by Drew Hunt
“Honestly it’s not important.”
Brock eyed Calvin. “I pay my debts.”
“Okay, okay. But how’s about I take it in trade.”
Brock, who had just swallowed a mouthful of food, choked.
“Whoa there, cowboy.” Calvin moved behind Brock, to thump him on the back.
“I’m all right,” Brock coughed. He took a drink of coffee.
“That’s a relief.” Calvin massaged Brock’s shoulders. “It’s not usually my cooking that causes a man to choke.”
Brock wondered if there was a double meaning in there.
Calvin stopped massaging Brock’s shoulders and went to the counter to pick up the coffee pot. Refilling Brock’s mug, he said, “No, I meant I require your contracting abilities to replace the toilet seat in my parents’ master bathroom. It snapped yesterday.”
“Oh?”
“So if you’ll find the correct replacement seat and install it, then we’ll forget about your bar tab.”
Brock knew Calvin was perfectly capable of attaching a new toilet seat himself, but recognized this was Calvin’s way of allowing Brock to save face regarding his debt. Brock felt grateful at the man’s thoughtfulness.
“Deal.” Brock nodded. “This is a great omelet.” The subtle flavors of the bell peppers, tomato, and bacon made him forget that this was supposed to be a healthy meal.
“Thanks. I do my best to please.” Calvin smiled.
Brock wasn’t going to take the bait, if bait was being offered. “I’ve worked up an estimate for you.” He pushed the sheet of paper across the table. Calvin took a seat opposite and began to read.
After a minute or so Calvin looked up. He was frowning. Surely the man wasn’t objecting to the price, Brock had cut down the costs as much as he could.
“Is this a one or a seven?”
“Show me.”
Calvin slid the paper across the table, keeping his finger on a particular column.
Brock studied the figure in question. “A seven.”
Calvin nodded. “You added it as a one, so your total is lower by sixty dollars than it should be.”
Huh?” Brock got out his pocket calculator and began to punch in numbers. How the hell had he made such a basic mistake, and how had Calvin worked it out so quickly in his head?
“Sorry.” Brock handed back the amended paper.
“That’s okay.” Calvin shrugged. “It was you who would have been out of pocket.” Glancing down at the sheet again, he said, “I accept.” He got out his checkbook and began to write.
Brock let out a breath.
“Is half now and the other half when you’ve done acceptable?”
Brock hadn’t been expecting Calvin to be as generous as that. “Sure.”
“Brockwell & Son?”
Brock nodded. He hadn’t changed the name when his daddy died, and he hoped one day Junior would maybe join him in the business. If the fuckin’ hospital doesn’t get it first.
Calvin tore the check out of the book and pushed it across the table to Brock.
“Thanks.” Brock glanced quickly at the check, but knew it would be correct. He folded it and put it in his wallet. “We can hop in my truck and go get what I’ll need.”
“We?”
“You need to choose the colors of the paints and the style of tiles you want.” Brock thought about adding, seeing as you’re a homo you’d be good at shit like that, but he knew Calvin would fire something back at him.
“We’ll have to stop off at the dry cleaners.”
“No problem.”
“Uh, your shirt was still stained,” Calvin blushed, “so I took it in for cleaning.
“Why? I mean, it could have just gone into the washing machine.” Brock thought of how much dry cleaning cost.
“I needed some of my own stuff cleaning, so I thought I’d take your shirt as well. It’s silk, I didn’t want to take the risk of damaging it.”
“Oh, okay.” Brock knew Calvin was only doing what he thought was best, but the extra expense was…
“Don’t worry, it’s on me.” Calvin held up a hand to quell Brock’s protests. “You’re right, I could have washed it in the machine, or better still hand washed it. But it would have needed ironing, and mom will have taken her iron with her.” More softly Calvin added, “And besides, I fucking hate ironing.”
