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Straight Up

Page 5

by K. Evan Coles

“I want you to accept a ride home.” He held the black helmet out to Malcolm and gave him a positively wolfish smile. “On the back of my bike.”

  Chapter Four

  Stuart cruised into the currently empty loading zone near Malcolm’s building in Koreatown, turned the bike off, flipped up his visor, then fired off a quick text.

  Here. Parked by optical place.

  On my way down.

  Stuart slid the helmet off and raked a hand through his hair so it wasn’t sticking up wildly. A businessman in a suit walking by paused for a fraction of a second and swept his gaze over Stuart. Stuart didn’t smile, but he did wink and enjoyed the hitch in the man’s step as he hurried by.

  Stuart dismounted the bike and retrieved a helmet from where it had been stowed in the pannier, then returned his focus to Malcolm’s building. He hadn’t paid much attention the other night when he’d dropped off Malcolm. It was nice. Not luxury, but nicer than Stuart’s. Built of brick, it rose maybe ten or twelve stories and was mixed use with the optical place and what looked like a clothing shop on the ground floor.

  A few minutes later, a smiling Malcolm stepped out. That smile wavered when his gaze dropped to the helmets in Stuart’s hands.

  “We’re taking the bike again?” he asked, his voice rising a little.

  This time, Stuart smiled. “Yes. I don’t own a car and you said you don’t, either. How did you think we were going to get there?”

  “I thought we were going to hike in the Ramble in Central Park.”

  Although it had lessened over the years, the Ramble had a reputation for gay men cruising and using it for a hookup spot. He had a feeling that wasn’t what Malcolm was angling for. “That’s not a hike. It’s a stroll in the park. We’re going into the woods.”

  “I know there are hiking trails where I grew up on Staten Island, but I’ve never gone. I guess I’ve never really hiked. Not…like that.”

  “There’s a first time for everything.”

  Malcolm glanced down. “I see why you suggested long pants and sturdy shoes.”

  “Good for the ride and the hike.” Malcolm’s clothes were more appropriate for the gym, but they’d do. “Be careful not to burn yourself on the exhaust. The polyester in those pants will melt and make the burn infinitely worse.”

  “Right.” Malcolm cleared his throat. “So where are we going?”

  “Surprise Lake, New Jersey. It’s about an hour ride if we don’t get stuck in traffic.” Forty-five or fifty if Stuart was riding alone but he didn’t want to scare the shit out of Malcolm; he already seemed nervous enough. Presumably about the bike, though Stuart wasn’t sure.

  For the life of him, he still couldn’t get a read on Malcolm.

  During the meeting at Under, Stuart had sworn an undercurrent of energy had passed between them. Malcolm had climbed on the back of his bike afterward, apprehension clear on his face, and wrapped himself around Stuart like a starfish. He’d kept his hips as far from Stuart’s ass as possible. His tight grip on Stuart’s ribs could certainly have been chalked up to fear of falling off the bike, but the way Malcolm had responded to Stuart during the ride had made him question if there was more to it. The noise of the engine and the helmet had made it impossible to talk. At every stoplight, he’d reached up to pat Malcolm’s hand and reassure him. Each time, Malcolm had softened a little, relaxed. Maybe it was sheer trust as he’d realized that Stuart was a skilled, controlled rider, but Stuart had hoped maybe it was something more.

  He’d thought Malcolm would ask him up to his apartment and he’d be able to suss out Malcolm’s interest more. Instead, Malcolm had merely handed him his helmet, thanked him, and disappeared through the door without a backward glance.

  So, Stuart had tried again. He’d asked Malcolm if he wanted to go for a hike and Malcolm had said yes. Malcolm had even taken a day off work. He assured Stuart he was doing Malcolm a favor because he had more vacation time accrued than he ever took, and his manager was always on him to use it up. But then nothing in the texts they’d exchanged since indicated this might be a date or whether Malcolm was straight or just plain not interested.

  Stuart wasn’t going to push. He didn’t mind going for a hike with a friend. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so off his game with anyone though. Damned if he wasn’t frustrated but enjoying the challenge, too. Which was probably why he kept coming back for more.

  “How’d the fit on the helmet feel last time?” he asked.

