by Aislin, Amy
“I’ve only lived next door to Laura for a few months,” Sam said, letting the change of subject go without comment. “I’m leasing the house from some family friends. Their daughter lives in Vancouver and she and her husband had their first baby a few months ago. Since they’re both retired they decided to move there for six months to help her out. They offered to lease me the house on the cheap and I took them up on it. I was still living at home and this was a chance to get out on my own now, you know?”
“Totally.” The way Bo said it reminded Sam of a starving man. “But where will you go when they come back?”
“I was hoping to buy my own place,” Sam admitted as he maneuvered around a particularly slow-moving truck. They were flying down the highway, an anomaly for rush hour.
“In Oakville?”
Sam snorted. “Fuck no. With the way house prices are right now, I’ll be able to afford my own place in Oakville on the dark side of never.”
Bo chuckled. “Where will you go then?”
“I’m not sure yet. Out of the GTA, for sure.” The Greater Toronto Area had too many people for his tastes, anyway.
“Don’t you need to be close to the city for work?”
“Nope. I work for myself so I work from home. Most of my business is conducted online.”
His graphic design business had exploded while he was still in university. Originally, he’d started the on-the-side job as a way to help his parents pay for his tuition and to make some extra cash since his job at a small cafe had only netted two measly shifts a week. He’d started building websites for his friends in the business program and things had snowballed from there. SM Graphics was born mostly from word-of-mouth alone.
“That’s really cool,” Bo said. “I guess you haven’t found a house you like yet?”
“Actually, I haven’t started looking,” Sam admitted. “I’ve been so distracted lately, I haven’t really thought much about it.” The hollow pit in his stomach that always appeared when he thought about being sued widened. He gripped the steering wheel. “If the case against me doesn’t get dropped, I may never be able to afford my own place, anyway.”
“It’ll get dropped,” Bo said. “They’d be idiots to bring this kind of case in front of a judge.”
Maybe.
Bo poked him in the arm. “You’re gonna end up back at your parents,” he teased.
Sam shuddered. “Please, no.”
“Do you not get along?” Bo asked. Sam could feel his eyes on him.
“No, we get along great. I just don’t think I could move back there after being on my own.”
Bo got quiet as Sam exited the highway and cruised around downtown for a public parking lot that wouldn’t cost him more than the price of two nosebleed-section Blue Jays tickets. Resigned to the inevitable, he finally chose a lot only a short walk from the stadium. Bo insisted on paying since Sam had purchased the tickets. Sam watched him extract a twenty from his wallet, hand it to the attendant, and wait for his two dollars in change. He didn’t even know if Laura was paying Bo for his time at Big Sky and felt guilty that the man had insisted on paying for parking.
Sam admired the curve of Bo’s jaw and that little freckle that called for his tongue, the perpetual blush that stained his tanned cheeks, the way his blond hair fell over his forehead and curled at the back of his neck. Imagined what he’d look like on paper. Sam couldn’t help it: He started mentally drawing Bo, yet the man was such a contradiction Sam didn’t really know how to draw him. Give him a scythe so he could slay monsters? A sword to fight in Camelot? A farm to raise the village’s food? A fucking flower stand?
Bo took his toonie from the parking lot attendant and when Sam failed to move, Bo quirked an eyebrow at him. A car honked behind them. Sam tore his eyes away and parked, hopefully before Bo figured out Sam was dying to get his hands on him.
§§§§
They didn’t sell cookies at the Rogers Centre, so Bo got a hot dog, a water bottle (the teenager at the food counter who sold it to him kept the cap for some reason Bo couldn’t guess at), and a large bucket of popcorn to share with Sam. By the fifth inning he was hungry again so he got a slushie and an ice cream bar.
Also by the fifth inning, the crowd was frickin’ wild! The Jays’ coach had gotten kicked off the field barely five minutes into the first inning, the umps took forever to decide on a call in the third (the crowd booed hard when they decided in favor of the other team), the Jays had already scored eight home runs, and the game had been neck-in-neck since it started. Oh, and let’s not forget the streaker who’d run across the diamond during the fourth inning before security had escorted him off the field.
