A Guy for Christmas

by K. C. Wells

  “It’s okay, Dad,” Robin interjected. “I’ll take care of Mr. Quentin.”

  Dad gave him a grateful smile, then patted Mr. Quentin on the arm. “I’m sure Robin can answer any of your questions.” He dashed through the door, closing it behind him.

  Leaving Robin alone with Mr. Quentin.

  Robin swallowed. Somehow, he didn’t think ‘God, you look good’ was the correct way to begin a conversation. As it was, Mr. Quentin was gazing at his surroundings with obvious interest. Robin took advantage of the fact to take a good look at him.

  His eyes are stunning. They were a clear green, morphing into amber near the pupils. The dark beard that hugged most of his lower face was all kinds of sexy, as was the way his hair was longer on top, slightly curly in comparison to the shorn sides of his head. He had neat dark brows…

  …that arched up toward his hairline as he gazed at Robin, displaying a wide grin.

  Fuck. He caught me staring.

  “So…” Robin coughed. “Good to see you again, Mr. Quentin. I didn’t know you canoed.” Let’s start talking so I can forget I was ogling you and got busted.

  Mr. Quentin smiled. “And I didn’t know you worked with your dad. Is this a recent thing?”

  Robin nodded. “Since graduation.”

  “That figures.” He glanced at the gunwale Robin was working on. “You always were good with your hands.”

  Robin’s tongue had apparently decided to tie itself into a knot, and he was sure his face was bright red. It was like being back in high school, when Mr. Quentin used to wander onto the set while Robin was working on it, and Robin never had a clue what to say. “So… canoeing… Are you into any other sports?”

  Sports? For God’s sake… He must have sounded like a total loser.

  Mr. Quentin gave no sign he thought the question idiotic. “Oh yes. I love snowboarding, ice skating, and skiing. In fact, I’m a qualified ski instructor.”

  “That’s cool.” He cleared his throat. “So…”

  Mr. Quentin laughed. “If Miss Martindale could hear you now, she’d have a fit.” His dark eyes twinkled. “Didn’t you get a lecture in your English classes on the evils of starting a sentence with the word so?”

  Robin blinked. “How did you know about that?” It had been almost a weekly occurrence. He didn’t recall seeing Mr. Quentin at the back of his English class. He would definitely have noticed that.

  “She’s a friend of mine.” Mr. Quentin leaned forward almost conspiratorially. “To be honest? I get the same lecture.”

  Okay, that was cute. “You’re here to order a canoe?” God, could I sound any more like an idiot? What else would he be here for—to buy a car?

  Mr. Quentin nodded, straightening. “I’m setting myself a challenge for next year. I’m going to take part in the Adirondack Canoe Classic.”

  Robin widened his eyes. “Okay, I am seriously impressed. That’s ninety miles, isn’t it?” It was a dream of his, only Dad wouldn’t hear of it. Robin was tired of hearing the old refrain of ‘Wait a few years.’

  Waiting was boring as fuck.

  “Yup, over three days. My old Royalex canoe is nearing retirement, so I decided it was time to buy a new one.” He folded his arms and stared at Robin, his eyes twinkling. “What would be your recommendation?”

  “A RapidFire,” Robin responded without hesitation.

  Mr. Quentin arched his eyebrows. “That was fast. Now tell me why.”

  “That’s easy.” Robin was on safer ground. “It’s incredibly light, weighing only about twenty-six pounds. It’s fast, and if you’re going to do the Classic, you can fit a lot of camping gear and firewood in it. There’s plenty of space. It’s a carbon composite, with cherrywood gunwales.”

  “Is that what you’re working on?” Mr. Quentin gestured to the wood he’d been rubbing down. He crouched down to stroke it. “This is cherry, right?”

  “Yeah, that’s cherry. I think it’s such a beautiful wood.”

  Mr. Quentin rose to his feet and peered at a canoe perched on stands nearby. “Twenty-six pounds,” he mused. “Yeah, that’s light.”

  “Yes, but it’s stable enough to handle breezy days out on the lake.” Robin pointed to the canoes stacked against the wall. “We do five colors, but we can also do a custom job for whatever you want. When the canoe is made, we get you in to pick out the seat, and you go for a test paddle in the pond out back. That way, we can also choose the best paddle combination for you.”

