by Elle Keaton
He was working on his second beer when the front door opened, bringing in another bunch of gigglers along with a blast of cold air. Great: happy people.
That was the crux, wasn’t it? Coming back to Skagit made him acknowledge he was alone. Maybe even lonely. Gorgeous Micah made it worse. Less like an ache, more like an open wound. Coffee this afternoon had only acerbated the feeling, making him extremely grouchy.
Meeting up with Ed again, learning he had found his daughter and restarted his life. rattled Adam more than he liked to admit. The other old farts as well, Don and Tim. Adam didn’t have old friends in L.A.; Mohammad was the only person he would consider a friend, and Ida. Weir, maybe, until Adam insulted him so many times Ace asked to be transferred. He saw the people around him accepting life on their terms, moving forward, while Adam was left with painful memories and a job he was very good at, but he knew he didn’t love anymore.
He had issues with intimacy. It probably came from being abandoned by his mother and raised by a bunch of drunken artists and their girlfriends who had never understood the term over-sharing. More than one potential boyfriend had complained that he was closed off. Part of that was his job. He couldn’t share details, or even generalities about what he was working on most of the time. But that wasn’t what they had meant. They meant he didn’t share when he was tired, upset, worried. They couldn’t judge his moods.
He had tried. It wasn’t as if he wanted to be alone. He wanted what Mohammad and Ida had. He…had no idea how to find that person. Was that even something you actively looked for? He figured he didn’t want it badly enough, or he would have found it already. An image of Micah Ryan laughing at something he had said while they were drinking coffee surfaced.
His thoughts were circling the drain when someone slid onto the bench across from him. It was a slightly out-of-body experience to have the person he was obsessing about appear across the table.
“Hey, uh, Adam,” Micah said, smiling.
Ashley, the traitor, chose that moment to interrupt and take Micah’s order before Adam could respond.
“Another IPA,” Adam grumbled. Micah ordered a local cider.
“Oh my God—I totally forgot to put in your fry order! I’ll do it right now.” Ashley zipped off to the bar where Adam could see her in conversation with the bartender, betting to himself whether or not she would remember to place his order.
“Have you got something in your eye?” Micah asked. “Because you keep kind of squinting.”
“What? No,” Adam sputtered.
Micah laughed a little nervously. He was a beautiful man.
“Why are you here? Not to be rude. Well, it is rude, but why are you here?” Seriously, what was wrong with him? No wonder he was a lonely son of a bitch. The one person in Skagit he wanted to interact with and he had to come off like a complete fuck. “Hey, you look like Matthew Gubler, anyone ever told you that?” And…a Criminal Minds reference? He should put himself out of his misery now.
“Um, no.” Micah looked confused and sweet.
So charming. Adam was going straight to hell. Deeper, farther, a worse circle of punishment than whatever he had been headed for before.
“Sara and Ed told me to tell you they’d be having Thanksgiving dinner at Sara’s. Um, that you could come in the morning if you want and watch football?” Micah rushed the words out. He was quiet for a minute while Adam tried to process the nonsense. He had zero Thanksgiving plans. Just like always.
“Are you going?” Adam asked, because his mouth and brain were not communicating.
Ashley came and dropped off their drinks. Micah took a healthy sip before answering. “I usually stay home. It’s a difficult holiday for me.” His expressive eyes shuttered.
“I’ll go if you do.” Was he in the fifth grade now? He grabbed Micah’s cider and took a sip. Gross.
“Matthew who?” Micah asked.
“Never mind.”
“I’ll be there. Sara made me promise already anyway. She said to tell you they’ll start eating at two. Pretty sure she’s going to come get you, but since you already said you’d go… He smiled wickedly, taking his cider back. Adam watched his throat as he swallowed. The arousal he felt shocked him.
Adam had always felt like he lived behind clear glass; he could look but not touch. He interacted, but a wall existed between himself and the world. Micah shattered it, or maybe fucking ignored it. Wall, what wall? Apparently, Adam’s wall had a Micah Ryan-sized hole in it.
Micah seemed to be unaware of how beautiful he was. Adam knew other people saw it, because he’d seen them looking. Ashley, for instance, and he wanted to strangle her. Not that he had a right. Normally when he felt the urge he went to a club and found a guy who met his parameters and that was that. He’d never had a problem with sex, it was all the other shit that went along with it.
