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  “Are your folks still around?” he asked once he finished his burger. He posed the question while swirling a fry in ketchup.

  “They died some time ago. They were older, remember? They had me late in life. I’ve rented out the house ever since, but circumstance changed, so I moved back.”

  “How is that?” he asked, now looking up.

  “Strange. I never intended to come back. You probably didn’t either, but they leave us these old houses that are now so valuable.”

  “What kind of circumstance?”

  Suffering a momentary pang of embarrassment, I left out Tracy Lynch. “A breakup. I lived with Reece—that actor I mentioned yesterday—for eight years, then it ended, and I didn’t want to be down there anymore. I’m done with L.A. and Hollywood.”

  “Sounds like a lot to give up.”

  I sighed. “It was.”

  Now I was the one to busy myself with the food. I wanted to know about him instead of revealing too much of myself, so I posed the next question as offhandedly as possible. “Any plans for you?”

  “There’s a trust and other stuff to settle. I just go along day to day.”

  “I remember your folks. My mom liked your mom. They both did quilting.”

  A laugh escaped him. “There’s a trunk full of quilts, reeking like everything in the place.”

  “I remember she smoked.”

  “Dad, too. My parents, Mr. and Mrs. Chimney.”

  I had no idea how to reply to this, so I didn’t.

  “I reek, too,” Glenn said. “It’s in everything and it seeps into everything else.”

  “Kinda sad.”

  “Kinda stupid.”

  When the food was gone and we sat sipping our Cokes, he thanked me for getting him out of the house. “It’s nice here. Fresh air inside and out.”

  “I’m a bit of a neat freak.”

  “Good for you. I’m obviously not, but why in hell clean a place that smells so badly? Only solution is to burn it down.”

  “You could try professional cleaners. They can work wonders.”

  He shook his head. “I think it’s in the walls.”

  “Want to stay over?” I blurted. The idea had been tumbling around in me, looking for an outlet, and once I’d said it, I felt my face get hot.

  He sat back and gave me a long look, obviously assessing the situation. I wanted to tell him what it would mean, how it would fulfill the dream of boy and man, but feared scaring him off.

  “I could wash your clothes, too,” I said.

  His look became almost mournful, his shoulders slumping just the slightest. It made me want to cry. “I might just take you up on that.”

  I should offer the guest room, I thought. Freshly decorated, it would do him good, but I said nothing because the option for more was on the table. “Great.”

  “Can I have a shower, too? I’d like to get clean and come out into rooms that don’t smell of smoke.”

  “Perfect.”

  He got up and I saw he meant to shower now, so I led him to the bathroom and got him a towel. He then stripped in front of me.

  It was so matter-of-fact, so appropriate since I would wash his clothes, but it was a loaded situation. When he handed me the clothes, I saw his hunger, and we lingered for a few seconds before he headed to the shower and turned on the water.

  “Take all the time you want,” I told him. “Drought’s over, no limits on water.”

  I stood in the hall clutching his clothes and listening to the water, my cock now stiff. I thought how easy it would be to join him, how maybe he expected that, but it wasn’t what I wanted. I saw us in bed, taking our time. Shower sex was great, but limited. Too long and you’re hit with a blast of cold water.

  I gathered some of my things, put his into the basket as well, and set it on the kitchen table because I didn’t want to rob him of hot water. I then settled in the living room to read, which was, of course, impossible.

  When he came out a good half hour later, towel around his waist, he said, “I used up all your hot water.”

  “No problem. I’ll give it some time before I start the wash. Do you want a robe?”

  “Do I?” He stood in the doorway, hand against the jamb in an inviting pose that might have been unintentional. His animal sexiness was natural and quickly taking me over.

  “No,” I said. “Not at all.”

  He dropped the towel, came over, and said, “Did you have something in mind?”

  I laughed. “I’ve had something in mind since I was twelve.”

  “How old are you now?”

  “Thirty-six.”

  “Long wait.”

  “It’s over now.”