  Mr. Quentin took a step toward the canoes. “What color is this one?” He pointed to one.

  “That’s amethyst.” It was also Robin’s favorite.

  “It’s gorgeous.” Mr. Quentin’s smile widened. “Okay, you’ve sold me. You obviously know your stuff.”

  The office door opened, and Dad came back in. “Sorry about that. I hope Robin was helpful?”

  “Extremely helpful. It’s good to see such enthusiasm for a product, not to mention a thorough knowledge of it.”

  Dad’s approving glance sent warmth through Robin.

  Mr. Quentin raised his chin and looked Dad in the eye. “Okay. How do I go about ordering a RapidFire?”

  Robin beamed. Hey, I got one. Yay me.

  Dad gestured to the door. “Let’s go into the office and we’ll get the paperwork started. You’re ordering it for the spring?”

  “Yes. I want to be ready by Labor Day for the Classic.”

  Dad gave a broad smile. “Then you’ve made a good choice.” He opened the door and stepped into the office.

  Mr. Quentin followed him but paused at the threshold. He turned back and gave Robin a warm smile. “Thanks, Robin.”

  Robin couldn’t help but return that smile. “Any time, Mr. Quentin.” He knew Mr. Quentin’s first name, of course—most kids knew their teachers’ first names—and he really wanted to use it. After all, he was out of school, and it wasn’t as if Mr. Quentin had ever been his teacher, but all the same, it felt… wrong.

  That’s the kind of thing you wait to be invited to do.

  Then he gave himself a mental kick in the butt. For fuck’s sake. Forget about his name and get back to work.

  Robin stretched in his bed, his phone in his hand. It had been a good day, and his dad was clearly proud of the job Robin had done in recommending a canoe for Mr. Quentin. He’d mentioned it when they got home that evening, and Mom had given him a hug.

  Working with his dad was going to be just fine.

  Robin closed his eyes, focusing on the way Mr. Quentin had looked. The only reason he’d volunteered to help with the set—well, reasons—were that Mr. Quentin had asked for any students who would be willing to give up their time, and that had meant spending a few hours after school with Mr. Quentin on a regular basis.

  Robin could still recall the whispered conversations among the girls in his class whenever Mr. Quentin strolled down the hallway. He was a gorgeous guy, and Robin knew from working with him that the leather jacket he always wore in school hid tattoos over his shoulder and muscled upper left arm. Thank God for the occasional hot summer day when Mr. Quentin had worn a tank top and jeans after school. Robin had tried not to drool at the sight of tanned flesh and dark blue ink as Mr. Quentin had rehearsed with his actors, while Robin pretended to work on the set and not stare at the guy’s firm ass and thick calves in those tight jeans.

  Except Robin knew it was more than the way Mr. Quentin looked. Most kids got a feel for who the good teachers were, and it wasn’t necessarily about whether they’d let the kids get away with shit. I think you know who the good guys are. And Mr. Quentin was one of the good guys. The kind of guy you knew deep down was a good person.

  His phone buzzed, and a glance at the screen told him Ryan wanted to FaceTime. “Hey. You okay?”

  Judging by the background noise, Ryan was in his dorm. “Yeah. We okay to talk?”

  “Sure. They’re watching TV.” He could hear the faint noise from the living room. “What’s up?”

  “Something I wan
ted to ask you when I was home, but I never got the chance. Plus, it was kinda awkward with Mom and Dad around.”

  Robin smirked. “Now I’m curious.”

  Ryan lay on his side on his bed, his head propped up in his hand. “I know you said you haven’t got a boyfriend, but… do you have a ‘special friend’?” He hooked his fingers in the air.

  Robin chuckled. “Nope, no special friend here.” Chance would be a fine thing.

  “Well, tell me you’re at least getting some ass—literally.” Ryan snickered at his own joke.

  Robin snorted. “What makes you think I’m gonna discuss this with you?” Not that he was surprised. Ryan had never been one for boundaries.

  “Look, you may be the older twin—”

  Robin rolled his eyes. “Dude, I was born two minutes before midnight, and you came three minutes after.”

  “Yeah, but you’re the ‘mature’ one. That’s what Dad always says. Because who in their right mind is gonna describe me as mature?”

