by V. L. Locey
“Right. I’m more like an invasive weed,” I threw out. “Ask…well, anyone.”
She didn’t bite. “What did the sign on the gate say, Natey?”
I rolled my eyes and let my shoulder blade drop back to rest on the trunk of the big oak cooling us. “Don’t think I read it.”
“You’re a really shitty liar,” Maggie scoffed, pushed to her feet with a groan, and offered me a wrinkled hand. “Time to get back to work. Those carrots won’t pull themselves.”
Maggie was right, those carrots didn’t pull themselves, and neither did the weeds. I’d gotten forty lots done, and my ass was dragging. Carrying that last basketful to a massive pile of hot compost had done me in. Hot compost was the opposite of cool compost which didn’t kill the weed seeds like a hot compost pile did. Just one of the hundred and forty-two things Maggie told me in eight hours. My brain was filled with useless gardening and Jefferson Airplane trivia and my back was sore. The aches totally shocked me because I was in good shape. Better than good if I was being honest. I was a professional athlete. I worked out daily, in season and out. Past lovers had commented on my body, how hard and cut it was. I took pride in that as those muscles helped me be the best hockey player I could be, but crawling on your hands and knees for eight hours? Totally different kind of workout and my lower back was feeling it.
It was all good though. In a week the soreness would be gone, and I’d have this whole garden weeded. Then it would be time to kick back, converse with Maggie, and do my best to avoid Bran. Until then though I needed to find him to have him fill out my paperwork. Limping through the garden gate, I poked my head into several greenhouses, taken aback at the beauty of all those flowering plants. There were rainbows of colors mixed in with lush greens. Bees merrily buzzed along, doing their thing. I slipped into the office building, sighing at the rush of cool air, and jumped a foot when the boss rounded the corner unexpectedly. He looked just as hot as he had an hour ago when he’d strolled through the garden, only this time he had a yellow smock covering his clothes and a fat pencil behind his left ear.
“Fuck!” I gasped, my heart thundering.
“We have customers,” Bran angrily whispered. “Watch your language. This isn’t a hockey rink.”
“Okay, okay, Christ, chill the heck out,” I replied as I dug in my back pocket for my community service completion form. It was a little damp from ass sweat and more than mildly rumpled, but I pressed it out against my stomach and then held it out to him. “Can you fill in my hours today?”
His lips flattened, and his blue-gray eyes narrowed. I wondered if he ever smiled. I bet his amazing eyes would light up if he’d just try it once. He pulled the pencil from behind his ear, pressed the paper to the wall, and quickly filled in the slots for my hours served, followed by his signature and the date. The form lasted two weeks. Then I had to go to town and hand it to someone in Bran’s tight ass uncle’s office. Seriously, the thought of jawing with the judge or Bran made me want to tie a cinderblock around my neck and leap into the Erie Canal.
“There.” He handed back the droopy paper to me. I read it over. I didn’t want him to gip me out of any hours served.
“Thanks. Oh, hey, it says here at the bottom you need to use ink.” I tapped the small print.
“Goddammit.” He sighed.
“Dude, we have customers. Watch your language.”
His gaze flew from the paper to me and man, were those blue-gray eyes snapping. I smiled and rolled a shoulder. Something about that motion set him off because he stalked off in a snit. I jogged behind him, giving the girl who I’d seen earlier a bright grin that she instantly returned.
“Nathan, in my office,” Bran yelled. I double-timed it, following his voice to a small room right off the nook set aside for packets of seeds all lined up on the wall. The shelves were packed full. I spied some kale seeds as I rushed past. “Step inside here please.”
I did as asked. Bran had put a standard metal office desk between us. I lounged by the door, hands in my pockets, enjoying the AC on my overheated skin, as he pawed around in a desk drawer. The walls were log, like the rest of the place, and there was one small window that overlooked the community gardens. On the wall were plaques with degrees of some sort and pictures of Bran with kids or old people. One was a snapshot of him and a lanky, tattooed guy straddling a boss Harley. I leaned to the right a bit to check out Jim and whistled to myself. Fuck but his old man had been sleek. Long legged, inked up, long dark hair knotted on top of his head in a killer man bun. The ebony locks streaked with strips of yellow. Fucking A. What a sexy beast. The both of them together? Fucking beautiful. Bran was behind Jim on the hog, smiling and hugging his man. He looked…happy. I threw him a glance and felt a deep sadness creep into me for the loss he’d experienced.