Thanksgiving was next week.
He was so screwed.
They chatted for a while, even though they had already talked earlier in the day. Micah told him about his business and what had changed in Skagit over the years. He talked with his hands, which fascinated Adam. He enjoyed the way Micah used them to accentuate a point. His fingers were long and slender, almost delicate. Adam suspected that, regardless of what other people thought, Micah was not a fragile man. He wouldn’t be alive today if that were true.
Micah told Adam about his friend Brandon, who had been his school friend before Micah’s folks started homeschooling him. Looked like Adam was going to meet Brandon and “his brood” on Thanksgiving. Jesus fuck.
Brandon’s wife Stephanie was heir to one of the last surviving small farms in the area. Her dad had seen the writing on the wall early and converted to organic. Now their produce was in high demand in the fancy restaurants in Skagit and southward.
“And then earlier today I thought I was going to get a ticket on my way back into town. I haven’t gotten a ticket in years! It was Jack Summers, who’s at least two bricks short of a full load, being funny and pulling me over.”
When had Micah ordered another drink? The fries they had ended up splitting had soaked up most of Adam’s beer, but Micah was clearly buzzed.
Micah was both belligerent and pliable after one more cider. Leaving his car in the parking lot they walked the few blocks to his home, their shoulders brushing companionably.
Adam had no idea what he thought he was doing.
A lovely 1920s-style Tudor two stories and a wraparound porch, was their destination. Micah also pointed out the bane of his existence, a maple tree at least fifty feet tall, which was still dumping tons of leaves onto his lawn every day. The porch stairs creaked under their weight while a pair of glowing eyes peered out from behind a sheer curtain covering a living-room window. The house was quiet and warm, the furnace already rumbling on while the cat tried to Kato them as they came in the front door. Micah went straight for the bag of dry cat food on top of his fridge.
“Frankie, knock it off,” Micah laughed.
“Frankie?”
“Technically Frankenstein. He came with the name. He’s a rescue. He was attacked, probably by a coyote or raccoon—those guys are mean—I found him over by the park. The vet had to stitch him together again; they weren’t sure if he’d live. The vet named him, even though I told him Frankenstein was the doctor’s name, not the monster’s. It suits him.”
Adam eyed the huge orange tabby. He was at least twenty pounds, and missing part of one ear. The cat gave him a disdainful glare, then turned his back, his tail swishing left and right while he crunched his dinner.
“You’ve been told,” Micah said, but he was smiling when he said it. “Are you thirsty? I’ve got more cider here.”
He was leaning back against the kitchen counter, his hands behind him. Adam couldn’t help but confirm how gorgeous Micah was. His worn Levi’s slipped a bit lower down his slim hips, showcasing his flat stomach. The navy T-shirt he was wearing had ridden up a few inches as he leaned back, and a dark line of hair teased
down toward his groin. Yes, Adam was thirsty. Very thirsty. He swallowed.
Unfortunately, Micah’s body had a different game plan. His beautiful eyes kept shutting while he was waiting for Adam to stop staring and answer his question. He began to list to the left. Adam stopped him before he slipped further, Micah’s body warm against his hand. Adam wanted, so badly, to take him into his bedroom and strip him naked, to feel their bodies against each other, the quiet hum of skin on skin. He knew it would be heaven.
The couch and fully clothed would have to do. At least for tonight.
“I didn’t realize how tired I was; I couldn’t sleep last night.” Micah whispered and then blushed. “Or the night before. I’m sorry.”
The bedroom on the main floor was obviously Micah’s. There were clothes strewn about and the bed was unmade. Adam grabbed the pretty patchwork quilt folded at the foot of the bed as well as a couple of pillows. He patted himself on the back for being such a gentleman.
When he got back to the living room Micah was asleep sitting up, his head at an uncomfortable angle against the back of the couch. He still had his shoes on. Adam eased off Micah’s shoes and socks and laid him down gently, the pillow under his head and the quilt tucked around him. He sat for a while with Micah’s feet in his lap, massaging them gently, thinking about this beautiful, trusting man who had appeared in his life. He so didn’t want to go back to his empty motel room.
