Hard Ride (Clean Slate Ranch)

by A. M. Arthur

  “This one was on top,” Dez said triumphantly, “so let’s try this kit.” She came around the tote tower with a box in her hands. “Ever done a latch hook rug?”

  “Nope.” He had no idea what that even meant.

  Dez perched her butt on something across from the couch that he hoped was a coffee table, and she held the kit out. “It’s basically small pieces of yarn you hook through this mesh canvas, and you produce a pattern. You can finish the edges and use it as a small rug. It was really big in, like, the seventies and eighties, but it never went away.”

  Slater studied the box, which showed a picture of a fuzzy green frog rug. “This is somehow enjoyable?”

  She laughed. “For some people, yes. I did a few when I was a kid. They’re fun and easy, but you also end up with something useable at the end of the project.”

  He tried to imagine that frog rug in front of Derrick’s apartment door, and Slater grinned. “Yeah, okay. I’ll give this a shot. Sounds like more fun than staring at the walls.”

  “Awesome.” Dez clapped. “I’ll show you how to get started.”

  Thus began Slater’s very first tutorial on how to make a latch hook rug. It took him a few tries to get the basic moves down, but then he was hooking piece after piece of pre-cut yarn onto his pre-painted canvas. He didn’t mind the slight cheat in having the image already on the canvas, because it helped him not fuck it all up completely.

  Once he had the idea, Dez went back to her sewing machine, and they worked together with thirties swing music playing over her sound system. When Slater’s phone alarm went off, Dez offered to dash next door for his pill, and he was grateful. He really liked Dez, and Slater was nearly halfway done the latch hook kit when the apartment door opened.

  A huge, muscle-bound guy stepped inside and froze. “Who are you?” he asked.

  “Uh, Slater?”

  Dez’s sewing machine stopped whirring and she popped into view. “Hey, babe, this is Derrick’s boyfriend. He got really bored, so I gave him something to do.”

  “Oh, cool.” The man who had to be Morgan took three long strides so he could bend and shake Slater’s hand. “Morgan Flaherty.”

  “Hi.” Slater shook the guy’s meaty palm. “Dez is right. I had no real idea how cooped up I’d be healing this fucking ankle, and I’m not a huge TV guy.”

  “No problem. Dez has enough projects stored up to keep six people busy for the next five years.”

  Dez flipped him off before jumping up to kiss his mouth. “What do you want for dinner? I can do a tofu scramble. Slater, are you staying?”

  “For tofu?” Slater replied. “Not a chance.”

  “Trust me, I had the same reaction the first time,” Morgan said. “Two years with Dez and I’m a firm believer in tofu. Even if I do love my pepperoni and sausage pizza once in a while.”

  “Relationships are about balance and compromise,” Dez added. “He gets his porky pepperoni and I get my tofu.”

  “Are you a vegan?” Slater asked.

  “Mostly vegetarian with occasional meaty treats, but we do try to eat more plants than meat whenever possible. And it’s not an animal rights thing, it’s just healthier for our bodies and minds. I try to invite Derrick over on healthy food nights but he’s determined to over-salt his body with frozen dinners and takeout.”

  Dez made a lot of good points, and after three years of eating Patrice’s home cooking in the guesthouse, Slater had a feeling he was going to start disliking frozen food and takeout pretty quickly. Maybe once he was better on the crutches, he could learn to cook simple meals.

  “If it’s getting close to your dinnertime,” Slater said, “I can make myself scarce.”

  “You don’t have to leave,” Morgan replied. “But if you want to, I can carry the latch hook stuff over for you.”

  “I appreciate it. Maybe I should get a little wagon I can tie to one crutch to carry stuff for me.”

  “Or a backpack.”

  “Good point and much easier.” How had Slater not thought of something so obvious? He could take anything anywhere with a simple pack. More online shopping was in his future tonight.

  Frantic knocking made all three of them jump, and Slater nearly fell off the couch. Morgan strode over and flung the door open. Derrick stood there, eyes wide, mouth agape, and started to ask, “Have you seen—?” Then he spotted Slater and instant relief made his rigid posture sag a bit. “There you are. Why aren’t you answering your phone?”