Baseball was awesome!
Sam hadn’t been kidding when he said the tickets were in the nosebleed section, but it didn’t matter one whit. The energy in the 500 section was like nothing Bo had ever seen before. True they wouldn’t catch any stray balls, but who cared?
The crowd was on their feet as they waited to see if the Jays’ batter scored another homer. When the ball landed in the stands, the Rogers Centre practically exploded.
Even though it said “Rogers Centre” on the side of the stadium and on his ticket, Sam had called it the SkyDome. When Bo asked him about it, Sam said it was renamed in 2005 but that diehard Torontonians still called it the SkyDome. Google apparently hadn’t told Bo everything.
The dome was open to the cloudless evening and the sun had set enough that the air was becoming chilly. Bo slipped on his jacket before taking his seat again, watching Sam from the corner of his eye.
He’d never seen Sam so animated. The man had been coldly aloof during the last month when he’d come over to Bo’s to give him grief. And yesterday he’d been subdued yet friendly during their time talking on the porch, even when he’d talked about being sued. Bo had assumed that was just the way he was: quiet, laid-back. Apparently it took sports to get him riled up.
Which, of course, led to thoughts of what else got Sam riled up. Sex, perhaps? Not a thought he should be having surrounded by teenagers and families with small kids. Good thing nobody could read his mind.
During the sixth inning, “the wave” went around the stadium five times before it died in the section next to them. And during the seventh, he joined Sam and every other fan in a rousing rendition of “Take Me Out to the Ballgame.”
Baseball was his new favorite thing. Second favorite thing, actually. Sam was first even though he wasn’t really his yet. Or ever. Was the guy even gay?
“What do you suppose a cracker jack is?” Bo asked once they finished singing.
“It’s an American snack, I think.”
Bo grunted. “They have all sorts of snacks we don’t.”
“True.” Sam finished off the popcorn. “But they don’t have Coffee Crisp.”
“Or Tim Horton’s,” Bo said.
“Actually, I think there are a few Timmies’ in the States now.”
“Thieves.”
Sam laughed, making Bo smile. Sam’s lips looked soft between his light beard. Bo ached to reach out and run his palm over that beard, cup that strong jaw, and bring those lips to his. The feelings fluttering in his belly for Sam made him feel woozy and…new, in a way. He’d had crushes before but this felt different.
Please don’t let me be crushing on a straight guy. How cliché.
In the bottom of the ninth, the Jays were down by one with two strikes and two outs, but the bases were loaded. The crowd was cheering and hollering and dancing and waving their blue baseball hats around. It was loud and insane and Bo couldn’t believe he’d never been to a baseball game ever. Man, he’d been missing some good stuff.
The Jays’ batter hit a homer, winning them the game, and as all four players on the field ran to home from their respective bases, it was like Christmas and New Year’s and birthdays had come early for every single person in the stands.
It was seriously epic shit.
He and Sam got separated in the crowd on the walk down to s
treet level. Bo couldn’t see over the sea of blue and white to find Sam, but he knew Sam was somewhere in front of him. When he turned a corner, he spotted Sam waiting for him against the wall.
Sam smiled and took his hand. Bo contained a shiver at the contact; Sam’s hand was warm and dry against his. “Hold on to me.” Sam hooked Bo’s fingers through one of his belt loops. “I don’t want to lose you.”
Oh, if only Sam meant less I don’t want to lose you in the crowd and more I don’t want to lose you ever. A guy could dream.
Bo didn’t let go of Sam until they reached the street. He’d been given permission to touch; no way in hell was he giving that up earlier than he needed to. Granted he was only touching Sam’s jeans (okay, maybe he let his fingers brush against Sam’s T-shirt), but still. It was something.
At the corner of Blue Jays Way and Front Street, they waited with a huge crowd—other Jays fans—for the light to change. Bo stood to the left of and slightly behind Sam, and he grinned like a dummy when Sam reached for his arm, slid Bo in front of him, and rested his hands at Bo’s waist.
