Socks for an Otter

by Posy Roberts

  Socks for an Otter

  Posy Roberts

  Socks for an Otter

  He fell from his ivory tower and landed in the gutter.

  But Sebastian would rather be homeless and hungry than clueless.

  On his way to the food pantry, a guy on his cell phone runs into him and triggers his prickly side. As a sign of goodwill, Louis offers to cook for him. But all Sebastian sees is the privilege he used to have.

  This isn’t a fairytale. Louis isn’t Prince Charming. And Sebastian can make it on his own.

  But it’s been days since he’s had a hot meal. And a blizzard is coming.

  Will Sebastian’s pride be his appetizer?

  Socks for an Otter is a heartwarming riches-to-rags MM romance brewed with hurt/comfort, comedy, a second chance at love, age gap, millionaires, and men from different worlds who will give you all the feels.

  Published by Boho Press

  Rochester, Minnesota

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is coincidental.

  Socks for an Otter

  © 2019 Posy Roberts

  Editor: Pinny’s Proofreading

  Cover Artist: Black Jazz Design

  The Licensed Art Material is being used for illustrative purposes only.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and complying with copyright laws. Please do not loan or give this ebook to others. Thank you for supporting the arts.

  Warning: This book contains material that is intended for a mature, adult audience. It contains graphic language, explicit sexual content, and adult situations.

  For more information, visit posyroberts.com

  For Ava. Together we’ll make the world a better place.

  A hungry man is not a free man.

  Adlai E. Stevenson

  Contents

  Author’s Note

  1. Cold Realization

  2. Prickly Defense

  3. Awkward Admissions

  4. Connections

  5. Crab in Hot Water

  6. Finger Food

  7. Fair Exchange

  8. Slittens

  9. Pillow Mountain

  10. Snowed In

  11. Dream Away

  12. A Needle in a Haystack

  13. Gratitude

  14. Fish Out of Water

  15. Glorious Tease

  16. Desperate Otter

  17. Surpassed

  18. One Long Date

  19. A Romantic

  20. Not A Romance

  21. Much Too Late

  22. Treasure Lost

  23. Made Visible

  24. Grand & Subtle

  25. Go Bigger

  26. Visible

  27. Protective Wolf

  28. Cruelty & Kindness

  29. Can’t Help Falling

  30. Always

  Acknowledgments

  Holiday Reads

  About the Author

  Also by Posy Roberts

  Author’s Note

  Socks are the number one requested item at homeless shelters. Learning that was the spark for this story.

  In the last few years, I’ve witnessed people actively seeking out ways to help those less fortunate. As governments cut helpful programs and limit assistance, people are asking, “How can I help?” They’re becoming proactive in a way I’ve never seen before. Companies are stepping up as well, like Bombas, a sock company that donates one pair of socks to a homeless shelter for every pair you buy for yourself.

  People are volunteering at soup kitchens, researching the best foods to donate to food pantries, and learning about the needs of the homeless population. Homelessness is down in most US states compared to ten years ago, but Washington DC has the highest population; more than 1% of the nation’s capital is homeless.

  I was compelled to set Socks for an Otter in Washington DC to highlight that crisis but also to show that good still exists there. The LGBTQ+ homeless population faces a unique set of challenges compared to their straight counterparts: rejection by family, discrimination from institutions, and a heightened risk of violence, abuse, and exploitation. Finding a safe shelter can be a challenge, and shelters are often the hub of all other services.

  More than anything, homeless people need our compassion. Their stories need to be heard so they become visible. Once their realities are no longer pushed to the periphery, we’ll want to do better. At least that’s my wish.

  I wanted to write a hopeful story, but to get there, I needed a character who understood what the “good life” was before he ended up on the streets.

  He needed to be grateful for something as simple as socks.

  1

  Cold Realization

  Sebastian emerged from his makeshift tent and stared beyond the bridge he lived under. The icy wind howled, licking his bare skin, but he stood tall. He couldn’t allow something as common as cold and the possibility of snow get in the way of finding a meal.

  He didn’t have a real tent like many of his “neighbors” down here. Not anymore. His last one had been pitchforked into a garbage truck during the last sweep, his last bit of security trashed, and not just the physical stuff. Same with the winter coat he’d scrimped and saved for. He’d used every penny earned and thrown his way to pay for that thing. And it had been warm.

  Lord, that coat had been warm.

  If he closed his eyes, he could practically feel it on his neck now. If he could sink deep enough into dreamland, that was. Which he couldn’t because next door, Javon and Emily wouldn’t stop arguing.

  “Knock it off!” he growled as an icy blast whipped past their temporary tent city. Everything was temporary . . . except for this argument . . . That was never-ending. “If Emily wants to paint her nails, fucking let her and quit your whining!”