  He stood before me and I watched his cock rise. I reached out, but not for it. Instead, I ran my hands onto his hips, then around to squeeze his butt before kneeling to take him into my mouth. He immediately came, flooding my throat with what was likely a two-month store of spunk. I sucked and swallowed until he quieted, then lay my head against him.

  He ran a hand through my hair. “Sorry. Kinda primed.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.” I stood and slid my arms around him. “Welcome home.”

  His kiss was tentative, and while I wanted to totally devour him, I responded gently, the two of us gradually discovering a kind of easy balance. When my tongue found his, he issued a little moan, pressing himself to me as his hands kneaded my back.

  “Bed.” I took his hand and led him to the bedroom, where I stripped.

  He stood watching and I soared with his approval before grabbing him and pushing him onto the bed. He laughed, apparently surprised by the move, so I rolled us around a bit, enjoying a playful interlude because the kid in me was rising inside the man, the two finally one.

  I rolled on top of him, kissing and licking, then rolled off and pulled him on top of me. He seemed out of practice at sex, yet eager to renew himself, and after a time, became more forceful. Finally he was all but devouring me. When he tried to get my cock into his mouth, I eased him back.

  “Nope,” I told him. “I want to fuck you.”

  In my shopping, I’d stocked up on condoms and lube—wishful thinking—and now fetched both and suited up. As I greased myself, Glenn asked, “What’s your pleasure?”

  “Face me. I want to see you.”

  He rolled onto his back and drew up his legs, which led me to pause and simply enjoy the sight because here he was offering himself at last. I got into position and entered, pausing again to savor the union.

  When I began an easy stroke, I ignored the rise that immediately beckoned. “Dream come true,” I managed to say while looking down at him. I wanted things to last, but my body had its own agenda, and suddenly, I was shouting and experiencing probably my best climax ever. I kept going until I went soft, then fell forward onto him, at which time his arms circled me.

  “You’re saving a life,” he said.

  I raised up my head. “Happy to be here for you, but sad you need saving.”

  “Yeah, well…” He threw an arm over his eyes, which told me I should back off, which I did.

  I nuzzled up next to him and promptly fell asleep.

  * * * *

  When I woke the next morning, Glenn was gone. I sprang from bed, called his name, but got no response. I threw on shorts and raced through the house like a madman, until I found him in the kitchen, wearing my robe. The table was set for breakfast and he stood at the stove. “I hope scrambled is okay,” he said. “I’m no good at over easy.”

  I took a couple deep breaths, then sidled up behind him and kissed his neck. “Everything is okay with me. I love a man who can cook.”

  “It’s not my strong suit, but I can manage.”

  “Managing is good.”

  I noted he’d made coffee, poured orange juice, made toast, had bacon cooked and draining.

  “I’d offer to help,” I said, “but you seem to have it all done.”

  “Just about.”

  He
scooped eggs onto two plates, added bacon and toast, and handed them to me. I was near giddy as I took them to the table.

  “I started the wash,” he said as I plowed into the food. “I don’t have anything to wear.”

  “Not a bad state,” I offered with a grin.

  He chuckled. “True, but there is the day.”

  I didn’t want the day, I wanted him. The outside world could wait, even disappear, as far as I was concerned. And surely he’d want to spend time away from that awful house. I almost said something to that effect, but caught myself. He’d spent two years there, so his tolerance level was way beyond mine. I also fought an urge to ask how the two years had been, reminding myself he’d tell me when he was ready.

  “Any plans for the day?” I finally asked.

  “Lawyer at one.”

  “Oh.” This came out sounding somewhat deflated, but then something occurred to me. “Is the blue car yours?”

  “It was my mother’s.”

  “Does it…”

  “Smell? Of course, nothing escaped her smoke. She always smoked as she drove, said it relaxed her.”

  “I see. Well, if you’d like fresh air, I could drive you. I don’t mind waiting while you’re at the appointment.”

  “Okay. Thanks.” He kept his eyes on me. “You’re awful good to me.”