  “I didn’t hear it ring.” Slater picked it off the couch cushion, but the screen wouldn’t light up. “Shit, the battery must have died. I didn’t put it on the charger last night. Why? Is something wrong?”

  “Not anymore.” Derrick stepped inside so Morgan could shut the door. “I called to ask if you wanted anything special for dinner, and after the third time to voice mail, I panicked. Thought maybe you’d fallen or something.”

  “You were worried about me?”

  “Yeah.” Derrick shoved his hands into his slacks pockets and looked at his feet. The posture was...kind of adorable, and Slater liked knowing Derrick worried about him. And thought enough about him to ask what he’d like for dinner.

  “That is so cute,” Dez said. “This is the first time I’m seeing you together, and you make a charming couple.”

  “So what are you doing here?” Derrick asked him.

  “Trying not to lose my mind from boredom,” Slater replied. He held up the half-finished frog rug. “Dez gave me a project.”

  “Really?” Derrick sat beside him and looked at the rug, and no, his cologne did not make Slater’s skin prickle with awareness. And nearness. “My mom used to do these when I was little. You were really that bored?”

  Slater shrugged. “I can only watch so much TV before my brain wanders. I like doing things with my hands.” He wiggled one eyebrow at Derrick. “This is pretty hands-on.”

  Dez giggled. “And Slater is welcome over anytime. You’re both welcome. Especially if you want to stay for dinner.”

  “Do you have enough for four?” Slater asked before Derrick could say no, because he really, really wanted to watch Derrick eat tofu.

  “Definitely enough.” Dez’s eyes sparkled with I see what you did there mischief. “I’ll start cooking. Derrick, you want anything to drink?”

  “I’m okay for now, thank you.” Derrick picked up the latch hook kit box. “This really takes me back. If you enjoy it I can swing by a craft store and pick up a few more.”

  “I’m not sure.” Slater rubbed his finger over the latch hook tool itself. “I mean, I enjoy working with my hands and it’s fun to watch the image appear in yarn, but it’s simplistic.”

  “Can’t you buy the canvas plain?” Morgan asked. “Then you can cut your own yarn colors and make your own design. Instead of a frog or unicorn or whatever those kits come with. Wait a sec.” He threaded his way to a big bookcase on one wall and scanned the spines until he found two. Pulled them out and brought them over to Slater. “These are for cross-stitching but they’re just patterns. You can probably use them for latch hooking, too.”

  Slater accepted the two heavy books. One was customizable cross-stitch patterns that ran the gamut of phrases and Bible quotes to animals and winter scenes. Super simple and extremely complicated. Growing up, he’d had an elderly neighbor, Mrs. Phillips, who’d park herself and her sewing basket in a rocking chair on her trailer’s tiny front porch, and she’d cross-stitch all day long on these big wood hoops. He had no idea where those finished projects ended up, because her family moved her into a nursing home when Slater was eight, and he never saw her again.

  “What’s this one?” Derrick slid the second book out from under the first. Then started laughing.

  Slater glanced at the cover. “Subversive Cross-Stitch. The hell?”

  “Oh, I love these. They’re all cussing and
fuck this, fuck that. I can just see Conrad’s place with an entry rug that says, ‘Bless This Mother-Effing House.’ Oh, my God, these are priceless.”

  “See?” Morgan said. “All you have to do is use markers to draw the words or patterns on the latch hook canvas, pick your own colors, and then hook away. Or I guess you could learn to cross-stitch, too, and do wall samplers or something.” Off Derrick’s funny look, he added, “What? I’ve lived with Dez for two years. I’ve picked up on some of her language.”

  “These are great,” Slater said. He kind of liked the idea of using these books for inspiration and designing his own patterns. “Now I just need raw materials.”

  “I know Dez has a few totes full of yarn, but I dunno if she’s got any canvas.”

  “I don’t want to keep taking Dez’s supplies. I can buy my own stuff.”

  “You aren’t supposed to be out and about for at least two weeks,” Derrick said. “You need—”

  “To rest, yes, I know. Thank you, Nurse Massey.”

