“Does that mean I can go home now?”
“Yeah.”
Jason didn’t make a move to leave immediately. They sat staring out the windshield into the darkness of the early morning for a long while. “Thanks. For giving a—for caring. Are you going to coach again this year?”
“That’s the plan.”
“Okay.” Jason sighed softly and then got out of the car.
Brandon listened to his footsteps retreating and his car door opening and closing. For no reason that made sense, he felt sad, like he was saying good-bye to someone he’d never see again or he had somehow let Jason down. He didn’t think either of those things were true, but he couldn’t shake the feeling.
Probably just tired. Old and tired.
He watched Jason’s car leave the parking lot. When Jason turned toward Highway 101, Brandon fired up his engine and followed. He didn’t worry about Jason not going home. Jason was a good kid, too smart to risk ruining his future by hanging out with old men. Hopefully Brandon had impressed on him enough to get him through the rest of the school year and off to whatever college he’d be going to.
No matter how he tried to avoid it, Brandon couldn’t help dipping into memories of when he had been seventeen. Still reeling from his father’s death two years earlier, he hadn’t been able to think about SATs and writing application essays. He wondered how different his life would be now if Mr. Williams and his brother hadn’t lived down the street and helped out during and after his father’s illness. Would he have become a teacher instead of a cop?
Halfway home, Brandon’s thoughts returned to the present. To Kyle and how he could pursue him. Kyle could be the perfect hookup—he was young, hot, and lived three hours away in Portland. If Brandon avoided the camp afterward, nobody would even notice.
Before he went to bed, he checked the Buchanan House website for the next night’s schedule of events.
Chapter Five
KYLE WOKE to the sound of birds and waves, and to an ache in his balls. He groaned as he turned over to face the wall. Friday morning and he didn’t have to work all weekend, so he’d planned on sleeping in. No such luck. As he closed his fist around his dick, a picture of Officer Brandon Smith popped into his mind. Kyle had never been hung up on men in uniform—especially not cops—but the image of those muscles covered in crisp blue fabric flipped a switch or two and got him off fast. Not that fast was anything to brag about, but it erased his aches and let him grab another few minutes between the sheets.
But only a few. Kyle didn’t love the idea of sleeping away his time off—he’d rather be enjoying it. Whatever that looks like anymore.
He showered and dressed in a pair of faded jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt. At the last minute, he pulled his hair back into a ponytail and went downstairs. Kyle never would have guessed that being passed over for the head-chef slot at Puddle Jumper would be liberating, but it had been. He’d let his hair grow and let go of the stress associated with the ambition to run his own kitchen—but not the voice in his head that said he should want to run his own kitchen, or at least be in charge of his own career. The voice that sounded a lot like his father’s.
But those weren’t thoughts for a long, relaxing weekend, so Kyle pushed them away. For the time being, he didn’t think Paris would give in to the subtle pressure from above to replace him, and he shared Paulie’s condo in the Pearl with Chase and Garrett—so even if he did lose the income from Puddle Jumper, he wouldn’t have to worry about being on the street. He could live off his savings for a few months, at least.
None of which could make up for the facts that his best friends lived three hours away and he’d been enjoying the longest dry spell of his adult life.
Kyle followed the sounds and smells of Eric’s kitchen through the empty lobby and art room, then carefully pushed open the swinging doors into the kitchen. “Good morning?”
The sound of laughter answered him, the familiar tone making him smile as he entered the kitchen. Paulie wiped his forehead with the back of his wrist and grinned. “It’s not really morning anymore. You do realize that, right?”
Kyle hugged Paulie hello and kissed his cheek. “I haven’t had any coffee yet, so that makes it morning.”
Eric handed Kyle a mug, the outside lightly dusted with flour. “Take that into the dining room, and we’ll bring you some breakfast.”
“Anything I can do to help?”
“No.” Eric waved Kyle over to the coffeepot and turned back to his work. “You’re here to relax and not to work, remember?”
