“No. I need you to swear never to tell anyone in Springhaven you saw me walk into a store with a giant picture of Fabian in the window.”
Aiden laughed. “I think you mean Fabio, and he’s like sixty now. That guy you’re looking at is Josh Mario John, and he’s sex on legs, so watch your mouth.” He opened the front door and held it for Dean, despite the scowl he got in return.
The inside of the store was very… sweet. Cream-colored carpets—God knew how the owner kept them clean—pinewood counters and bookcases, and cushions and pillows in strawberry. It was like a teenaged girl’s bedroom. Or at least the way Aiden imagined a teenaged girl’s bedroom might look. He’d only seen them on TV. The posters on the wall were large reproductions of romance novel covers and shirtless male models.
Once they were inside, Dean staggered off to one side and practically dropped the box onto the carpet.
“Can I help you?” The young woman who approached might still have been in her early twenties, though her hair, makeup, and knee-length skirt were somewhat old-fashioned. Not in a bad way—she resembled a character from a film in the forties. What might have been a typical look for that decade now had the effect of making her look striking and interesting.
“Are you Jaqueline?” Dean panted. He was sweating a bit.
“Yes.”
“These books are from Lisa Porter at Bygone Books in Springhaven.”
“Oh, of course. You must be Dean. I’ve been expecting you.”
Dean quirked an eyebrow at her. “You didn’t see the box of books and think ‘That must be the guy Lisa sent’?”
“I did,” Jaqueline replied, smiling. “But other people sometimes cart books in here to sell. Would you like some water? You look exhausted.”
Dean accepted a cup from the water bubbler in the corner, but when Jaqueline crouched down to lift a box of books from under the counter, he immediately set the cup down and moved to help.
Aiden stepped in front of him. “Whoa there, Tarzan. I can do it.”
“I’m fine,” Jaqueline said with a smirk, setting the box on the counter. “I’m not helpless.”
“Sorry,” Aiden said.
“If he’s Tarzan, what does that make you?”
“Um… Cheetah?”
Dean snickered. “You got that right.” He picked up his water and took a sip.
“Did you guys park nearby?”
“A block away,” Aiden said.
Jaqueline raised her perfectly shaped eyebrows. “Are you trying to kill yourselves?”
“We couldn’t get any closer.”
“Hold on. If we split this up into two boxes, they should be fairly easy to carry.”
“He’s not carrying anything,” Dean said, giving Aiden a look of warning. “I’m the workhorse. I’ll take care of it.”
Aiden was touched that he was being protective, but he was perfectly capable of carrying a small box of books without injuring himself. And he hated watching Dean break his back. “I’ll be fine, Dean.” He ignored Dean’s frown and turned back to Jaqueline. “Let’s do it.”
While Jaqueline went out back to find an empty box, Dean leaned in close to Aiden and said in a low, menacing voice, “I don’t want you to do this. My arms are killing me after that last box.”
“Which is why I don’t want you carrying another full box back to the car, idiot.”
“So I’ll need to soak in the tub for an hour,” Dean said. “Big deal. This is your career on the line.”
Aiden brushed his forearm lightly and looked into his soft brown eyes. God, there was so much undisguised emotion there—concern, protectiveness, affection…. Dean was an open book, one Aiden longed to read. “Thank you for worrying about me, Dean. Really. But half a box won’t be a problem.”
Maybe he was being an idiot, but he felt as if he could do anything at the moment.
Dean made a soft sound like a growl, but there was no time to argue about it further. Jaqueline came back into the room and set a box on the counter beside the first. She opened the packed box. “Lisa said you guys might be interested in picking some out for yourself, so if you see something you like, just set it aside and we can stack it on the top.”
Aiden held up his hands. “I never even spoke to Lisa. She just made that offer to Dean.”
Jaqueline smiled at him coquettishly. “Well, then I’m making it to you, since you’re both doing the delivery and pickup.”
Aiden wasn’t sure he needed any books to read, but he didn’t argue. He could pick out a couple to avoid seeming ungrateful.
