Chapter 8
“That’s not bacon.” Lance looked down at his sandwich. “It says BLT, but I don’t see any B.”
“It’s tempeh. Mock BLT.” I leaned against the counter. We’d fallen into a pattern over the last few weeks of him coming by in the midafternoon on delivery days. I usually had a drink ready for him—milky way mocha, extra whip—but I’d recently discovered that he routinely skipped lunch, running from class to work.
“It’s . . . interesting,” he said, taking an extra-long time chewing.
“It’s okay if you don’t like it. Tempeh is an acquired taste.”
“Yeah. I can see that.” He chewed the next bite even more slowly. “Thanks for making it for me.”
“Let me make you something else.”
“Nah. It’s okay. I’m hungry, and my mom always taught us to try new things.” He picked a few sprouts off the sandwich.
“I think you have ‘try new things’ covered.” My laugh was a bit dirtier than usual, laced with memories of the previous night, when I’d introduced him to the pleasures of sixty-nining. We always kept things professional at the shop—no afternoon quickies or make-out sessions, no matter how much I wanted to haul him into the storeroom.
I grabbed a loaf of sourdough bread from the rack and the jar of cashew butter. My stitches had come out the week before, and I could finally grab things without pain. He was too polite to ask for something different, but I should have guessed the tempeh wouldn’t be to his liking. He wasn’t exactly a picky eater, but he had a definite palate of preferences: nothing spicy, no weird textures, but lots of classic American white/carb heavy dishes.
“You want jelly?” I asked as I spread the cashew butter on two slices of bread.
“Yes, please. Strawberry.” He set the tempeh sandwich down on the counter, looking at it like it might leap up and bite him back.
“You have another late night? I can make you an extra sandwich for a snack later.”
“You’re awesome. Yes, after I get the truck back, I’ve got to run home and keep my siblings from killing one another while my mom goes to a PTA meeting, then I’ve got two back-to-back study groups. Doubt I’ll have time for dinner.”
“Aren’t your sisters old enough to be left alone?”
“Trinity will be at track meet, and the last time my mom left the twins alone they microwaved tinfoil. Time before that they decided to wash their soccer cleats—took my dad two hours to fix the machine. I told my mom I’d make sure she didn’t have to make another major appliance purchase this month.”
“You’re such a good guy.” I handed him his sandwich before wrapping up a second in a recyclable to-go box. He really was a sweet dude—one who seemed incapable of saying no to his family and friends but who also seemed to genuinely enjoy lending a hand.
“Heh. Tell me that at ten, when I’m sick of doing all the work on the group communications project.”
“More like you won’t let them do the work.” I knew him pretty well by now. He might grouse a bit, but he wasn’t about to let his friends flounder. He was also damn near obsessed with his GPA. I’d been busy toking and chasing guys my senior year, but Lance was determined to graduate with a 4.0.
“Yeah, that. You want me to text you after I get free?”
“Oh, yeah.” I smiled at him. I’d come to anticipate his texts; every single one made me smile, even the random ones, like pictures of some dude’s tattoos. The ones that came late at night were my favorite, though, because those usually led to him on my doorstep.
“Better get going.” Our eyes linked, heat brewing for later. The urge to touch him was overwhelming. I glanced at the kitchen door. Surely I could get away with—
“Hey, boss, we’re out of veggie chili. You got more back here?” Brady came in right as I stepped toward Lance.
“Yeah.” I retreated to the large pot on the stove. We kept soups behind the coffee bar in large warming crocks so that the baristas could quickly dish out cups of them. “Bring the crock in here.”
“Hey, man,” Lance greeted Brady.
“You get your coffee?” Brady asked him. I appreciated that Brady’s voice was neutral—no teasing. He had to have noticed how often Lance was around, but he wasn’t one for a ton of ribbing beyond the occasional knowing smile.
“Yeah. Hey, I got the card of the therapy place in Southwest for you. The one with the sliding scale co-pays?” Lance dug a card out of his wallet.
I’d been worried about Brady’s injuries not healing, but leave it to Lance to actually do something about it. An unfamiliar emotion gathered in my gut, making me smile.
“They gonna tell me to stop boarding?” Brady asked.
“Nah. One of the therapists races longboards. They’ll fix you up. You might need X-rays, though.”
“It’s not broken.” Brady shook his foot out.
“Get the X-rays,” I ordered. “And let me know when your appointment is; I’ll cover for you.” We didn’t really do paid sick leave—all the employees were hourly workers—but Brady had been with us three years now, and I’d make an exception for him. I wanted him out of pain.
“Will do. Let me grab that crock.” Brady retreated into the front, leaving Lance and me staring at each other again.
“See you.” Lance made a hand gesture for the phone and I grinned wider than I had in a very long time.
 
It was a little before ten when my phone buzzed with a text.
ON MY WAY HOME FROM THE LIBRARY. YOU UP?
ALWAYS. YOU EAT YET? I replied. My stomach had started anticipating his texts even more than my libido. I’d always had the routine of a very late dinner, eating after we closed the shop for the night at nine. This habit dovetailed nicely with Lance’s schedule because he seldom had time to grab food; between two part-time jobs and classes, he was actually busier than I was.