At one point hours later, Micah woke for a moment disoriented and breathing hard. Adam caressed the soft skin of his cheek and then held his hand for a moment until Micah slipped back under. He wondered if it was nightmares that had disturbed his sleep for the last few nights. At some point Adam fell asleep as well, but he was awake again before dawn and Micah was still deep, his chest rising and falling hypnotically. Adam left before he did anything stupid, like kiss him.
Twelve
The invitation Sara asked him to pass along to Adam had nagged Micah like a tiny piece of gravel in his shoe, big enough to cause discomfort but small enough to ignore for short periods. He’d spotted Adam walking along the sidewalk before going into the Beaver.
Adam was easy to spot; he walked with confidence and an arrogant catlike grace. Micah purposefully continued driving in the other direction. He stopped at the local pet store for cat food, even though he wasn’t out yet and he usually had it delivered. An older woman behind the counter whose name tag declared her to be Gwen paid far too much attention to him. Micah thought she might have known his mother, but he couldn’t remember.
The “Oh, you poor boy”, and “Such a shame”, comments had Micah about ready to fling himself off the nearest available cliff. People like Gwen were one of the biggest reasons he didn’t get out much. Passing by the Beaver a second time without stopping proved impossible. He would see if Adam was still there, maybe let him know about Thanksgiving. If it came up.
Which was how he found himself tucked up in a quilt on his couch the next morning. He waited for the onslaught of agonizing embarrassment to hit him. Instead, all he felt was a pleasant lassitude and a faintly aching head. The walk home with Adam had been companionable; their conversation had flowed easily. There had been no awkward pauses. There had been plenty of silence, but it seemed Adam was a quiet man himself and silence was something he could handle. Then Micah had gone and fallen asleep on him. He didn’t feel too badly about that, either, because he had a difficult time sleeping this time of year. Last night? Last night had been the best night of sleep he’d had in a decade.
And Adam had said yes to Thanksgiving.
Thirteen
Adam spent the entire next day going over the stack of paperwork and letters Gerald had left behind with his lawyers. The Law Offices of somebody and somebody had finally caught up with him at his motel room, leaving the sealed envelope with the front-desk clerk for Adam to pick up. So, basically, in hell. As soon as he could claim he wasn’t actually day drinking he had packed the words away and escaped his dreary motel room.
The Loft had aspirations; that’s about all Adam could say for it. And aspirations was probably pushing it a bit. Maybe intentions? He didn’t know why he’d returned after the other night, but it was the first place he’d driven by and it fit the bill: dark and served alcohol. A tiny rainbow flag displayed on the corner of the back bar provided some evidence of a gay population in Skagit. The goth bartender was busy with a loud group of college kids at the other end of the bar.
Adam wanted a decent beer, but his gay brethren seemed to think that would make them fat. They didn’t seem to have a single local beer on tap, despite Skagit claiming several excellent breweries, two within walking distance. He settled for a top-shelf whiskey, neat. Double, because it had been that kind of day. Ten minutes later he ordered another one. Finally, his neck and shoulders began to relax. Thanksgiving was in a few days and he had agreed to go to what was basically a family dinner. He deserved a drink or two.
An hour and another double later, Adam’s stomach reminded him it existed, he often forgot to eat when he was wrapped up with something. For several moments he pondered what he had eaten that day, before concluding he had left the Booking Room that morning without any food only a stern reminder from Sara that Thanksgiving was not to be missed.
Someone sat down next to him. Right fucking next to him. Like there weren’t several other empty stools at intervals along the bar. He shifted slightly to give whoever it was more of his shoulder. The person continued to sit there. Eventually the flirty bartender drifted over.
“Micah, whatcha want?”
Adam turned so quickly he about sprained his neck. The bartender did not lie; the object of Adam’s fascination sat right next to him in the only official gay bar in Skagit. Micah ordered a beer off a list Adam hadn’t noticed earlier. He hadn’t seen him since the couch incident earlier. Adam had been a cowardly asshole and left before Micah woke up.
“Hey, where was that list before?” Adam complained. Micah turned his full attention on Adam, and he was done.
