Peacocks (Licking Thicket #5)

Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Jay

It wasn’t easy asking people for help.

It especially wasn’t easy when the person I needed help from was Dr. Lane Desmond. He was beautiful, successful, smart… basically everything I wasn’t. That was why I’d waited so long to throw myself on his mercy.

But this wasn’t just about me and my hopeless crush on my tenant. There were innocent animals involved. And the smitten pet owners of the Thicket didn’t just sigh dreamily about how good-looking Lane was; they said he really knew his animals too.

Then again, though, maybe he didn’t since he was looking at me like I had three heads.

“I’m sorry?” he asked. “Could you repeat that?”

“Look, I know you just got home, and you’ve had a real busy day. I hate to bother you.” I swallowed hard and tried not to stare at Lane, which was a tricky thing since the chilly air had his nipples poking against the soft cotton of his T-shirt, and a burst of his distinct Lane scent—a heady combo of cologne, laundry detergent, and lemon disinfectant that somebody really needed to bottle up in one of those air-freshener plugs because holy shit was it sexy—came wafting out the door at me.

“The thing is…” I spread my hands helplessly. “I’ve done all I know how to do, but he won’t tuck his feathers.”

“Your… It won’t… Tuck its feathers ?” he repeated, aghast.

“I dunno what the technical term is.” I shrugged. “Deflate? Settle? Move from red alert down to a nice, peaceable yellow?”

“And we’re talking about your…” He paused expectantly, and if I didn’t know better—if I didn’t know for sure that Lane was one hundred percent immune to my charms, such as they were—I’d almost have thought he snuck a glance at my groin.

“My… peacock,” I repeated slowly. The poor man was tired, and it showed. “Like I said.”

Lane squeezed his eyes shut for a second. “You definitely did not say that,” he muttered. “Dear God.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing.” He waved a hand. “Come in, come in.” He turned and walked toward the kitchenette.

As I followed him inside, my eyes immediately went to his ass since it would’ve been wrong not to appreciate the rounded muscles there, and I was the kind of guy who tried to do right .

In fact, I was so committed to rightness there wasn’t a single time in the past six months I hadn’t taken the opportunity to stare at Dr. Desmond’s significant assets.

While I might not be educated or gifted, I sure as shit wasn’t stupid.

“Did you get the food I left?” I asked, suddenly feeling nervous. “I didn’t know… I mean, you might not be hungry. If you don’t want it or need it, you can just… throw it out. I mean, maybe don’t throw out the Tupperware. That’s one of my good ones. But you can…” I spotted the container on the table. “You know what? I’ll throw it out for you. It’s no trouble?—”

I reached for the Tupperware only to be stopped when Lane grabbed my wrist. “Jay, I want it. I’m starving. Please don’t throw it out. Italian Gentleman’s my favorite.”

His kind smile and the feel of his warm grip on my wrist made my stomach tighten. “Oh. Okay.” I swallowed again ’cause it was either that or drool. “Good, then.”

Lane nodded and let go, moving to the microwave and pulling out a bowl of the pasta. Seeing him eat the food I’d made gave me a feeling of… I didn’t know, exactly. Pride? Happiness? I wanted to take care of him, make sure he had what he needed and didn’t subsist on peanut butter crackers or cereal like I knew he did sometimes on heavy workdays. I wanted to lighten his load and bring a smile to his face.

He stabbed a fork into the bowl and shoved a giant mouthful of bow ties between his lips. I was mesmerized.

“So… you have a peacock?” he asked in between bites. “What’s wrong with him, exactly?”

This didn’t seem the right time to explain I had multiple peacocks, so I focused on the one for now. “Dave’s got a feather issue, like I was explaining.”

Lane blinked at me, and when his lips twitched in a smile, I wanted to beat my chest. “Your peacock is named Dave.”

“Yep. D-Disco Dave,” I agreed, still staring at his lips. “I can’t take credit for his name, though. His former owner named him.” It didn’t seem the right time to explain that either, so I hurried on. “He won’t stop… flaunting .”

Lane stopped with a forkful of pasta halfway to his mouth. “Flaunting?”