“I’d like to take this opportunity to point out that while I cannot say who you date in your off hours, I would appreciate it greatly if you did not flirt with my niece Dixie.”
He flicked a look my way. “You mean that chick out there?” I jerked my thumb in the direction of the cash register. He nodded. “Yeah, you don’t have to worry about that. I’d be working on that other guy who works here before I ever hit on her.”
“You’re gay?”
“As the Fourth of July,” I tossed out. He said nothing, just stared. “Are you going to sign that or what? I have to catch the bus in five minutes.” He nodded, mumbled something unintelligible, scribbled on the form, and shoved it at me. I took it, checked to make sure he’d not ripped me off, and then wadded the form back into my pocket. “Thanks. Later.”
“Try to be on time tomorrow,” Bran threw at my back as I exited his cramped little space.
“On it,” I threw back over my shoulder, gave his niece a lazy smile as I sauntered through the showroom, and then ran like the fucking devil was on my heels to catch my bus. I made it but just. Sitting there wheezing, soaked with sweat, and thirsty as hell, I came to the realization that gardening sucked ass. Not in the fun way either.
Chapter Three
The next day I was on time. Yay me. Bran gave me this sour look when I busted into the showroom with two minutes to spare and a big grin on my face.
“Made it!” I crowed, wiping the sweat off my brow with the back of my hand. Dixie, the cute girl who smiled so I think he was lying about a familial connection, reached over the register to high five me. I slapped her hand and then leaped up to sit on the counter to catch my breath. “So, what’s on the table for today?” I asked the girl smiling up at me. She was pretty cute, reddish-brown hair cut short, tons of freckles, and smiling brown eyes. My age, maybe a little younger. “Oh wait, the bus with the old folks comes. Cool.”
“Get down,” Bran snapped then left the room as if he’d just recalled he had to be somewhere, anywhere. “Fill him in, Dixie. I need to work on the invoices.”
The door to his little office slammed shut. I gave my new friend a searching look.
“No offense, but your uncle is a dick at times.” I slid to the floor then dropped my elbows to the wooden counter. She did the same. “Also, it has not escaped my attention that you are a Dixie chick.”
“Lame.” She giggled then peeked around the cash register. When she was sure the coast was clear, she sighed heavily. “Yeah, he’s pretty dark since his husband died, withdrawn, you know?” I nodded. “He’s usually not as brittle with people as he is with you. I think it has to do with a couple of things.”
“Oh yeah, what things?” I asked but the phone rang and she had to answer it. Who was up at six in the morning and calling a garden center to enquire about natural insect repellents for an azalea? Couldn’t this dude find out online?
I never did get a reply to that question as the boss then reappeared, tossed his dark head at me, and then walked off. I plodded along behind him, wishing for some coffee and for his ass not to look so tasty in those jeans, and if he were a toad on the outside as well.
“Through here,” he called, leading m
e through a maze of short bushes wrapped in burlap. “When the gardeners arrive, I’ll be out here with you and Maggie to help.”
“Oh cool!” He tossed a confused look back at me. “I like Maggie. She saw Led Zeppelin live then dropped some acid with Robert Plant…or was it that she was at the Zeppelin show, dropped acid, and thought she was hanging out with Robert Plant? Well, either way, she’s fucking awesome.”
“Right, because doing drugs is something to be admired.”
“No, man, I admire her because…never mind. You’re too damn stiff to appreciate the fun things in life.” I wasn’t prepared for him to whirl around and get right into my face. I wasn’t scared. Far from it. I was a hockey player. I knew how to fight. I just was startled to find my overseer’s nose an inch from mine.
“Fun things like drugs and booze get people killed. There’s nothing admirable about getting fucked up and endangering innocent people,” he snarled as a bird began to sing to our immediate right.
“No, yeah, that’s right. I agree. Driving while under the influence is fucked up.”
