by Anyta Sunday
Heath closed his eyes a moment before looking at him, lines of tension tightening his face. “Yes, you deserve to know. But I . . . can we run? Today, I mean. Can we just . . . run?”
Heath’s gaze seemed to plead with him. Understand, it said, please.
He heard the words again: Can we just run. Will got it. Heath was asking to run from whatever the problem was just that little bit longer, but he was also promising he’d stop soon and tell him the truth.
He nodded. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“But soon. I want to really understand.” He unlocked his seatbelt but before it slipped out, Heath’s hand clasped over his. Will bit his lip, dizziness swirling on the inside. Heath’s skin was rough. But his touch gentle.
“Thank you.” Heath squeezed. He let go.
Will couldn’t find his voice and scrambled out the car as Heath did.
“Look at that,” Heath said, coming around his side of the car and opening the back door, “you made it all the way here without Murky getting to you.”
Will opened his mouth to retort but then caught Heath’s smile. It wasn’t cheeky or ribbing or anything like that. It was like the one he’d given him that first day he’d arrived: real, soft, sweet—too short.
“You like it, don’t you?” Will said.
“What?” Heath said, brow rising.
“Me being . . . you know.”
“You know what?”
Damn him. Heath was making him say it. “Me being scared of dogs.”
“What?” He faked shock. “No. You? Afraid of dogs? I never would—”
Will shoved into his side. “Just shut up. Let’s run.”
And it was only when a leashed Murky and Heath ran ahead on the beaten path that Will realized, sneaky, but Heath had never really answered why he’d kissed him.
6 Weird, dude
Monday morning it was him and Vicky again, yakking away in the kitchen—him at the table. He’d just finished his second cup of coffee when the sliding door opened behind him, pushing in a fresh breeze and the unmistakable shuffling of Heath’s steps.
Vicky stared at her son over the counter, mouth partially open. Will refrained from craning his head around to take a peek at the guy himself. Things had started to look up between them yesterday—a glimpse at them being okay with each other. He needed to stay cool.
He sipped his empty cup.
“You’re home,” Vicky finally said as Heath moved behind him into view, showing off a pair of a faded pair of jeans and black tee-shirt that did nothing to hide his tapered torso.
Heath shrugged, glancing at Will briefly—and Will was quick to dart his gaze away from the guy’s ass.
“Went for a jog yesterday morning instead,” Heath said, kissing his mom on the temple. Stepping back, he opened the cupboard, cutting Will’s view from the chest up. “I might have strained something a bit, so I’ll leave off it a few days. I don’t want to risk making it worse; we’re playing the Thornweeds this weekend. I’ve gotta be in form.”
“Take it easy then, love.” Vicky snapped the dishwasher shut and checked her watch. “Let me hang out the washing, Will, then we can head out.” Before she left the room the phone rang and Vicky practically leaped back into the kitchen and lunged for the phone on the bench.
“Vicky here,” she said breathlessly. Her expression smoothed into disappointment a second later. “Oh, Anita. Hey . . .” her voice trailed off as she took the call out of the room.
Heath grabbed a bowl and the Weet-Bix and sat across from him, the container of milk blocking his view of Heath’s strong hands. Hands that he’d often taken to admiring whenever they ate together.
He let slip a low sigh, and when he realized, quickly raised his cup to sip more coffee, but again, it was just air. Coffee-flavored air.
Heath smirked at him over the top of the blue-top milk. “You’re weird,” he said suddenly. Well, suddenly for Will, since he wasn’t expecting him to talk at all. Heath was mostly broody silence toward him.
“Weird?” Was that a good weird, or a weird weird?
Heath stood up, spoon clattering in his bowl, chair scratching over the floor. In the kitchen he grabbed the coffee pot and poured himself a cup before coming back to the table with the pot still in hand.
“Yeah, weird,” he said softly as he tipped more coffee into Will’s cup. He leaned down so his lips were close to his ear. Close enough he could feel the words, and a shiver slipped through him. “We’re never short on coffee in this house—just help yourself, okay?”
