by Sasha Goldie
"Well, it means a lot to me. You picked up the job in days and hopped in to help. That means a lot." We stopped at my beat-up old El Camino. When I'd bought it from Corey, the inside had reeked of cigarette smoke, but I'd cleaned it several times and let it air out as much as possible. It wasn't so bad now.
"Why don't you cook me dinner as a thank you?" I asked, then clamped my lips tightly shut. Where had that come from? I didn't have time to indulge my attraction to Carson. I had too much self-improvement work to do.
He looked shocked for a moment, then agreed. "Yeah, I can do that. Sounds like fun."
Why was I doing this? Carson wasn’t even gay. Having dinner with him was only going to make my crush worse, and unrequited love was a total bitch. I had a moment of hope that maybe I could turn him. Yeah, right. What had I gotten my-damn-self into?
6
Carson
Watching the El Camino drive away, I nearly smacked myself in the forehead. What had I gotten myself into? I couldn't cook dinner for an employee, even if he was one I'd been friends with as a child. I couldn't help but be glad, though. Spending time with Max was definitely high on my list of things I wanted to do that I probably shouldn't do. Like drinking tequila or eating an entire pizza.
Fun at the moment, but bad for me. Max, as my employee, was bad for me. I should've looked for a different way to help him find a job besides hiring him. That way, I could've focused on dating him, not paying him.
Damn it.
On the way back into the bar to close it down and kick my other employees out, I texted Max.
Carson: Dinner tomorrow since the bar opens late?
We didn't serve lunch on Sundays, giving our employees time with their families. He didn't answer, so I went in and told everyone to go home. Corey and Liam grabbed the last two bags of trash on their way out, and I closed it down.
The next morning, as soon as I woke up, I got ready and went to the grocery store. I wanted to impress Max, so I had planned steaks, twice-baked potatoes, and my mama’s broccoli casserole.
As I grabbed a small cart and hurried toward the back of the store to the meat, someone called my name. I turned to see Brady walking up to me in his uniform. "Hey, man, how are you?" he asked.
"Good, just grabbing some stuff for dinner."
"I'll walk with you." He fell in line and moved toward the back of the store beside me. "I came for one of their deli sandwiches."
Three Lakes grocery didn't try to compete with Daisy, but they did provide a nice deli alternative for lunch. Anything not sold during the day was wrapped up and sold the next day, then if anything was left after that, the manager would have one of the police officers deliver it to one of the families up in the hills. They didn't get down to the store often and probably couldn't afford to, anyway.
"How's Corey doing?" he asked me.
I reached for a loaf of bread. Might as well grab a few things I needed while I was here. “He's a lifesaver. If he wasn't so head over heels in love with you, I'd try to steal him full-time. He insists on having time with you still, though." We moved on to the meat counter.
Corey was my manager, and I wanted to put him on a larger salary and have him work more hours, but he wouldn't do more than forty. As his boss, I was disappointed I couldn't have him more. As Brady's best friend for years, I respected that his time with Brady was more important to him than money.
"What's this I hear about you making moon-eyes at Max?" Brady asked. He poked at a package of ribeyes, so I grabbed them. They looked good to me.
"Where'd you hear that?" I asked, shocked. I hadn't told anyone that I was attracted to Max, and Max didn't act like he was interested at all, at least, not until last night when he'd asked me to make dinner. I suspected he really just missed being surrounded by friends, though, and wasn't asking for dinner as a date. Either way, I'd be there for him and wanted to impress him.
"Cory says everyone is talking about the way you two look at each other. Is he the one you didn't want to talk about when I was trying to figure out my relationship with Corey?” He laughed and put two filets in my cart. “These are good.”
I stopped and stared at him, dumbfounded that anyone had noticed my attraction to Max and also not remembering the conversation he'd referenced. The tourist I'd flirted with earlier in the summer sprang to mind. "Oh, no, that was just a tourist that ended up not going anywhere at all. He was a jerk."
I continued down the aisle past the meat. "I'm just shocked that anyone noticed."