  “I’m happy and it makes me want to help you.”

  The house lacked a dishwasher, so we did things the old-fashioned way, him washing, me drying. The clothes were in the dryer, and when they were finally ready, he spoke. “The lawyer will be relieved when I don’t arrive smelling bad.”

  “You know,” I replied, suddenly emboldened, “we could wash all your clothes.”

  “Won’t work. Soon as stuff goes back into the house, the smell attacks.”

  “So don’t take it back. Stay here for a while.”

  I couldn’t tell if his surprise was the good kind or not. Suddenly, I was the Road Runner’s coyote in a cartoon, having chased the bird beyond the cliff and been left suspended over the canyon before the inevitable plummet to Earth.

  “Stay?”

  Ah, solid ground. I drew a long breath and blew it out. “Yes, stay here. We seem to get along well and I can offer fresh air all around.”

  “You don’t really know me.”

  “I know enough.”

  “We’d best get moving. It’s almost twelve-thirty.”

  I didn’t push things, content the offer was out there. As we drove along, I was happy with the chance he’d accept the invitation, and by the time I sat in his lawyer’s waiting room, I had him not only moved in, but loving it. There was no reason for him to not accept the offer. Who on Earth would choose to remain in that house?

  * * * *

  Glenn’s appointment took much of an hour, long enough for my positive attitude to slip. What if that house had some kind of hold on him? What if he clung to some weird history there? We all have bits and pieces we can’t explain. When Glenn finally came out, I couldn’t read him at all. Calm? Satisfied? Ready to reject my offer?

  “How’d it go?” I asked in the car. I’d purposely not asked the question in the waiting room because I didn’t want him to feel hemmed in. I wanted to appear all-around casual.

  “No probate,” he said. “It’s all mine. I have to thank Dad for that.”

  “My parents did that, too, everything in trust.” Then, to change the subject, I asked if he was hungry.

  “I guess so.”

  I took him to Jack’s, a restaurant I’d discovered several years before on a trip home. In nearby Pleasant Hill, it had a no-fail menu, but as I sat across from Glenn, I saw him work a frown. “Nothing you like?” I asked.

  He set down his menu. “I’m out of practice, Noah. At everything.”

  “Take your time.”

  He snorted a laugh. “All the time in the world, right?”

  I had no idea what he was getting at, so I just shrugged.

  When the waiter arrived, Glenn ordered a large breakfast. He wasn’t that out of practice. I had a favored Tuscan sandwich, wicked grilled veggies on a sourdough bun. Once the waiter departed, I gave it a minute, sipped my water, then waded in again.

  “So what do you think about staying with me?”

  “Define ‘staying.’”

  “Getting out of that smoky house, spending time where the air is fresh. Letting yourself air out. I think it would help, plus I think we enjoy each other.”

  He looked at me, expression blank, which drove me further.

  “Don’t we?” I asked.

  “We do,” he said with a smile. “No argument there. It’s just that I’ve had a rough couple years and I can’t just jump past that, you know? Part of me wants to run away, forget everything, even who I am. Start over somewhere far away, do grunge work, never set foot in an office again, but I know that’s just some kind of reaction or something. Really, Noah, I have no idea what’s going on in me. I feel worn out.”

  “Then rest yourself. Stay with me and do as much or as little as you want. Read, relax, take your time. I’m here to stay and I’m not a demanding person. If you want solitude, I’ll leave you to it. If not, I’m there. And when the time comes that you have to deal with the house, I’ll help you with whatever you decide to do.”

  “You make a good argument,” he said. But that was all he said.

  Again, I left it alone. I’d pleaded my case. It was time for the jury of one to decide.

  It felt good telling him how I saw things and I indulged in believing it would all go my way. I could see him reading out on the patio, me inside making lemon squares. Or the two of us working in the back yard, planting things, trimming shrubs. I saw him in just boots and cutoffs, his body filled out by my cooking. Saw him sweaty, glistening, and when we were done with whatever task it was, we’d have sex, maybe there in the yard because it was well fenced all around. I kept this line of thought going through the rest of my sandwich, and when we left the restaurant, I took this positive turn with me.