  “Good point, but where are you going with this?”

  Ryan stilled for a moment. “All right, I’m gonna come right out with it. You’re a virgin, aren’t you?”

  Robin wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of responding to that.

  Ryan rolled onto his back, holding his phone close to his face. “I figure you need help. After all, I’m the one with all the experience when it comes to sex. So what do you want to know?”

  Robin snorted again. “From you? Nothing. And what experience?”

  “I’ve had more sex than you, so I’d say that counts, okay? So what if the plumbing is different. A hole is a hole, right?”

  He gaped at his twin. “God, I’ll bet the girls flock to you when you sweet talk them like that.”

  Ryan frowned. “There’s gotta be someone you’re interested in? Someone you think is hot?” He waggled his eyebrows. “Someone you wouldn’t kick outta bed?

  What came to mind instantly was Mr. Quentin. “There might be someone, yeah.” Strictly in his dreams, of course.

  Ryan grinned. “Now we’re getting somewhere. What’s he like?”

  There was no way Robin was going to name names. “He’s… a bit older.” Maybe twelve, thirteen years, give or take, because he had to be at least thirty.

  “Nice.” Ryan’s grin hadn’t diminished. “Is he the daddy type?”

  “I’m not even gonna ask where you get that from.” And he wasn’t going to respond to that, either.

  “Well, what does he do?”

  “He’s a… ski instructor.” It wasn’t a lie, right?

  “And how did you meet him?”

  “He came to order a canoe.” And that was about as much information as Robin was willing to give. “I think he’s a little outta my league.” Like, a lot. Like, why am I even thinking about him?

  On the screen, Ryan frowned. “Hey, think positive. Let’s see what we’ve got here. Older guy, hot, experienced…” He leered. “I can see one obvious way to go about it.”

  “Wait a sec. Go about what?” Robin had lost the plot.

  Ryan gaped at him. “Popping that cherry of yours. Dude, it’s time to hand in the V-card. I lost mine when I was sixteen.”

  What the fuck? “You never told me that. And why the fuck not? Because something like that? You’d have bragged about it till I wanted to rip your arm out of its socket and shove it down your throat to get you to shut the fuck up.”

  “I was sixteen! And you were Mom’s pet. With my luck, I’d have told you, and five minutes later you’d have blabbed and I would have been grounded for the rest of my life.”

  Robin gaped at him. “Mom’s pet? I was never—”

  “‘Oh, Mom,’” Ryan said in that high-pitched whine he always used when he was imitating Robin. “‘I know where that Kit Kat bar went.’”

  “You wouldn’t share it, you little fuck.”

  Ryan gave a smug smile. “And now you know why I never tell you anything. But we’re getting off the point here. Do you wanna hear my idea or not?”

  Robin let out a heavy sigh. “I’m all ears.” Better to hear him out. At least then he might shut up about it.

  “I think it’s time you got yourself some skiing lessons,” Ryan said with a smug expression.

  Robin stared at him, perplexed. “I can ski, remember? So can you, for that matter. How old were we when Dad first took us out on the slopes?”

  “Duh. Mr. Ski Instructor doesn’t need to know that, does he? So here’s what you do. You’re gonna ask him for some one-on-one instruction.” There was that leer again.

  “You don’t think he’s gonna notice? You don’t think he’s gonna watch me and know instantly that I can ski?” And like I’m actually gonna do such a thing?

  Ryan grinned. “That’s gonna depend on how good you are at acting. A few slip-ups here, falling on your ass there… You can do it, bro.” He paused. “This guy you have the hots for—”

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” Robin protested.

  Ryan waved his hand. “Whatever. He is gay, right? Because otherwise you’re gonna end up with a busted lip—or worse.”

  “Yeah, he’s gay.” If all the rumors around high school were to be believed. Robin had no clue how they’d started, but there seemed to be little doubt, so someone had to have known something. The number of times the words ‘What a waste’ had crossed a girl’s lips in Robin’s hearing, as Mr. Quentin walked through the hallway, seemingly oblivious to the trail of disappointed hearts he was leaving in his wake.

  “Then it’s a plan.” Ryan preened. “See, bro? All you needed was a little helping hand from yours truly.”

