Small Town Sonata

by Jamie Fessenden

  “I’ll remember that.” Aiden kissed him again. Then he caressed Dean’s stubbled chin. “I don’t think I’ve mentioned it yet, but you grew up nice.”

  “You too.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “You bet.”

  Aiden turned and walked to the house, listening to Dean’s truck pull out of the drive. He was hard again. Really hard. But he resisted the urge to call Dean back and tell him he’d changed his mind about going home with him. They had time to get to know each other again before jumping into bed together.

  In the meantime, there was no way Aiden would be sleeping tonight without jerking off first.

  Chapter Twelve

  DEAN didn’t have any jobs scheduled the next morning, which was lucky. He’d never have been able to concentrate on work—not after sort of having sex with Aiden the night before. He probably would have hammered the crap out of his thumb or sawed something off he might need later. He could barely make himself coffee without injuring himself with the spoon.

  He didn’t want to call Aiden right away. That would seem desperate. Plus waking Aiden up at eight o’clock in the morning might piss him off. Dean made himself some English muffins and fried an egg for breakfast. Then he took a shower. He’d been sporting morning wood since he got up, and it had refused to go down, so he beat off under the hot spray, thinking of the way Aiden’s mouth had tasted, and the way his slender body had felt writhing underneath him. Dean remembered the way Aiden had whimpered slightly when he came, and suddenly he was gushing all over the tile wall.

  He toweled off, dressed, and went back into the kitchen. It was nine.

  Shit.

  When the fuck does he wake up, anyway? Didn’t people in New York City stay up all night? It was the city that never slept, right? That probably meant they stayed in bed late. Ten? Eleven?

  Jesus. This is hell.

  He jerked off again around ten thirty. By eleven he couldn’t stand it anymore.

  “Good morning,” Mrs. Scott said cheerfully, when he called their house phone. “Scott residence.”

  “Hey, Mrs. Scott,” he said, feeling self-conscious about talking to Aiden’s mom after what had transpired between him and Aiden last night. “Is Aiden up yet?” Then he added quickly, “Don’t wake him if he’s still in bed.”

  She gave a light, lilting laugh. “At this hour? No, of course not. He’s practicing.”

  “Oh.” Now that he listened for it, Dean could hear the sound of the piano faintly in the background. “Well, don’t disturb him, then.”

  “I wouldn’t, even if you were the President, the Pope, and the Queen of England on a conference call. Nobody disturbs Aiden during practice. That’s one of our family rules.”

  “Sure.”

  “But I’ll tell him you called, the next time he takes a break.”

  “Thank you.”

  There was nothing he could do but wait. Dean fixed himself another cup of coffee and sat down in the living room with one of his grandfather’s old Mack Bolan novels. Opa had always hated the television, so he never got one while Dean was a kid, and after he’d passed away, Dean found he had no interest in getting one for himself. He liked the house quiet. Sometimes he listened to one of his few CDs, but he was afraid he’d miss the phone ringing if he put music on. So he just read.

  An hour later he was seriously considering jerking off again. He wasn’t normally this much of a horndog, but… Aiden kept popping into his head, and his dick perked up whenever that happened. He was saved by the phone ringing. He tossed the book on the couch and ran into the kitchen to grab it.

  “Hello?” he gasped.

  “Hey, it’s Aiden. Sorry I was busy when you called.”

  “No problem.”

  “What’s up?”

  “I don’t know,” Dean replied, suddenly unsure what he wanted to say. “I was just…. Well, it’s almost lunchtime. Are you hungry?”

  WHEN Dean pulled his truck into the Scotts’ driveway, Aiden walked out to greet him with a wide grin on his face.

  “Thanks for calling,” he said. “I was in a funk.”

  Dean leaned out the driver side window, his bare arm pressed against the sun-warmed metal of the door. “Why?”

  “Just….” Aiden shrugged and glanced away. “A friend is trying to set up an audition with an orchestra down in Manchester for me, to kind of… get me back on my feet, I guess.”

  “That’s great!”

  Aiden shook his head. “It’s a small orchestra, and they’re desperate to find someone, since their last pianist bailed on them.”

