“Thank you.” I slapped him on the back. “Let’s go.”
Adam’s F-150 trudged over a crunchy snowbank. “If we drive to the lake, we can hop on a skimobile,” he said. “It’s faster.”
“Another skimobile? Is that the only way people get around in these parts?”
“This time of year. You can walk across the lake on a good day if you got it in ya.”
“I’ll save the walking for another time.” I put my swollen ankle up on the dashboard.
“Be careful not to scratch the—”
“You said it’s a rental.” I lowered the backrest. “How long’s this going to take?”
“What?”
“The ride, goofball.”
Adam glanced at my nether regions, then returned to driving. “Sorry. You got me a little distracted again.”
“Are we back on that? I thought you were happily married—gaily ever after, like Ev and me.”
“It doesn’t hurt to look.”
I snickered and sat up. “I guess.” I thought about how I’d initially found Adam attractive and my erection with Vilhelm. I returned the seat to its upright position and took in Adam’s form—chiseled nose, five-o’clock shadow, strong hairy paws gripping the steering wheel, dark jeans, and those laced-up boots that could turn a straight man gay. I never realized I had a thing for shoes.
The truck rambled down a muddy passageway and turned a bend under branches thickened with ice that scraped the roof.
“It’s a rental,” I said. “Who cares if it’s damaged?”
“I have one in California too.”
“An F-150?”
“Yeah.”
“You really do play the part well.”
“Johnnie, my husband, likes the lumberjack look.”
“So you play dress-up?” I lowered the window a smidge to let in some air. Evan’s sweatshirt warmed me, and I tugged the sleeves up.
“Are you hot?”
“I thought we already established that.” I grinned.
“Ha-ha!” Adam joked. “This acting stuff has gone to your head.”
“I’m kidding. How far to this dog camp?”
“I think it’s—”
“You think!”
“Relax.” He rubbed my knee. “With all these downed trees, I can’t go the direct path.”
I rolled my eyes.
We sat in silence for a time until Adam clicked on the radio—a static-ridden AM station. He punched the FM band—more static. “Don’t you guys get music stations up here?”
“I’m not from these parts. Massachusetts is another country.”
“That’s right. You’re from the more refined and cultured Southern New England.” He lowered the volume.
I fiddled with the radio’s knob, looking for Evan’s ’80s station. The Pretenders, in weak warbling reception, sang.
“I like that song,” Adam said.
“Me too.” Chrissie Hynde belted “Middle of the Road” with abandon. The drumbeat rustled over interference, but the song was clear. “This is one of Evan’s favorite songs. He loves The Pretenders.”
“Good choice.”
The road meandered. I looked out the window. The air felt good on my face, and I closed my eyes, reminding myself of Deet sticking his nose out the window—catching scents along the way, sniffing for recognition in a new world. The song played on. My mind drifted to first meeting Evan—us bumping into each other at Barnes & Noble in Peabody and him reading stacks of books and drinking coffee. I recalled when I first came on to him, out by his lake, and we jumped in the water in our boxers, like two teenage boys out for a swim. Dates at fine restaurants followed, and a budding affection for the man had grown in me, unlike any I’d had for others. We fit hand in hand. Years later, it still felt right.
The Pretenders song ended, followed by a loud, annoying car commercial. I clicked the radio off.
“The marketing guy doesn’t like ads?” Adam asked.
“Not particularly. You want to sing me a jingle? Maybe I’ll change my mind.”
“I don’t sing.”
“Good. Neither do I.”
The vehicle veered left, up an embankment. “Not too much farther.”
We passed the Jonas house. “Hey,” I said, “isn’t that Vilhelm’s place? I wonder if Darlene’s still tied up.”
“I took care of her. I sent a boy over.” Adam glanced my way. “You didn’t do a very good job restraining her. By the time he got there, she’d already shimmied her way out and was on to a spot of tea by the fire.”
“That old woman’s a nut job.”
“She’s a beauty. Tough as nails.” Adam shifted the truck into a lower gear as we drove through mud. “She means well.”