I shrugged. “The plumage thing…” I fanned out all ten of my fingers at once in a replica of a peacock’s tail. I had a second to be self-conscious—my fingers were blunt and callused from years of hard work, not at all like Lane’s fine hands—but the way Lane bit his lip at the sight made my pants tighten.

“When peacocks spread their tail feathers, or trains , it’s called displaying or… or train rattling,” he said, eyes firmly on his pasta. “It’s a, uh… a mating thing.”

“Right. I knew that much. I also know it’s not the season for it. But Dave doesn’t seem to realize that. And I don’t have any peahens, so what’s he even doing? I’m worried something’s wrong with him. I’m worried it’s a little like one of those medicine commercials, you know? Like, if his displaying lasts more than four hours, he should see a doctor?”

Lane stuffed the pasta in his mouth to keep from laughing, I could tell, and that made me feel a bit better. Lane wouldn’t be laughing if he thought Dave’s condition was an emergency.

“How was work today?” I asked, deciding to change the subject. “I heard Sami Nishawn’s Doberman was in for a neuter. It’s about time. That asshole won’t leave Mr. Holcombe’s cockapoo alone.”

Why did I suddenly feel like I was using the word cock too frequently for polite company?

“He came through with flying colors,” Lane said after swallowing and reaching for his water glass. “It should calm him down. But I think Mr. Holcombe’s cockapoo is the instigator in that situation. Poor thing’s bored to tears since Mr. Holcombe’s knee replacement. He hasn’t been able to walk her nearly as often.”

“I’ve been walking her every day,” I admitted. “She likes going to the little creek at the end of Newell Road. Makes her muddy as fuck, but Mr. Holcombe has a hose right by the back door with hot water to it and everything.”

I didn’t add that I’d been the one to plumb the hot water to it after Mr. Holcombe had complained about how hard it was to wash off muddy paws in winter. But now that there was a warm water supply, Binnie was living a life of luxury.

Lane studied me while he ate his dinner. “That’s awfully generous of you, Jay.”

Heat flooded my cheeks. I decided to walk over to the window and look out in hopes they’d cool before Lane noticed. “Nah. Not a big thing. I have time and two good knees, right? Hey, your car running smooth?”

“Mmhm.”

“Good. Good .” I glanced down at the driveway, squinting to see if there was any sign of his tires being underinflated. “If your tire pressure gauge lights up, let me know, and I’ll add more air. Sometimes when it gets this cold, that light comes on and makes you think you’re fixing to get a flat. It’s just the temperature, though. Tires need a little extra in the winter.”

I felt his eyes on me as he ate. Being in his apartment, surrounded by the fancy scents of his home and signs of his private life, made me nervous and excited.

He kept the place neat as a pin. No clutter anywhere. There was a framed photograph on the wall that looked like something out of a modern art museum. Colorful graffiti bathed the underside of a city bridge, the modern spray paint contrasting with the historic metalwork of the struts.

Surrounding the photo were several framed diplomas—fancy college degrees I didn’t have and never would.

There was also a pair of novels on a side table with thriller-type titles. On the bottom of the stack was a book on mutual fund investing and one on customer service. My eyes were hungry for more information about him. It seemed everywhere I looked gave me just enough to want more.

But also enough to know a man like him would never be into a guy like me.

I thought about what he might see if he went next door to my place.

Cozy crocheted afghans in an eye-watering variety of colors covered every bed and chair, giving the place an off-kilter, mismatched look… but they’d been gifts from my grandma and her friends for running their errands and fixing their faucets, and love was hooked into every stitch, so I couldn’t pack them away, could I?

Pictures of my family papered the walls… but I had a huge clan, and they all came by my place regularly. I’d hate to have someone feel they weren’t represented.

I had bunches of financial papers strewn over my desk because owning the Suds Barn wasn’t all about the dancing and the cleaning—it required a lot of paperwork—and because someone in the Thicket always needed something, and since I had a little bit of money put aside, I liked to help where I could.

And my garage… well, best not to think about what all Jay might find down in the garage. At least none of the noise seemed to be making its way up here… yet.