  “Oh. So you’re feeling… kind of insulted? Because it’s such a step down from what you were doing before?”

  Aiden’s eyes widened in surprise. “No! It’s not that. It’s… well, you’re right in that this shouldn’t be hard for me. I know the piece. This isn’t New York or Prague. But it is hard.” He sighed. “Everything is hard now.”

  Dean let it drop. It was in his nature to fix things, but he couldn’t fix this. Maybe the best he could do would be to provide a distraction for a while. He smacked the outside of his door lightly. “Come on, bud. Hop in. Let’s go get something to eat.”

  “Are we going to Townsend’s?”

  “Probably, unless you’d rather get a pizza.” There wasn’t much else in Springhaven, aside from a McDonald’s and the ice cream place. And Dean really didn’t want to treat Aiden to a Big Mac—not the first time they went out together.

  Not that it was a date. But… still.

  “Townsend’s is fine,” Aiden said. “But it’s at the end of the road. We can walk to it, can’t we?”

  Dean hadn’t really thought of that, but it was a beautiful day. And it would give them more time to chat. So he shut off the truck. “Sure thing.”

  The midday sun beat down on their shoulders as they walked, until Dean was overheated enough to pull his T-shirt over his head. He’d have to put it back on when they got to the restaurant, but it was nice to get some air on his skin for a few minutes.

  As he was tying it around his waist, he noticed Aiden watching him closely.

  “Yes?” Dean asked. “No?”

  “What?”

  “Are you checking me out or thinking I’m a pig?”

  Aiden laughed. “Definitely checking you out.”

  “Cool.”

  Aiden’s hazel eyes looked almost blue in the bright sunlight. He looked directly into Dean’s eyes and smiled warmly. “You look great. And I love the tattoos.”

  It had been a long time since a man had admired Dean’s body. It felt good. “Thanks. Some people think I overdid it a little.”

  “That’s a lot of ink,” Aiden said, as if he agreed. But then he added, “It’s really hot.”

  “Jeez…. Am I blushing? I feel like I’m blushing.” He really did. There seemed to be more heat radiating off his face than coming from the sun over his head.

  Aiden smirked at him. “Yeah, I think you are. It’s kind of adorable.”

  “I could just be dying of typhoid.”

  “I’m sure that’s it.”

  All the compliments made Dean reluctant to put his T-shirt back on when they reached the corner, but he wouldn’t be allowed inside the restaurant without it. Aiden waited for him by the door while he pulled the shirt over his head. After having it off for a few minutes, he was acutely aware of how damp with sweat it was. Plus, it smelled. But there was nothing he could do about that right now.

  Aiden looked immaculate, as he always seemed to. If he was sweating, Dean couldn’t see it.

  Townsend’s Family Restaurant was a typical New England diner with booths along one wall and a service counter with stools running the length of the opposite wall. It was just past the lunch rush, and the place was empty when they entered.

  Dolores Townsend, the owner’s teenage daughter, looked up from the row of salt shakers she was filling on the counter. “Hey, Dean! How you doing?”

  “Pretty good.” He ge
stured toward Aiden. “This is a friend of mine from high school, Aiden Scott.”

  She smiled brightly at Aiden. “Hey! I didn’t know the Scotts had a kid.”

  “This ‘kid’ is older than you are, Dodo,” Dean said, teasing her with the nickname he’d given her when she was twelve.

  “Way older,” Aiden agreed.

  She rolled her eyes at Dean. “Call me that again, and I’ll spit in your drink.”

  “Is that how you treat your customers? Maybe I should talk to the manager.”

  She dismissed that with a wave of her hand. “Mom’s over in Lancaster for the night, staying with Aunt Jeannie. So just cool your jets and take a seat. I’ll be right over with water and menus.”

  WALKING into Townsend’s was like stepping back into Aiden’s childhood. Mrs. Townsend had been waiting tables, back then, with Mr. Townsend at the grill, but otherwise everything was exactly the same—the burgundy padded booths and stools, the polished chrome surfaces, the black and white checked floor, the posters on the wall of rock idols like Jimi Hendrix and Janis Joplin, and the old jukebox at the far end.