  Partway home, as we wound through green hills, Glenn said, “I wasn’t too good in my last relationship.”

  “Thanks for telling me. Anything I should know?”

  He laughed. “I was with Dave for two years. He worked in one of the Amazon warehouses and I fell hard, so did he, but once we were living together, he got going about my not sharing my feelings. I did my best, but he kept prodding, wouldn’t let it go, and each time we had the same argument, I saw another brick pulled from the foundation. Finally it collapsed. I told him I’d never be one to spill the way he wanted, emotions all over the floor. It’s just not me and I knew he couldn’t live with that, so I left. Moved in with friends. Then five months later, Ellen Springer called me to say Mom wasn’t doing well and I needed to come home. So I left it all, job, friends, the endless rain. One good thing about being back here is the sunshine.”

  As he spoke, I filled up with the emotion he didn’t want and I saw I’d have to work at not being like Dave. One thing about Reece was, being an actor, he was in touch with his feelings, maybe too much so. If I upset him, he’d carry on something awful, fill the house with drama, playing queen to the hilt. I’d work at soothing him and eventually had it down, knowing his every turn, every inflection in that wonderful voice. I seldom upset him and we settled into a peaceful life, minus any drama. Until Tracy Lynch, and even then, when I look back, I see how I’d continued lying low, letting him have his way with my quiet exit.

  “I don’t think I’m emotionally demanding,” I told Glenn. “Like I said, I can give you room, physically, emotionally, whatever you need.”

  He stayed quiet until we reached the house. When I stopped the car in the garage, he took my arm. “Okay. Let’s give it a try, but no guarantees. You understand?”

  “Totally.

  I tried not to be too eager, forcing myself to suggest we fetch his stuff tomorrow rather than today. “Appear casual” would become my mantra.

  Instead, as
he stood at the kitchen sink drinking a glass of water while looking out the window, I came up behind him, slid my arms around him, and said, “Let’s fuck.” To underscore the suggestion, I worked my hand to his crotch and gave him a squeeze.

  He finished his water, set down the glass, and turned. “You got it,” he said and he began to undress.

  Following his lead, I, too, stripped, and soon I was bent over the kitchen table, him going at me with such force, the table squeaked across the floor. He growled throughout and it felt like something besides desire had been unleashed. Here was his emotion. He spoke in the classic male way and I was there to listen. I worked myself as he rode me and just before he came, I sprayed a load onto the floor.

  He roared when he let go, slamming into me like some creature just out of the forest. It was the best I’d had in ages, so raw and real. When he was finally done, he slapped my butt and pulled out, then staggered to the sink, breathing so heavily I thought he might be in trouble. But no, he’d just given his all and then some. He drew a glass of water, drank it all, then drew another, which he offered to me.

  I felt wonderfully weak-kneed and stood clutching the back of a chair as I stared at him, this gorgeous man in so much need. I said nothing, just smiled, and I think he got how happy I was. Then I went to him, drank the water he offered, and kissed him. “Sealed the deal?” I asked.

  “Hell, yes, but now I’m going to shower.”

  I didn’t rush to clean up because I wanted to give him space in the bathroom. No matter how much the boy wanted to cling to his crush, the man knew balance as the key to a good relationship. And maybe this time that balance would be achieved. Things had been so one-sided with Reece, luxury offsetting the fact it was his world. With Glenn there’d be no luxury. Instead there’d be an equality, which I saw far more viable.

  I cleaned up at the kitchen sink, leaving Glenn to his shower. I suspect his newfound freedom from smoky smells would be savored, that water flowing over him would accomplish something. Two years is a long time to not feel totally clean, not to mention his first eighteen.

  I was in the kitchen making lemonade when he came out. Hair still wet, he wore just his khakis, and I enjoyed a pleasurable jolt at discovering him all over again. I wondered how long this surprised state would remain, hoped it would last forever.