Brock laughed. “Me, too.” Then he sobered. “I can start this afternoon, but I’ll need to take Friday off though.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. Need to watch my kid play a ballgame and bring him home from camp.” He realized this was the first time he’d told Calvin about Junior. “I can work Sunday to make up for it.”
“Sunday is the fourth. You’ll want to spend the day with your family.” Calvin removed the plates and mugs from the table and stacked them in the dishwasher.
“Oh, yeah, I’d forgotten about that.” Brock stood and put on his Stetson. “So it’s okay that I take off Friday?”
“No problem.” Calvin smiled at him and nudged the door of the dishwasher closed with his foot.
“Thanks.” Brock tried to put his hands in his pockets, but the jeans were too tight.
“Oh, your Resistol is in the family room. Do you want me to get it?”
Brock shrugged. “Might as well leave it where it is for now.” His Resistol was his best hat and he didn’t want to get it dirty with work.
“Okay then, Gary Cooper, let’s go and round ‘em up.”
Brock shook his head and turned for the back door.
“Fuck!”
“What?” Brock turned back around.
“Nice ass!”
Chapter 5
“So, what shape seat do you need?” Brock asked.
They were standing in the bathroom section of the home-improvement store, a seemingly endless selection of fixtures and fittings in front of them.
“Shape?” Calvin asked, confused.
“There are two basic kinds, round and elongated.” Brock sketched with his hands.
“I have no idea.”
Brock shook his head. “How can you not know? You sat on the thing for years.”
“Yes, but I don’t have eyes in my ass.”
Brock smirked.
“Don’t go there, Gary Cooper.”
“Okay.” Brock held up his hands defensively. “Say, how’d you come to break the seat anyway?”
Calvin leaned in to Brock’s side and got under the brim of his Stetson. “While jerking off thinking about you, of course.”
Brock pulled back, looked momentarily shocked, then let out a bark of laughter. “Yeah, right.”
Calvin couldn’t look at Brock. Why the hell had he told him the truth? At least the man took it as another of Calvin’s teasing jokes. Concentrating on the prices, Calvin realized he could get a basic wooden seat for about $25, so suggested they get one of each of the two main shapes, so they’d be covered.
“No problem. I’ll get you a refund for the one we don’t need. Probably have to come back here for this and that, so I can return whichever seat you don’t need.”
“Too much hassle. I’ll give you whichever one doesn’t fit. I assume you’ll be able to use it on another job?” Calvin risked a glance at the sexy cowboy.
Brock looked as though he might protest, but in the end merely nodded and said, “Thanks.”
“I’m ninety percent sure I need the elongated shape, but…” Doing it this way would help Brock out.
“No problem. Any particular preference for color or style?” Brock asked.
“Just wood color.” He wouldn’t be sitting on it for long.
Calvin watched Brock reach up and take down a couple of seats from the rack. The sleeveless black T-shirt he wore showed off his biceps beautifully. Calvin tried to adjust himself discreetly, but Brock caught him and raised an eyebrow.
“Shut up!” Calvin growled.
“Didn’t say a word.” Brock grinned.
The bastard took hold
of the flatbed cart and began pulling it behind him, the effort causing the muscles in his right arm to flex wonderfully.
Calvin followed behind, readjusting himself again.
As they shopped for floor tiles, grout and lord knew what else, Calvin couldn’t help but observe other people in the store. He hadn’t realized quite how big a construction-worker fetish he had.
“You’re drooling,” Brock whispered to him at one point when a particularly fine example of flannel-shirted hunkiness walked past pulling a cart carrying lengths of two by fours.
“Yeah.” Calvin tore his attention from the hunk and focused on Brock. “But he doesn’t hold a candle to you.”
Brock shook his head. “Idiot.”
Surely the man didn’t have an inferiority complex? He was sex on legs.
Eventually Brock said they had everything he would need for the time being, and began pulling the loaded cart toward the checkouts.
Calvin removed the two toilet seats; he’d pay for those himself.
The bored-looking checkout operator leaned down and began to scan the various items with a hand-held scanner. He announced the total and Brock handed over his card, which the guy ran through the machine, twice. Then he punched in the details manually.