  “But it staaanky!” Javon whined through what sounded like a pinched-off nose.

  “Did she tie you up? I know you’re not into Shibari. Deal with it or get your ass out here for some fresh air. There’s plenty of it. Just prepare for the wind.”

  “Wind’s better than this stench. How cold is it?” Javon popped his head out of the tent he shared with Emily and took a few dramatic breaths before stepping all the way out. New girlfriend, new relationship, and with the way they fought over everything, Sebastian wasn’t sure how much longer it would last.

  “Grab your coat,” Sebastian warned.

  “You’re right about that, Bash.” Javon ducked back inside the tent.

  Bash, his new nickname, one he’d earned. Or maybe his friends were just tired of saying Bastian, the name he’d decided to use once he landed on the streets. Names to keep his lives separate, a reminder he was no longer Sebastian Lewis.

  Now he was just Bash, the guy who’d punch you before you had a chance to apologize.

  Eat or be eaten.

  When Javon emerged with watery eyes, Sebastian said, “You need some ventilation. Unzip a damn window. You got ’em.”

  He pointed toward Javon’s tent, jealous since he would be spending the night under blankets and a tarp draped over precariously stacked boxes. It’s the best he’d been able to do after the sweep. He had a few clamps holding everything together, duct tape, and Shirley had helped him make a quick running stitch with some yarn and a sewing needle to cinch up the rest. Hopefully that would keep a few nights.

  Or at least until this storm came through and ho
pefully brought warmer weather. From what Javon had said, this sort of cold wasn’t usually seen until late January and into February, not this early in December.

  He’d have a new tent by the new year.

  Javon gave him a once-over. “Why you all dressed up? Lookin’ for a date tonight?”

  “Hell, if it got me off these streets until this shit passes, I’d be up for it.” He buttoned the collar of the barely good-enough coat he traded his supper for. It was worth it; this wind bit and hurt his skin. “What did you hear about the storm?”

  “Nothin’ good. Big storm coming in. Wind. Snow. But the bitch will be the temps.”

  Sebastian wasn’t an old-timer like people nearby. Javon, homeless for three years. Shirley, on the streets for a decade. Walter, the guy two doors down, had been on the streets since the nineties.

  Sebastian was more like Emily, a newbie, on the streets for less than a year. And he was on the streets rather than sleeping in shelters for the same reason a lot of his friends here were. Shelters could be dangerous places. They shouldn’t be, but stuff got stolen, dealers tried to hook you on their shit, and religion was shoved in your face.

  And he was queer.

  That’s what really kept Bash away from shelters: religion. The streets were better than being told he was going to hell 24/7. No thanks. And now that shelters were given permission to turn queer people away because of their faith, there were fewer places for him to go.

  He was homeless. That was a fact. At least he’d stayed at a shelter long enough to get a library card, which opened up a wealth of opportunities. Services, free Wi-Fi, computers, databases.

  And books.

  His books made living this way bearable. He could escape in his head and live someone else’s life for a few hours. The thought usually made him let out a contented sigh.

  But right now, his stomach beckoned him back to this life, demanding to be noticed.

  “I’m heading up to catch the food van. Wanna come with?”

  Javon shook his head. “Got my share already. Sandwich was gone before we got back. Was good, though.”

  “You sticking here all night, then?”

  “Yeah. Nowhere to go. Least nowhere I wanna be.”

  Sebastian nodded toward his makeshift tent. “If you need, crawl in until your place is aired out and no longer a toxic hazard.”

  “I heard that!” Emily shouted. “Maybe I’ll do my toes, or maybe dye my hair while I’m at it.”

  Sebastian rolled his eyes, but Javon looked genuinely worried.

  “Hey, Em?” He waited for a hum of acknowledgment before he continued. “Whatever Javon did that pissed you off, I’m sure he’s sorry for it. Or he would be if he knew how he fucked up. He just might need you to communicate that rather than trying to kill off his brain cells. And your own.”

  “Stay out of it, Bash. No one asked you.”

  Sebastian physically recoiled. He hated rocking the boat, but Javon was his friend and didn’t deserve to be pushed out of his own place. He hoped Javon was done with Emily sooner rather than later. She made him cower, and he was too kind a man to be treated like dirt.

  Sebastian ducked inside his tent, filled his backpack with everything he might need for the rest of his life—he learned to do that the hard way after the city trashed most everything he owned—and emerged. He gave his . . . boxes a nod. “It’s ready for you to sleep in all night if you need to.”

  Javon pulled him into a tight hug that always ended in friendly backslaps, but he let Sebastian hold on a little longer. It was about the only comfort he got these days. Then three more thumps and, “Thanks, man. Now get some grub before you waste away.”

