CHAPTER 6 Charlie
CHAPTER 6
Charlie
W ith Rowan fast asleep in my passenger seat, I drive down to Venice. We arrive at my narrow, tree-shaded street full of funky old homes and remodeled monstrosities, and as I pull into my garage, I see my tiny two-bedroom bungalow with different eyes.
I told him the place wasn’t much, but if he’s renting a room somewhere, this might seem like the height of luxury to him. I’ve been lucky with contingency fees on a few cases, and Cam and I make some extra money from our videos on Ad/VICE, so even though I had student loans and all, I was able to buy this place recently. And I like it. It’s home. That said, I wasn’t faking modesty when I said it isn’t fancy. It’s not complete yet.
Nerves tighten my stomach, and I blow out a noisy breath. Maybe I’m feeling a little defensive. I’m taking a risk, having this guy in my house. But what’s he going to do? Steal my laptop? Fine. Everything’s in the cloud. I’ll get another one. Take my television? I don’t care. It’s all replaceable. And I’m pretty sure I could overpower him easily should I need to do so.
Still, Rowan’s dangerous, and I’m letting him stay here while I sleep. Wrong move, Charlie. This could be disastrous. I can’t help myself, though. I’m feeling protective of this bird in my cage. I discovered him. I’m the human taking his mermaid tail. He’s the selkie I found who’s lost his skin. So I’m going to take care of him until he can get home again. That’s all there is to it.
I sit in the garage for a moment, looking at Rowan. In sleep, he looks utterly innocent, his tan lashes fanned out and his lips slightly parted. I find myself smiling. He might be drooling. He’s certainly drowning in my jacket. I want to just pick him up and carry him inside, but I’m pretty sure he’d bite my neck the second I leaned into him.
Wonder if I’d like that?
I stiffen. No. I like my men established. Older. Wiser.
Not like Rowan.
I push the button on my visor and close the garage door, then turn the engine off.
Rowan startles and looks at me, blinking rapidly. There’s fear in his eyes at first, which I don’t like, but then he focuses on my face and smiles.
That smile .
“Hey,” I say, my pulse in my throat.
His tongue darts out to touch his upper lip, and I track the movement. “Hey.”
“We’re at my house. Do you want to use my phone to text someone the location?”
Rowan raises an eyebrow and tilts his head. “I don’t have anyone’s number.”
“You can borrow my laptop and see if you can find a friend on social media.”
He nods. “Yeah, maybe. It’s okay.”
I unbuckle my seat belt and get out, leaving his knife under my seat but grabbing the leftovers.
He follows me into the house and looks around, stopping in the entrance to the small living room to take his shoes off, which I do, too. “This place is, um?—”
“A work in progress?” I ask, setting my keys down and padding in stocking feet to the kitchen to put the food in the fridge. “My room’s the only one with a bed, so you’ll have to take the couch unless you want to sleep on the floor in the other bedroom. I’ve been too busy to do what I want with this place. It was built in the twenties, remodeled in the seventies, and then gutted in the nineties. It’s a design nightmare that I’m hopefully going to make into a dream home, with Cam’s help.”
“That’s cool.”
“At least I have drywall, so it’s better than the way his place used to be. He lived with studs for a while.”
Rowan’s eyes shine, and he gives me a saucy grin. “Oh? Sounds fun.”
“Not that kind of studs,” I say, chuckling. “Anyhow, these bare white walls are … potential.”
“Potential. Okay.” Rowan nods, wrapping my jacket even tighter around himself.
I open my mouth to say something at the same time he does. “You go first,” I say.
“You sure?”
“Yeah, what were you going to say?”
“It’s nothing.”
“Do you want to take a shower?” I nod toward the bathroom.
“Yes, Daddy. Oh, man, that would be amazing,” he purrs.
“Not your fucking daddy.”
“Uh-huh, whatever you say.”
He’s such a brat. Why do I like it?
Rowan follows me into my bathroom. I find him a spare toothbrush from the dentist and hand him a towel, then step out. “Want me to wash your clothes?”
“That would be cool, yeah. They’re pretty gross.”
“Okay, I’ll get you something to change into. Hang on.”
Before I can move, Rowan pulls off his shirt. He’s got ink scattered across his torso, but it’s not like he’s entirely tatted up .
Then, his blue eyes locked with mine, he throws his wallet on the counter, drops his jeans and underwear, tugs off his socks, and hands the whole lot to me.