"That you like Max?" he asked with a laugh. "Corey says it's obvious the moment you two are anywhere near each other."
"So, he thinks Max likes me, too?" Good grief, I sounded like a middle school-aged television show. I might as well have passed Brady a note to give to Max asking him to check yes or no. "No, I don't want to know." Stopping near the potatoes, I pointed in Brady's face, scolding him. "You and Corey need to stop gossiping like a couple of hens. That's how rumors get started."
"So you're not attracted to Max?" he asked, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Baked potatoes?”
I looked away and began my potato selection. "I didn't say that."
"Ha," he exclaimed. "I knew it. Just exactly why are you buying steaks and potatoes?"
Changing the subject, I threw the topic of romance right back at Brady. "So when are you going to ask Corey to marry you?"
He blushed and actually looked down while he twisted his foot around. "I bought a ring," he murmured, looking around to make sure nobody heard.
"Are you serious?" I asked, delighted. "When are you asking him?” I put several large bakers in my cart and turned it toward the salad fixings.
"I don't know yet. It's hard to decide when the right time is. I’m waiting to see if some big idea springs to mind or the perfect opportunity presents itself.” He felt several tomatoes and put two in the cart while I picked out a cucumber.
"Well, if you need help, let me know," I said with a huge grin. I was truly happy for them. "I love shit like this."
We parted ways, both grinning like fools, him to the deli, and me to pick out salad dressing. By the time I made my way back home, it was getting way too close to time for Max to show up and the house was still a mess. I set out the steaks to get to room temp, oiled and salted the potatoes, and threw the casserole together.
Putting the casserole and potatoes in the oven, I looked at my dog and gave him a stern expression. "Don't you even think about getting these steaks," I said, then ran out the door to clean.
First up, the living room. If I didn't get anything else cleaned, I could serve dinner there and Max wouldn't have to see the rest of the house.
As I put things in their proper places, I cursed myself for being such a slob. There was no reason all of this couldn't have been already clean. Clothes everywhere, and it would have to be vacuumed. Maybe I did work too much. Or it was time to hire someone.
Turning to put a magazine on my bookshelf, I nearly tripped over Droo, who must've been catching my excitement. He was running around the living room with a silly doggy expression on his face.
The bathroom wasn't too bad since it was the one I never used, but it was a bit dusty, so I sprayed it down then went back to the living room to vacuum up the dog hair. "You're a menace," I told Droo as I sucked up his white and black hairs from the couch and corners of the living room. I had hardwood floors, and it seemed like no matter how often I vacuumed, the dog hair piled up in clumps.
After stowing the vacuum, I wiped down the bathroom and returned to the kitchen, pleasantly surprised to see I still had an hour. After running to my room to change, I started wiping down the kitchen. It wasn't gross, I didn't spend enough time at home for it to get gross, but it needed a wiping.
I'd just thrown the rag in the washer when the doorbell rang. "Holy crap, Droo, I did it."
Droo barked as he ran ahead of me toward the door, excited about a guest. I opened the door and caught his collar. He was a medium-sized dog, but he felt huge wh
en he jumped up.
"Sorry," I said to Max, who looked delighted. "He's not very well behaved." As I looked up at Max, I was nearly struck dumb by how hot he looked. He had on a blue button-up and the color drew the ice out of his eyes. He'd shaved and gotten a haircut, as well. He looked as if he could walk right into a soldier's calendar.
I’d have hung him on my wall, that was for sure. The crush I'd had on him when we were teenagers and I was too scared to come out and tell the world I was gay had returned and turned into something far more sensual and far less puppy-love.
"Who is this?" he asked, his voice in that universal dog lover baby tone.
"This is my dog, Droolius Caesar. Droo, this is Max."
7
Max
I had been nervous as a kitten on the way over to Carson’s house, but as soon as his door opened and Droo jumped on me, my anxiety disappeared. That was the power of animals, especially dogs, for me.
"Come in, please," Carson said. He motioned for me to go toward the living room. "Have a seat."
"This sure is a far cry different from how we hung out the last time," I said.
