mom. Whatever.” I sighed heavily and picked up the plastic spoon, willing myself not to revert to childhood habits like rocking back and forth when emotions overwhelmed me.

  “Tell me what you see now.” His gentle tone coaxed me to stay with him. “Two plus two?”

  “Three x minus—here, I’ll write it down.” I plucked a pen from the inside of my coat pocket and handed my chowder to Wes. Then I flattened out one of the napkins I’d been given and copied the equation. “It’s the next layer of the code I’ve been working on.”

  “No working, baby. Give me that.” He snatched the napkin away and stuffed it into his pocket then handed me my soup. “Is it always there?”

  “Not always, but often enough that I know it’s not normal.”

  “Yeah, well…normal is overrated,” he declared before leaning forward to shoo away a seagull.

  The pesky bird wasn’t much of a diversion, but Wes’s matter-of-fact tone didn’t invite further discussion. I could have pressed. The spectrum of normality was measured by a finite number of people and was influenced by socio and economic circumstance. There was an intellectual dialogue here if either of us was interested but hey…he was right. Normal might get you into trendy clubs where you could mingle with people who dressed and acted like you, but I liked the idea of hanging out with someone who could read the future in a cup of coffee better. Normal was definitely overrated.

  * * *

  We explored the city all weekend. The weather cooperated. It was cool but sunny. We bundled up in Patagonia jackets and walked for miles. We walked along the waterfront then wandered the Presidio before catching a bus uptown to the Haight. I hadn’t been on public transportation in longer than I cared to admit. I had thought it was the same for Wes, but when he whipped out a Clipper card, I guessed I was wrong. He might not live in the city now, but he obviously knew it well. He directed us to the best Chinese restaurant in the area then to a sporting goods store where he insisted on buying a Frisbee. We made our way to Dolores Park where I proved I’d been more than honest about my hand-eye coordination. When the Frisbee sailed three feet above his head for the umpteenth time, he flopped down onto the grass and shook his head in defeat.

  I laughed hysterically then did an exaggerated runner’s pose before racing toward him and tackling him on the ground. We wrestled halfheartedly for a few minutes then sat back on the grass and raised our faces skyward to soak in the last rays of late afternoon sunshine. Then we walked to the Castro and ordered Mai Tais from a hunky bare-chested bartender who claimed it was his specialty. We sat thigh to thigh, sipping cocktails and just…talking.

  It was amazing in a way. We weren’t solving the world’s evils or discussing important literature. We were content to float from one topic to the next without any contiguous flow. A plus B rarely equaled C here. But it didn’t matter. It was about being in the moment. And for once, I was.

  In fact, I was so fixated on the shape of Wes’s mouth and the way his lips curled in ready humor that if someone hadn’t bumped my barstool I might not have looked away and noticed a familiar-looking couple nearby. I couldn’t be sure if I was right from my angle but I kept an eye on them as they stood and pulled on their jackets.

  I set my glass on the battered wooden bar and pulled out some cash then tugged at Wes’s sleeve.

  “Where are you going? I still have half a glass—”

  I snagged the drink from his hand and swallowed the rest. Damn, that was strong, I mused, swiping at my mouth as I tilted my head and motioned for him to follow me. “Hurry. Before they get away.”

  I was out the door and on the sidewalk, shoving my arms into my down jacket when Wes finally caught up to me. I spotted the two men making their way up Castro Street toward the giant rainbow flag on the corner. I picked up my pace, sidestepping around slower pedestrians to keep them in sight until a firm yank on my elbow propelled me backward.

  “Hey! Slow down and tell me what the fuck you’re doing.”

  “I think I just saw Finn with someone who looks familiar. It might be that guy who works for you.”

  “Ryan?”

  “Yes, come on,” I tugged his hand insistently and dragged him along. “They went this way.”

  “Why do you care if Finn is seeing Ryan?”

  I gave him a “That was a ridiculous question,” look and sped up when I spotted the two men crossing the street. “Because it’s fishy, that’s why. How does one of the guys who’s finagling his way into a billion dollar deal suddenly end up at a gay bar with your former lover? It’s a little too coincidental, don’t you think?”

  “Not necessarily. But what difference does it make either way? You’re the one trailing them. And how can you tell if that’s Ryan? He has a hood on.”

  “Don’t be so logical! Logic doesn’t fit here. Admit it. It’s weird!”

  Wes rolled his eyes. “I have an idea. Let’s say hello. It’s a helluva lot less weird than following them around. And more mature.”

  I scoffed. “This is hardly the time for maturity.”

  When they stopped in front of the theater, I ducked into the bakery a few doors down.

  “Now what, Sherlock?”

  I held his gaze for a long moment. “You grab us a cookie and I’ll do some reconnaissance work. Sound good?”

  “No, it sounds paranoid. I’ll buy you a cookie, but stay out of trouble.” He narrowed his eyes then tappe
d his finger on my nose. “I mean it.”

  I nodded and waited for Wes to move toward the bakery counter before I slipped outside to spy on Finn. The line had grown behind where they stood so I walked to the left nearest the building and tried to find a spot where I could eavesdrop without bringing attention to myself. I heard broken bits of their disappointingly boring conversation and most of it from Finn.

  “…the bright red ones…with the shaggy…and then he put it in…I laughed so—”

  Oh brother. Maybe Wes was right. It was cold out here and I wasn’t hearing anything that made freezing my ass off worthwhile. I was about to head back to the bakery but stopped in my tracks at the sound of Wes’s big booming voice.

  “There you are, honey! I have the penis cookies you wanted.”

  My eyes widened comically. He shot a wicked grin at me then unceremoniously thrust a chocolate-covered penis-shaped cookie into my hands. I glanced down at the phallic shaped treat complete with coconut where the balls would be. Uh. Okay.

  “Have a bite. It’s delicious,” he said as he opened his mouth wide and ate the tip off his own cookie.

  “Sure. Thanks. I—”

  “Wes?”

  “Oh hey! Hi, Ryan. What a coincidence!” Wes gushed, patting his employee on the back cheerfully.

  “Hi, there! Wow. This is funny!” Ryan turned to Finn and politely introduced us as though we were all meeting for the first time.

  I took a bite of chocolaty goodness after shaking Ryan’s hand and then Finn’s. “I didn’t realize you two knew each other.”

  “Yes. Small world, isn’t it?” Finn commented wryly.