“O-kay,” Will said slowly. He stared at his coffee-filled cup and back to Heath. Had he . . . oh Christ, he’d seen his cup was empty. He’d seen him sip away at it.
So much for playing it cool.
Heath left the pot next to Will and went back to his Weet-Bix, the corner of one lip twitching.
Flustered, he concentrated on the newspaper folded next to him on the table. At least he knew how to fake read! Take that, Heath Wallace.
Just when he finished his third coffee, Vicky came back from outside. “You ready?” she asked him.
“Let me go brush my teeth and we can go.”
When he came out of the bathroom and grabbed his bag, Vicky was nowhere in sight. Frowning, he went outside the front. Was she waiting in the car?
“She’s gone,” Heath said behind him, startling him into a jump. A firm arm gripped his bicep, keeping him from falling down the two steps to the front path.
“She left without me? I didn’t think I was that long. Maybe I shouldn’t have flossed that second time—”
“No. I told her I would take you. I’m heading that way anyway.”
“Oh yeah?”
He shrugged, fiddling with the cap he’d just put on. “Yeah.”
A smile stirred inside of him but it was hastily overridden by a groan. “Does that mean I have to ride in that death contraption-thingy again?”
“Sally?” he said almost offended. “She’s my baby. We’ve had some times together.”
“It’s a 1989 Commodore. It sure has had many ‘times’.”
“What does that mean?”
“It’s old. Rusty.” He shivered. “And it shudders.”
Heath shook his head. “She’s a beaut. Come on, give her a chance.” He shut the front door and herded him toward the ‘beaut’, the weight of his fingers warm on the back of Will’s neck and shoulder where Heath steered him.
Heath opened the passenger side and patted him on the back to hop on in. He’d only just shut the door, and Heath was already climbing into the driver’s seat. This time, once he had his seat belt in the lock-attachment-thingy, he took Information Technology—such an uninspired title—from his bag and whacked.
He caught his fingers instead of the belt and lost his grip. “Freaking hell! ‘Beaut’ my freckled ass.”
Heath chuckled and, leaning over him so close one false move would have their lips touching, pulled up the belt and drew it down to the lock. His fingers brushed against Will’s as he took the book off him. In two hits, Will heard the faint click.
“She has her idiosyncrasies, that’s true.”
Idiosyncrasies? That’s a euphemism. “Shouldn’t you get that fixed?”
“Probably.” The car grunted to life and they backed out of the driveway.
Half way down the hill, Heath peeked at him out the corner of his eye. “So, was that just one of your odd sayings or is your arse really freckled?”
“Wouldn’t you want to know,” he teased.
It was an odd saying, mostly. He only had a handful of freckles and weirdly enough they were, mostly, on his ankles. But, yeah, there were a few on the dimples of his ass cheeks. He grinned at Heath. “But few people get to know the answer to that.”
“Few, eh? Right.”
Will almost wanted to add: but I’d be happy to tell you about mine if you would about yours. Scrap that, how about: Show me yours, I’ll show you mine.
Heath shook his head
as they turned down George Street. Damn this ride was going by way too fast. Of course the one traffic light that took forever was green when they drove through this morning.
“You know, I’m not the only weird one.”
“Yeah, but you’re the weirdest.”
“I contend with that.”
“Contend? There’s no point. Hands down you’re the weirdest.” A dimple appeared in Heath’s cheek as he looked at him and grinned. “First there’s that thing you do with the food.”
“That ‘thing’ I do?”
“Well, I don’t know what you call it. Maybe you’re a bit OCD. But I’ve never actually seen someone so—”
Will finished for him, “Fussy with food, huh?” He knew it was true, but he hated to be called fussy, and it was what everyone told him.
“I was going to say particular. But, yeah. Is there . . . a reason for it?”
