by Eli Easton
“Not exactly cozy,” Brent commented, peeking in a small rock cave that he’d have to stoop to walk into. He could only sleep in there sitting up.
River’s eyes twinkled. “Asceticism was a thing. Also, not sure very many places were comfortable back then. Unless you were a king.”
“True.”
Brent tried to imagine that life as they explored the caves. Dozens of men living together in these stone surroundings, dedicating their lives to philosophy and worship. It seemed sad to him; kind of a waste. Not that contemplating higher things wasn’t important, but what could we truly know, in the end?
Of course, he hadn’t always lived his own life to the fullest, but at least he’d….
Enjoyed it?
Yeah, not always. But he was determined to enjoy it now. Just being here, on this day, seeing a place so unique and beautiful, in the company of the beautiful and gentle River Larsen, was a hell of a good start.
He wanted more days like this. A lot more. The thought was a stone on his chest.
They found a viewpoint a short distance from the caves, out of the other visitors’ way. They sat on a rock and unpacked the snacks they’d bought. River had had the foresight to pick up some bottled water and munchies from vendors at the train station.
They chatted about the park and about other hikes River had done in India. By the time they were putting their trash in the backpack, Brent was relaxed and warm and felt an itch to get more personal. To at least try.
“How did you get involved in tantra? And how’d you end up living on an ashram in India?”
River sat back on his elbows on the rock and crossed his long legs in front of him at the ankles. Brent tried, and failed, not to find that pose incredibly attractive. River’s T-shirt stretched tight across the shoulders and outlined his pecs. Even his nipples were visible.
“Hum. Do you want the short version or the long one?” River asked.
“I’m not in any hurry.”
“I grew up in that life. My mom is a total free spirit. I was raised on a Buddhist commune in Southern California.”
“Oh. Interesting. Is that where you made kombucha in school?”
“It was.”
“What was that like? Growing up on a commune?”
“It was great. We kids just ran free. If you were tired, you could go into any cabin and lie down. Or if you were hungry or hurt and couldn’t find your mother, another adult would get you something to eat or patch up your cut or whatever.” River slapped at a fly on his leg.
His tone was fond, but it didn’t sound so great to Brent. His mom and dad had been amazing parents, taking he and his younger brother, Seth, on camping trips and hiking in the Olympics, to the science museum, and up to Canada. His mom especially had always been there for him—made his lunch every day, took care of him when he was sick. An image came into his mind of a five-year-old River wailing for his mother in a hot, sunny, dusty common area, his skinned knee bleeding, and eventually some other woman coming over to patch him up.
“But sometimes a kid really wants his mom, no?” Brent asked carefully.
River got a tiny frown between his brows, his gaze distant. “I guess that’s part of what you learn growing up on a commune. Not to get too attached to a specific person.” He shrugged. “There was always someone around if you needed them.”
Brent didn’t think that sounded so great either. But what did he know? Maybe he just didn’t get it. “And you went to school there, on the commune?”
“Yup. There was a classroom building, but usually we held classes outside. There was a lot of what you might call nontraditional stuff taught. Nature and spirituality. Gardening. Cooking.” River hesitated. “My dad, though, he was worried that the commune school wasn’t good enough to get me into college. So he convinced me to go live with him for high school. He lived in Pasadena. My mom and dad separated when I was just a few years old.” He laughed. “My dad… he’s a lawyer. Definitely not the commune type.”
“Are you an only child?”
River turned his head to look at Brent for a moment, his expression amused, as if Brent’s questions were quaint. “I’m an only child, yes. My parents were never legally married. My mom… like I said, free spirit. Free love. She calls herself a perpetual wild child. A dandelion puff floating on the breeze. She’s not one to ever settle down.”
“Oh.”
“I’m the only kid for both my parents. Maybe I broke them.” He chuckled, but it sounded a little hollow.
“Well. You would be a tough act to follow,” Brent teased. “So you left the commune and went to live with your dad when you went into high school? Were you upset about that?”
“Just the opposite. I was really excited about it. I had a romanticized idea of what normal life was like. You know. The white picket fence, casseroles in the oven, a dog, all of that. Of course, it wasn’t like that at all, in reality.”
Brent thought about that for a bit as they watched birds wheeling in the sky. Apparently, ninth-grade River wasn’t as enamored with commune life as he let on. “Did you not get along with your dad when you went to live with him?”
River chewed his lip thoughtfully. “When I think about it now, I realize how strange it must have been for him, taking in a teenager with long hair and ratty clothes who was used to absolute freedom. He and my stepmom were both workaholics and weren’t used to having a kid around. I wasn’t used to a regular school and a lot of rules. We all had to adjust. And then I was gay on top of it—just another way my dad couldn’t understand me.” He picked up some pebbles and tossed them from hand to hand. “I lived with him until I graduated high school, but we were never super close.”
“Are you still in contact with him?”
River gave him a funny look. “Of course. He’s my father. What about your family?”
“Me? My parents are great. They live in Bellevue, so we see each other often. My younger brother married a pretty Canuck and moved to Vancouver, but we all get together for holidays.” He hesitated. “That must seem boring to you. Living in one place your entire life.”
