The man stared a little longer, and then blinked slowly. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh, I thought I just told you.”
“That was the question. You asked what the question was.”
“Oh, right. So um… can you help me?” Declan stuck out his hip in that way that always got him admiring glances. Then he remembered that he was talking to Mr. Straight and pulled it back in.
The man scrutinized him again, his face impassive. “I can call a tow truck.”
“Oh, good! Thank you! And then I’ll definitely figure out where I am. And take out cash before Mike can close my part of the account. I wonder how much of it is supposed to be mine. Or maybe it’s too late? How much do car repairs cost anyway?”
Instead of answering, the man grunted and turned toward the little house. Well, it looked like he wasn’t going to get beat up for being gay, so that was good.
Declan scrambled after the man. “I’ve never been out here before. Wherever this is. It’s different from New York. With all of this… nature. And trees. I like the trees, though. They sound like a river.”
“Ohio.”
“Huh?”
“You’re in Ohio.”
“Oh! That makes sense. I kept seeing signs for Cleveland, and Cleveland’s in Ohio, right? I think I passed it, though. I probably should have stopped there. But I like the trees here. The river trees.”
The stranger grunted again, still walking.
Declan realized he didn’t even know his name. Not that it really mattered, but it seemed like he should at least introduce himself. “Oh, I’m Declan,” he called after the man’s back.
The man swung around and put out his hand. “Geir.”
The name wasn’t made out of any sounds that Declan was used to in English or the more common languages in NYC like Chinese, Spanish, and Russian. The first part sounded like guy, but the sound was wider, leaning into the transformation of an ah and an ee. And the rolled r at the end got swallowed up in a flutter that dispersed on a breath.
Declan knew he was going to mangle it, but he tried his best to repeat it as he shook the man’s hand.
And then he wasn’t thinking of anything except the place where their skin touched, the strong muscles and heated flesh of that firm hand as it wrapped around his own. The simple touch raced through his nerves and he wanted those hands all over him.
Declan only realized he’d closed his eyes when he opened them to find the man staring down at him, with a strange but unreadable look on his face. Declan quickly pulled away, already missing the man’s warmth.
Well, at least a hopeless crush would help to pass the time while he got his car fixed. Maybe things were looking up.
Chapter 2
Geir
Geir forced himself not to look back as he walked into his house, the warped screen door clattering behind him. His hand still burned from Declan’s touch, like those soft, uncalloused fingers had left an indelible mark. What was that?
Geir so rarely had visitors, and he had an inherent distrust of anyone who wasn’t one of his neighbors. While he was fairly certain that Declan was innocent, he would watch him carefully and send him on his way as soon as possible. It was safer that way.
Not to mention that Declan’s youthful beauty was too tempting for him to risk a second look. Declan would be here and gone in a moment. Even if he stayed, which Geir had no reason to imagine, his life was like a mayfly’s.
It took Geir a little while to find his phone, since he often went weeks without using it and hadn’t properly put it away the last time. And then it took a while longer to charge it enough to make a call. Fortunately, he had the number for the garage in his phone since his truck broke down often enough. He had taken a momentary interest when he bought it nearly thirty years ago and learned most of the parts. Now he could call in to have them order what he needed before he drove the forty minutes to get there.
The whole time that they were waiting, Declan talked. No, it was something more than talking. He chattered, flitting around like a little bird. It didn’t seem to matter whether Geir acknowledged him or not. Though every time Geir spoke, he turned his full attention on him, like he was going to impart some holy wisdom.
Several thousand years had taught Geir that there was no true wisdom, holy or otherwise. There was just getting along and keeping your head down.
The first step to that was ignoring those graceful limbs and big, brown eyes. Especially that tantalizing midriff that Geir wanted to simultaneously touch and cover up so that no one could see it.
Declan’s pants were impossibly tight, certainly so tight that he should never have been able to slink around the way that he did, his body flowing and bouncing and sliding around the cluttered space of Geir’s living room.
Above those provocative jeans, he wore a loose black T-shirt that fell off his shoulders and made no attempt to even cover his belly. It read, in sparkling, impossible-to-ignore silver letters, BOY TOY.
Geir had seen men like him before, a few times on televisions that played in the background while he waited somewhere, and a few more times on his rare trips to Cleveland when he needed supplies that he couldn’t get locally.
He thought of them as something a bit magical, like fairies that would disappear at the first touch of dew. He’d known men like them throughout history, of course, but the way that they reveled in it now, shouting it out to the world in sparkly capital letters was entirely new.
It felt now like one of those fairies had chosen to alight on his doorstep, and he wasn’t quite sure what to do. Offer him a drop of milk served in a flower petal, maybe? Trap him with a lasso made of spider silk around his pinky finger?
He snorted at his own foolishness. The boy was clearly human.
The phone finally beeped to indicate that he could turn it on without it immediately shutting off again, so he called the garage. He explained the situation and wasn’t surprised by the response. He gave a terse word of thanks and hung up the phone.
He turned to find Declan watching him with eager eyes.
“You should put on a shirt.” He hadn’t meant to say that, but it was still true.
“I’m wearing a shirt!” Declan seemed outraged, but Geir couldn’t interpret it as anything but adorable. It would be fun to wind him up a little, as long as he knew that Geir was joking. Not, of course, that they would ever see each other again once the car was fixed.
“No, I mean…” He wasn’t quite sure how to say it. “Tom, from the garage, he might not...” he waved vaguely at Declan’s tender, exposed belly and those shiny, seductive words.
Declan’s face fell. “I’m proud of who I am,” he said. But it was soft, like he wasn’t sure.
Geir felt out of his depth. “You can be proud. But you also have to be safe.”
Declan looked up at him, impishly. “Do you like my shirt?”
Gods help him, but he did. And he couldn’t imagine where admitting it might lead. He settled for a grunt, knowing that he was being evasive. But he felt his lips pulling into a smile.
Declan seemed pleased enough with that. “So, when does Tom from the garage get here?”
At least this Geir could answer. He felt his tongue begin to loosen with continued speech. “It’s a forty-minute drive, but that’s only if he leaves right away.”