“So you don’t get lost,” Sam muttered near his ear, breath tickling his skin.
Bo grinned so wide his jaw hurt. Sam was touching him! Sam was totally into him!
Sam was totally into him, right? Straight guys didn’t go around hanging onto their friends by the waist, did they?
Sam moved a step closer to him, his front rubbing against Bo’s back.
Definitely gay. Definitely into Bo. But just to make 100 percent certain, Bo ran the fingers of one hand over Sam’s wrist. Sam captured Bo’s fingers and threaded them together. Bo’s heart fluttered and he did an internal victory dance.
The light went green and, much to Bo’s dismay, they separated to cross the street, though Sam did hang on to one of Bo’s belt loops. The animated crowd pressed in on them on all sides, high from their home team’s win. The temperature hovered somewhere around fifteen degrees Celsius, cool for almost-summer, but Bo knew that in a couple of weeks humidity would hit and turn the air—even the evening air—hot and muggy and gross.
“Hey.” Bo pulled Sam aside once they’d crossed to the north side of Front Street, out of the way of the crowd. It was barely ten o’clock, Bo was wired, and he didn’t want this night to end. “Do you want to get a bite to eat? Or something?”
They stood face-to-face next to a streetlight and in the light’s glare, Bo saw Sam’s eyes land on him, flick to his lips and linger before he dragged them back up Bo’s face.
Sam smiled and jerked his head to the side. “There’s a pub down the street. Wings and beer?”
Bo nodded. The pub was only a thirty-second walk away, which was really too bad. Bo was very much enjoying the feel of Sam’s hand at his lower back.
The pub was packed but they managed to snag an empty high table on the front patio. The crowd looked like a combination of Jays fans and university students out for Thursday night drinks. A waitress appeared at their table almost as soon as they sat down. Once they’d ordered, Bo sat back in his chair and eyed the pedestrians walking by on the sidewalk. Shy all of a sudden, Bo didn’t know what to say now that he knew Sam wanted him back.
“Did you enjoy the game?” Sam asked.
“It was great,” Bo said. “Is it always that exciting?”
“No,” Sam said, laughing. “Sometimes it’s boring as hell. We got lucky tonight.”
We got lucky…Sam must’ve realized what he’d said because he sent an enticingly sexy grin Bo’s way. Bo’s face heated at the look. He was starting to sort-of regret not going straight home. Sort-of because even though he really wanted to get naked with Sam, he wanted to talk to him too, get to know him. Besides, was it smart to start something between them when he’d be going back to Ottawa at the end of the summer?
Who says you have to go back? Wasn’t like he was tied to Ottawa forever. There wasn’t anything there calling him back, he wasn’t emotionally tied to the city. Bo seriously had no idea what he was doing with his life beyond the next three months(ish). How did he know Sam wasn’t his future? Just because everything else in his life had been temporary—schools, homes, jobs, boyfriends—didn’t mean Sam had to be.
Okay, he needed to stop thinking about this, pronto. Nothing had happened between him and Sam yet and he was already planning their future? Maybe he should take a step back. Get out of his own head.
Sex helped get him out of his own head.
Why hadn’t they gone straight home again?
Oh right, because he wanted to be friends with Sam, as well as his lover. He hadn’t spent the past month wallowing in self-pity over the fact that Sam didn’t want to be his friend not to take advantage of it now.
He was torn out of his thoughts when the waitress set a couple of beers on their table. “The wings will be right out,” she said, and disappeared inside.
“Thanks for my hat,” Bo said to Sam, running his fingers along the rim of the brand-new Blue Jays-branded baseball hat on his head.
“You’re welcome. I would’ve gotten you the jersey too.”
“Not for two hundred bucks!”
Sam shrugged, all, Yeah well, that’s how much official sports jerseys cost.
Way above Bo’s pay grade.
Sam’s three-quarter-sleeve jersey was Blue Jays blue, with the Jays logo displayed on the left pocket. He’d shown up in it when he’d picked Bo up earlier. Now, like then, Bo couldn’t take his eyes off Sam’s defined biceps, on glorious display thanks to the snug-fitting T.