“Depends on what you do there,” River said with an eyebrow waggle. “I mean, if you’re building a coffee empire….”
Brent laughed. “Oh, yes, that’s the height of adventure. Definitely equivalent to living on an ashram in India.”
“Eh. Like I said, I grew up in that life, so it wasn’t that exotic to me. I’d always wanted to visit India, and I was really interested in learning tantra. So I looked for a place where I could study.”
“Why tantra? Sorry, I don’t mean to interrogate you. See, this is what you get when you say you like my curiosity. You fed the beast, and now you must pay.”
River shifted to lie down on the rock on his side, head propped up on his elbow. His expression was soft and amused. “Ask anything you want. Only be warned that turnabout is fair play.”
“Fair enough.” Brent lay down on his side, head on his hand, mirroring River’s pose. There was maybe two feet between them.
River was such a beautiful man. And yes, Brent was attracted to him, full stop. River had the ability to make Brent stupid, to make his blood run hot then cold, to create emotional shivers, to turn his tongue to wood and make him stutter. He hadn’t been attracted to anyone like that in a long time. And River was a guy.
Fair enough.
“I studied Eastern Religions in college,” River said. “But what I was really interested in was alternative medicine. After I graduated, I studied reiki and got my license as a reiki practitioner. Then I got a regular massage license so I could offer that. Then I discovered tantra. I loved it—the idea of connecting with others on a deeper level, physical and spiritual. After studying it in the States for a year, just casually, I learned about the ashram and decided to move there to immerse myself in it and get certified as a tantrik.”
“You just picked up and moved from Southern California to India. Without knowing anyone there?”
“Su
re. Why not? I was mostly house-sitting anyway, so I didn’t have a permanent place I had to sell. No stuff I couldn’t easily give away.”
And no one you couldn’t easily say goodbye to, Brent thought. And that made him feel a stab of pity. But again, River’s life wasn’t his. He was in no place to judge. Look at all the exciting things River had done.
“So you have a degree in Eastern Religions, and you’re a licensed reiki energy person—”
“Practitioner. Or healer.”
“Right. Plus you’re a licensed massage therapist.”
“Yup. From a school in San Diego.”
“And you’re a certified teacher of tantra.”
River nodded. “Yup. I like to learn. And I like knowing that, no matter where I end up, I’ll have a skill I can use. Plus, the disciplines overlap. Knowing how to manipulate reiki energy helps me be a better massage therapist and tantrik. And vice versa.”
Brent shook his head in wonder. “And yet you got a job at AJC as a barista… why?”
River managed to blush and go pale at the same time, his throat and face getting blotchy. Brent must have hit a nerve, and he felt like absolute shit. “Sorry. That was a stupid thing to say. I’m so glad you started at AJC. It doesn’t matter why.”
“No. It’s just that….” River blew out a breath. “It takes time to build up a clientele for massage or reiki—word of mouth, putting out flyers, all of that. When I got to Seattle, I got the job with Expanded Horizons to do tantra work, but I haven’t been as busy with that as I’d hoped. And then it was sort of too late to try to build up a private practice when I wasn’t going to be there for long. I can pick up a barista or waiter job quick, make some easy money, and disappear when I need to.”
Disappear. Is that the way it would be? One day, River would just be gone. The thought upset Brent more than it had any right to. He sat up, forearms on his bent knees and looked back over the view. Down below, endless palm trees floated in a green canopy.
River reached out with his foot and kicked Brent’s running shoes with his own worn sneaker. “Turnabout’s fair play. What about you? How’d you end up being the coffee king?”
Brent forced a smile. “Coffee king? Can’t claim that title when I live in the town where Starbucks was founded. But, uh, my grandfather was a real estate guy. When he passed, he left my brother and I each a hundred grand. To get started in business, he said. Kathy and I were young, but we took it seriously. We bought a little coffee shop in Pioneer Square that had decor and a menu from the fifties and remodeled it. It took off.”
“You and Kathy worked together?”
“Oh hell yeah. We were partners in McKay Enterprises. She had the head for business, finances, and I was the creative one. I got the big ideas and she’d crunch the numbers, make sure it was practical, keep my feet on the ground. Everyone always assumed it should be the other way around, but nope.”
River sat up too and must have scooted closer, because their elbows nearly touched as he matched Brent’s pose. He studied Brent with a thoughtful expression. “Did that bother you? That people thought you and Kathy had the traditional roles reversed?”
“No. It worked. Why should it bother me what people think?”
“It would bother some men. People get hung up on trying to live up to society’s expectations. Especially men. When a lot of times, those expectations are nothing but a prison of the mind.”
“I don’t give a shit about expectations.” Brent spoke with conviction, hoping River understood what he was really saying. “I don’t care what people think I should do or be. When you’ve seen what I’ve seen—” He swallowed down a stab of pain. “When you have been around death, you know the value of life. Health. Happiness.” He looked out over the view again. “Of a moment like this.”
With you, he wanted to add. Only that wasn’t exactly a subtle lead-in.