I swallowed and pointed to the customer service book on the nightstand. “You probably don’t need that. Everyone in town says you’re doing great and you really know your stuff. I don’t have any animals, or I’d be able to say for myself too.” I paused, considering. “Well, I guess I do have some now, don’t I? With the peacocks and all.”

“Peacock s , as in, more than one?” I could hear the amusement in his voice.

“Yeah. It’s a long story.”

“Long enough to let me finish this food?”

I glanced at him over my shoulder and sighed. It wasn’t that there was anything particularly embarrassing about the story, really. But it seemed like the kind of silly thing Lane Desmond would never get himself involved in.

Yet another thing we didn’t have in common.

“D’you have any idea how many people want peacocks at their wedding and in their kids’ portraits?” I began.

Lane’s eyes danced. “You starting a rental peacock enterprise?”

“Not starting one, exactly. More like acquiring one. See, I have this friend…”

“All your stories start like that, Jay,” he said. If I wasn’t hallucinating, it seemed like there was affection in Lane’s voice. “And before you start telling me about it, you need to know that if I’m doing well in customer service here, it’s because of you, not me.”

I turned to look at him in confusion. “How d’you mean?”

“I told you a couple of months ago I was having a rough time of it, and you went out of your way to introduce me around. Sang my praises and dropped the right words in several people’s ears. Don’t tell me you didn’t because I heard all about it from Alva.”

I flapped my hand at him. “Hush. Nothing anyone else wouldn’t have done.”

“Not true at all,” Lane argued. “Plenty of people wouldn’t’ve taken the time to do it.” He shoveled the last bite of pasta in his mouth and tilted his head to watch me thoughtfully as he chewed. “But you did. And I appreciate it.”

The weight of his gaze made me squirm in good ways and bad. “It feels nice to help when you can, that’s all. Anyway… back to the peacocks.” I took a breath to continue my story.

“Actually…” Lane took his empty bowl to the sink and tidied the leftovers into the fridge. “Let’s go check on this peacock of yours while you tell me how you came to be in possession of it. Them .”

I waited while he grabbed a hoodie. To be fair, I tried not watching his chest and abs while he pulled it on, but once again, it would’ve been wrong not to appreciate the glory of it up close and personal, in a way I rarely got to. I was only human, after all.

As he slid his feet into his shoes, I cleared my throat. “So, a couple years back, my friend John over in Nuthatch accidentally got peacock eggs from the farm supply instead of turkey eggs—don’t ask, John’s got a lot of things going on—and when the damned things hatched, they were definitely not turkeys. Since all the chicks were male, he decided to keep ’em and make the best of it. He was gonna start that rental company I mentioned once the birds were old enough to grow tail feathers.” I winced. “But it seems like Dave’s lungs grew along with his train. He’s gotten loud , and he kept squawking at John’s dog?—”

“That’s odd. Peafowl aren’t usually noisy outside of mating season,” Lane said, holding the door open for me. “I wonder if the dog was scaring him.”

“Maybe.” I jogged down the steps and over to the side door of the garage. “But Dave’s not supposed to be doing his tail feather thing outside of mating season either, and here we are. Maybe Dave’s mating senses are going haywire, and he forgets what he’s supposed to be looking for in a mate.”

As soon as I opened the door, the bird in question began squawking at us. Within moments of catching sight of the gorgeous man behind me, Dave’s tail feathers came whipping up too, spreading majestically like a magician waving a deck of fancy cards.

“Same, Dave,” I muttered to the bird under my breath. “Same.”

Lane took in the sight of the makeshift bird enclosure I’d created in the space. “You must have bought up all the baby gates in town.”

I shook my head. “Nah. John picked ’em up at the Walmart over in Lafayette. It’s the only way to keep them from messing with my tools.”

I’d shoved all of my woodworking tools, machinery, and half-crafted Entwinin’ wreaths to one side of the garage while the other half was now a peacock habitat.

“Wow.” Lane ignored the birds, his gaze drawn to the Entwinin’ wreath that lay on my workbench. It was nothing special yet—a simple twelve-inch wreath in the shape of a Celtic knot, just waiting for someone to take it and add their own special stamp with flowers or charms of some kind—but he seemed stunned. “You made this? For your festival? Is it… is it for someone special?”