Dean lifted one out of the first box and read the title. “Undercover Boyfriend.”
“By Jacob Flores? That’s a good one!” Jaqueline said.
“Is this one of those male/male ones?”
“Definitely.”
Dean looked at the cover a long moment, then raised his eyebrows and shrugged. “He looks pretty hot,” he conceded, indicating the man on the cover with a gun raised in a James Bond-style pose.
Aiden picked up one with two men holding each other in a manner that left no doubt about them being a gay couple: First Comes Marriage by Shira Anthony.
Dean had set the first book aside on the counter, but now he had another one with a rugged man on the cover against a snowy backdrop—Snowblind by Eli Easton—and was flipping through it. He stopped and said, “Jesus! Listen to this… ‘Hutch grabbed the olive oil. And he had to be losing his mind, but the smell of it, paired with the musky scent of Jude’s flesh, was fucking delicious. It was just as delicious as watching his rough fingers disappear into that gorgeous white ass.’” Dean blanched and looked up quickly at Jaqueline. “Sorry.”
She laughed. “Oh, please, sweetie. I’ve already read every book in that box.”
Dean looked to Aiden for support. “You ever read these kind o’ books?”
“Sometimes,” Aiden admitted. “Louis read a lot of them, and he left them lying around the apartment.”
“Huh.”
In the end, Dean set aside six of the books, and Aiden had a feeling he would have liked to grab more, but he didn’t want to seem greedy. Aiden grabbed two for himself, and they laid them on top of the other books so they could take them out easily when they got back to Springhaven. Spread evenly between the two boxes, the books were much easier to lift.
Still, by the time they’d said goodbye to Jaqueline and hauled the boxes back to the car, Aiden could definitely feel the pain in his arms. Dean might have been right about it being too much strain for him after how much playing he’d had to do at the audition, but he couldn’t watch Dean break his back carrying another full box. He was the first one to admit he was self-absorbed, but he wasn’t a complete dick.
Chapter Twenty
DEAN wanted to strangle the idiot when he saw how Aiden favored his arms as they climbed into the car. “You hurt yourself, didn’t you, you moron?”
“Now there’s the Dean I remember from my teenage years.”
“Fuck you,” Dean snarled, starting the engine. “I told you I could manage it. Do you wanna fuck up your shot at getting back to performing?”
Aiden was silent a long moment, and Dean was afraid he’d gone too far. Aiden seemed touchy about how precarious his career was. Dean should have known better than to snap at him about it.
But before he could apologize, Aiden said, “You’re right, I guess. But I’ll be fine. I just need to rest. I have a week before the next rehearsal.”
“All right,” Dean said, “just make sure you do.”
“Yes, Mom.”
Dean glanced at the dashboard clock. They’d spent a lot more time at the audition than he’d anticipated. “Do you wanna get something to eat?”
“I suppose. But instead of driving around searching for something, we might as well walk back to where we were. There were a bunch of restaurants there.”
Dean shut off the engine again. They left the car parked where it was, and walked back to Elm Street—sans boxes.
&nbs
p; They passed some of the old standbys—Mexican, pizza, burgers—but Aiden vetoed them. “Let’s look for something you can’t get in Springhaven,” he suggested. “I know you hardly ever leave town.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Aiden bumped his shoulder affectionately while they walked. “It wasn’t a crack. But you complained there weren’t many options in Springhaven. Manchester isn’t enormous, but it’s literally ten times larger than the biggest city in your area. We have Greek, Thai, Indian, Italian, Mediterranean…. Let’s live on the wild side!”
Dean wasn’t all that fond of the wild side since he’d graduated high school. Back then he’d thought of himself as a wild animal—a wolf in a leather jacket—someone all the parents in town warned their kids to stay away from. Now, he was more of a dog. Domesticated and happy to be that way. “I like burgers,” he said.
“Well, this evening we’re trying something new.”
“We could put barbeque sauce on the burgers,” Dean suggested hopefully.
“Nice try.”