A steamy mug of coffee in hand, Kyle reluctantly went out to the dining room. He’d been looking forward to hanging out with Paulie, and the best time to do that was when Nathan was busy doing something else. Nathan didn’t try to keep him away from Paulie—nothing so overt and conscious as that—but when they were together, they didn’t have an easy time focusing on anyone but each other. Kyle turned the corner and saw Derek sitting at a table near the window, his attention on the Nook in front of him.
“What’re you reading?” Kyle asked as he sat across the table.
“Romantic suspense. Murder, mayhem, and a guaranteed happy ending.” Derek read a few more lines, inserted a bookmark, and closed the cover. “So. How’s it going at Puddle Jumper?”
“Good. I guess. I do what I’m told, and then I leave.”
“Why aren’t you the one telling Paris what to do?”
Kyle shrugged and sipped his coffee. He considered asking Derek what kind of plans were in place to set him up with a nice man. Maybe I don’t want to know.
“Look, man. I tried to tell them to go easy on the matchmaker deal with Bran, so don’t hold out on me.”
The view of the garden seemed especially interesting. Until Derek snickered.
“What do you mean?” Kyle asked.
“I mean stop holding back on the juicy bits, the gossip. I gotta get my fix somehow. You’re my lifeline to the old neighborhood, you know.”
“There’s nothing to tell. Jasper hinted the job was mine if I would do certain things… but I didn’t want to get it that way.” Kyle shrugged and sipped his coffee, smiling at the hint of a spice he didn’t have to try to identify. Let it remain a mystery, a delicious mystery. “It’s his place. He can run it any way he likes.”
“That’s gotta be against a law or two.”
“Maybe it is. As long as my paychecks don’t bounce, I don’t care.” Kyle swirled the last of his coffee around in the mug. He wanted a refill but didn’t want to go get one.
Derek stood. “I’ll go get a carafe.”
It barely took a moment before Derek was back. Kyle figured that meant someone had been listening from the kitchen. Not a surprise; not a big deal. It was almost SOP for the group, especially when someone didn’t want to go into too many details.
Which describes me just about all the time.
“I heard you ran into Bran out in the cemetery. You all right?”
Kyle couldn’t wipe the smile from his face. He told himself he was amused that they all seemed to think he wouldn’t be okay, that they were walking on eggshells rather than asking the question.
“I’m fine. The funeral made me think of Mom, but I’m okay. And he—do you really call him Bran?”
“Why wouldn’t I? All of his other friends do. What were you going to say after ‘and he’?”
Kyle sighed and stirred sugar and half-and-half into his coffee. It was a vacation, so he didn’t see any reason to worry about fat and cholesterol. On Tuesday he’d go back to paying attention to that kind of thing.
“Seeing Brandon brought some old shit up, but he wasn’t doing anything wrong. Didn’t even have his uniform on.” Kyle sipped his coffee and wondered if Derek had heard the disappointment over the lack of uniform on Officer Smith. Irrational as it was, some had slipped out. By the way Derek pursed his lips and looked away, he’d heard it. “You have any trouble with the cops out here?”
“Profiling? No. The only time
I’ve been pulled over was when I left my coffee on the roof of Paulie’s car.”
“No more reading while driving?”
They shared a moment of laughter, remembering Derek wiping out on his bicycle because he’d been reading while riding. Not exactly funny at the time, but Derek had escaped with a few patches of road rash and no broken bones. Slowly they stopped laughing and drank their coffee, staring out the window at the bulbs starting to peek out in the garden.
“He’s all right. Bran is.”
“Yeah. Seems like it.”
“But I can fix it so things don’t work out the way the guys have it planned.”
Kyle looked up, and Derek’s expression said he’d do that and try to find someone “more suitable” as well. “No, please don’t.”
One of Derek’s eyebrows crept up his forehead, giving Derek the look of a stock photo model for a corporate advertisement. Except for the wild hair, tattoos, and brightly colored necklace.
“I don’t want to disappoint them. If I ditch their plans, it’ll make them feel bad. They don’t mean any harm—they just want everyone to have what they have.”
“Yeah… okaaaay.”
“What?”
