by Turner, CJ
Alister huffed. “Fine. Bye.”
He clicked off the phone and stared at his face in the mirror. For all his heartache of the past two months, Alister looked fine despite the graduated orange button-down he wore. It was not his best fashion choice because he did not have enough of a tan to carry it off. But Alister sported no hollow cheeks from his grief, no red-rimmed eyes from his emotional pain. Maybe he lost five pounds? Alister shrugged. It was a hot summer, and he probably lost some water weight. No. The hurt that ran through Alister was the war with his emotions and his thinking. He missed Jesse, damn it, and felt that ache in every cell of his body. Jesse was a no-good, lying, cheating gigolo that no decent person had any business being with. That’s what Alister told himself. But Alister couldn’t deny that he fell for the jerk. And Alister wanted to forget how stupid he was to fall in love with Jesse’s impossibly handsome face.
Sebastian was a good friend. At least he had been at college. And it had been too long since Alister saw him.
Still, he couldn’t just leave, could he? His parents would freak out. They always did when he tried to disappear.
But he was an adult, damn it, and had the right to go anywhere he wanted.
Still, not leaving a message would be horrible. Alister loved his parents and didn’t want them to worry.
Alister opened the drawer that held the hand towels and pulled out the lipstick, mouthwash, toothpaste, and brush. He popped open the lip color’s cover and grimaced. It was a horrible shade of neon pink. Jeez, who would wear a thing like that? He decided it would be some demented blonde trying too hard. Then he remembered that Livvy wore this shade in her teenage years. Thankfully, she had matured in her tastes.
He considered writing the message on the mirror, but that was cliché and could be discovered too soon. Alister pocketed the mouthwash, brush, and toothpaste. He would need to pass through a security checkpoint. Unfortunately, they did not let obvious drunks on the plane.
A knock on the door shattered his reverie.
“Are you okay, Mr. Grant?”
It was the Grim Keeper, checking his pulse to make sure he still breathed. Now Alister felt irritated plus slightly drunk, so he didn’t regret his next words.
“I’m fine, damn it. Can’t a man take a dump in peace?”
“Sorry, Mr. Grant.”
The window was a Georgian sliding sash with six panes in each frame, but there was one problem. Alister’s parents had the windows sealed for security with bulletproof glass fitted to the outside window well.
Alister needed to be more creative.
He stepped to the commode to flush it, to hide his current perfidy, then figured that would be a bad idea. He needed time, and he wasted enough of it. But the commode gave him an idea.
He pulled open the door to the medicine cabinet again and wrote a message that his parents would hate. They would think him reckless and immature, and right now, he didn’t care.
“Sorry. I had to leave. Don’t worry about me. Will call.” He signed it with a big “A” with his usual flourish at the end, then closed the door. Someone would see it and tell his parents. But by that time, he’d be long gone.
Taking a hand towel, he stuffed it into the commode deep inside so no one could see it. Then he carefully washed his hands and dried them with another towel. Then Alister flushed the toilet.
Soon the water poured over the sides.
“Oh, my freaking God!” he yelled.
Immediately, the Grim Keeper dashed in.
“Look at that! Oh, my God. It’s a freaking mess. Try to stop it!”
While the Grim Keeper peered at the disaster Alister created, he dashed out the door and turned to the left to the front door of the mansion. The Grant family rarely used this door except for grand parties, of which a barbecue was not. Looking over his shoulder, he checked to make sure no one saw him, and he unlocked the front door and slipped out.
It was hot, and the sun beat down on him while wild bees buzzed around the holly bushes at the front of the house. Behind him, Alister heard people laughing and splashing in the outdoor pool and, for a second, he considered giving up his crazy plan.
“Hey, where’s Alister?” called a voice. That sounded like that ass, Carlton. And then in some game, the others yelled, “Alister, come here, Alister,” as if he was a lost puppy.