"What do you mean?" Carson cocked his head, confused. "The diner?"
"Sorry, no, I meant when we were kids, holed up in one of our rooms playing video games or roaming the countryside."
He laughed and sat in a chair across from the couch. I was surprised to feel a little bit of disappointment when he didn’t sit directly beside me. Droo made up for it by jumping up onto the cushion beside me and putting his head on my leg. "How long have you had him?" I asked.
"Years. He’s an old man, now."
I’d figured as much, based on the amount of white around his eyes and how slowly he’d jumped up onto the couch.
"Whenever I can get away from the brewery," Carson continued, "we hike up to Broken Peak. He loves to swim up there." That had been our favorite swimming hole when we were kids. "We should go up there before the end of summer."
"That sounds like a lot of fun," I said. If I remembered correctly, there was a rock that would be perfect for helping me get in the water. I still hadn’t really told Carson about my leg. He knew I’d been injured in the service, but I was pretty sure he didn’t know I’d lost my leg. I’d worked really hard over the years to make my limp as minimal as possible. It helped with all the questions and stares. I really hated the stares.
"I’d love to swim with you." Carson’s words were innocent enough, but his tone of voice held something a bit more sensual. I looked at Droo to avoid looking at Carson, sure that I’d imagined the slightly sultry note in his words.
"What a sweet dog." This might be a good way to tell him I wasn’t the man I used to be. Literally. "I’ve decided I want to work with dogs, but I’m not totally settled on what capacity, yet."
"That’s awesome." I looked up and his face held genuine happiness. "I volunteer at the county animal shelter," he said. "It’s hard, sometimes, to know one is going to be euthanized, but I go when I can, and I’m on their social media so I can share adoptable animals."
Helping get animals adopted sounded like the perfect way to further my research into how exactly I wanted to work with dogs. "Could I go with you sometime?" I asked. "Maybe soon?"
"Sure." He stood. "Let me check dinner."
While he was gone, I nuzzled Droo’s snout. He chuffed in my face, happy for the attention. I couldn’t help but wonder what Droo did all day while Carson was at work.
"Don't think I'm judging, but you work a lot," I said cautiously when Carson came back. "That seems like a lot of time for Droo to be alone."
He laughed and reached over to scratch Droo's head before he sat down. "Droo's been with me longer than the brewery, but you're right. That's why I pay the neighbor kids to walk and play with him. They love it, he loves it, and I don't feel so guilty."
"Oh, you get spoiled, don't you, old man?" I said in the ridiculous voice I couldn't seem to stop using. I gave Droo a kiss on the head. "I could help out," I offered. "Come love on him or walk him."
"Sure," Carson said with enthusiasm. "I'd love that."
A ding from the kitchen brought Carson to his feet again. "Time to put the steaks on."
I followed him, Droo jumping off the couch and following me. We looked like a hungry train, trailing Carson.
He grabbed the steaks and pointed to the grilling tongs and plate. "Grab that?" I did and again followed him out to the back porch.
"Forgive me," he said. "I didn't think about cleaning out here."
The porch had a few leaves on it but otherwise was bare of any debris. Carson had a smallish gas grill in one corner of the large deck, and a big table with umbrella on the other side. The deck overlooked a large back yard with plenty of room for Droo. Before I let the dog follow us, I checked with Carson. "Can Droo come out?"
"Oh, yeah. He loves it out here." Carson opened a tote I hadn't noticed, pressed against the house. It was full of dog toys. "There's a ball slinger, but warning, if you start, he won't want to stop."
I didn't mind that. Having Droo as a buffer was great, giving Carson and I a chance to reconnect without awkwardness.
Droo saw Carson open the tote, and obviously knew what it was. His slow, plodding pace disappeared with the wag of his tail. Dropping down, he wiggled his tail so hard his entire body vibrated.
Looking down in the box of toys, I spotted the ball slinger, but I must've been taking too long because Droo woofed at me and scooted back and forth a little. "In a hurry?" I asked.
Carson laughed from the grill, where he was placing the steaks. "How do you like your steak?"