“Well, yes… and no.” I grinned. “The Entwinin’ is a chance to show the most important person or people in your life that you love ’em. So I guess you might say that every person who receives a wreath is special to someone , but if you mean special to me , in a romantic kind of way? Nah. Never twined a vine for my own sweetheart before.”

I’d actually never had a sweetheart to twine one for, if I were being totally honest, but I worried that saying so might sound pathetic, so I hurried on.

“Giving a wreath’s not always romantic—some folks give wreaths to their closest friends ’cause that kind of love’s no less important—but it’s always about creating something that symbolizes how much the relationship means to you. It’s a real individual thing. The shape you choose matters, the type of wisteria branches you use matters—you gotta get the whippy ones for best results, and you can’t get those late in the season—and the things you decorate it with matter too. It’s supposed to be a labor of love. But …”

My grin turned wry. “The truth is, Lane, that there are lots more folks in the Thicket with love in their hearts than there are folks who can twine a vine. Not that anyone expects perfection, of course—the real perfection is the love that the maker has for their Entwined.” I shrugged. “But nobody should have to lose a finger to a penknife just to show their love, so I always make up a bunch of extra wreaths for folks to decorate.”

Lane looked like he might have some follow-up questions, but just then, Dave let out a mighty squawk that suggested he was not okay with being ignored.

I found myself laughing. “Keep your feathers on, Dave.” I shook my head at Lane. “You can guess why John was a desperate man when he came to me this morning. The squawking is upsetting his wife and every animal at his place. Worst possible time for me to acquire new family members since the Entwinin’ is coming up, and it’s looking to be bigger than ever this year, but I agreed to take them all ’cause I couldn’t separate Dave from his bros, you know? I put them in here because I didn’t know if it was okay to leave them out in the cold.” I gestured to the four animals making themselves at home in the musty space. “I asked my friend Diesel about it, but he keeps his chickens in a freaking palace, and I wouldn’t be surprised if they had their own Netflix account. I’m not sure he’s the best person to take advice from.”

Lane climbed into the enclosure. “Well, peafowl are pretty hardy as far as the cold goes, but they’ll want a roost. Even a broomstick or two-by-four mounted a few feet off the ground would work. They like to tuck their feet up under their breast to stay warm.”

He approached the troublemaker, who was still hell-bent on shouting over us. “I can’t believe I couldn’t hear this from upstairs.”

“Not yet, anyway. I think he’s been getting louder since he got here,” I said grimly. I pointed at the ceiling. “But I made sure the place was really well insulated before you moved in. I’d hate to disturb you.”

Lane shot me a smile that was sweeter than any smile he’d ever given me. “You really would, wouldn’t you?”

I lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. With Lane looking at me like that, the squirming feeling was back a hundredfold, and it was having all kinds of predictable results on me. “It’s not that complicated,” I said.

“No,” he said softly. “I guess it’s not.”

I frowned, but Lane had already turned back to the peacocks. “These baby gates might discourage the peacocks from walking around, but you should know they can definitely fly over them if they want to. After tonight’s cold weather, we might want to move them out back so they can roost in the oak tree. There are some branches on that one they’d love, and the backyard is fully fenced, right?”

I watched him squat down to inspect the screaming peacock. Lane’s hands were gentle as he smoothed his fingers over the bird’s body. “Dave seems bright. Obviously full of energy.”

I grunted. “This energy is going to keep both of us up all night if he gets any louder.”

Lane turned to smile at me over his shoulder. “If the insulation isn’t enough, you could always try earplugs.”

“Then I wouldn’t be able to hear you if you need me,” I said without thinking. As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I wished them back in. “I mean… heh. Not… not that you’d need me . I just meant, what if someone murdered you? Loudly? Or like… used a chainsaw? I’ve heard about that.”

Lane’s eyes had gotten progressively wider as my mouth had gone off on its little joy ride. “What if I’m chainsaw massacred ?”

“That would suck ,” I emphasized.

Lane tilted his head at me, the edge of his lips quirking up a little. “Little bit.”