“Hi,” was all Micah had to say. His voice was deep and rocked Adam’s world. Rocked it more. “I saw you earlier, but you left before I could thank you for putting me to bed the other night. What have you been up to?” His gaze shifted, and Adam could tell he was embarrassed about falling asleep.
Adam grunted, motioning to the bartender for water. He did not want to be drunk right now. A glass appeared in front of him and he gulped it down. The desert was more hydrated than he was at the moment. The bartender—bless him, Adam took back all his bad thoughts from earlier—brought a full pitcher of water over and left it by Adam’s glass.
Micah was watching him. Adam realized he was supposed to respond. Right. Question, answer; that’s how this worked. Shit. He cleared his throat. “Not much. Ed’s been helping me try to figure out my dad’s place. What an unholy mess. Kinda stuck right now, waiting for some machinery Ed wants, I guess.”
Micah smiled. Adam wanted that smile forever.
“I know Ed from way back when I was a kid. I’m hungry. Want to grab a bite to eat with me? We can finish this conversation?”
Micah glanced at his beer.
“Oh, right, when you’re finished.”
“No. It’s okay. I came in because I saw your car in the parking lot. I’m hungry, too. What do you like?” He flushed. Hard to see in the dim light of the bar, but Adam knew he was flushed.
“I like you.”
Jesus Christ, his filter was drunker than he was; the water had been too little too late. Micah smiled like sunshine, and Adam soaked it up.
“I like you too, Adam Klay.
***
Something was bugging him. Adam did an accounting. First off, he wasn’t in his own bed. Okay. Second, he was in someone else’s bed. Third, he was really comfortable but not naked. He cracked an eyelid. It was pitch-black; it could have been 4 a.m. or 8 a.m. The nightstand bore a full glass of water and a Costco-sized bottle of pain reliever. Thank fuck because that was number four
. He stretched his arm out, grabbing the pills and the water and managed to down two without spilling on himself. He couldn’t remember the last time he woke in an unfamiliar place, but he was unable to bring himself to a panic.
The next time he woke it was daylight. A warm body was pressing against his back. Correction, he was pressing up against a warm body. He took a deep breath, instantly knowing it was Micah. The night before came flooding back. He was a lightweight anymore, or Skagit was having some kind of weird effect on him. He vaguely remembered following Micah out of the Loft. Instead of going out to eat they had driven to Micah’s house, where Adam had eaten warmed-up leftovers and, apparently, passed out. Great, now they were even.
Fourteen
He needed to pee. Micah eased himself away from Adam’s warm body. He was sleeping like the dead, his short hair mussed, dark lashes brushing his cheeks. It was remarkable to see someone as serious as Adam asleep. His normal facial expression was grim; in sleep he appeared to be almost smiling. Micah liked the look on him.
Back in the bedroom, Micah stripped down to his boxers. Adam was still in his big bed, the rise and fall of his chest somehow reassuring. Micah almost stopped himself, almost didn’t act on his desire. His brain protested it was too soon, but Micah’s body knew what he wanted and needed. Micah slipped back into bed, tucking himself in front of Adam, and Adam naturally spooned up behind him, pulling the comforter over both of their bodies.
Adam ran his hand up Micah’s side, ghosting his skin. Micah trembled, and a pleased “Mmmm,” rumbled in Micah’s ear. Adam’s hand slid along Micah’s chest and stomach, through the rough crinkle of hair around his belly button, then down the trail toward his groin. Micah wanted him to follow it further. Instead Adam’s hand moved upward and teased Micah’s nipple. Micah groaned, easing back against Adam’s hard cock.
Micah was uncomfortably aroused. He could feel his heartbeat in his dick. He thought about unpleasant things, like the eviscerated mouse Frankie had presented to him the morning before. Adam’s scent surrounded him under the covers. He smelled like sweaty man, but also spicy and slightly musky. Micah breathed his scent in again. Adam ran his finger around Micah’s nipple, teasing it to stand tall. Jesus. Adam pushed his other hand into Micah’s sleep shorts where Micah’s penis was fully erect, pulsing, pushing against the waistband. Micah felt himself in the tight confines of Adam’s hand, the smooth skin of his penis moving under that strong hand, wanting. He could feel liquid leaking from his slit; his shorts had to have a huge bull’s-eye marked on them. Using his thumb, Adam rubbed the precome around his cockhead.
