by A. Sanchez
I found him leaning up against the building, close to his truck. It was dark back here, and it wasn't safe. “Glen? Come back inside. I need to talk to you. About the theft.” I neared him slowly. “I just fell. I turned around too fast,” I explained again. Damn it, I thought we were friends now, and I didn't want to lose him. When I came up to stand in front of him, both of us the same height, though he was a bit beefier, I saw the sheer terror in his face. He wasn't scared of me. He was scared of himself. I took his arm and told him not to worry, that I would never tell anyone or make a move on him.
“Why not? Am I ugly?” he asked softly, looking wrecked with every kind of emotion.
I squeezed his arm harder. “No, you're so handsome. Really. But I think--” I was about to tell him I thought he needed time to come to terms with his feelings, but apparently he didn't think so, because he suddenly grabbed me and kissed me. I melted all over that kiss. The hot breath in my mouth, the hard masculinity of it, the strong arms around me, and then he just broke it. He dropped his arms to his sides and stared blankly. I didn't know what to say or do, so I just stood quietly.
“I have to go.” He turned and went to his truck, jumped in, and drove off. Not angrily, but he went. I didn't know what to do, because he'd just kissed me and abandoned his bar to a den of thieves.
Chapter 4
I jumped in my car and followed him. I had to speed a little, and if that crazy man caused me to get another ticket, I would not forgive easily. I ran a couple of stale yellow lights too, and after about twenty minutes, he pulled up at a huge wooden lodge-type house, two floors, and sprawled against the edge of the forest. He got out and tried to see whose car it was, so I cut the lights, then got out. When he saw me, he looked so afraid, like even locking himself in his house wouldn't protect him from me.
“Forget the kiss,” I demanded. I would try to do the same later. “I figured out how they're stealing.” He nodded at me, but he stayed where he was. “Can I come in? As soon as I tell you, I'll go.” He nodded again, and I followed him up to the house. It was newly built and had Craftsman elements, really well made. He brought me to the living room and we took seats as far apart as humanly possible. He was still so quiet, I hoped he'd participate once I got going.
“They're not ringing all the tickets. They're trashing them. That's the first thing,” I said, giving him a moment to process that. He nodded, and I wanted to put his head in a vice to stop him from doing that. He was driving me crazy!
“They take the money from the customers, but never ring it up. Just open the register and make change. They leave the unaccounted money there all night, because they won't be able to keep track of how much they've stolen off the top of their heads, and the tickets are gone. Do you understand?” I sat and waited for that damned nod to come. It did, and I hissed my displeasure, cutting my eyes at him, letting him know I thought he was acting terribly.
“Okay, so the final stage of the theft is the report. Orlando is your manager. He prints the report, then takes the register tray upstairs with him. He leaves a hundred in there, then counts out however much the report says the sales should be, then gives that to you. But there's hundreds more he's pocketing from those discarded tickets. He will have it on him when he leaves, or maybe he gives it to one of the girls, I don't know. That's as far as I got.”
Glen blinked a few times and then said, “thank you.” He thought a few moments and said, “that's how they tried to blame you. They rang up your tickets and then took the money out the register for a few of them. The amounts were exact. I see now.”
I frowned. “Then how did you know I didn't actually steal from you?” Had he lied to me? Did he think I was guilty still?
“I just knew. I did spend all night looking through your tickets. I was so angry with you, but then...” he trailed off.
I couldn't believe it. He had no proof I hadn't stolen from him. I was unable to move I was so shocked.
“I have seen a lot of liars. I know I'm late catching Orlando... but I'm not stupid. I knew he was a thief, that's why I kept hanging around. I thought I could catch him. I have never seen someone go as crazy as you did, though, even threaten to fight me over it.” He laughed softly, clearly remembering that night. I remembered it differently and could not yet laugh at it. “Your eyes had so much fire in them, like real blue flames.” He laughed harder now. “I was unprepared for how indignant you got, and I thought you'd probably tear me apart if I stepped out back with you, to defend your honor. People like Orlando have no honor.”