They settled on a Mediterranean bistro. Though “settled” was a strong word for it. Mostly Aiden picked the restaurant and declared that Dean would love it. Dean went along for the sake of expediency. He was hungry, and he didn’t want to waste any more time walking along Elm Street. If Mediterranean food would make Aiden happy, he’d choke it down.
It actually turned out to be okay. Not anything he’d choose if it were up to him, but pretty good. The spices on the grilled chicken were… odd, but he kind of liked it. And the falafel balls were okay. The less said about the stuffed grape leaves, the better.
What made the dinner wonderful, though, was how excited Aiden was about his audition. He couldn’t stop talking about it, even though there was little left to say. It had been terrific, and the career he’d thought was dead and buried suddenly seemed to have a spark of life in it. Dean was happy for him, though he knew it might mean Aiden would leave Springhaven again. But he couldn’t think about that now. For how, he’d just be happy for Aiden.
By the time they’d finished their meal and walked back to the car, it was nearly dark, and they still had a two-hour drive ahead of them. As they pulled out of the parking space, Dean said, trying to sound casual, “It’s gonna be pretty late by the time we get back to Springhaven.”
“Yeah.”
He shrugged. “If you want… you could just crash at my place, instead of waking your parents up.” It was kind of a stupid idea. The moment he said it, he realized they were in Mr. Scott’s car. What if Mr. Scott had gone somewhere in the morning? “Never mind,” he said quickly. “I just remembered I’ll have to stop at your place to get my truck anyway.”
Aiden didn’t respond. He just looked out the window as they drove through the city, an enigmatic smile on his face.
JUST how long am I going to hold out? Aiden wondered as they drove north. He hadn’t wanted to immediately hop in the sack with Dean, despite the obvious attraction between them. It would have felt sleazy, like the one-night stands he’d had in NYC and on his travels—before Louis. He’d actually thought Louis was a one-night stand the first night they hooked up. He’d been surprised when the guy hung around afterward.
Dean deserves better than that.
But Dean didn’t deserve to be strung along either. Not that Aiden felt obligated to have sex with him, but he didn’t want to play games. He wanted Dean, and he was pretty sure Dean wanted him. They were both adults. So there was no reason to drag it out indefinitely. He’d wanted to be sure it was for the right reasons—not because of what had been between them as teenagers, but because of what was between them now.
He said nothing as the car sped along the highway. Dean played Madonna’s “Something to Remember” softly on the car CD player—his own CD, one he’d grabbed from the truck before they headed out that morning—and Aiden lay back in the passenger seat, half dozing.
It was after dark by the time Dean pulled into the Scotts’ driveway. He’d left his truck parked on the street in front of the house so he wouldn’t block the drive, and he was able to park the Tesla in the open garage bay.
“All right,” he said, “I’m gonna transfer the boxes to the back of my truck.” He stabbed a finger at Aiden. “You stay here. I’ll take care of it.”
“I promise not to lift any boxes,” Aiden said, “but I’m getting out. I have to take a leak.”
“Fine.”
There were too many neighbors on Birch Street for Aiden to get away with urinating in the bushes, so he took the car keys from Dean, let himself into the house, and dropped the keys on the kitchen counter. His parents were asleep, so he used the bathroom as quietly as he could.
By the time he’d returned, Dean was closing the trunk.
Dean looked at him self-consciously. “I guess… I’ll see you tomorrow?” He gave Aiden a curt nod. “You did good today. It was amazing.”
“Thanks.” Aiden fixed Dean with a look. “But I’ve been thinking about what you said before we left Manchester. You’ve dropped Dad’s car off, so… is that offer to spend the night at your place still open?”
Dean looked startled. “Oh. Um… yeah. If you want.”
“I want.”
THE old farmhouse Dean had inherited from his grandfather was on the edge of town, about fifteen minutes away. During the drive, Dean’s mouth was so dry, he couldn’t make more than an occasional grunting noise in response to Aiden’s questions about how things were going for the septet. He had to grip the steering wheel hard to stop his hands from quivering.
Christ. Is this really gonna happen?