“Nothing.” But it clearly was something. Kyle would’ve sworn Derek knew he might have a little crush on Brandon Smith. Or at least that he was more interested than he should’ve been, given his protests and his history with the police. But that incident had happened in Portland—three hours away—and fifteen years had passed as well.
More than fifteen. Time flies when you’re having fun, and even when you’re not.
Not that he harbored any delusions he’d forget about being ordered to lie on his stomach in the street so he could get a knee in the back and handcuffs too tight around his wrists. Or what happened next. If he lived to be one hundred, he’d probably never so much as jaywalk in Portland again. Not while alone, anyway.
Kyle had descended into the unpleasant memory so far that he didn’t hear footsteps approaching and didn’t know they weren’t alone until a plate landed in front of him.
Paulie tsk-tsked, but when Kyle looked up, he was smiling. “Come to Buchanan House for the view and stay for the scintillating conversation.” He put a smaller plate in front of Derek and then moved back to Kyle’s side.
“Thanks, Paulie. This looks delicious.” The eggs were too hot to eat, so Kyle bit into a triangle of toast to fill up his mouth.
Derek grinned at him and then looked up at Paulie. “I was trying to warn him about your weekend plans, but he didn’t want to listen. Or he already figured it out and can’t wait to get started.”
Paulie laughed and hugged an arm around Kyle’s shoulders. “Either way, we have to get started on tonight’s party. The guest chef will want to get the ball rolling before too long.”
Kyle kept from frowning, with an effort, until Paulie dropped a kiss onto the top of his head. “You’re next. If you want to. As long as you can keep yourself from doing any work this weekend. Deal?”
“Deal. Just tell me if you need me to get out of the way.” Kyle took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He’d always had a hard time with vacations, with doing nothing. It went back to his childhood, growing up with a type A father and a mother who couldn’t have stopped writing or painting or sculpting for more than a few hours even if she’d wanted to. That had left him very few opportunities to learn how to do nothing.
“When you two are finished sitting around and not talking, you should take a walk on the beach. The sun isn’t out, but the weather’s been mild so far today.” Paulie looked very pleased with himself, so Kyle only nodded. A walk on the beach sounded nice, whether he happened to run into anyone in particular or not.
Paulie’s eggs florentine went down quick and easy, and after another cup of coffee, Kyle excused himself to grab a light jacket before heading out onto the beach. The sound of conversation and laughter coming from the kitchen was tempting, but it wouldn’t kill him to do what Paulie wanted. If there was going to be a guest chef event, that meant he’d have more time to spend with everyone during dinner.
Kyle walked through the backyard and past the gazebo—that would always be called the massage gazebo, despite the fact that Eric and Nathan still hadn’t found a masseur to replace Felipe. Four men were using the gazebo to work out in the partial sunshine, so at least it wasn’t sitting empty. Kyle paused at the end of the brick path leading from the yard. Just looking at the ocean calmed him, even on a gray day when the air hung heavy with moisture. He zipped his jacket, slipped both hands in his pockets, and ventured out onto the sand.
The tide was very low, so he started out by walking due west. A solitary trail of footprints marred the sand, but even early on a Friday afternoon, the beach was mostly deserted. A few yards from the tide line, he reached damp, packed sand and stopped. After only a moment, he grew restless and scanned the beach, trying to decide which way to go. To the south he didn’t see anyone, only a few gulls hunting for lunch. Obviously he was meant to head north. Kyle started walking, anticipation growing as he went. Ahead he saw an elderly couple walking hand in hand, two joggers with dogs, a handful of vague shapes farther on, and someone building a massive sand structure.
Kyle’s heart rate increased even though he hadn’t walked far. The man working on the sand castle wasn’t tall, but even from a distance he looked well-built.
It might not be him.
As he neared, though, the man gradually became easier to see. It was him. Brandon Smith. Bran. Bran sounded friendlier, so it didn’t take long to make the adjustment. Bran must’ve seen him coming, because when Kyle was about ten feet away he looked up.