Alister picked up his black Gucci tiger pool slide sandals wet from commode water and ran for the front gate with the soles slapping his heels wetly. At the opening, he spotted the car waiting for him, and he yanked the door open and flung his body inside. The driver’s eyes went wide with surprise.
“Alister Grant?”
“Yes, that’s me. Don’t just sit there. Hit the gas. My destiny awaits.”
Chapter 2
Manu
Manu sighed as he dropped his head to his steepled fingers. People hustled to line up for the flight, but he sat there. His seat assignment didn't matter. He pressed his lips tight together. The day turned out to be a massive disappointment, and now he must make painful decisions about his flailing business.
With most seats around him emptied, he stuck out his foot, numb from holding the same position too long. He closed his eyes and considered boarding the plane.
“Last call for Flight 2101 for Denver,” the attendant at the door announced over the PA.
“Wait!” shouted a voice.
Manu jumped when hot liquid sprayed over him. A loud “ooff” filled the space near him. His eyes flew open to discover a slight man sprawled on the floor with a large coffee cup and a large quantity of the brew spreading on the carpet.
“What the ever-loving fu—” The man struggled to untangle his feet from Manu's leg. His slide sandals emblazoned with the Gucci logo flapped impotently on his feet. Then he flipped to land his ass on his coffee soaking into the carpet and cursed again. But Manu didn't see his face. No. His eyes went to the lack of underwear under the stumbler's swim trunks. His manhood flashed from under his purple swim trunks with printed pink flamingos, which revved Manu's imagination. To quash his inappropriate thoughts, Manu leveled his gaze to the man's face, which turned out almost as bad. Young, appearing in his middle twenties, he sported blond hair and startling blue eyes. Along with the swim trunks, he wore a short-sleeved button-down in graduated orange tones. Everything about the blond screamed “twink” to Manu, but one shouldn't make assumptions.
Involuntarily Manu guffawed and then couldn't stop his laughter.
The twink jumped to his feet with his eyes blazing. His gaze communicated a desire to tear Manu apart with his bare hands. Manu enjoyed the idea of the young man touching him.
“What are you laughing at?”
Manu broke into a grin, which infuriated the twink more.
“An escapee from the fashion police. No wonder you were running.”
The man felt his bottom and grimaced. “I'm soaked! And it’s all your fault.”
Manu shook his head and covered his mouth with his hand to stifle another emerging chuckle.
“Nope. It's the vehicle in motion that's at fault in an accident.”
“You're heavily invested in law enforcement. Are you a cop?”
“No.”
“Final boarding call for Denver, Flight 2101.”
Manu rose and shouldered his backpack.
“Wait. Where are you going? What will you do about my pants?”
Manu raised an eyebrow. “I'm not at fault, so nothing.”
“I can't board the plane in this condition.”
“Gentlemen,” said the attendant by the door. “I'm about to close the door. If you're boarding, now's the time.”
The twink huffed. “Thanks for nothing.”
For a second, Manu focused on the twink's mouth, red and wet with his indignation. The desire to order the twink to kneel and show Manu what he could do with that mouth swept over him in a relentless wave. Manu swallowed hard. He rarely suffered such wild, impulsive thoughts. What is my problem?
“Are you okay, Mr. Grant?” said the gate attendant.
“I'm fine, just, eewe, covered in coffee.”
“The flight attendant will give you towels to clean up in business class. I'll call ahead. I hope you enjoy your flight.”
Manu huffed in disgust as he walked onto the connector to the plane. He knew this song and dance. The twink was an entitled rich kid from New York. Manu hated when people used their money to justify acting as if they should get better treatment than anyone else. Still, it must suck to soak your clothes with coffee before a flight.
He slung his backpack from his shoulder and dug into it.
“What are you doing?” said the twink with indignation. “I need to get to that plane.”
Manu pulled what he searched for from his pack.
“Here,” he said. Without glancing at the twink, he tossed a pair of summer sweatpants over his shoulder.