  Malcolm shrugged. “Okay? I’m not sure what I’m looking for.”

  “I want you to try both of them on.” Stuart had brought his new helmet and an old one. He handed Malcolm the new one and Malcolm put it on with the visor up. His eyes looked wide and blue as Stuart reached out to fasten the chinstrap, tightening it until it was snug but not digging into his skin.

  “How does that feel? Is it squeezing your temples or painful anywhere?”

  Malcolm seemed to consider that. “No.”

  “I’m going to jerk it around on your head to see if it comes off.” He grabbed the rear of the helmet, pulling up forcefully as he tried to roll it forward and off Malcolm’s head. It stayed on, though Malcolm looked startled. “That’s a good sign. Try the other one.”

  The older helmet seemed looser, so Stuart handed the new one back to Malcolm. “You can wear that one.”

  “You’re very thorough.” Malcolm’s voice sounded muffled as he pulled the helmet back over his head.

  “I don’t fuck around with safety on my bike or in the kitchen.”

  Stuart settled the older helmet on his own head, mounted the bike, then glanced over at Malcolm. “Ready to go?”

  “As ready as I’ll ever be.” Malcolm continued to stand a few feet away, however.

  “You remember the hand signals I taught you the other night?”

  “One quick tap means stop when you can, several quick taps means stop immediately. If you touch my thigh, you’re checking in with me, and it’s a thumbs-up for I’m good, a thumb down for I’m not, and thumb sideways for neutral.”

  “Excellent.” Stuart raked his gaze over Malcolm, who wore a heavy canvas jacket. “You think you’ll be warm enough in that? I could swap you my leather, if you want.” The wind on the highway would be numbingly cold if he wore canvas since he’d be taking the brunt of the wind even with the windscreen, but he didn’t want Malcolm to freeze either.

  “I’ll be okay.”

  Malcolm sounded confident enough that Stuart didn’t argue. Stuart’s torso should block the worst of it. If they rode together on any kind of regular basis in the future, Stuart would make sure he brought an old leather for Malcolm.

  “Then get on the bike. New Jersey awaits.”

  Malcolm let out a quiet snort. He approached the bike and swung a leg over, then settled behind Stuart. He wrapped his arms around Stuart’s chest. Stuart had told him last time that he could hold on to his hips, but Malcolm said it didn’t feel safe. And Stuart wasn’t complaining that Malcolm seemed to prefer having his arms around him.

  He checked in several times throughout the ride to make sure Malcolm was okay and got a thumbs-up every time. Malcolm seemed a lot more comfortable riding pillion than last time, so Stuart pushed the speed limit, and it wasn’t long before they reached the parking lot near the trailhead.

  “You warm enough?” Stuart asked.

  Malcolm nodded. “I’m fine.”

  Stuart stripped off his leather jacket and stowed it in the pannier before locking his bike. He’d been to Surprise Lake before. On a sunny April day with temperatures reaching the high sixties or low seventies, the hike would be pleasant. After a quick check to be sure everything was safely secured, they struck out on the trail. It wound through a rocky, wooded area and the path wasn’t wide enough for them to walk side by side in most places. Stuart took the lead and Malcolm didn’t protest.

  The trees were beginning to leaf out, and the air was noisy with birds. In the summer, it was a heavily trafficked tr
ail, but at this time of year—and on a Tuesday at that—it was quiet. Not many cars had been parked at the trailhead, so Stuart didn’t expect to see many other hikers.

  “You didn’t grow up in New York, did you?” Malcolm asked when they’d walked a few minutes.

  Stuart shot him a glance over his shoulder. “No. How’d you guess?”

  “I don’t know any native New Yorkers who’d willingly drive to New Jersey to hike.”

  Stuart laughed. Not many people made him laugh, but Malcolm had managed it a few times now. He liked that. “There was a lot of wilderness near where I grew up. I love the city, but I like to get out in the fresh air when I can.”

  “It is nice here,” Malcolm said, and Stuart was inordinately pleased with the compliment.

  The first three-quarters of the hike took them up a steep elevation that became a more gradual ascent before they reached a ridge overlooking the lake. Surprise Lake was small but pristine looking with blue, sparkling water and ringed by wooded areas and a rocky shore.