  Robin gave him a hard stare. “A couple of things here. One, who says I’m gonna follow your advice? Two, who says it will even work? Three, this all assumes I wanna get laid. And four, I know where your hand has been, and I’m not sure I want it ‘helping’ me with anything.”

  Ryan snorted. “Like you’re not dying to end this call so you can beat it with whatever you’re using for lube these days—’cause you haven’t gotten up enough nerve to go buy some.” He arched his eyebrows. “Dude, you’re eighteen. You must be getting desperate by now. God, most of the guys in our graduating class were getting laid every fucking weekend our senior year.” He brought his hand to his chest. “I’m ashamed to be your twin,” he said dramatically.

  “Yeah right.” Robin froze at the light tap on his door.

  “Get off the phone with your brother and get some sleep,” Dad called through the door. “Good night, Ryan.”

  “Night, Dad,” Ryan hollered back, his eyes sparkling. He shook his head. “Man, I don’t envy you. Living at home. That’s gonna cramp your style, isn’t it? Let’s hope Mr. Ski Instructor has his own place.”

  “Good night, Ryan,” Robin said in a firm voice before disconnecting. He placed the phone on his nightstand and stared at the ceiling. Though he hated to admit it, Ryan’s plan had some merit. And of course, he’d nailed the present situation perfectly, dammit. Robin had taken a bottle of hand lotion from the cabinet in his parents’ bathroom. Thank God Mom was one of those buy-in-bulk people. She’d never notice.

  Then he reconsidered. Plan? Fuck that. It’s not like I’m gonna actually do it, right? Really? I’m gonna walk up to Mr. Quentin, bat my lashes and say, ‘Fuck me’?

  Mr. Quentin was going to remain out of reach, a hot dream with no chance of realization.

  And speaking of hot dreams…

  Robin closed his eyes, sliding his hand beneath the comforter, heading lower to his briefs and edging his fingers beneath the waistband. His cock was already stiffening. In his head, a delicious fantasy was evolving, and he licked his palm, then pulled on his shaft, too eager to enjoy what was happening in his imagination to reach for the hand lotion in his nightstand drawer. He bent his knees, planted his feet firmly on the mattress, and got into a rhythm, his arm moving beneath the comforter, hidden from view. Because God forbid his mom should come in right then…

/>   “Has anyone told you how gorgeous you are?” Mr. Quentin trailed his fingers down Robin’s arm, sending shivers through him.

  Fantasy Robin had no problem giving voice to his needs. “Have you looked in the mirror lately? You’re the hottest teacher that ever walked God’s earth.”

  His hand moved faster, tugging on his dick.

  “I don’t think we have to wait until we’re on the slopes to begin your lessons, do you?” And before Robin could utter a word, Mr. Quentin’s lips were locked on his, and he was cupping Robin’s ass, squeezing it, before lifting him into the air, supporting his weight in those capable hands.

  Faster. Faster.

  “God, you’re strong,” Robin choked out.

  “Maybe I should just fuck you right here, right now.”

  Robin’s back met the wall, pushing all the air from his lungs as Mr. Quentin kissed his neck, Robin’s legs locked around his waist…

  Warmth seeped through his fingers, and Robin groaned at the abrupt end to his imaginings. He grabbed the box of tissues from the nightstand and cleaned himself up, then twisted them into a wad and dropped them onto the floor.

  Please, God, don’t let me forget to put that in the trash in the morning.

  If his mom found it, Robin would die on the spot.

  He put out the light, and pulled the comforter up to his ears. Mr. Quentin’s visit had provided him with enough material for several nights of hot fantasizing.

  Maybe Ryan’s idea might work.

  If Robin was desperate enough to try it. Then he gave an internal snort. I’d have to be really desperate to even think about doing that.

  Except he was that desperate, and he knew it.

  Chapter Four

  Robin’s Thursday was going to hell, and it was all Ryan’s fault.

  It had started going downhill when Ryan’s message arrived shortly after ten a.m. Robin had only glanced at the screen, intending to check it out further when he’d finished working on the new gunwale, but Ryan’s cryptic message had intrigued him.

  Some research for ya.

  Robin should have known better than to look. This was Ryan, after all. Robin thought he’d gotten off lightly when there had been no comeback after their FaceTime conversation of two days before.