“And what do you think would happen now, if you stepped out back with me?” I asked, my face as expressionless as I could muster. I didn't want to influence his answer.
“Oh, you'd still tear me up, but in a different way,” he said, and then stood. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Thank you for telling me, Marshall. I'm glad I trusted you then and now.” He stepped toward me and I wasn't sure if he would stop before embracing me, but he managed at the last second. “The other... the kiss... I need a couple of days to process. Please wait for me to come to terms with it.”
I was surprised he didn't say it was a mistake. I wouldn't have believed him, but he might have denied it, and it might have tided him over until he was ready to face himself. “I will.” I walked past him and left without a word.
I'd thought of quitting, thinking I was making everything harder on Glen by remaining, but I just couldn't. He needed me as much as I needed him, both for our own selfish reasons.
The next morning I woke up a mess. I had dreamed of Glen. I dreamed I'd fucked him, and the exquisite tightness and innocence of him made me come after no more than two thrusts. I dominated him at last in my dreams, the only place I could, and just dreaming about making him submit to me had caused me to come all over myself like a pubescent boy. God, it was everywhere, but I didn't care. I lied there reveling in it for a while, all over my stomach and pajama pants, and wondered how shocked Glen would be if he saw how much I liked him.
From then on, I couldn't get him out my mind no matter what I did. I cleaned tables, I swept, I mopped, anything to take my mind off him, but he wasn't at the bar yet and it was driving me crazy. I just needed to see him. Every time the door opened, my head darted up, and everyone knew why. I'd overheard some of the girls saying I was already sleeping with Glen and that was why I had all these supposed privileges. They'd known I'd overheard them, but they didn't care. Interestingly, they were all throwing themselves at him now, I guessed to save their jobs or at least to get rid of me so they could go back to their thieving. John thought he was my biggest competition and I'd be gone in no time. He'd told me so, and I just laughed. Let him try.
Finally! It was after nine before Glen graced me with his presence, and then he acted like I was invisible. I brought beers, five in each hand, to my tables, trays full of fried goodies, more beer, passing him all night, and he said nothing. He spoke to everyone else except for me, and a jealousy I didn't know I had crashed into me like a drunk.
No, it really was a drunk. It was a bar fight. It was so sudden, I was slow to respond, but it was bad, so bad. What I learned later was that there had been some cheating at pool, and someone had cracked a cue over the cheater's head. Well, the cheater's friends jumped in to save him and started breaking beer bottles on those other guys, then someone knocked into someone else, and then it all spread like a wildfire fueled by testosterone and booze. Half the men in there must have been using coke, because they wouldn't go down, like they didn't even feel the blows. There was blood, there were people being beaten by chairs, and we didn't know who the good guys and the bad guys were. In that place, there were just bad guys, I decided.
As soon as I saw Glen running to save his windows from being broken to smithereens by a man holding a pool cue, I had to tackle him to the ground. I screamed at him over the mayhem and threatened to knock him out cold if he tried to get up again. I pulled him behind the bar and covered our heads with trays to prevent anything hitting
us, and called the police. No one breached the bar or even saw we were there, but Glen felt like the worst coward, and I don't blame him, but this shitty bar was not worth dying for.
The police came with a paddy wagon and rounded most everybody up. Glen and I told them what we remembered of the fight. Once they'd gone, I followed him back inside and we surveyed the damage. Glen had done a lot of work to the bar, but it had still needed a lot more. I didn't understand the appeal of it really, but stayed supportive. He was talking about fixing it, I was thinking about burning it down. But we didn't agree on much, after all.
I'd seen Glen's house; it was really nice—neat, well-constructed and on a good piece of land. It was the antithesis of this dump and I had to ask why he thought it had been a good idea. He wasn't meant to own a bar like this. I was wading through broken beer bottles and flipped chairs as I neared the bar to ask him about it.