Even though I try not to, I get a good look at his body. His body that, even though he’s small, is very much a man’s, with some definition in his abs and a happy trail down from his belly button to an uncut cock. He smirks and turns, and as I catch a glimpse of some cartoon tattoo on his ass, he closes the door.
For a moment, I stand in the hallway holding his dirty clothes.
What the hell? Who is this guy?
Once I come to my senses, I throw his clothes into the washer in the garage, along with a few things of mine. I grab him a thick white T-shirt and black sweats from my room and set them outside the bathroom door. They’ll be too big on him, but they’ll have to do. Then I open the hall cabinet and pull out a sheet, blanket, and pillow for him and put them on the couch.
Over the noise of the shower, he’s singing “Livin’ La Vida Loca.” His voice isn’t half bad. He’s not Jules Hill, but he can hold a tune.
I don’t want to hang out in the hallway like a creep, so I busy myself putting away a few things and changing into my own sweats. Thankfully, I already packed for tomorrow. I’m going to be dead tired, but I can rest after skiing. Or something.
The bathroom door opens, and steam billows out. Rowan’s got a towel wrapped around his waist, and his pink hair is darker when wet. It’s going every which way like a cartoon character’s.
I gesture at the clothes on the floor. “Those should do to sleep in.”
He smiles. “Thanks.” He puts on my T-shirt, which barely covers the tops of his thighs. It’s positively indecent. “This works.” He follows me out to the living room.
Too late, I realize I watched his every move, and I’m still staring at this pink-haired menace .
“Couch okay?” I’m too much of an asshole to give him my bed. “Or did you want the floor?”
“Couch is great, yeah. Thanks.” He pulls the towel off and goes to hang it up in the bathroom.
“There’s sweatpants there.” I point.
“This is good.”
I don’t want to be thinking about him naked from the waist down. “So you’re just gonna Donald Duck it?” I ask.
Rowan’s brows knit together, and then he bursts out laughing. “What, because I have no pants on?”
I spread my hands. “Or any number of other cartoon characters who don’t bother with pants. Winnie the Pooh …”
Rowan gives me a little finger wave. “Unlike a cartoon animal—or a Ken doll—I’m anatomically correct.” He wiggles his hips, and his junk swings under my shirt.
Crap.
It’s mesmerizing.
I don’t think I’m going to be able to handle this much longer if he walks around tempting me. It’s not like I don’t want to fuck him. He’s old enough, even if he’s not what I think of as my ideal. He’s into guys, clearly. Is there some moral reason why I shouldn’t just bend him over my couch and take his ass?
I’m not going to see him after tonight, of course. He’s not partner material. Not on my plan.
I hear a cough, and Rowan’s wearing an evil grin, perfectly aware of what he was doing. “My eyes are up here.”
“You sure you don’t want me to take you somewhere tonight? I don’t mean to be keeping you here. You’re free to go. You’re not kidnapped.” Although if he wants to leave, it’ll be awkward, since he’d be either taking my clothes or wearing his wet.
“That’s good.” He opens his mouth to say something more and then stops.
I tilt my head. “What were you going to say? ”
“Just … you don’t seem like the kind of man who invites strangers home with him out of charity.”
“Nope. But I can be like Han Solo rescuing Leia from the Death Star. Maybe there’s a reward for your safe return.”
He looks up at me with that lost expression. The one that flashes over his face before he replaces it with a cocky grin or fierce determination. It pops up for just a moment, then it’s gone. Like I imagined it.
But I didn’t. Rowan’s lost.
I want to tell him that he can stay more than one night, even if I’m out of town. I may be buying myself a problem here, but whatever. I guess I’m … intrigued.
Who is this lost boy? He’s so damn beautiful and interesting. I’m not sure what is going on with him, but it’s more than he’s telling me.
He has no reason to trust me. Like I have no reason to trust him.
And maybe that’s what’s going on. That thrill of the unknown. The potential for danger. The fact that he’s made me feel more in a few hours than I have in years.
The fact that when I’m with him, I feel a spark I’ve never felt before.
I want to stay up and talk with him, but in only my T-shirt, he’s a little too tempting. Also, it’s getting pretty damn late, and he seems worn out. Rowan’s got a courageous face, but anyone can tell that it’s just bravado. There’s no way he isn’t scared shitless underneath it all.