“They're big for you but, with your attitude, you should fill them fine.”
He hustled down the ramp, not wanting to spy the twink, who, by being hot and having a smart mouth, forced him to give up a pair of sweatpants. Manu was excessively aware of the man walking behind him, and he tried not to think about his lean body and piercing blue eyes. There was no way that even if the kid were gay, he'd be interested in Manu. Manu admitted he was a mess owing to his business teetering on bankruptcy and a family that barely spoke to him because of his orientation.
At the entrance of the plane, the flight attendant stepped to the side.
“There's one seat at the back in the middle of three seats,” she said solicitously. Manu gave her the barest of smiles. Women never did and never could interest him. At times he wished it could be different because it would make his life easier to navigate. His family wouldn't treat him like a diseased black sheep, and Manu could marry and settle into a safe Illinois life with a wife and 2.4 children. But that wouldn't ever be his life, and he didn't want it anyway.
“Hey,” said the twink behind.
Manu glanced over his shoulder despite his best efforts and took one last peep at the gorgeous young man. His heart pinged with a longing he must deny.
“Thanks,” said the twink.
Manu stared and stood speechless in the aisle. And this was not him at all.
“Gentlemen, please take your seats. We're nearly ready to take off.”
“Sure,” said Manu. “Sorry.”
Manu took a right and traveled down the narrow path to find his seat. When he stashed his backpack in the overhead bin, he turned his head toward business class. Manu discovered it disappointed him not to spot the twink standing at the entrance to the cabin. He, Mr. Grant, must have walked behind to business class, leaving Manu alone with a chub that refused to deflate. Manu took off his hoodie and laid it across his lap to hide his discomfort.
Business-class disembarked first, and being in the back of the plane, Manu didn't score a last glimpse of the twink.
Just as well, he told himself.
Still, he couldn't get the image of the blond-headed man out of his head, especially the idea of the man's legs in the air after he twisted to sit on his butt.
The image occupied his thoughts as he climbed into his Range Rover and drove the nearly three hours to his cabin at Mountain Shadow Lake. Nestled in the arms of the Rockies, the mountain rose sharply on his right. Mountain Shadow Village was a great place to lead tours into the National Forest while still providing services like hotels and restaurants for tourists. He pulled his truck into the long drive, driving slowly on the grade, pitch dark beyond the range of his headlights. The driveway skirted the lake as it ascended an incline to the cabin. As he reached the house, a black and white border collie bounded at him from the dark, and Manu's heart sank. George should not be here. That was their agreement.
The border collie greeted Manu enthusiastically and, despite his misgivings, he rubbed his neck as the dog jumped on him.
“Hey, Jack,” he said. “What are you doing here? Where's George?”
Jack whined, ran toward the porch lit with a single light, and returned with his ball. Manu pulled his backpack from the back of the Range Rover, with his gut clenching. He didn't see George's car, but the dog was here. What was George up to now?
His feet hit the porch floorboards attached to the sloped-roof cabin when he discovered the note taped to his door. Manu noted with anger the empty water bowl by the door and a bag of dog food that poor Jack had ripped open. How long did Jack wait here by himself?
Muttering to himself about George's irresponsibility, Manu swiped the bowl from the porch and filled it with water from the outside spigot. As soon as he set it down, Jack attacked the water, lapping it greedily.
Manu's anger spiked when he pulled the message from his door.
“Please care for Jack. I had an opportunity that was too good to turn down.”
No mention of where he went or when he'd be back. If there were such a thing as dog custody, Manu would sue for it. But there wasn't, though George and Manu's relationship lasted long enough for George's dog to consider Manu a part of his pack.
Manu crumpled the paper and opened the front door. He had been absent for three days, and he wondered when George abandoned his dog on Manu's doorstep. Manu tossed the backpack on his sofa. With a sigh, he entered the kitchen to fetch the broom and dustpan. Manu couldn't leave the dog food on the porch. It would attract mice, rats, raccoons, and skunks.