“Did you get all your stuff to your lawyer today?” Bo immediately regretted the question when the smile slipped off Sam’s face. “Sorry, it’s none of my business.”
“No, it’s not that, it’s just…I’m not actually supposed to talk about it.” Sam’s smile turned sheepish. “I only told you last night so that you’d know I didn’t flake out and forget our dinner date on purpose.”
Dinner date. Dinner date! It had been a date, after all!
“Well, I appreciate it,” Bo said, trying to contain a gleeful grin. “We won’t talk about it anymore, though. So, change of subject. How ‘bout them Jays?”
It made Sam laugh. “Did you actually enjoy the game or are you just humoring me?”
“Are you kidding? It was awesome. I can’t believe it was my first one.”
“We’ll go again,” Sam said. “You’re here all summer, so why not? We can check game days when we get back home and see what works with your schedule.”
“‘See what works with your schedule?’” Bo repeated. “Dude, seriously, the only people I know here are you and…well, you, and my life revolves around taking care of a half dozen chickens who think they’re the cast of Chicken Run and a tiny pig named PomPom. Pick a night and I guarantee you I’ll be free.”
Sam chuckled before taking a sip of his beer. “Fair enough,” he said once he’d swallowed. “What did you do in Ottawa before coming here? Were you working?”
“I worked in a book store. Assistant manager.”
“Sounds nice.” Sam looked like he meant that. “It was nice of them to give you four months off to come here.”
Bo shrugged and didn’t admit that the leave of absence was more of I-had-to-quit-my-job.
“Do you like it there?”
“Yeah,” Bo said. “I like it for the most part, but it’s not what I want to do for the rest of my life.”
“What do you want to do?”
“I have no idea.” Admitting that made Bo feel less like the mature (ha ha) twenty-four-year-old he was and more like an eighteen-year-old kid again, fresh out of high school and required to make a decision on a university major.
“Laura said you went to the University of Ottawa? What’d you study?”
“General arts.” A degree that specialized in nothing. How useful. Bo didn’t mention the few months of massage school (he didn’t like the feel of oil on his hands), or the stint at becoming a certified yoga teacher (yoga was boring), or the few colleg
e courses he’d taken in hotel management (he wasn’t very detail-oriented), or the one IT course he’d taken (too complicated), or, most recently, the failed attempt at learning how to teach ESL (he so didn’t have enough patience for that). It would just make him look like the flake Laura was constantly calling him.
Bo took a sip of his beer, and then another, the bitter flavor matching the bitterness he tried not to feel toward Laura. He wasn’t a flake, merely…indecisive. And if he was just a tiny bit flighty, he had his parents to thank for that.
“Hey.” Sam trapped one of Bo’s feet beneath both of his under the table. “It’s okay if you don’t know what you want to do, you know. Nobody says we have to have it figured out by a certain age.”
“Nobody except the entire rest of society. And university admissions offices.” Bo toasted university administrators everywhere with his beer glass and took another sip.
“Fuck ‘em,” Sam said. “You know, my dad grew up on a horse farm outside of Kingston. He decided at a young age that he wanted nothing to do with the business so he went into finance. And then five years ago he quit his job because he hated it. He and my mom bought a farm in Puslinch and they lease the farmland to other farmers so they don’t have to worry about it. Instead they raise horses and run trail rides.”
“Seriously?”
“He’s never been happier. He was fifty-five when he switched careers, so don’t ever let anybody tell you that you’re behind on having your life figured out.”
Sam’s story didn’t erase years of Laura harping on him, but it did make him feel better.
They chatted through their super-late dinner, polishing off two pounds of BBQ chicken wings and the remainder of their beer. The waitress cleared their dishes and dropped off their check.
“You know,” Sam said, “for a little guy, you certainly eat a lot.”
“Excuse me?” Bo sat straighter, indignant. “I am not little. I am a perfectly proportioned concentration of awesome.”
He expected Sam to laugh his answer away, or, worse yet, mock him. Instead, Sam’s eyes went half-lidded and they roamed Bo’s face before dipping to his chest.
