Home > A Guy for Christmas(9)

A Guy for Christmas(9)
Author: K.C. Wells

Lady sat regally at the threshold, and Dean glared at her. “You’re senior kitty. Why didn’t you do something?”

Lady stared back at him, and he could almost hear the words. He was in the bathroom, asshole. You wanna wait while I grow opposable thumbs?

Dean snorted. “Well, I’m sure as hell not gonna accept responsibility for this.” He shook his head. “Look at me. I’m having a conversation with my cat.”

At this point, Tigger poked his head up above the edge of the tub, and a plaintive meow filled the air. Dean walked over and picked him up. He lifted him into the air, looking into the little kitten’s face. “You got stuck, didn’t you?” Tigger’s response was yet more plaintive meows. He sighed. “I sure got your name wrong, didn’t I? You’re not a Tigger. Loki it is then.” He gazed at the chaotic scene around him. “Great. I need a new shower curtain.” Then he spied the bathmat—or what was left of it—and sighed again. “Looks like I’ve got some shopping to do.”

Lady walked off, her tail high, as if to say, Ain’t nothing to do with me. Dean followed her, walking into the kitchen. He deposited Loki in the cat bed, then put out some kitten food for him. While Loki focused his attention on his food bowl, Dean fed Lady. He glared at the kitten again. “If I go and clean up the bathroom, can I trust you not to steal Lady’s food and piss her off?”

Because in that battle, Loki would definitely come off worse.

 

 

Robin helped himself to more mac and cheese. “This is great, Mom.” Coming home to his favorite meal made the day pretty much perfect.

She laughed. “You love your comfort food, like your dad.”

“Are you okay, Robin?” Dad asked.

Robin jerked his head up. “Why do you ask?”

“You seemed kind of jittery today.”

The blame for all that lay solidly with Ryan. “I’m fine.” Well, he was as long as Ryan didn’t decide to send another gif, or, God help him, another link to gay porn.

Mom cleared her throat. “Is there anything you want to talk to us about?”

“Like what?”

She shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe there’s someone you’re interested in…”

Robin did not want to be having this conversation. “Mom…”

Dad coughed. “Be fair, Pet. You’re asking an eighteen-year-old to divulge his secrets. You really expect him to answer? Did you ever ask Ryan who he was interested in?”

Mom chuckled. “I used to, but I gave up. Let’s face it, he went through girlfriends like Robin goes through hand lotion.” She gave Robin a sideways glance. “You must have the softest hands in Lake Placid.”

Dad’s brows knitted. “Hand lotion?” He gave Robin a puzzled glance. “Why would you need all that—oh.” His mouth snapped shut, but there was a sympathetic look in his eyes.

Robin raised his eyes heavenward. Kill me now? Please, anybody? He put his fork down and pushed his plate away. “You know what? I think I’ve had enough. In fact, I think I’ve eaten too much. I’m gonna go for a bike ride to work it all off.”

Mom’s eyes widened. “Now? It’s seven-thirty. It’s dark out there.”

Before Ryan could respond, his dad intervened. “He’s got lights on his bike. He’s got his reflective jacket. He’ll be fine.”

Robin saw the gesture for what it was—helping a fellow male out of a tricky situation—and gave his dad a grateful glance. “I won’t be gone long. Maybe an hour.”

Mom nodded. “Be careful.” As he got up from the table, she added, “By the way, I’ve put a new box of Kleenex tissues in your room. You’ve almost finished the present one.” Her lips twitched.

Oh my God. Are all moms like this? “Thanks,” he muttered as he left the table.

He went to his room to grab a jacket. As an afterthought, he grabbed a wool hat as well. It was cold out there.

As he cycled away from the house, the front bike light spilling over the street, it occurred to him that he had a destination in mind. He rode down Mill Pond Drive, heading north towards Acorn Street. The streets were quiet, fresh snow falling over the cars and sidewalks. It took him about ten minutes to reach his destination. He peered at the mailboxes, searching for number thirty-four. When he found it, he stared at the white-fronted house with the arch over the door, lit by lights placed here and there illuminating the flowerbeds in front of it.

This is a bad idea. This is a really bad idea.

It didn’t stop him, however, from getting off his bike and walking it toward the door. The lights were on inside, so Mr. Quentin was obviously home. In fact, Robin could hear music. He stood for a moment in the warm light that fell from the window.

So Mr. Quentin likes rock? Robin could feel the bass pounding from where he stood.

There’s still time to walk away. This is Ryan’s dumb idea anyway. Leave. Leave now. Then his heart stuttered as Mr. Quentin appeared in the window, gazing at him in obvious surprise.

Aw crap.

The music ended, and seconds later the front door opened. Mr. Quentin stood there, dressed in jeans and a thick white sweater that look great against his tanned face. “Robin? Why on earth are you standing outside my house? Come to think of it, how do you know where I live?”

Robin shivered, not entirely the result of the cold night air.

“I think you’d better answer that question in here,” Mr. Quentin said quickly. “It’s freezing out there. Come on in, and I’ll make us a hot drink. You can leave your bike out here. It’ll be safe.” He smiled. “I have good neighbors.”

Robin wheeled his bike up to the house, and leaned it against the exterior. His heart pounding, he walked over to the door, pausing at the threshold.

What the fuck am I doing here?

It was way too late for that.

Mr. Quentin stood aside and gestured for Robin to enter. As he stepped into the warm hallway, Robin sent up a brief prayer.

Please don’t let him kick my butt.

 

 

Chapter Five

 


Robin walked into the hallway, and before Dean could ask him not to track snow into the house, he stomped his boots on the mat, toed them off, and left them by the door.

Someone’s house-trained.

Lady strolled out of the living room, obviously to investigate, and Robin let out a low cry of delight.

“What a gorgeous kitty! What’s his name?” He crouched beside her, and that was all the invitation Lady required. She brushed against his ankles, winding in and out of them.

Dean smirked. “Lady.”

Robin bit his lip, and Dean was overwhelmed by how freaking adorable he looked. “Oops.” He stroked along Lady’s back, and she turned around to butt his hand with her head. “She’s beautiful. How old is she?”

“Eight. She was a rescue.”

Robin stared at him, aghast. “Seriously? She’s adorable. How could anyone not want her? Can I pick her up?”

Dean laughed. “Do that and she’ll love you forever.” Robin scooped the cat into his arms and snuggled her. You have to like someone who loves cats. “I promised you a hot drink. Go into the living room there on the right, and sit by the fire. Though I warn you, there’s a little furry bundle of mischief in there by the name of Loki, and he will talk to you. A lot.”

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