“Not everything is how it seems,” he said, placing a strong hand on the cash register. He'd made Orlando leave with everyone else, and so the register was left as it was. He smiled. “Just like this. What do you think? If you're right, it should be a fair bit over tonight.” He turned the key and ran the reports, churning out on receipt paper at the speed of light. “I know what you think of this place, because it's what anyone else would think; it's a trashy bar. I know it. But it pays.” He waited until the report finished and he folded it neatly, then brought it over to me.
I looked at the night's total. It wasn't even the weekend and the night had been cut short, but the total was hovering around four thousand dollars. I couldn't believe it. I don't know why, because I'd always made good tips here. I guess just seeing it printed out proved it in my mind. I didn't even consider how many tickets hadn't been rung up. “You must be a millionaire,” I breathed.
He laughed. “On paper, anyway. I don't feel like one, though.” He went back to the register and took the cash tray out. “Come upstairs with me, let's count it.”
I followed. I'd never met a millionaire before, but I thought they would drive Maseratis or at least some kind of luxury Mercedes. Not a Toyota pickup truck. I thought they'd have a Rolex and wear a nice suit, but he always dressed like a lumberjack or an LL Bean model.
We got to his office, he unlocked it, and we went in. He flipped on the light. It was not what I expected. It was dingy just like the rest of the place, with a single bed in the corner. “What's this for?” I asked, pointing to it. He set the cash drawer on top of a big safe and said, “God, you know I'm always here. If I'm not fixing the place in the day, I'm watching it at night. I get sleepy.” He had that huge house and hardly saw it. That was a shame. I guessed then that being rich wasn't all it was cracked up to be, when this was the reality of it. “That's why you said you'd never get away from your responsibilities,” I said with an understanding nod.
“Yea, I can't even take a day off, much less take a vacation.” He squatted down and opened the safe. He took out two bank bags and set those on the desk too. “This is the rest of it. He shouldn't have had time to mess with it.” I pulled up a chair and waited for instruction. “Well, start counting,” he said, tossing me a bag. He took one, too, and the only sound was our whispered numbers and the sound of bills flipping through our fingers. I liked being here in this little office with him. I liked being able to help him; take some of his stress away. I looked up at him and he was already smiling back at me. I liked him. I never thought I'd say that.
When we finished, we added our totals together less the hundred dollars which was always kept in the register. According to the total, we were a thousand dollars over. I clenched my fist and gritted my teeth. “I want to beat the shit out of him,” I said of Orlando. He was stealing my...boss's...friend's...love interest's money, bold as brass! “What are you going to do?”
He sat back in his chair and rubbed his temples with his forefinger and thumb. He sighed and said, “fire them all.”
I wished he could do more, but he'd never be able to prove the theft and press charges. It was a damned shame that was all he could legally do. “I'll have to close tomorrow to clean all this up, fix the tables.” He stretched his arms over his head, then settled back in his chair. “Then, I'll try to find some more waitresses. What else can I do?” He began stuffing the money back into the bank bags, zipped them up and put them in an old backpack sitting on the floor by his desk.
“I'll help you, of course,” I said, without a second thought.
“Where do you live?” he asked as he stood up, the backpack clenched in his fist.
“On the other edge of town. Over by the quarry,” I said absently as I stepped out the office and back into the dimly lit stairway.
“Oh. That's too far. Stay at my house and then we'll come over here tomorrow. If you're still willing to help me, that is.” He looked over my face curiously there in the poor light. I didn't believe for a minute he had anything amorous in mind. It was a logical solution, nothing more. I think he wanted to stress that, but there was no need. He'd been avoiding me all day. I didn't need him to state the obvious.
“I'll follow you,” I said, heading for my car. As I did, driving along the empty streets, I wished he'd want to date me sometime in the near future. I knew he needed time. Some people needed years when coming to terms with their sexuality. It was a huge step; a lot to get right in the head, to know the life you thought you were leading wasn't real. Kind of like waking up in a game of Candyland all of a sudden. I'd always known, but still tried to keep it quiet. I liked my neighbors. They had been friends of my father's. I didn't want to shock them or make them lose respect for me. No one would want that. So, in a way, I could commiserate with what Glen was probably worried about; what people would think of him.