  They stopped at an overlook to catch their breath and take in the view. Stuart knew from talking to Malcolm that he was active and studied yoga and assumed he’d be able to handle the moderately challenging trail.

  Right now, Malcolm’s face was pink from exertion, and while his breaths had quickened, they weren’t too heavy, so Stuart thought he’d judged it well. “You doing okay?”

  “I’m good.” Malcolm smiled. “That was invigorating.”

  “Yeah, it gets the blood pumping.” Stuart shrugged off his flannel shirt then knotted it around his waist. When he looked up, Malcolm was staring at the tattoos revealed by Stuart’s short-sleeved T-shirt.

  “You have any ink?” He would have been shocked if Malcolm answered yes, but sometimes people surprised him.

  Malcolm shook his head, still looking intently at Stuart’s arms. Stuart held one out, turning his palm up so Malcolm could see some of his favorite designs.

  “You can look more closely if you’re curious.”

  “I wasn’t sure if that would be rude or not.”

  “Some people find it rude. I don’t.”

  Malcolm stepped closer. He reached out, trailing his fingertips through the air over Stuart’s skin as he traced across a skull wearing a toque with a crossed chef’s knife and honing steel overlaying it. He didn’t touch Stuart’s skin, but the motion made Stuart’s arms pebble with goosebumps anyway.

  “Like skull and crossbones, right?” Malcolm glanced at him with a curious expression. “For chefs.”

  “Yes.” Stuart held out his other forearm to show off the butcher’s diagrams of cuts of meat for cow, pig, chicken and fish.

  “I take it you’ll never become a vegetarian.”

  Stuart smiled. “Unlikely. We’re heavy on meat at King’s and I have no argument there. I enjoy charcuterie too much to give it up, but you never know.”

  “Charcuterie are prepared meats, right? Like salami and prosciutto.”

  “Yes. Exactly. Bacon, ham, sausage, pâtés, confit…” Stuart continued. “Although, I do think if a chef can’t make a vegetable taste every bit as good as the cut of meat it’s next to, he’s failing at his job.”

  “You’re really passionate about it. You must be, anyway, to cover your body like this.”

  “I am.” Stuart paused. “The tattoos go farther than my arms. I could take off my shirt if you’d like to see the ones on my chest and back.” Somehow, he felt disrobing without asking first would be rude to do in front of Malcolm. He wouldn’t have thought twice with anyone else.

  Malcolm hesitated for a second before nodding, and slowly, like he might spook Malcolm if he moved too fast, Stuart removed the black T-shirt. Malcolm’s eyes went wide.

  Stuart spun in a slow circle, deliberately giving Malcolm time to take it all in. Stuart’s chest and abs were tattooed, as was most of his back. They were intricate pieces, many food-related, with a few designs woven throughout relating to his love of New York, bikes and other interests. The main piece was a detailed cluster of ingredients that stretched from his left hip, up his back, across his right shoulder and down his right arm. Spiky artichokes mingled with a wedge of melting brie cheese while delicate herbs wove around them before segueing into bumpy kale, vine-ripened tomatoes and split pea pods with curling leaves. Honey spilled onto a halved peach before flowing onto a hunk of crusty baguette. There was far more than that—more than Malcolm would be able to study now—and it had taken numerous sittings to get it all inked onto Stuart’s skin.

  Stuart stopped when he was facing Malcolm again. Malcolm appeared fascinated, drinking in everything with his gaze as he stepped closer. He hovered his fingers across the words by Thomas Keller tattooed over Stuart’s heart, stretching across his chest from shoulder to shoulder. Stuart didn’t have to look down at them to know what they said.

  When you acknowledge, as you must, that there is no such thing as perfect food, only the idea of it, then the real purpose of striving toward perfection becomes clear: to make people happy, that is what cooking is all about.

  “Is that why you do it?” Malcolm looked him in the eye.

  “It’s a big part of it, yeah.” Stuart’s voice came out a little husky.

  “What else?”

  “It’s who I am.”

  Their gazes met and held for a long moment before Malcolm shivered, as if he were the one without a shirt.

  There was something very unusual about the way he looked at Stuart.