“Is there a problem?” Brock asked after restacking the last of the boxes of floor tiles.
“It’s declined the transaction.”
“Shit!”
“Do you have an alternate method of payment?”
“No,” Brock shook his head.
“I’ll page a manager.”
“No, it’s okay, I’ll—“Brock said.
The checkout guy ignored him and picked up a microphone and said something into it which Calvin couldn’t catch; the store’s acoustics were terrible.
Calvin snuck a glance at Brock, who looked distinctly uncomfortable. Calvin ached to do something, but didn’t think leaping to Brock’s defense, especially in public, would go down well. He’d learned his lesson from the ER the day before.
A manager came over, tapped a few keys on the register and confirmed what Calvin had already suspected, Brock’s trade account was maxed out and they wouldn’t advance him any more credit.
Brock looked embarrassed, and Calvin couldn’t stand it any longer.
“I’ll pay for this with my credit card.”
“No,” Brock said.
“That won’t be a problem,” the manager chipped in.
To Brock, Calvin said, “I’ll be paying for it anyway, so it makes no difference to me.”
Brock hesitated, and then shrugged his reluctant agreement.
Turning to the manager, Calvin said, “I will receive the same trade discount as you’d have given Mr. Brockwell.”
“I’m sorry, Sir, that isn’t possible unless you have your own trade account.”
Calvin, seeing that Brock was becoming increasingly uncomfortable at the situation, just wanted to get them the hell out of there.
“Fine!” Depositing the toilet seats on the conveyor belt, Calvin took Brock’s arm. “Come on, bud, we’re outta here. We’ll get what we need from Home Depot.”
“But what about your toilet seats?” the manager asked to their retreating backs.
Calvin turned around. “You can stick ‘em where the sun don’t shine.”
Calvin was relieved to hear Brock chuckle.
Another manager, who—judging by the fact that he was wearing a tie—was more senior, caught up with them at the exit. “I’m sorry, gentlemen. There’s been a misunderstanding.”
Calvin held his tongue.
“On this occasion we’re prepared to let you use a different credit card to pay for your items.”
“Big of you,” Calvin muttered under his breath and followed Brock back to the register.
Calvin paid for the goods, including the much-maligned toilet seats. Brock pulled the cart out of the store and loaded his truck, all the while not saying a word.
Getting into the cab, Calvin did up his seatbelt, and waited while Brock tried to start the engine. It finally coughed into life on the fourth attempt.
“Fuck!” Brock said when they were finally underway.
Calvin put a hand on Brock’s knee and gave it a squeeze. “At least someone in there had the sense to realize they were about to lose a sale.
“I’m sorry.” Brock let out a breath and pulled his Stetson lower on his forehead.
“You don’t need to apologize.”
As he drove, Brock bit at his bottom lip. Calvin gave the man’s knee another squeeze before reluctantly returning his hand to his own lap.
Brock pulled into another parking lot. “Need to visit the bank,” he said quietly, not looking at Calvin. “To deposit your check.”
“No problem. I need to go do some of my own banking, too. Who’re you with?”
“Chase, the same as you.”
For a second Calvin wondered how Brock knew where he banked, then realized the name was on the check he’d given him. This set Calvin thinking. He figured Brock was probably overdrawn and the check would merely go to pay off the bank.
As they walked, a number of people either stopped Brock to talk, or just nodded in his direction. Calvin felt himself standing just that bit taller being next to such a popular and well-thought of man. And it doesn’t hurt that he’s a fuckin’ hunk, Calvin told himself.
Standing in line, awaiting their turn at the one open cashier window, Calvin verbalized his earlier thoughts. “Would it help if I withdrew the cash and gave you that instead of you depositing the check I gave you?”
Brock thought for a second. “Yeah. That would help. Thanks.” He lifted his head and treated Calvin to a small smile.