  Morgan chuckled. “Are you two sure you haven’t been dating longer than a few weeks?”

  Slater quirked an eyebrow at Derrick, who looked bemused by the comment. Technically, they weren’t really dating. Fucking on the gym mats had not been a date. Even dinner last night, as nice as it had been, wasn’t technically a date. But they were telling everyone that they were boyfriends, so... “If you can’t have fun with and tease your partner, who can you have fun with?” Slater asked.

  “True story.” Morgan cast a longing look in the direction of the kitchen. This apartment didn’t have the same open floor plan as Derrick’s. “Dez was still figuring herself out when we met, and watching her embrace being nonbinary and being able to just...exist? I fell in love so hard.”

  “How about after dinner,” Derrick said to Slater, “I’ll run out to the closest craft store and get stuff for you. I can even video-chat the call so you can see what I’m buying and choose what you want.”

  Slater stared at Derrick, whose earnest smile woke up the deep-down part of Slater that was lonely. So fucking lonely, and here was a fun, funny, friendly guy eager to do Slater all kinds of favors. Even going to a craft store at six thirty in the evening after a surprise dinner of tofu scramble, or whatever Dez was concocting in the kitchen. “Really?”

  “Sure. I didn’t think about you being bored and cooped up here day after day. Especially when you’re used to an independent life. If you want to spend tomorrow latch hooking cuss words onto canvas, I’m all for getting you supplies.”

  “Thank you.” Slater briefly resisted the urge to lean over and press a gentle kiss to Derrick’s cheek. But why resist? Couples, even fake ones, kissed each other as thanks for a favor. So he lightly pressed his lips to Derrick’s warm cheekbone. “I mean it. Thank you.”

  “No problem.” Derrick’s dark eyes flittered toward Slater’s lips, and Slater drew back. Not only because they weren’t alone—not that he imagined Morgan would judge them—but because Slater didn’t kiss on the mouth. Not with hookups and not with random guys he lived with but barely knew.

  “I’ll give you my debit card,” Slater said.

  “Okay.”

  With a plan firmly in place, Slater, Derrick and Morgan spent the next twenty minutes or so poring over both cross-stitch books, looking at patterns, phrasing, color combinations, and laughing a lot over some of the bawdier ones. Slater started making a mental list that included permanent markers in different colors, so he could “sketch” his designs on the canvas before he added the rows and rows of yarn. The entire project had him kind of excited, because he’d never been the creative type who produced art for others.

  But this was something he could do with his free time and not feel like he was sitting around being lazy while his ankle healed. He’d have physical proof of time and energy spent. Maybe he could even sock away some future birthday and Christmas gifts. No way he’d be good enough at this to make anything for Rachel for her graduation gift, though...

  Apparently, in the combined O’Connor and Flaherty apartment, there was no dining table or official meal spot. A few minutes after some lovely, warm aromas began circulating the apartment, Dez emerged with a tray loaded with what looked like soft tacos at first. Slater definitely smelled chili and cumin and something sort of eggy but not quite.

  “It’s Faux-Huevos Rancheros Tacos,” Dez said. A dozen tortillas loaded with faux-egg, beans, red peppers and onions were accompanied by side dishes of sliced avocado, shredded lettuce, shredded cheese, what he assumed was sour cream and chopped cilantro. Also a jar of salsa with a spoon in it. “Dig in!”

  Derrick shot Slater a dirty look for the tofu trickery. Slater winked and then grabbed a taco. Loaded it with cheese and salsa, and then took a big bite. The tofu had a shockingly good texture against the beans, somehow mimicking the texture and flavor of actual eggs. “Damn, this is excellent,” he said.

  Dez beamed at him. “Thank you. I actually came up with this a few months ago when Morgan was craving Taco Tuesday but we didn’t have any actual meat in the house. You can use the same mixture and roll it up into a kind of breakfast burrito.”

  “Very cool.” Slater had no desire to go full vegetarian—Patrice’s sausage gravy was too fucking amazing to ever give up—but he could see adding a few new things to his regular diet. Especially if they were as good as this.