  It wasn’t childlike—Malcolm was a grown man—but innocent maybe. Like he was assessing him at a distance. It was…different. Not unpleasant, just different.

  Stuart wondered if perhaps Malcolm was closeted. It seemed strange—from what Stuart understood of the crowd at Under, most of Malcolm’s close friends were gay or bisexual, so why would Malcolm not be comfortable coming out? Unless maybe his parents were conservative. Stuart certainly understood that. If Malcolm was closeted and trying to avoid his family’s suspicion, why would he work for a company like Corporate Equality? There was such a thing as hiding in plain sight, but that seemed risky and Malcolm didn’t strike Stuart as the risky type.

  Which left the conclusion that maybe Malcolm hadn’t figured it out himself. Which was equally baffling. How could Malcolm not have figured it out? He spent all day working on LGTBQ+ rights issues and hanging out with gay and bi friends. How could he not have put the pieces together?

  It was intriguing to say the least.

  Stuart slipped on his shirt again. The sun felt good on his skin, but he didn’t like to expose the tattoos to the sunlight unless he’d slathered them with sunscreen. He wanted to keep the vibrant colors bright for as long as he could. “Shall we get going again?”

  “Sure.”

  They walked along the ridge for a while before the trail began to descend again. There was a rocky face where Stuart had to get down low and scramble over it. When he’d made it down, he turned back to see how Malcolm was doing. He’d made it about halfway down and had paused, as if assessing his best route down.

  “You see that dip in the rock to your right?” Stuart called out to him. “That’ll give you solid footing. Don’t be afraid to get on your butt and scoot down. There’s no shame in that.”

  Malcolm did as Stuart had instructed, though he didn’t quite need to scoot to make it. “Sorry,” Stuart said when Malcolm was standing beside him. “I should have warned you what this was going to be like.”

  “No worries.” Malcolm brushed his hair away from his forehead. “I like the challenge.”

  Stuart glanced down at Malcolm’s footwear. “If we do this again, you might want to think about investing in a good pair of hiking boots.”

  “Maybe.” Malcolm sounded a bit skeptical.

  Stuart wasn’t sure if the hesitation was because Malcolm wasn’t enjoying hiking, didn’t want to go out with Stuart again, or something else entirely.

  Now Malcolm looked at Stuart’s feet. “Yours aren’t hiking
boots, are they?”

  “They’re tactical combat boots from a military surplus store,” Stuart admitted. “Practical and they look good on the bike, too.” He flashed a grin at Malcolm, who gave him an enigmatic half-smile in return.

  A man Stuart had once dated had teased him about caring so deeply about his appearance. That guy hadn’t understood how much it signaled to the world who a person is or who they wanted to become. Then again, the man he’d dated wasn’t a straight, married Mormon carpenter turned gay atheist biker-slash-chef, either. People from Stuart’s past wouldn’t recognize him now. Which was really the point.

  “You ready to keep going?” Malcolm asked.

  Stuart nodded and turned away. Malcolm fell into step behind him, and for a while, they hiked in silence, with only the sounds of nature accompanying them. Ten minutes down the trail, they passed an older couple who greeted them before resuming their conversation about birdwatching.

  Stuart nodded at a signpost as they walked by it. “This segment we’re on overlaps with the Appalachian Trail. In a bit, we’ll curve around to go to the Greenwood Lake overlook. If you keep going straight, you’re heading south on the Trail.”

  As they continued along, a rocky stream cut across the path with a boardwalk over it. Some boards were rotted, and the water was running fast from the recent rains. Stuart stopped on the other side of the boardwalk and held out a hand to Malcolm who hesitated—just long enough for Stuart to notice—before he took it.

  Stuart frowned as they started to walk again. Malcolm seemed to be avoiding touching Stuart if he could help it. Like when he’d examined Stuart’s tattoos. His fingers had been a mere fraction of an inch away from Stuart’s skin but never made contact. Another thought popped into Stuart’s head. What if Malcolm wasn’t so much trying to figure out his sexuality but had an aversion to being touched? Could someone have hurt him?

  That didn’t quite fit either. Malcolm didn’t seem afraid of Stuart or nervous to be around him. He’d touched Stuart readily enough on the bike and hadn’t hesitated to come out alone to the woods.

 

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