HAD YOUR SANDWICH A COUPLE OF HOURS AGO. BUT I’M STARVING NOW.
I’LL CALL BELLAGIOS. EXTRA OLIVES? I typed. The pizza place probably kept better track of our hookups than I did.
SURE Illustration SEE YOU SOON!
Twenty minutes later, both he and the pizza arrived at my place. It was the same delivery girl as the last two deliveries. She was su-percheerful; I was a good tipper and Lance was good eye candy. She didn’t try to hide the fact that she was checking him out—and he did look rather yummy. As always, he had a red shirt on, this one a polo with thin silver stripes. His jeans rode low on his hips.
“You guys are my favorite stop.” She handed over the warm box of delicious-smelling pizza.
“Thanks.” I tossed in an extra five with the tip.
“Oh my god, I am beat,” Lance said as he followed me upstairs. “And starving.”
“You take a load off. I’ll grab plates.” I waved him toward the couch. “Beer? Soda?”
“Soda. Thanks.” Lance dumped his backpack in the entryway before collapsing on my couch. His shoulders were slumped and his face more pinched than usual. I wanted to rub all that tension out of him.
I grabbed plates, a beer for me, and a cherry soda for him—yeah, I kept a supply for him upstairs now. When I came back in the living room, his head was tipped back against the wall, his legs stretched out in front of him.
“Thanks,” he said as I served up the pizza. “Man, you have no idea how much I was looking forward to this. Mom needed me to move some boxes, so I was running late to campus. Then Lisa and Cara talked the entire stats study group. I doubt they pass the test.”
“That sucks.” We ate the remainder of the pizza in companionable silence. I liked that we didn’t always need to chat when we hung out—no awkward pauses or expectations.
“I really do want to . . . do stuff, but is it okay if I just chill here for a few minutes?” Lance asked as he polished off the last of his soda.
“Of course.” I flipped off the table lamp, leaving the room dim save for the glow of the fish tanks. I pulled him into my arms, letting him sag against me. “You relax as long as you need to.”
“Fish are fun to watch,” he said sleepily.
“Yeah.” I dropped a kiss on his head as I watched my tanks. My new betta fish was hanging out in the smaller tank. It was my latest rescue. Someone had given Brady’s sister a fish for her birthday and she’d been trying to keep it in a big glass bowl. Brady had brought it to me when she’d threatened to flush it because it was so much work. It was a fun fish, practically jumping out of the tank at feeding time.
“Mmm. Do that again.” Lance stretched up for another kiss. He was a bit like the fish—always so grateful for the little things I did for him. He wasn’t needy so much as constantly in motion—he simply needed reminders to refuel and rest.
“We don’t have to do anything if you want to fall asleep like this.” I kissed his head again. Truthfully, the prospect of holding him all night was almost as enticing as sex. He didn’t always spend the night, but when he was this tired, I could pretty much count on the luxury of him next to me until my much-too-early alarm.
“Nope. Kept thinking about you the whole study group.” He shifted restlessly against me. “Can’t sleep with a hard-on.”
“That so?” I moved so I could kiss his neck, licking the spot right below his ear. I dropped to my knees in front of him on the couch, pushing the coffee table out of the way. “How about you let me take care of you for a change?”
“Yeah?” Scooting forward on the couch, he spread his legs.
“Oh, yeah.” I unzipped his fly.
He laced his hands behind his head, his eyes closing as I got to work. Not that blowing him was exactly a chore. And as I sucked him off, I tried to push all inconvenient thoughts from my head—how good it felt to take care of him, how much I liked these late-night visits, how much I liked him.
 
A few nights later, I got a text as I locked up the shop after exhorting Brady to make the call to the physical therapy place.
SORRY. WON’T BE ABLE TO COME OVER AFTER ALL. DON’T HAVE CAR & MISSED THE BUS YOUR DIRECTION. CALL YOU LATER ;)
Darn. Ever since Lance had suggested coming over when he’d made the afternoon delivery, I’d been trying not to count down the hours. The prospect of phone sex wasn’t really a consolation; we’d done that a fair amount. Even if we didn’t have time to get together, we usually had time for a late-night phone jerk-off session. Lance was the master of the artful dick shot, which made sexting that much more fun, but it wasn’t a substitute for hanging out with him.
YOU WANT A RIDE? I texted back before I could overthink it. I COULD BE THERE IN FIFTEEN. JUST TELL ME WHERE ON CAMPUS.
YOU THAT EAGER FOR ME? Illustration Illustration SURE, I WON’T TURN DOWN A RIDE. He gave me rough directions to where to meet him near the PSU Library.
I finished up my cleaning and grabbed my spare motorcycle jacket out of the closet. Lance was undoubtedly wearing some flimsy thing. It was a nice night for February; the rain earlier in the day had given way to a chilly but clear evening.