“Hi.” Bran gave him a quick once-over. Enough so Kyle knew he’d been checked out and found appealing, not enough to be obvious to anyone else.
“Hi.” Kyle found himself fighting the huge grin that wanted to take over his face. He was tempted to look Bran over but found he would rather look into his eyes. Clear blue eyes, like the blue crayon, a color he’d usually seen on blonds. Blue-eyed blonds had never been Kyle’s type, but he’d been turned down by a few of them just the same. “What are you doing?”
“Practicing.” Bran grinned and slowly tore his gaze away. He ran his hand around the side of a turret, smoothing it with a caress. When he was satisfied, he brushed the sand from his hands and stepped back. “I coach summer league baseball, and every year we enter the sand castle festival. This year, the damned thing isn’t going to collapse before the judging starts.”
Bran walked partway around the castle, inspecting the turret that stood taller than him and keeping Kyle in view. The move, and his stance, reminded Kyle of what he did for a living, but Kyle pushed the thought away. Bran bent at the waist to inspect something else, and the sight of his muscular ass and thighs made it easier to concentrate on the man instead of his occupation.
“You’re drying out up top.”
“Is that so?” Bran’s voice was thick with innuendo. It had also lowered on the question, giving Kyle the idea that he might have just heard Bran’s sex voice. It made him want to hear it again.
And why not? Why shouldn’t I get some from a man who trips my switches?
“That’s so. Where’s your squirt bottle? I’ll mist it and keep the turret from collapsing.”
Bran slowly moved out from behind the castle and gave Kyle a look he couldn’t interpret. “On the other side. Near the bucket and shovel.”
He felt Bran’s attention like another layer of clothing as he went around the sand castle. It had started to crumble but wasn’t beyond salvageable. Kyle spritzed the sand, and while he was smoothing it, he added a few lines to give the illusion of a crumbling brick facade. Without thinking, he began sculpting the sand below the cave-in, carving away everything that wasn’t a dragon clinging to the side of the castle.
“Wow. That’s amazing.”
Kyle felt himself blushing, which made no sense but turned Bran’s grin into a smile. “Sorry. Now
this turret is slimmer than the others.”
“No. No, don’t apologize. That’s cool.” Bran walked around the turret, gently touching it here and there with the tips of his fingers. “You’ve done this before. Either that or you’re a natural.”
“Or it’s beginner’s luck.” Kyle brushed his hands together to clean the sand off and watched Bran examine the sculpture.
It was very simple—no detail to speak of, only the illusion of a dragon and blocks of stone. Nothing he couldn’t have done in grade school, but he wouldn’t be saying that. Before he could slip too far into the past, Kyle shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket and started talking to silence the voice in his head. The one that sounded like his mother’s.
“You just need to keep it from drying out too much. Once the sand gets past a certain point, there’s no going back—it’ll lose its cohesion, and when you wet it down again, the sculpture will dissolve.”
“That’s exactly what happens.” Bran stepped up beside Kyle, and they faced the castle. “I know you’re on a long weekend, but could I tempt you to share some of your sand castle knowledge with me? Over drinks? Or dinner?”
Kyle checked his watch and tried not to swallow too loudly. Too late he realized that if his hands or arms had been shaking, that might not have been the smoothest move. With all the pent-up desire he’d been quashing for the past eight months it was a wonder they didn’t shake.
“I’m expected at Guest Chef Night, but afterward is wide open.”
Bran smiled. “I’m planning to check out Derek’s dinner. I hope he’s cooking up something hot and spicy—I could use the warm-up.”
Kyle must have looked as shocked as he felt, because Bran chuckled.
“You didn’t know who the guest chef is?”
“No.” Kyle shook his head and spritzed the top of another turret. Wind caught the fine mist and played it across his face. While grateful for the cooling effect on his hot cheeks, he wasn’t sure if the spray had hit Bran as well and decided he didn’t want to find out. He kept his gaze on the castle, happy he hadn’t lost his touch as the potential for further embellishment leaped out at him. “They probably thought I’d want to stay and help if I knew.”
Safe House Page 4