"Medium," I said as I loaded the toy with a tennis ball. Droo went to the stairs and danced on his feet, looking back and forth from me to the stairs, trying to anticipate the perfect moment to take off running. I pulled my arm back, the long stick with the ball on the end poised to launch off the deck. Droo froze with his eyes on the ball.
Moving my arm but watching him, I threw it as hard as I could and laughed as his back feet scrabbled to get a grip and launch him down the stairs. The creaky old man was gone, replaced with a pup that would always want to go after his ball. He ran as hard as he could to the back of the yard where the ball had come to a rest, found it instantly, and ran as hard as he could back up to me. I took the already-slimy ball from him and repeated the game.
As he ran, I decided to bring up the subject of my injury with Carson, who had finished with the grill. The sizzle of the steaks filled the air. The smell would soon enough.
"We had a unit dog." I watched Droo running back as I spoke. "He was the best."
"What happened to him?" Carson asked with interest.
"He was killed. In the same IUD explosion that injured me."
Carson nodded. "Is this a beer conversation?"
I chuckled as I reloaded the ball and threw it again. "Maybe."
He ran in and got two bottles, coming out in time to see me reload for Droo. "I told you he won't want to stop. He'll start to run more slowly, but if you let him, he'll keep going until he's climbing the stairs one at a time."
"Maybe we won't go that long, eh, old man?" I asked Droo before throwing the ball again. "That IUD explosion was the one that lost me my leg," I said bluntly.
Carson choked on the beer he was swigging. "You lost a leg?" he asked in amazement, looking down at my jeans-clad legs. "I never would have been able to tell."
"That's intentional," I said, moving to one of the deck chairs. Droo was back with his ball, but when I didn't grab it, he settled down to gnaw on it. I sat down and rolled up my pant leg to show Carson the prosthetic. "I worked hard in therapy to get rid of my limp."
"I noticed it, but it was so faint I figured your injury had just left you with a slight limp." He looked at the prosthetic. "Does it hurt?"
Laughing, I rolled down the material, hiding the metal again. "Sometimes." All the time. "Phantom pains are real, and they are a bitch." I tried to make light of it. If I told the truth, p
eople's faces went all sympathetic. I wasn't around to be someone's pity party.
"Wow. Can I ask..." He trailed off, not sure how to word what he wanted to know.
"You can ask me anything. I've had enough therapy to be able to talk about it, though I do have lingering PTSD sometimes."
"What happened after? How long ago was it?"
"I was twenty-six. We were on a recon mission. The IUD went off directly under our truck. It didn't take off my leg. The infection did."
"Were you not able to get medical care?"
Shaking my head, I smiled. "I had the best medical care in the country. But sometimes infection sets in and that's that." With a shrug, I touched the spot where my leg met my prosthetic. "Afterwards, I took advantage of every therapy session and worked out on my own. I'm determined not to let it stop me from being me."
"That's amazing," he whispered. "I don't know if I could be so strong about it."
"Well, it's been five years," I said with a laugh, getting up to get the ball from Droo. "I've had a little bit of time to adjust."
"Still." He checked the steaks. "What a thing to go through and come out the other side stronger and wiser."
I didn't reply, because I rarely felt strong, and I definitely didn't feel wise. "I don't like people to know. I'm a private person."
"I won't tell anyone," he promised as he slid the steaks onto a plate. "But if you ever want to talk, I may not be able to relate, but I'm a good listener." He looked at the table. "Shoot, I forgot to wipe it. Hold this?"
I nodded and took the plate. He ran inside and quickly returned with a damp rag to wipe the table down. As soon as he finished, I set the steaks down. "Where's your bathroom?" I asked. "I want to wash the dog drool off of my hands."
He laughed and walked inside to show me where to go.
Inside the bathroom, I looked at myself critically in the mirror. With the haircut I'd gotten, I looked like I'd just stepped out of basic training. Maybe it was time to grow my hair out, make a separation from my time in the military. I'd ridden the military look when I was modeling, but that was done. All through high school I'd let my hair grow out, sort of shaggy around my face.