“She does?”
“She loves Vilhelm. She just has a funny way of expressing it—mollycoddling him and all. It’s her nanny nature.”
“Nanny nature? I’ll say.”
The truck halted by the edge of the lake, and we got out.
Adam made his way to a shack off the pier—the same deck I’d hoisted myself upon when Evan and I’d arrived. “She owns the place, you know.”
“Huh?”
“Darlene Jonas. She practically owns Settlement Island.”
I hobbled after him. “The Jonas house, that’s her house?”
“Yup and most of the island too. How do you think we got to film here?”
“She says she’s the chief-cook-and-bottle-washer or something.” I recalled her fancy title.
“Yeah, I forget what we call her these days. Whatever she wants, really. She inherited money, a shitload of money, and with it bought most of the island and a dog farm.”
“Dog farm?” I caught up to him. “She runs the dog farm?”
“Look, I’m only a production hand. I make a decent penny for what I do. I do as they say.” Adam opened the door to the shack. “Hmm.”
“What?” I entered the barn-like structure.
“They’re all out of snowmobiles.”
Chapter 41
Evan
Four logs and a few fairy tales later, Javier and I continued thawing by the fireplace. I’d read Brothers Grimm stories to him about men with blue beards, sleeping beauties, and princely frogs; we huddled in the blanket and passed time. Funny how having a hot, naked young man beside me didn’t fluster my nether regions—no spontaneous erections this time. We had more important things to worry about, like staying warm and surviving.
“There might be some crackers in the pantry,” Javier said after I finished The Frog Prince. “I’ll check.” He slid out of our warm confines.
“Grab the sheet off the bed.” I turned to him as his derrière dimpled its way across the room to the kitchenette.
He ripped the flannel top sheet off the twin, wrapped himself in it, and disappeared into the small room next to it. Cabinet doors squealed open. “Oh, God,” he muttered.
“What?”
“A dead mouse.”
Three logs remained in the cubbyhole. “Where’s Adam? Shouldn’t he be here by now?”
Another cabinet squeaked. “I’m sure he’s tried me a million times on the cell. He probably figures I ran out of juice.”
“But you said he was expecting you.”
Javier emerged from the kitchen holding a package of peanut-butter crackers. “He’ll be here. Don’t worry.” He approached, offering me a cracker.
“I’m not hungry.”
“You need to eat.”
“I had a big breakfast at the inn.”
He tore the plastic wrapper. “You mind if I…?”
I raised a palm under my wrap. “By all means. Eat. You’re a growing boy.”
“I should hang our clothes in back, by the pellet stove.” He placed the package of crackers on the table.
“Oh. I forgot about them.” I started to get out of our warm cocoon to help.
“Stay. I’ll get them.” He gathered our wet slop of clothes, by the door where we’d discarded them,
and took them out back.
A few minutes later, he settled back under the blankets—leaving the flannel sheet around him—and I covered him up more with the blanket.
His warmth returned and, instinctively, I cuddled beside him.
He placed an arm around me. “They’ll get someone over here.”
“I know.” Like a sudden clap of thunder, all my sorrows came to light: the financial predicament that initiated all this, the trouble getting to New Hampshire, losing the Ford, having our wallets stolen, Dillon’s ankle, infidelity—as it appeared—and now nearly drowning in the lake. I lay my head on his shoulder, wanting to cry. “Do you ever wonder why life hands you a bunch of shit?”
“Too bad life’s not like one of those fairy tales where you can kiss a frog and your life transforms before your eyes.”
“You know, in the original version of the story, she threw the frog against the wall. That was how he transformed.”
“Disgusting.” He popped a cracker in his mouth.
“The Brothers Grimm were pretty grim.”
“Hmm.”
I considered my circumstances. “It’s like God, or whatever…or whoever, throws us curve balls to test our abilities at bat.”