When I pulled up to where Lance had said, I spotted him sitting between two college-aged girls on some concrete steps. I took off my helmet so I could watch them for a minute. He had a textbook open and appeared to be patiently explaining some concept to them. They were leaning forward, giving him their full attention. None of them looked up at the Harley. He laughed at something the dark-haired girl said and pointed to the book. She smiled up at him like he held all the answers to a Jeopardy! round.
A streetlamp gave all of them a golden glow, and that light seemed to echo inside of me. That was what Lance did. He lit people up. He was a winner. A keeper really. A few years down the line, he was going to make some lucky dude a very sweet boyfriend. The muscles in my back tightened. I was long past such sentimental days, but hell if my own dark corners didn’t long for a little bit more of his light. Don’t get used to it.
I knew the instant he spotted me, a wide grin coming over his face. He’d been happy with the girls, but now he seemed excited, scooping up his stuff. Today’s shirt was a red Trail Blazers basketball sweatshirt—and, as I’d suspected, that was it for outerwear for him. The girls trailed after him. I was superglad I hadn’t brought the truck; no offense to the ladies, but I wasn’t set to haul his fan club around.
“That was fast!” Lance said as he approached the bike. “This is Lisa and Cara.” He pointed to the girls. “And this is my . . . friend, Chris.” There was the briefest hesitation, one where I knew what he wanted to say. If it was just to get some distance from the girls, I’d happily let him claim me, but if he was starting to get mixed messages, I really needed to talk to him. But then he smiled at me, all that light directed my way, and I knew I’d be postponing that talk for another evening.
The girls made small talk with us for a few minutes: a few questions about my bike, a whole slew of “one last questions” for Lance about statistics problems. Listening to them banter, I was surprised how much I remembered from my own college days. I could at least make sense of what they were talking about, even if I probably would fail their test. And hell, their class sounded far better than attempting to reconcile payroll. At least they had what sounded like an entertaining professor who made jokes about soccer.
“So we’ll see you tomorrow?” The needier of the two, a small dark-haired girl of around nineteen with heavy eyeliner gave Lance a lingering hug. The other girl gave him a quicker hug. She had a unicorn tattoo on her wrist and a much better grasp of stats than her friend. I liked her.
“Yeah. See you.” Lance waved to them as they went down the pedestrian path that led into the heart of the campus.
“Here.” I fished out the spare helmet and jacket for him.
“Hey. Don’t I even get a hi?” He stepped much closer than necessary to accept the stuff, looking right at my mouth.
“Hi.” I stopped him with a hand on his shoulder right as he was about to lean in. “You sure you want to do that here?”
I kept my voice light, trying to make a joke of it, but some of the light drained away from his face, his eyes not quite so easygoing, his smile drooping. Hell.
“Guess not.” He shrugged. He kept the sad panda face as he put on the jacket. “Thanks for this.”
He struggled with the clasp of the helmet and I reached out to help him. “Let me.”
His mouth was right freaking there and his eyes were still all big and sad and I couldn’t help it—I brushed the world’s fastest kiss over his lips. I knew it was a terrible idea—I needed to be more firm about what the boundaries were in this temporary . . . friendship, not keep flinging myself through them. But the way his whole body seemed to lighten just from a hummingbird-quick kiss made me want to kiss him again, and do it right this time.
“There you go.” I fixed the helmet and stepped back before I could give in to the urge.
“Thanks. Man, Lisa and Cara are totes jealous of you.” He beamed at me—apparently, one little kiss was worth a stack of gold nuggets to him. Toast. I was absolutely and totally burned-black toast, because all I could think about were ways to make that look stick around.
“Because I get to spend the evening with you?” More like I figured Lisa might happily impale me on my handlebars.
“No, silly. They’re jealous of me getting to ride off with the hot motorcycle dude. You seriously don’t know how hot you are, do you?”
“Guess not.” I fiddled with my own helmet strap.
“Hot. Hot. Hot.” Lance pointed to my curly hair, which was slightly damp and sticking to my forehead, my beard, and my leather jacket.
“Are you hungry?” I asked in a rush, knowing I was turning pink. Thank God the beard hid most blushes.
“Starving.”
“Do you like Chinese food? There’s a place on the way back that has good vegetarian for me, but they’ve got loads of meat dishes, too. We could get takeout.”
“They got sweet and sour chicken?”
“I’m sure.” I shook my head at him. “I’m going to get a few bottles of high fructose corn syrup. Keep them in the fridge for you. Maybe your medic friends can hook me up with an IV bag—”
“Stop.” He punched my shoulder. “I’m not that bad.”
“Yes. Yes, you are.” My laugh echoed across the mostly deserted street.
“Hey, you think since it’s a nice night, we could drive a bit after we pick up the food?”
“Absolutely. The bike growing on you?”
“Something like that.” The affectionate look he gave me made my legs go limper than lo mein. Danger. Danger. Danger. A red-alert alarm sounded in my brain, but I very kindly told it to go fuck off. It was a nice night. I had a hot boy deluded enough to think I was the hot one and who wanted to ride with me. Thinking could wait.