Calvin wanted to lean over and kiss the cowboy until his smile widened into the beautiful shit-eating grin Calvin knew it could be.
“No problem. It makes no difference to me either way.”
“I’m still grateful, though.” Brock’s smile widened a little, but not as much as Calvin wanted.
A woman entered the bank, joined the line behind Brock and immediately started in at him. “You said you would come out and fix my leak.”
“Good morning, Mrs. Patterson.” Brock took off his Stetson. “I gave you a price, but you said you would rather get someone else.” Brock’s voice was quiet; obviously he didn’t want to conduct business in such a public setting.
Mrs. Patterson evidently didn’t have such qualms. More loudly she said, “I wasn’t paying that! Daylight robbery is what it was.”
The line moved forward.
“Ma’am,” Brock said, running the brim of his hat through his fingers, “I quoted you the going rate, a bit less actually, because you’re a previous customer.”
“And the gutters you cleared for me last year are all blocked up again.”
Calvin bit his tongue. This had nothing to do with him. Fortunately he’d reached the head of the line and the teller’s window had just become free.
Transacting his business as quickly as he could, mindful of the bitch still haranguing Brock, Calvin moved back to the line, a wad of bills in hand.
Interrupting the woman in mid flow, Calvin said, “Here you are, Mr. Brockwell, the full amount like we agreed.”
Calvin would have left things there, but the woman sniffed with evident derision. That was it. Calvin wheeled on her. “Brock charges a fair price for a fair day’s labor. I for one am more than happy to pay for good work.”
“Well!” she expostulated.
Calvin moved to one side. “The teller is free now. I’m sure you won’t want to keep her waiting.”
Mrs. Patterson sniffed again, and—nose in the air—walked past them.
A young guy behind them snickered. “Jeez, guy, I’d hate to get on the wrong side of you in an argument.”
“All part of a day’s work for a New Yorker,” Calvin admitted, but couldn’t help smiling.
“Old lady Patterson is a real tightwad.” Raising his voice so it would car
ry, the man continued, “If she stuck a lump of coal up her ass, within a week she’d shit out a diamond.”
Calvin and Brock laughed over that one—and the resultant stare of disapproval from Mrs. Paterson—all the way to the dry cleaners.
* * * *
Brock insisted on carrying the dry cleaning back to the truck.
“I can manage a few shirts and a pair of pants,” Calvin bristled as they walked down Main Street.
“I know you can,” Brock bumped shoulders with him. “But I just wanted to do this. It’s nothing compared with what you’ve done for me today, for the past couple days.”
“Well, if it soothes your macho pride to carry for me, then I’ll live with it.” It was Calvin’s turn to bump Brock’s shoulder. “But don’t make a habit of it.”
“I’ll try my hardest not to.”
Calvin had to admit the view of Brock’s bent arm as he held the clothes on their hangers over his shoulder was worth the mild irritation at being thought weak.
“And don’t think I didn’t notice that you paid me half the bill and didn’t take out what I owe you from earlier,” Brock said, waiting to cross at the light.
“We can deduct that from the other half. Besides, it was too good an opportunity to pass up, paying you what we agreed in front of that old witch.”
“Yeah,” Brock chuckled.
“And, too, it’s the right time for my credit card. I won’t have to actually pay for that transaction for another five weeks.” By which time I’ll be back in New York. The realization troubled rather than thrilled Calvin.
* * * *
Having unloaded the van with Calvin’s assistance—something Calvin did to prove to Brock he was no longer the weak nerd he used to be—the two sat at the kitchen table drinking tall glasses of ice tea.
“So, what are you going to tackle first?” Calvin asked, draining his glass and getting up for a refill.
“The seat for the john. Can’t have you not having a place to sit your ass.”
“Why, thank you, kind sir,” Calvin attempted to flutter his eyelashes. He didn’t bother pointing out that he could always use the guest bathroom in a pinch. “Glad you noticed my ass.” Calvin twisted round to try and look at it himself. “Some people think it’s my best feature.”