  Derrick ate his taco more slowly—and loaded with every possible topping—but he seemed to enjoy the meal. “I hate to say it,” Derrick drawled as he loaded up a second taco, “but there might be something to this tofu thing.”

  Dez pretended to faint. “All it took was a boyfriend to get you to eat tofu? Can Slater tempt you into trying tempeh next?”

  “What is tempeh?” Slater asked.

  “Don’t ask,” Morgan replied with a pained face. “I can do it certain ways but just don’t ask.”

  Slater wasn’t sure if he wanted to try this mysterious tempeh or not, but he’d also spent five years eating whatever was dumped on his prison lunch tray without questioning it. He didn’t have to do that anymore, though. Not now and not ever again. He’d just look up tempeh on his phone later. Once he charged the damned thing.

  Dinner was delicious and the company was beyond charming. Morgan and Dez took turns feeding each other bites of their tacos, and the obvious love the pair shared shined in their smiles and simple gestures. Two years of love and acceptance. Slater’s own heart ached with jealousy and loneliness, and while he wasn’t a forever kind of guy, Slater was glad to have Derrick as a friend.

  Dez was completely cool with Slater borrowing her books. After complimenting the meal up and down, Derrick carried the books and rest of the latch hook kit across the foyer to their place. Derrick didn’t seem annoyed at Slater for leaving his apartment unlocked all day long. Slater hooked his phone up to its charger and got his ankle back up on the ugly green stool, while Derrick quickly searched for any online coupons for the craft store he planned to hit.

  “Hey, Derrick?” Slater said before his roommate left. Derrick paused by the apartment door, a silent question in his dark eyes. “Are you okay with lying to your friends about us being a couple? I mean, knowing you have to do it and actually doing it are two different things.”

  Derrick bit his bottom lip for several long seconds. “I’m not okay with it, exactly, but it was part of the deal we made, right? Fake it for the summer until we break up?”

  “Right. I just...” Don’t want you to start resenting me screwing up your life after only one day. “Cool, I just wanted to check in. Now go shopping for me.”

  With a wink, Derrick left.

  Video-chatting with Derrick while he scoured the aisles at the craft store was...kind of hilarious. He mostly showed video of the shelves, but his commentary was priceless. Slater didn’t want to invest a lot of money into this until he was sure it was a hobby he’d
continue long-term, so Derrick rustled up half-a-dozen skeins of cheap yarn in the clearance aisle—the colors were odd, but whatever—and even an as-is latch hook kit marked down because it was missing half the pre-cut yarn.

  Derrick found a big package of plain canvas, a roll of rug binding, plus markers and a few more on-sale skeins of yarn in different colors before promising to be home soon and signing off. When he did arrive home with his purchases, he also had a pair of craft scissors and a storage tote for all of Slater’s supplies. Slater was tired and achy by the time they sorted and stored everything for the night, and even more exhausted after he managed a quick shower.

  Derrick helped wrestle him into bed, and Slater kind of hated that his fatigue always seemed to dominate Derrick’s evening. His arrival had completely upended Derrick’s routines, but Derrick didn’t seem to mind. Maybe because he knew Slater wouldn’t always be this helpless? Slater mumbled something to Derrick about not being afraid to share if he wanted, before drifting off to sleep. His first day cohabitating with Derrick Massey was down. Only roughly eleven weeks and six days left to go.

  * * *

  Derrick spent a long time standing in the doorway of his own bedroom, a pillow in his hand, uncertain where to go. Slater had been half-asleep when he said Derrick could share the bed, so what if he didn’t mean it? What if it had been the oxy talking? Why hadn’t Derrick brought it up before Slater exhausted himself showering?

  Yes, Derrick wanted to sleep in his own bed. Yes, Derrick wanted to sleep next to Slater. Slater had given him sleepy permission before passing out. But if Derrick slept there tonight, he’d want to do it again tomorrow. And every night after, for as long as Slater was here. Derrick enjoyed sharing his bed with another warm body beside him. But the last time he’d shared his bed with someone who wasn’t open about who he was, Derrick had gotten hurt.