It wasn’t the first time he’d had sex, of course. But it was the first time he could remember wanting it this badly.
Dean felt self-conscious as they pulled into the circular dirt driveway. He’d been so busy doing jobs for people around town over the past several years, there hadn’t been much time for home repairs. The paint was peeling in places, and the long porch was sagging on one end. One of his grandfather’s old Chevrolets was still sitting on the lawn where the old man had last parked it, thinking he’d get it running again. Now it was beginning to rust, and squirrels had taken up residence under the hood.
If Aiden noticed how run-down things looked, he didn’t comment. “Wow, this brings back memories.” He paused a moment and then added, “I didn’t get a chance to tell you how sorry I am about Opa passing away.”
Aiden had been the only other person in town who called Dean’s grandfather that—at Opa’s insistence. The old man had treated Aiden as one of the family.
“Yeah,” Dean said. “I was such a punk when I lived with him. I really didn’t appreciate him enough.”
Aiden put a hand on his thigh. Dean looked intently into those hazel-gray eyes for a long moment. Then he opened his door and stepped out of the truck. On the other side of the cab, Aiden did the same. Then they walked across the rutted driveway, up the front steps, and into the house.
“You don’t lock the door,” Aiden observed while Dean fumbled for the kitchen light switch.
“No.”
The light flickered on, illuminating a kitchen badly in need of scrubbing. At least he’d done the dishes recently, so the only thing in the sink was a coffee cup and a plate that had held English muffins at breakfast.
Dean pulled out a chair at the yellow Formica kitchen table that had resided in the center of the kitchen for at least thirty years—probably twice as long. “Sit here a minute. I’ve gotta fix up the bed.”
“What’s wrong with the bed?” Aiden asked, clearly amused.
“I can’t remember the last time I changed my sheets. That’s what’s wrong with it.”
“I really don’t care about that, Dean.”
“Well, I do. So sit.”
“Yes, sir,” Aiden said wryly, but he obeyed.
Dean went to the hall closet and found a couple of clean sheets. He knew he was probably killing the mood, but he’d be damned if he’d let A
iden lie down on grubby sheets. How many times had Dean come home after working his ass off in the hot sun and just collapsed into bed too exhausted to shower? Too many.
As he stood in the tiny bedroom—the same one he’d slept in his entire life—he looked around in dismay at the piles of dirty laundry; the posters of heavy metal bands he no longer listened to but hadn’t bothered to take down; the half-finished model of a nuclear submarine on his desk; the bookcase with the few gay novels he’d found at the used bookstore downtown over the years—not the type of romances he’d recently discovered, but classic novels like Patricia Nell Warren’s The Front Runner and Gordon Merrick’s The Lord Won’t Mind.
It was a teenager’s room. Not someplace to take an adult man for sexy time.
Fuck me.
AIDEN really did not care if the sheets were a little sweaty or… whatever. But he thought Dean was being adorable, so he sat in the kitchen patiently while Dean changed sheets and, from the sounds of it, straightened up the bedroom. It took quite a while.
At last Dean appeared in the hall and said, “Okay, it’s… as good as it’s gonna get.”
Aiden followed him down the hall. He caught the scent of something spicy just before they entered the room and Dean stepped aside to wave him in. The room wasn’t much different from what Aiden remembered when he’d visited as a teenager. But the lights were off, and a couple of candles burned on the desk—sandalwood and perhaps cinnamon, judging by the smell. The room was cluttered but not too bad.
Aiden grinned and nodded toward a blanket covering a small heap in the corner. “Dirty laundry?”
“Screw you. I would never have dirty laundry in my room.”
“My mistake.”
Dean stood awkwardly beside his bed, as if he had no idea what to say or do next, so Aiden took the lead. He stepped forward and placed a hand under Dean’s chin, tilting it up so he could take possession of his mouth. Then he kissed along Dean’s stubbled jawline until he could nuzzle his ear. “My hands hurt a little,” he said softly. “Maybe you should undress me.”
Small Town Sonata Page 12