  “Will do.” He pointed to Javon’s tent and mouthed, “I hope you fix this, but it’s your tent, not hers.”

  Javon smiled and nodded as if he didn’t have a worry in the world.

  How could he be so nonchalant, so assured everything would turn out?

  Then again, Sebastian needed a home base, a place to rejuvenate. Something permanent. He’d not had that in ages. Javon didn’t seem to rely on that nearly as much. Maybe Javon saw DC as his home. The whole city, everywhere he went. He grew up here, after all.

  Sebastian hadn’t felt this alone when he was in New York City, his hometown.

  Wind cut across Sebastian’s cheeks, and he was so thankful he’d made the choice to grow a beard. It had felt like an utterly stupid choice in August, but now it was thick. And it kept half his face warm, which wasn’t anything to sneeze at. To protect the skin still exposed to the elements, he tugged his stocking cap down his brow and burrowed inside the wool dress coat’s collar, which probably made him look ridiculous. The coat gave off the impression of power and money, the same coat every cabinet member, senator, and representative around the city wore. Apparently their coats came with built-in heaters too. Because there was no way in hell this would keep him from freezing to death as he slept outside, especially if this monstrous storm landed like it was supposed to.

  No, it’s summer-weight wool. You’re losing your touch.

  Food. Before he worried about anything else, he had to get food. He was so hungry, he swore his stomach was eating itself.

  But the first soup kitchen he stopped at was closed. The second had a line around the corner, and people coming out said the food was scarce. And the food van was long gone.

  So if he was eating tonight, he needed to either swallow his pride and step into one of the “godly” houses and risk being turned away the second they spotted the rainbow flag tattooed on the inside of his wrist, or to be told he would burn in hell for who he was. No meal was worth that, no matter how tasty.

  Or he could walk blocks and blocks into the wind to get cold food without the side dish of hate. The food pantry.

  Walking into the wind it was. Maybe the walk would warm him up, eventually.

  If he ended up with frostbite, or worse, frozen to death, no one would miss him. Then this hopeless existence would be done.

  As Louis hauled a bushel basket filled with Maryland blue crabs down his parents’ driveway, he couldn’t fathom what he’d do with all this seafood. His father had set out the crab pots just after sunrise, and the little buggers must’ve known a storm and icy temps were coming, because they got caught in his father’s traps on their way to warmer waters.

  “No way in hell can I eat all these myself.”

  And it would only be him. There was no one to share this with, and crab wasn’t something he wanted to eat alone.

  The damn familiar loneliness crept in and descended like a black cloud. It nearly choked off all the light and his breath.

  This would be his first holiday season away from his parents in years and only his second not spending it here at his parents’ house on Chesapeake Bay. The first Christmas away was the year he was working abroad as a paper pusher in an American embassy. The second was when he and Mati lived on the other side of the country, newlyweds, insistent on creating traditions of their own. They’d been lonely and miserable away from family, and they’d ended up fighting because of all the pressure they’d thrust onto this innocent holiday.

  But now he didn’t have Mati or the baby they’d been expecting. And it had been three years since losing them. Each Christmas had gotten easier. At least grief was no longer right at the surface. So he thought he was ready to try spending a holiday alone.

  He’d been the one to encourage his parents to go on this cruise. They’d hesitated, but he’d insisted. If he couldn’t handle a holiday alone now, then he’d never be able to manage it. But as he tucked the crabs in the cargo space beside his parents’ luggage, he wanted to beg them to stay.

  He wouldn’t, however.

  “Is everything fitting?” his father asked from a few feet away, startling Louis.

  “You’re stealthy, Dad.”

  “Sorry. But do you have room?”

  “Plenty. I’m just trying to figure out what I’ll do with all these.”

 
His mother opened the front passenger door and smiled. “You could always drop them off at that food pantry you and Mati always donated to.” She covered her mouth and winced. “I’m sorry, Louis. I didn’t mean to bring her up just as we’re leaving.”

  Louis waved her off as they all climbed in. “Don’t be afraid of using her name, Mom. That doesn’t set me off.” The loneliness did and how . . . empty his life was. He started the car and headed toward the airport.

  “You’ll get through this, darling.” She tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, and Louis made eye contact with his father in the rearview mirror. His father smiled and gave him a nod that said the same thing.

  He would. He had work to focus on, even if he wanted a break from the policy stuff he lived, ate, and drank. Literally. Every event, every relationship he had in DC was centered on his life as a policy influencer. Which was why spending the Christmas holiday surrounded by the winter quiet of the Bay had always been a respite.

  “You could always stay at our place until we get back from Greece,” his mother said. “Why not go to Claire’s white elephant gift opening and Stan’s seafood boil?”