“No, there really isn’t. It isn’t something as simple as being freaked out to shower after watching too much Hitchcock or something. It isn’t like that. You can’t psychoanalyze it. There is no traumatic dinner-table event or anything that happened to me. I just, I like things the way I like them. I could eat anything the way others do, but I just . . . if I can, I like it my way.”
Heath’s dimple deepened with a growing smile, and he clapped one hand on the back of Will’s neck, fondly messing the back of his hair. “See. Weird.”
He let go and went back to drumming his thumbs on the steering wheel. Will just swallowed hard, still feeling Heath’s touch on his head. It was probably just a chummy type touch, but, wow, he hadn’t expected it.
“We’re looking for a park now,” Heath said, “so keep your eyes peeled, right.”
“Oh, you can just stop here and I can jump out. You don’t need—”
“Is that a park just up there?”
Will scoured the street. Right in front of the building that housed the university library—the Link, as it was called—there was a parking space. “Yep, it’s free, but it might be a bit tight for this beast of a car.”
But Heath was already maneuvering to parallel park. “With my loving hand, she’ll fit perfect.”
Again the guy’s hand went behind him and he glanced at Will briefly before slipping the car smoothly into the parking space.
“You’re good,” he said, giving him an appreciative nod.
“Oh yeah, I am.”
They stared at each other. A shiver of anticipation took hold of him; he wanted to lean over and kiss Heath goodbye like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like they’d always been doing that. Like Heath had always been Standing Guy.
And then Heath looked past him to the Link and a small frown cut between his eyebrows followed by a small sigh and he looked toward the museum across the road.
It took a conscious effort to pull his gaze away from Heath and grab the bag at his feet. Also not dwell on what that look at the university building meant. He was opening the door when Heath’s hand clamped down on his shoulder. Will breathed in deep before facing him.
“Do you want to maybe,”—Heath cleared his throat—“get a coffee or something?”
Um . . . It was impossible to think with Heath’s hand on him. It was so warm and heavy and his fingers were stretched just past the collar of his tee-shirt, skimming his neck.
Heath dropped his hand to the console and Will quickly found his voice.
“Well, I’ve got a meeting with my supervisor.”
Heath dropped his gaze, nodding. “Of course.”
Will hesitated, but went for it anyway. “After?”
“Give me your phone.”
“Huh?”
Heath beckoned for him to hand over his cell. Will arched to slip it out of his pocket and handed it over to Heath who quickly blinked away from him to the phone. He pressed a few numbers and then a Chili Peppers melody filled the car. Will stifled a half groan, half laugh as Heath handed him back his cell.
“After,” Heath said. “Text me when.”
* * *
It had to be said, he was a bit of a snoop. He’d always liked a bit of gossip—it probably went hand-in-hand with his over-zealous mouth.
It was why, after his appointment with his supervisor, and wanting to get rid of his bag before meeting Heath, he’d stopped outside the office and listened to Sig and Candice arguing.
The door was cracked open a slither and Will could see Sig in his robe, sitting at his desk and running a hand through his hair.
“I spoke to Harriet after you left Friday night.”
Candice’s voice sounded small. “Oh.”
“Jesus, ‘Dice, why did you do it? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Sorry, Sig. I—”
“She said you were jealous. That’s why the effort to break us up. Is that . . . true?”
Sig’s hands linked together on his lap and his eyes shut.
“That wasn’t it. It was a bad moment, Sig, I shouldn’t have done it. I just saw her flirting and—”
Sig’s shoulders slumped and he unlocked his hands. “Look, I don’t want to hear it, okay.” He let out a heavy breath, bordering on shy and frustrated. “Who I date is none of your business, so please stay out of it.”
Candice spoke, trying, Will thought, to go for a playful tone and failing. “So I can’t ask if you got lucky Friday—”
“Christ! What do you want to know?” Sig’s jaw was clenching and unclenching, and though it was hard to tell, Will would bet anything that the guy’s eyes were moist.
“I just—”
He cut her off again. “What? You want to know I took her back to my place and screwed her against the fridge?” His voice trembled as he spoke, but he kept going. “That she loved it and I didn’t because it wasn’t right?”