He studied me for the longest minute of my life. I could smell his anger tangled up with the sweet smell of aftershave. Without another word said he whipped around and walked off at a hurried pace. I blew out a breath, hitched up my shorts, and ran after him. He never looked at me again the whole time he gave me my job description for the day. Seemed today was fertilizer day, which meant that I got to run the wheelbarrow from the stinking pile of composted cow shit to the plots. Oh what fun I had. Eight hours of shoveling shitty dirt into a wheelbarrow, pushing it into the garden, forking it out into each plot, and then going back to get more for the next old dude or gal. Over and over and over, all day, in the baking sun. My shoulders and neck were tight and red. My legs ached, and I reeked of dirt, compost, and man. My all-day deodorant crapped out around noon. The whole day sucked. The only bright spot was the quick lunch break we took and the fact that around one or two in the afternoon the sun was so bright that Bran peeled off his shirt for a few minutes to cool off under the hose.
Fuck me with a massive glittery dildo but that man was cut. Strong arms, wide shoulders, lean waist, rippled abs that were nicely furred with crisp dark hair. My dick got fat watching him hose himself off. Maggie had to pinch me to pull me from the fog of lust I’d been lost in.
“You need some time alone with your hat?”
I pulled the brim from between my teeth. I might have blushed. Hard to tell due to the sunburn I had. I sat down in the shade, ate the lunch that Bran had provided then took a fast trip to the men’s room in the cool and shady showroom. Once I was locked in a stall, I tried to piss but my dick was too hard. There I stood, staring at my boner, and before I was really even conscious of it, I was stroking myself slowly, easing into a hand job that took about two minutes to complete because of the slick, hot porn video in my mind starring me fucking Bran up against the wall with all the seed packets.
“Christ, ah hell!” I grunted as I filled my hand with spunk. I gave my dick another few tugs, shuddered wickedly, and instantly felt like a perv. What kind of lowlife sneaks into the work bathroom to tug one off on the sly?
The same kind of lowlife who drinks and drives and pushes his mother into leaving?
“Go fuck yourself,” I snarled to myself, tossed a handful of cum into the toilet then flushed. I washed up, scrubbing my hands up to my elbows, and then slithered back outside.
I kept my gaze off Bran the rest of the day after a fast peek to find that he’d pulled his white sunflower T-shirt back on in my absence. Thank fuck. I didn’t think I could take JO breaks every ten minutes. Getting my form filled in was uncomfortable, but he said little, and I merely made gruff sounds. Out the door I went, not even stopping to chat with Dixie or the other guy, Phil I think, who worked here. I was home and out on the patio with a bottle of pink lemonade and a moldy loaf of bread before I allowed myself to think about Bran, his chest, and the sizzling sick reaction I’d had to all that man flesh.
“I need to get laid,” I told Gilbert, who had brought his friend Gottfried with him this time. They squawked and squalled and bobbed their heads until I tossed them both some bread chunks. They didn’t mind that it was moldy.
The downside to the whole getting laid thing was that I had no steady fuck buddy. Most of my hookups were in clubs, and since I was now part of this inebriated driver program and working off drinking-related fuckery, my hanging in clubs might be seen as a bad thing by the courts. I’d been lucky, really. As much as I hated to admit it, things could have been so much worse. My celebrity and my age—under 21—did come into account, and as much as that sucks for people who aren’t well known, I was grateful for the small breaks it had afforded me. Even if I did roll my eyes at Arn, I knew I’d been given some leniency, and I didn’t want to mess up again.
“Know any gay guys locally who would come to my place to get fucked?” The gulls stared at me with their birdy eyes. “Yeah, I figured.” They cawed at me, so I threw them more bits of green bread. “Maybe I could proposition Bran into giving me oral sex as part of his rehab-director-overseer-whatever the fuck his title is duty.”
The thought of Bran dropping to his knees and sucking my dick made me laugh out loud—hard. The gulls flew off startled then came back about four seconds later.
“Sorry, but man that’s funny.” I coughed as the giggles eased up and another sort of feeling began to bloom. Lust. If I closed my eyes, I could really picture it. His blue-gray eyes hooded with passion, his lips smiling then stretching around my dick, my fingers wound in his dark brown hair as I gently fucked his wet, hot mouth. “Okay, so, I’ll be back in like ten minutes.”