I cleared my throat and looked around. “But I could get you earplugs. I think I have some in my workbench. Hold on.”

I made my way past the piled-up scrap wood, the coils of dried wisteria vines, and other random shit until I was at my workbench with the packed shelves above. “Pretty sure they’re in one of these Cool Whip containers.”

Lane moved from one bird to the other, giving them all a cursory looking-over. “Stop, Jay. I can’t accept your earplugs. What would I do if you were the one chainsaw massacred? I’d sleep right through it. Which isn’t neighborly at all.”

“I’d want you to sleep right through it! You don’t get enough sleep as it is. And just imagine what a hellish day you’d wake up to. No. You need your sleep.” I found the earplugs and shook out a few into my hand before piling the Cool Whip container back on the shelf.

Lane watched me pick my way back over to him. “I’d need my sleep on account of the…?”

I frowned at him. “Crime scene brouhaha. Emergency vehicles and whatnot. It would be a mess, I’d imagine. Here.” I held out the earplugs, but he refused to take them. “Lane. Take them. You need your sleep. And this asshole’s going to keep you up all night.”

He met my eyes. When he spoke, his voice was softer. “Not sure I’d mind if this asshole kept me up all night, to be honest.”

Tension sparked between us as I wondered if it was possible he was implying what I thought he was implying.

Me? Me ?

“You…” I began. “Me… I… Wait. You think I’m an asshole?”

Lane opened his mouth to respond, but I quickly cut in. “Don’t answer that. Stupid question. What person brings up a chainsaw massacre right before bedtime? An asshole, that’s who. I didn’t mean to make things weird. I just—” I stopped and ran my fingers through my hair. “Hell, I just?—”

I didn’t know what I just .

“Jay. Pretty sure I’m the asshole if you think I’d rather get my beauty sleep than help defend you from homicidal maniacs.”

“I didn’t say you’d rather . I said you should ,” I corrected.

Lane stepped closer and held out a hand to me. I took it to help keep him steady while he climbed over the baby gates. The feel of his strong hand in mine made the little hairs on my arm prickle. “Doesn’t neighborliness go both ways?” he asked. “Isn’t it okay for you to expect people to give you the same consideration you give them?”

Once he was standing on my side of the gates, I couldn’t bring myself to let go of his hand. “The peacock,” I blurted, remembering we were here for a reason.

I noticed Lane didn’t seem all that ready to let go of my hand either. “Your cock is fine,” he said with a wink. “I think Dave’s just out of sorts from being moved around. It happens. It could just mean that he’s curious or that he’s trying to display dominance. Peacocks need exercise and entertainment, which means we need to get them a roost and maybe some other things to occupy them. But it doesn’t have to be tonight.”

Lane’s thumb slid over the back of my hand. “Oh,” I breathed. “Good. Uh… thanks for taking a look. I was worried something was wrong with him.”

The air crackled around us, broken periodically by the insistent cries of the peacock flaunting his wares behind the handsome veterinarian.

Lane continued, the curve of his lips almost flirty, if such a thing was possible. “Or maybe he just likes to show off for you. Maybe you were right earlier when you said his mating senses were going haywire. Sometimes a peacock wants what it wants.” He grinned. “Even when it’s not in mating season.”

My stomach tumbled. I couldn’t take my eyes off his lips. “I do like a man with plumage,” I murmured.

He shifted and reached up to touch my chin, tilting my head back so my gaze naturally moved up from his lips to his eyes. “I don’t think you’re an asshole. The furthest thing from it, Jay. I was just making a bad joke earlier. I’m sorry.”

I sucked in a breath. “No apologies necessary. I can definitely be an asshole sometimes.”

Lane’s eyes flicked back and forth as if studying me. “You brought me soup when I was sick. Not an asshole move.”

I swallowed. His nearness was making me dizzy. “Just a neighborly thing to do.”

“You rehabilitated my reputation in town when I came off as grumpy and harried in the beginning. Not an asshole move.”

I shrugged. “I could tell you were out of sorts. People only needed a chance to see the real you.”

His hand moved from my chin to caress my cheek with the back of his fingers. “Jaybird. You chiseled ice off my car this morning and offered to put winter air in my tires. You’re not an asshole.”