He exhaled, slowly. “Maybe instead of butting into my love-life,” he said quieter, “you should get your own.”
“R-right,” Candice squeaked. Footsteps pattered over the carpet and Will barely had time to step back before the door was thrown open. She pushed out of the office, seeing him and just knowing.
“Heard enough?” Her eyes shimmered with tears and her jaw wobbled to stay tight and in control. She closed her eyes, and as she did a tear trained down her cheek. With a shuddering breath, she pushed past him and hurried down the hall.
Dumping his bag inside the office door, he jogged after her, finding her in the ugly foyer to the eleventh floor, fingering a battered leaf of the godforsaken pot-plant. He stood next to her at the windows, watching thick grey clouds stretch over the city.
He was about to say something, apologize for eavesdropping, when she shook her head. “Don’t. Just not right now, ’kay? Later.”
He nodded and squeezed her shoulder once. “You sure?”
“Yeah.”
“Should I bring back chocolate or something?”
She let out a half-laugh, strangled with the effort not to cry. “Feel free to bring me back a latte if you like.”
“Latte for later, then.”
Then on an impulse, he pecked her cheek before heading into the opening elevators.
He’d bring her back a latte from café Albany, her favorite on-campus place for a frothy-good coffee. Anything to make her cheer up some again.
He made his way out of the Commerce building and across the campus to the Link. Checking his watch, he was ten minutes early to meet Heath. He had two choices. He could wander around campus some more like an idiot without a purpose. Or he could go inside and grab them both chairs—who cared if he looked over-eager? He was.
But maybe that’d put Heath off him?
God, what was he on? Just because they’d shared a look didn’t mean he stood a chance. Although this going for coffee thing did look promising. Semi-date like, a bit.
He hovered until a fat drop of rain splashing on his nose made the decision that much easier.
Inside it was.
When he trudged in, his nerves settled and he smiled. There o
n a blue chair, legs up securing a second one, lounged Heath, reading.
Will snuck behind Heath, landing two hands on either of the guy’s strong shoulders. “Whatcha reading?”
Heath slammed the book shut in fright and then laughed as Will let go and moved to the spare chair still occupied with Heath’s legs.
“You enjoyed scaring the crap out of me, didn’t you?”
He smirked. “I wasn’t sure I would, but it’s nice to know you can be. Scared, that is.”
“I’m scared of plenty of things.” The humor lines at the sides of his eyes smoothed over and Will paused.
“Like what?” he asked, tentatively.
Heath purposely ignored him, jerking a thumb toward the café behind them. “Drink then?”
“Since I’m up,” Will said, “how about I get them?”
He was expecting Heath to protest and climb to his feet to stop him, but instead he got a widening grin. “That’d be great. Thanks. I’ll have a hot chocolate with pink—ahh, just a hot chocolate.”
It took him ten minutes before he got his order and made his way back to Heath. He handed over the hot chocolate with three pink marshmallows on top of the lid.
Heath’s cheeks flushed as he murmured a ‘thanks’ and popped one of the marshmallows in his mouth. Cute.
Placing his own cup on the table in front of their chairs, Will shifted Heath’s feet and settled himself on the chair. Heath seemed to have frozen the second he’d touched him. Well, what did he expect? He wasn’t going to have coffee standing next to him while another chair was right there.
Or, wait—“Sorry, did I hurt you?”
“Huh?” Heath seemed perplexed.
“You said this morning you strained your foot.”
“Oh. Um, yeah, but it’s fine.”
“Good. So,” Will prompted, “back to those things you’re scared of. . . ” He was determined to study Heath closer this time. But Heath deflected.
“You know what I’m not scared of?” Heath said, smiling. “Dogs. Especially cute little Labradors whose biggest crime has been licking the ice-cream from my bowl when I left it on the coffee table.”
“Yeah, laugh all you want. I’ll find out what freaks you out and taunt you with it.”