The plastic package crinkled as he removed another cracker. “When I was a kid, I grew up in a rough area in Queens. My family was into a lot of shit—drugs, gambling. I guess I had to rise above it. They weren’t the greatest influence, but it made me, you know?” He held up the cracker. “You sure? Last chance.”
“I’m good.” I returned my head to his shoulder.
He chewed, swallowed, and we listened to hail pinging the tin roof.
I felt his warm breath on my head.
“You smell nice,” he said.
“I do? Not like a lake monster or something?”
He chuckled. “No.” He breathed me in again. “Like a warm fire on a lazy afternoon.”
“I think the smoke’s gotten into my hair.”
He side-hugged me and lowered his head onto mine. “I’m not coming on to you. Don’t worry.”
“I’m not worried.”
“We’re both happily married.” His nose tickled the top of my head.
“We are.”
“You sure you don’t want me to get you something to eat?”
“No.” I patted his leg. “I told you, I’m not hungry.”
“Well, there are more in the cupboard for later.”
“Next to the dead mouse.” I sat up.
“No. He was on the bottom shelf.”
“Good, we’ve got dinner plans, peanut-butter crackers.”
He smirked. “And there’s a bottle of Chianti.”
“Getting drunk is a great option.” I felt my dimples crease.
Javier leaned back on one arm and took me in. “You know, you’ve got a nice smile.”
“I think now you’re coming on to me.”
He blushed. “I wish.”
“You wish?”
“I’m married. Remember?”
“Tim. I remember. Is he your prince?” I gazed at the flickering flames.
“Tim is. He’s a great guy. He could’ve thrown me to the curb a million times for stupid shit I did, but he’s always stood by me.”
“Then why are you coming on to—”
He pulled away. “I’m not.”
“Stupid shit? You don’t strike me as the type to do stupid shit.”
“Well…I got a girl pregnant. Fathered a child when Tim and I were…well, we were sort of together, but I was struggling with the gay thing. We weren’t really together,” he rushed the later part.
“Struggling with the gay thing?”
Javier brushed a hand through his messed-up hair. “Yeah, I was.”
“And you’re raising her together?”
“Yes. Carrie is a peach. I’d show you her picture, but my phone….”
“Yeah. Well, I’d show you a picture of Deet, but you kind of already know him.”
“He’s your baby?”
“You could say that.”
Javier scrunched the cracker package and placed it on the table beside the Brothers Grimm book where the wrapper unfurled. “I’d be careful with what they demand of him.” He pivoted my way. “I mean…I don’t want you to be scared and all, but the head of all this, Darlene Jonas, she can be a witch sometimes.”
“Darlene Jonas?”
“She raised the dogs, lives here on the island. In fact, she raised Vilhelm.”
“Vilhelm, the dog?”
Javier laughed, a deep guttural hack. “No, Darlene was Vilhelm’s nanny.”
“Oh.”
“Hollywood incest, if you will. There are all sorts of political connections. Darlene gets all this money for allowing them to film here. Most of the island is hers.”
“I hope I don’t get the chance to meet her.”
Javier pointed his chin toward the book. “Another fairy tale?”
“You like me reading to you?”
His shoulder hitched. “Yeah.” He smirked.
“You’re cute.”
He faced me. “Are you coming on to me?”
I raised an eyebrow. “I wish.”
We shared an awkward stare for a time.
“Is The Emperor’s New Clothes in there?” he asked without taking his eyes off me.
“I think that’s Hans Christian Andersen.”
A flame danced in his blue eyes, and the wind whistled. He inched closer. “I like that story.”
Mesmerized by his gaze, I moved in. “Yeah?”
Javier swallowed audibly. He was handsome in every way: the indent above his lip, the fair amount stubble on his chin, his olive complexion, and thick eyebrows. He edged even closer. “I must say—” He licked his lips. “—being naked next to you is a bit of a challenge.”
I breathed his scent; his strong musk enticed my senses. “Perhaps the emperor needs new clothes.”
“I think my emperor does.” His mouth neared mine.
I could smell the peanut-butter cracker he’d eaten. Evan, don’t. I was hard under the sheets.