I took my erection into the bathroom and beat off. Again. When I returned to the patio, Gilbert and Gottfried were patiently preening to kill the time.
“You two are persistent,” I mumbled. Kind of like the now raging lust I was harboring for a man who disliked me for multiple reasons. Yay, go me and my exemplary life choices.
I had the next day off. Like who the hell gives a person a Thursday off? I scowled at the work schedule that had been posted online by Bran in our little chat group. Not that Bran chatted. He just put work shit up every week. And my days off were all during the week. Not one Saturday or Sunday for the next four weeks. What a prick. Did he think that making me work on the weekends would keep me from drinking? Probably. And yeah, it would, but I’d already made the promise to myself that I was done partying. When you’re spending time alone with no one to talk to but two stupid seagulls, you’ve got some changes to make. My teammates were all back home, having a fucking killer summer by all accounts. Their IG pages were packed with beaches, beer, and hot babes. And here I sat in Syracuse jerking off and staring at a canal. Saddest thing? Totes my fault.
My first day off I walked to the DMV to officially register for my IDP classes. With my court papers, ID, and the fee in hand, I spent two joyous hours cursing myself and that stupid shed I’d crashed into. After I was signed up for my classes, I went for a walkabout of Syracuse. I really missed my car, but it had been impounded after the wreck and freed by my lawyer, Steve Pawden, and then sent to an auto body shop where it was now being fixed. To the tune of thousands of dollars, I was sure. Whatever. I had money. Not millions, I wasn’t in the NHL yet, but I got a nice chunk of change from the Stallions. I was kind of burning through my little nest egg quickly with court fees, lawyer fees, IDP class fees, and a pile of other court-related fines. Feeling a little concerned, I paused by the Erie Canal Museum to check my bank balance.
“Ouch,” I whispered when I saw the depleted state of my finances. “Fuck me.” I shoved my phone into my back pocket and went inside the museum. What else did I have to do? This wasn’t exactly my preferred way of killing time, but it was cheap and within walking distance. Once my brain was filled with Erie Canal information, I pondered on my next exciting destination. The salt museum, the art museum, or Destiny USA, a massive mall. Yeah, not a hard deci
sion.
I hopped a bus and arrived at Destiny USA within twenty minutes. I loved hanging out in the state’s largest shopping mall. I ate lunch, checked out some of my favorite shops, bought a new video game, grabbed a movie at the cineplex, ate more greasy fast food while I watched kids ride the massive carousel right by the food court, and then caught another bus and went home. Two hours later, I fell asleep on the couch, PS4 controller in hand. Talk about living the life of a superstar. Nothing says top athlete like reflux and a stiff neck from sleeping on the sofa in your underwear.
My phone must have died sometime during the night because I’d not plugged it in due to crashing during a battle with a post-apocalyptic mutant. When I woke up at seven a.m., I knew was fucked. No shower, no shave, just a fast piss and the clothes I’d worn yesterday, and I was out the door. By the time I arrived at Sunflower Acres I was in a mood. Bran meeting me at the front door of the showroom added another level of fun to the shitty morning.
“Two hours late,” he said and showed me this stupid stopwatch that he yanked from the front pocket of his jeans.
“I know. I’m sorry. My phone died and my alarm didn’t go off.” Was that as lame as it sounded? I glanced at Dixie behind the counter. She was imitating a hanging victim. Talk about gallows humor. Yeah, I thought it had been a weak excuse as well…
“Then buy a damn alarm clock. You’re here until four today and this is going to be noted on your paperwork.”
“Super, thanks.”
“That heaping dollop of snide is not helping you at all, Mr. Zinkan.”
Dixie rocked back and forth with more speed. I snorted and instantly regretted it. Bran the man went off like a firecracker. I wasn’t even sure what he was saying since I couldn’t stop staring at his neck and the fine sheen of sweat on that stretch of tan skin. Then his mouth stopped moving, and I gaped at his lips for a good fourteen or fifteen seconds before I realized that he’d stopped lecturing me.