Just like George to leave extra work for me.
Finishing that, he brought in the dog food and water bowl and, taking the hint, Jack walked in. But from somewhere, the canine had fished his leash and held it in his mouth. He looked up at Manu with hopeful eyes.
Manu groaned.
“Sorry, buddy, no walk. It's three in the morning, and I'm beat. We'll hike on the mountain after I get some sleep.”
At the word “no,” Jack dropped the leash and huffed. With a sorrowful doggie glance, he climbed the stairs to Manu's loft to find his once-accustomed place on Manu's bed.
Manu shed his clothes and entered the shower. As the water beat down on his body, the image of the twink flashed in his mind again and, despite his exhaustion, his cock got hard. Remembering the man's equipment through those swim trunks had Manu going. The scalding water and soap, along with his hand, brought him to a blinding orgasm in record time.
He leaned his head against the tiles under the water and sucked in deep breaths. This overwhelming desire was the same as when he met George, which should be a warning sign. He was grateful he didn't have to see the twink again because he was too raw still from the breakup with George to even think about trying even something casual.
After sleeping in after ten and scarfing a bowl of oatmeal and a cup of coffee, he dressed and put on his hiking boots.
“Let's go, Jack. Time for that walk.”
Jack jumped on Manu in excitement and only settled down when they were on the mountain. The air this high always carried a dryness that almost sunburnt the air molecules. It differed from the sea level of New York that always seemed moist, or the dirty air of his boyhood home, Illinois. But the air was clean, and Manu enjoyed drawing a deep breath without worrying what carcinogens he sucked in. And at this time of the morning and this time of year, the heat was a comfortable eighty degrees. He could live with that.
He found a rare stick on the ground and threw it ahead for Jack to catch, which he did two times. The third time Jack tossed the stick, Jack started barking furiously and then dashed ahead.
“Hey, Jack, wait!”
But Jack didn't, forcing Manu to pick up his feet to chase the animal. He had no idea what Jack barked about. His worry spiked
when Jack stopped barking, so he ran faster. But when he got to the top of the rise, he couldn't believe what he saw.
The twink, Mr. Grant, posed on a rock, dressed in the same orange shirt and Manu's gray sweatpants, petting Jack like an old friend.
Chapter 3
Alister
“Turn off the effing light,” groaned Alister.
He turned over in the unfamiliar bed to stop the sunlight seeping in from under the shade from stabbing his eyes.
No one answered his plea, and he turned and buried his face in the pillow. This entire trip had started poorly with him falling over the leg of some lumberjack and landing ass end in his spilled coffee. It was not a promising start to a jailbreak.
Alister huffed. If he hadn’t been so offended by the man tripping him, he might have sent him back a drink. But a butt full of sticky latte did not generate lusty feelings. But now, warm and dry in the bed, Alister admitted he found the lumberjack exuded a sexy magnetism. The tousled dark hair and piercing blue eyes helped that impression.
The airplane landed well after midnight, and what had looked like a two-hour flight from his ticket took four. He had forgotten about the time changes. He was a seasoned traveler and dealt with time changes when he went to Japan, Brazil, or the occasional jaunt to Europe.
Denver airport was a fricking maze, and he wandered around for an hour before he found the baggage claim to get his ride, which confused him. Alister had no luggage and carried his coffee-soaked swim trunks in a flimsy bag the flight attendant gave him. He didn’t understand why he had to go to baggage claim to get his ride. But he discovered through an airport employee that the baggage claim level was the only place the airport allowed you to meet a car.
The ride to Sebastian’s cabin on Shadow Mountain Lake took forever. The high mountain roads had few if any streetlights. Alister’s anxiety rose during the three hours ride as the car’s headlights sliced the darkness on the road and, at curves, the looming shadows of mountain tops. At these moments, the car seemed a frail shell, unable to withstand the fatal mistake of daring to pass by them.