Chapter 5
He led me to a spare bedroom down the hall from his. It was just as I'd expect it to be: clean white sheets, tan walls which still faintly smelled of new paint, and no personal touches whatsoever. He'd done the minimum to make it look less like an empty room he didn't need, and nothing more. He offered me the shower, which I did need, grimy as that bar always made me, the smell of cooking oil always embedded in my black clothes, and gave me a few tee-shirts, boxers, a pair of sweat pants to sleep in, a pair of jeans for tomorrow. It was a little weird wearing the boxers. They made me think of him. Made me wonder about certain parts of his anatomy. I was thinking about his dick. That was the truth if it. It both excited and made me frustrated, because I was thinking about a part of him I might never see.
Once we were both washed off, him having a shower in his en suite, We met back downstairs in the living room with the huge vaulted ceiling and massive flat screen on the wall and I sat on the long leather sofa like the guest I was. Back rigid, both feet planted firmly on the floor, hands in my lap. He smiled and said, “I would have never imagined you sitting here right now.” He plopped down beside me and ran a hand over his short, wet hair. He smelled like clean laundry and man.
“Not at all? Don't answer that.” It sounded flirty.
“Okay... I have.” He looked at me like he was ready. Like he'd always known what he wanted. I couldn't be so sure, after how he reacted to the kiss yesterday. I looked him over for signs of the jitters, but he seemed collected. I boldly reached for his hand, and held it. I didn't say anything.
We sat there a few minutes in utter silence. I was afraid to move a muscle, thinking he'd pop off the sofa like he was on fire. Then, he began smoothing his thumb over my palm. I looked down at my hand in his, both of them kind of large, a dusting of hair on our knuckles, his blond, mine black. I had always been glad I wasn't very hairy, because with black hair like mine, it could have been much worse.
When I looked up, he kissed me. He was so careful, so gentle, like he'd break me. I couldn't help but remember when we'd threatened to beat each other up before, and I laughed.
He pulled back and smiled with his eyes. “Are you thinking about what I think you are?”
“Fighting you out back?”
He nodded and pulled me closer, deepening the kiss, but he was holding back. He was clearly used to being with women. I could tell by the way he ran his hands over my chest and arms so softly, so romantically. When he leaned me back against the arm of the sofa, he held himself up with one arm to avoid putting his weight on me, like I'd break. It made me smile inside, knowing I was the first man to experience such emotion from him. I pulled him down on me, letting him know he didn't need to be so careful, and he pressed me into the cushion. I felt his instincts take over. He held me tighter, kissed me harder, my mouth opening up beneath his, his tongue twirling with mine, his breath minty and sweet.
I pressed my erection into him and felt he was hard. I was relieved when I felt that, worried he might be too nervous or want to back out, but Glen was a man who knew his mind better than I'd given him credit for. Maybe he'd really thought about this.
Oh, yes he had. He was gently thrusting against me now, and his breath had started coming faster. I ran my hands down his back and then under his shirt. I squeezed his muscles, digging my fingertips into his skin and he let out a little moan. He grabbed my leg and adjusted me beneath him, fitting himself deeper between my legs, lining up his cock with mine. He ran his fingers through my hair and gave it a little frustrated tug and I just lost my mind at this mildly erotic act. I turned my head and began nipping and kissing his neck. I could smell his skin, and he smelled so delicious, he had me moaning. I bit his shoulder through his shirt and he jumped, but he'd got the message. I wanted more.
He pulled up my shirt and explored my chest, kissing me everywhere he could, except my nipples, which were just dying for him, pebbled and aching. I guided his mouth to them finally, and that really excited him. He sucked and bit them like he was starving. While he was otherwise occupied, I slid my hand into his shorts and took his dick into my hand for the first time, hot and already very wet. I stroked him a couple of times, then went lower to roll his balls around, but I couldn't do much more than that in this position. “Let's go upstairs,” I breathed into his ear. He nodded. I realized when he was nervous, he did that, not trusting himself to speak.