  Even the music was the same. The jukebox was currently playing “American Pie.” When he and Dean had come there as teens, they were annoyed that none of the selections were more current than the early eighties.

  Dean led him to a booth in the center of the room, not too close to the jukebox and out of the direct sunlight coming through the large picture window at the front of the restaurant.

  “Do you need a menu?” Dean asked as they sat down.

  Aiden looked him in the eye and smirked. “You know what I want.”

  “Don’t bother with the menus, Dolores.” Dean emphasized the name. “We’ll have two bacon cheeseburgers, two chocolate malts, and a large plate of fries with gravy.”

  “No problem, Deke.”

  “We’ll still take a couple glasses of water, Dolly.”

  “Sure, Dirk.” She filled a couple of glasses from the soda dispenser behind the counter and brought them to the table. She set Aiden’s glass on the table in front of him, but instead of setting Dean’s down, she held it over his head and tilted it until the water nearly spilled over the rim. “What’s my name?”

  “Lola?”

  “I’m gonna give you a nice cool shower in a minute….”

  “Better cooperate,” Aiden said, amused. “I think she means business.”

  Dean shrugged. “Lulu?”

  That did it. The waitress—whose actual name Aiden still didn’t know—seemed as startled as Dean when a stream of ice water dribbled down onto his head. She gasped and put a hand to her mouth as she righted the glass. “Oh, shoot!” she said, giggling. “I didn’t think it would spill!”

  Dean rubbed the water into his head with one hand. “Nice. It’s a good thing it’s a hot day.” Then he added emphatically, “Dee.”

  She set the glass down in front of him—not quite hard enough to break it. Then she said sweetly, “I’ll tell Kenny to put your burgers on.”

  After she’d walked away, Dean said under his breath, “Her name really is Dolores. She just hates it.”

  “You’re lucky you didn’t get drenched.”

  “Hey, I took the fall for breaking her mother’s favorite coffee mug when I was babysitting her. She owes me.”

  “That was ten years ago,” the young woman said from across the room. “Let it go.” Then she disappeared into the kitchen.

  “Do you mind telling me what she actually likes to be called?”

  Dean snorted. “She goes by Dee.” Then, when Aiden raised his eyebrows skeptically, he added, “Honest.”

  Aiden regarded him affectionately. Dean had come to Springhaven as an orphan, sent by the state to live with his grandfather, the only relative willing to take him in. But despite a rough start, he’d managed to make this entire town his family.

  Dean noticed the look and squirmed a bit. “What?”

  “When we were teenagers,” Aiden began, not sure how to explain himself exactly, “you seemed kind of scary. And I thought that was hot.”

  “I don’t seem scary anymore?”

  Aiden shook his head. “God, no. You’re a pussycat.” Dean raised his eyebrows at that, but Aiden rushed on. “I like that. I like the man you’ve grown into—responsible, hard-working, well-liked around town….”

  Dean made a sour face. “Jesus! You make me sound boring as shit.”

  “I don’t find you boring. Not at all.” Aiden glanced at the door to the kitchen to make sure Dee wasn’t returning, and lowered his voice. “I think you’re the most real man I’ve ever known. Not to mention amazingly fucking sexy.”

  Dean slid his water glass to one side and leaned forward. “I’m probably just gonna embarrass myself by asking this, because I’m probably completely picking up the wrong signals, but… aside from the getting laid part, which I think you want as much as I do, it sounds like you might… just maybe… be wanting a little more than that.”

  “You’re not picking up the wrong signals,” Aiden said carefully. “But I’m kind of giving out contradictory ones.”

  “Which means?”

  “Which means, yes, I’m attracted to you, and I doubt it will be long before we end up in the sack. But beyond that… I don’t know what I want, Dean. That’s the absolute truth.”

  Dean sat back and drummed the fingers of his right hand on the tabletop. At last he said, “This is so weird.”

  “Weird?”

  He shifted and frowned. “It feels kind of like I know you.” He spread his hands. “You’re Aiden. But… you’re not Aiden. Not the Aiden I remember. So I guess I don’t really know you.”