“I can’t!” He pulled away. “What’s wrong with me?” He rose.
I looked away. “I’m sorry.” What the hell is wrong with me?
Wrapped in flannel, Javier headed for the bathroom. “I’ve got to take a leak.” He closed the door behind him.
The rain dripped down the window by the cabin’s front door. I, too, had the urge to pee and recalled, hours ago, fearing that I’d seen blood in my urine
After a minute, Javier urinated with a loud whiz. The lid closed, the toilet flushed with a dry rumble—no water to refill it—and he stepped out. “No water to wash with.” He rubbed his hands on the bedsheet wrapped at his waist. A fan of hair covered his taut pectorals.
“I’ll trust you’re clean.” I slid out, naked, from the cocoon. “My turn.”
He removed the sheet from his waist and offered it. “It’s drafty in there.” He slid back under the blanket I’d abandoned.
I took it, went inside, and closed the door. I stood over the bowl, fearing I would pee blood. After a few seconds, I dared to glance at my stream. Yellow. I breathed a sigh of relief.
“We’re getting low on logs!” Javier shouted.
“I know.” I pissed more—more yellow. Rust in the toilet caked the edges of the bowl. I smiled.
“We’re down to the last two. Don’t worry. There’s always the pellet stove in back with the dogs.”
“Fit for us animals.” I shook dry. “We should open the wine. That’ll keep us warm.” I inspected my penis, one more time, for blood. Nothing.
“A man after my own heart.” Javier said, then after a few seconds rushed, “I didn’t mean that…after my own heart.”
Chapter 42
Dillon
Sans skimobile, Adam drove the F-150 the long way to the dog cottage, where he suspected Javier—and hopefully Evan—might be. We reversed our tracks, looped around the east
end of the island where we trundled a small bridge over a frozen river.
“I think I could’ve walked there faster.” I returned my seat to a reclining position, ankle back on the dash. The rattle of the bridge’s planks met with the whisper of pavement.
“Not in your condition.”
“You make it sound like I’m pregnant.”
Silence filled the cabin, save for road sounds.
“You and Ev ever think of having children?”
The clouds reminded me of my days in Washington State. “We’ve talked about it, but I don’t know if we’re…well, I don’t think I’m father material.”
“Why not?”
“Don’t know.” In the woods, snow melted and fog suspended above it.
Adam’s phone rang and he picked it up. “Oh boy, look who’s calling,” he said to me, then answered. “Darlene, what can I do for you?”
I caught his gaze as he listened to the old biddy. “Yeah, I took care of him.” Another glance. “Don’t worry about it. He didn’t mean to—”
“Yes, I—”
He held the phone with his shoulder and shushed me.
I returned to my gloomy Northwest-like view while he arranged for the dogs’ pickup.
A few minutes later, a team of skimobiles raced out from the woods beside us. Five or six flanked the F-150, then sped past us.
“There they are,” Adam said.
“Evan?”
“No, the rescue crew. They’re off to the compound to get the dogs.”
By the time we arrived at the cottage—a small concrete-block structure with snowbanks up to its windows and windswept above the roof in some areas—the rescue crew had already arrived. Smoke rose from the cabin’s two chimneys.
A thick, balding man with a round belly came to Adam’s side of the truck. “We’re giving them a minute.” His voice was muffled through the closed window.
“Who? What do you mean?” Adam opened his door.
The bald man tsked. “We caught Javier with his pants down…literally. They’re both buck naked.” He caught my eye.
“What!” I flung open my door and made my way to the cottage, forgetting my throbbing ankle. My trudge turned into a run as I neared. “Evan?”
“Dillon!” Inside, Evan shared a blanket with the Venezuelan—both bare-chested beneath. “I can explain,” Evan said. As Evan came closer, the blanket caught in his step, and he tumbled, nude, to the floor.
Building Us: A Gay Romantic Comedy and Adventure (Marketing Beef Gay Romance Book 2) Page 16