I leaned into his touch and tried not to preen like the bird still flaunting behind him. “Sometimes it seems like you don’t like me all that much. I worry maybe you?—”

Lane lurched forward and pressed his lips against mine, shocking me enough to grunt in surprise. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so shocked—he’d had his hand on my face, after all—but I was. My brain couldn’t quite grasp how a beautiful, smart, successful man like Lane Desmond could want someone like me.

But—and this bore repeating—while I wasn’t as smart as Lane, I definitely wasn’t stupid. I kissed that man back for all I was worth.

My hands came around to press against his back, holding him close while my lips learned the shape of him. His mouth tasted like Italian Gentleman pasta—the food I had cooked for him—and that knowledge, combined with Lane’s own sweetness, made the zesty Italian flavors extra delicious.

Lane’s hands continued to cup my face as I pressed even closer, shifting my hardening cock against the bulge in the front of his soft pants. I silently cursed my thick jeans for keeping me from feeling more of him.

After a moment, my hands moved from his back down to his ass, and I cupped his cheeks with my hands. Lane pulled back enough to groan a curse. But instead of kissing me again, he pressed his forehead to mine.

“I like you, Jay,” he said with a smile. “I like you a lot. You’re just so damned nice .”

It didn’t sound like a criticism, exactly, but like something Lane couldn’t quite comprehend, the same way I didn’t understand some of the podcasts I’d heard him listening to… or how I’d come to be standing in my garage with his face touching mine.

I really, really hoped my niceness wasn’t a dealbreaker for him… but just in case, I started arguing.

“I’m not nice. Not at all. In fact, just yesterday, I saw Mrs. Jackson—Hunter’s mom—heading to the only open cashier at Henson’s Grocery, and I deliberately picked up the pace to beat her there. She had at least twenty cans of diced tomatoes on account of the buy-one-get-one thing they still have going on, and if you know Sherri Wattel at all, you know she’d insist on scanning every single one of them through.”

Lane’s laughter rumbled out of his chest. “Wow. You’re going to hell, Jaybird Proud.”

“Yep.” I nodded eagerly. “Sure am. Of course, Mrs. Jackson and I got to talking, and she asked me to help her out to her car with her bags, so I ended up spending half an hour watching Sherri ring the cans anyway,” I admitted. “But… but that’s not all! I also deliberately didn’t clean out Hector Moore’s ashtray in his truck at the car wash the other day.”

Lane whistled, low and impressed. “Oh, well, now, that’s terrible ,” he said, sounding so happy and fond I kept talking.

“Right? I mean, technically, it’s because Hector knows how I feel about his smoking. I warned him he was gonna have to clean his own butts from now on, kinda hoping it would help him kick the habit, but he still looked real disappointed.”

“Mmhm.” Lane rubbed his nose against mine.

I racked my brain, trying to think of something even worse that I’d done. When I took a deep breath and inhaled Lane’s scent, the answer came to me.

“Not only that, but I got a call asking for old coat donations… and I didn’t donate, even though I do, in fact, have an old coat right now.” I nodded once, firmly, because that ought to convince him. It had been a purely selfish choice on my part. Not nice at all .

But Lane only seemed tickled pink by my admission… which kinda concerned me.

Was he evil?

When he pulled back and smirked—the man was unlawfully good-looking, especially when his eyes twinkled like that—I decided I didn’t care if he was. Evil looked real good on him.

“There was a perfectly good, nice reason you chose not to donate your coat, wasn’t there?” he teased. “Go on. Admit it.”

I narrowed my eyes. “I’d prefer more kissing to this interrogation, thank you very much.”

“I’ll kiss you for every evil deed you tell me about. Howbout that?”

“Mfh.”

He chuckled, and the sound made my stomach fizz like soda pop. “Tell me why you didn’t donate the coat, Jay.”

I realized I was stuck. I either had to lie to someone I never wanted to lie to… or I had to reveal something embarrassing.

If given the choice between hurting him and humoring him, I’d have to choose humor every time. So I confessed the truth.

“Because it’s the one I brought you that day you left yours at home, and it still smells like you.”