  “I think it’s somewhere in between,” Aiden replied. “For both of us.”

  They were interrupted by Dee returning with an enormous plate of french fries and gravy. She set it on the table between them and said, “Your burgers will be out in a minute.”

  “Thanks,” Dean said, giving her a brief smile. But he seemed distracted and didn’t bother teasing her again. Dee went back to the counter to tend to the salt shakers.

  Aiden took a fry and nibbled the tip of it. It was incredibly delicious, but too hot to eat just yet. He held it up and said, “I was with Louis for three years, but he never figured out french fries with gravy was my favorite food in the whole world.”

  A slow smile crept over Dean’s face. “I knew that.”

  “Yes, you did,” Aiden said, returning the smile.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “YOU’VE got to be out of your ever-lovin’ mind,” Sarah said, bracing the bottom of the ladder with both hands.

  Dean glanced down from the top of the ladder, then focused on the bat house again. He took the nails out of his mouth, so he could ask, “Does this look high enough?”

  “Don’t change the subject.”

  “What? I’m trying to hang your bat house so all the bats have a place to get drunk and have wild bat sex.”

  “They don’t mate inside the bat house,” Sarah said, rolling her eyes at him. “The males and females live apart. That’s why I have to have two bat houses.”

  “So? Maybe there’s hot gay bat sex going on, and the guys don’t want their girlfriends finding out.”

  “Those are my cute little bats you’re talking about. Get your mind out of the gutter.”

  “Is this high enough or not? My arm is getting tired of holding it up.”

  Sarah waved her hand dismissively. “Fine. Put it there.”

  Dean grunted and put all but one of the nails back into his mouth. Then he began hammering the bat house to the side of the enormous oak tree.

  While he was hammering, Sarah went back to the original topic of conversation before he’d interrupted her. “The last thing I need in my life right now is to be stuck in band rehearsals with Rick. I’d rather have a root canal. Maybe two.”

  Dean drove a second nail in the top, then added a couple to the bottom. He waited until he’d climbed down the lad
der before he responded to her. “I’m not saying you should get back together with him—”

  “You’d better not be. Christ, Dean! He slept with my best friend! Do you have any idea how humiliating that is? Leanne and I were going out to coffee after work four times a week, she dog sat Bruno, she had a key to the house. And all that time, she was looking directly at me and smiling, looking forward to jumping Rick the minute my back was turned!”

  “I know that.”

  “If you hadn’t talked him into confessing,” Sarah went on, “it could still be going on behind my back!”

  Talking Rick into fessing up to the affair was the reason Rick hated him now. Sarah hadn’t accepted his apology and promise never to do it again. She’d filed for divorce immediately. Not that Dean blamed her. But, God, he hated Rick for putting him in that position—unloading his guilt on Dean one night when they’d been drinking together, forcing Dean to choose between two of his closest friends. In the end he’d had to side with the one who’d done nothing wrong—Sarah. But he’d hoped if Rick groveled to her, it would work out better for everybody than if Dean just ratted him out.

  That plan had bombed. Big time.

  “Look,” Dean said as he lifted the release to telescope the ladder into itself, “I’m not sure how stable the guy is right now, anyway. So forget about him. It’s probably safer for both of us to give him his space.” Rick needed help. And Dean wanted to help him. But he wasn’t sure what he could do if Rick didn’t want him anywhere near his house. And the last thing Dean wanted was for Sarah to risk her safety around a guy who was waving his gun at people—BB gun or no. “He’s not gonna come to rehearsals,” Dean continued. “He already refused. So he won’t be there if you—”

  “What do you mean?” Sarah interrupted. The righteous indignation on her pretty face had been replaced by concern. “What do you mean he’s ‘unstable’?”

  BY the time Aiden finally pried himself away from the keyboard, his hands were cramping painfully, so he broke down and used the paraffin bath again. This came with a pair of large mittens like oven mitts that he could slip on while his hands were still coated in wax. They allowed him to move around while keeping the warmth and essential oils against his skin for a while.