Brent sat there, trying to figure out how to say what he wanted to say. Why not bring it up now? This was as good a time as any. But icy dread flooded his gut. It had been so long since he’d put himself out there, risked rejection. God, he was a complete newbie at this sort of thing.
Dating, that is.
If nothing else, this trip had given him clarity. He’d been drawn to River from the start. But a dozen reasons why it would never work, or was a bad idea—their working relationship, his own insecurities and confusion, even guilt over caring about someone new after Kathy—had pushed that attraction away like an unwanted houseguest.
But being with River here in India, walking with him in the sunshine, seeing the way River moved so easily through the world, being so close to his beauty, his joyous smiles, his easy temperament day upon long day—God, now Brent was practically writing sonnets!—but it was true. River was a dream to travel with. Honestly, Kathy had been an uptight and nervous traveler, and that had made Brent tense. But River made every moment a pleasure. And he was so naturally thoughtful and protective, always looking out for Brent in this place where he was a bit lost, the same way he’d guided Brent through their tantra sessions….
Why was that so deeply appealing? Brent was no child. Hell, he was the older one, the boss. He should be in charge. Yet he couldn’t deny how much he liked it when River calmly took the wheel. If he were pushy or dominating, Brent would have been out of there. But having someone steady and strong to lean on? It was nice. Better than nice. It was heaven.
Kathy had been strong too. He’d always called her “his rock.” There was nothing wrong with liking a strong partner.
Partner? Getting ahead of yourself a bit?
Okay, yes, he was getting ahead of himself. But the point was, all the yes’s when it came to his feelings about River had grown louder, more solid, more real, until the no’s had become unimportant. And Brent was a grown-ass man of thirty-nine. He could do this. He could express an attraction. Millions of people did it every day.
Oh God.
River made a thoughtful noise. “That’s a great description of ‘being in the now.’”
“What?”
“What you just said, about how you know the value of life, the value of a moment like this. That’s ‘being in the now.’ You’re pretty enlightened for a businessman.”
River’s tone was teasing, but Brent felt pleased nonetheless.
River hopped to his feet and held out a hand. “Let’s start down. I feel like walking.”
“Uh… okay.”
Another moment to say something was gone. But maybe confessing his interest in the middle of a hike wasn’t the best idea. There was no place for either of them to escape to if it all went to shit.
He grasped River’s hand and let himself be pulled to his feet. River’s hand was warm and firm, and it brought up a visceral physical memory of what those hands felt like on his body. Brent shivered, an involuntary spasm that ran through him head to toe.
River frowned. “Are you cold?”
“N-no.”
River gave him a confused little smile and headed for the trail.
Chapter 21
Brent
On their way back to the hotel, they grabbed another incredible meal at a small Chinese restaurant that was on their list. Brent was quiet over dinner, trying to focus on analyzing the food, but really figuring out what he wanted to say. He had a surge of cold feet about saying anything at all. He should just leave well enough alone—remain River’s boss, maybe his friend. Done.
That lasted about five minutes, until River sucked some sauce off his thumb and gave Brent a look while doing it that might have meant nothing—but could also have been flirtatious? It caused Brent’s palms to sweat and arousal to flood hot in his veins, combusting his cold feet in a whoosh.
Shit. What had Brent just been thinking about, truly living his life and not sitting it out any longer? He had to say something. The chance to be with River was worth it. It was worth anything.
They strolled back to the hotel, still quiet. Then they were on their floor, and Brent’s hear
t lodged in his throat as they stopped at the door to River’s room.
“Good night,” River said, taking out his key card.
“Wait.”
River stopped, card in hand, and looked at Brent, his expression unreadable. Oh God.
Brent felt like he was standing on a diving board over the deep end. He was scared. Scared of diving in headfirst. Scared of retreating. But if he was ever going to do this, it had to be here. In Seattle, they were more clearly boss and employee. And his house held memories of being client and surrogate, and of Kathy too. In India, they had stepped outside all of that for a few rare days. Here, they were just Brent and River.
“Brent?” River asked. “What is it? You have your contemplative look.”
That made Brent smile. “You know my looks?”
River just gazed at him fondly and raised one eyebrow.
“Okay. So the thing is…” He took a huge breath and dove. “The thing, actually, is that… I like you.”
River’s expression turned serious. He studied Brent’s face and said nothing.
Okay. That was not the reaction Brent had hoped for. But he was over open water now. He had to carry through.
“I mean, I’m attracted to you,” Brent clarified, feeling his cheeks grow hot. “I was hoping you might be attracted to me too. That you might want… more.”
River continued to simply stare at him. Shit. Oh. Ugh. This was bad. He’d misread this, hadn’t he?
River cleared his throat. “Are you telling me you want another massage? Right now?”
His words were very slow and careful, very neutral. Even so, Brent knew what River was asking, and he felt a spark of shame. “No! No. I’m not asking for you to— No.” He sighed in frustration. “I want… what I really want is to kiss you. Just… hold you.”
Oh, man, that sounded lame. Like they were in elementary school. But Brent didn’t know how else to say it. He could go on—kiss you, hold you, take your hand, look at you over a candlelit dinner, walk with you in fields of flowers. It sounded ridiculous.