“In the morning, we’ll go to the police, get you a phone, and take you back to your home,” I say.
“You don’t have to?—”
“I insist.”
He bites his lip and nods. “Thanks.”
“Cool. Night.”
“Good night, Daddy,” Rowan coos, back to being a flirt, and blows me a kiss. I redden as I walk into the bathroom. What is it with this guy?
I inspect my face in the mirror. My chin’s got a red scrape, and there’ll probably be a scab, but it’s not that bad. The cut on my neck is tiny, but I put ointment on it and my chin anyway. My palms aren’t that chewed up, thankfully, but I clean them up a little better than I managed in the restaurant.
After brushing my teeth, I crawl into bed in my underwear, then lie in the dark, wondering what the fuck I’m doing. I’ve clearly lost all sense of self-preservation. Normal people don’t invite the dude who tried to mug them into their house. I could be dead by morning.
Except Rowan doesn’t want to kill me, I don’t think. He may want to strangle my dick, but that’s a different story.
I stew for a while, knowing that I’m not doing this correctly. That I should’ve gotten Rowan a hotel or something. Or otherwise let him fend for himself with less assistance than inviting him to stay with me.
I don’t have the heart for that, I guess. Some people would say I don’t have a heart, period. But I do. I’d text Tristan, but it’s late, and he’s probably asleep. So instead, I text Danny.
Charlie
In case I die, I’m with a really random dude. His name is Rowan Jones.
Danny
In case you die? WTF?
Charlie
I’m being a drama king. Ignore me. But I guess it’s like how if one person knows where you are, then nothing goes wrong.
Danny
Pretty sure that’s not how that works. Also you didn’t tell me where you are.
Charlie
At home. So if I’m stabbed then he did it.
Danny
That’s not reassuring.
Are you sure you’re okay?
No. No, I’m not sure I’m okay. I went from feeling sorry for myself to being blasted by a dude with a personality the size of the sun.
Charlie
I’m fine. I’m just messing with you. Good night.
Danny
Night, asshole
Love you, bro
Charlie
I hate you.
I hear the couch squeak a little bit as Rowan gets settled. I’m tempted to go out and check on him, but that’s nuts. I need to just let him be.
At the same time, part of me wonders if I should sleep with a knife under my pillow tonight.
I flop around for what feels like hours, thinking about Rowan.
Who is he? What the hell is up with his living situation? Why doesn’t he have any friends or family to turn to?
And why does my dick get hard when I think about his face? Or that ass in those painted-on jeans. Or when he’s still damp from the shower and wearing nothing but my T-shirt.
I shake my head. Tristan. I should be thinking about how he has two inches on me (height, not dick size). Five years. How he’s got an investment account. He wears real clothing like button- down shirts instead of tees and loafers instead of Vans. He’s a good top.
But damn if I don’t want to be the one in charge sometimes. I get the idea that Rowan would let me do anything to him. And that sends a surge of electricity through me like I’ve never felt before.
I reach into my boxer briefs and fondle my dick, stroking it idly a few times. That feels better. But it aches more the moment I stop.
I might as well indulge.
I push my underwear all the way off, then slick myself up with a little lube from the bedside table. Oh yeah, that’s much better.
As I play with my balls with one hand and my cock with the other, I think about how Rowan would look on his knees with his mouth stuffed full of me. How those big blue eyes would water. How he’d gag and retch and both beg me to stop and beg me not to stop.
My imagination is pretty damn good. And it’s going to have to do tonight, since it’s all the action I’m getting.
I can usually make a jack-off session last as long as I want, but tonight the orgasm is ripped out of me faster than usual. I come, gasping, hot spunk landing on my stomach. I bite back any louder noise, and then I lie there, my dick spent, wondering what the hell I just did.
I needed to come, clearly. We’ll ignore the fact that I was thinking about Rowan.
I clean myself off with tissues and put my underwear back on. Then I get up and wash my hands, hoping not to wake my guest.
To reiterate: What the actual fuck have I done?
I’ve objectified my guest without his consent and creeped even myself out.
When I fantasize, I don’t think about anyone I know. Not Tristan or any of the guys I pick up at the club .
In any case, Tristan, not Rowan, is my type. I should take Tristan home to my mom when he’s ready to come out. Jerking off to the little menace is the closest I’ll ever come to touching Rowan.