Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Randall
I knew I’d had one too many to drink; why else would the word “sweetheart” have slipped out of my mouth? Austin was a ball of distracted energy, opening and slamming shut all the cabinets in search of the popcorn even though I had specifically told him where he could find it.
“Got it!’ he exclaimed before tearing open the plastic packaging and tossing the bag in the microwave.
My phone chimed.
“That’s the washer, sweetheart.” I figured it was best to play off my use of endearments as a British quirk, something I did with everybody.
Austin stared at me, the popcorn popping behind him.
“Oh, my clothes! I’ll be right back.” He practically sprinted to the laundry room.
I queued up a perfectly mindless action-packed feature, which, to Austin’s point, would provide us with plenty of eye candy, then I made my way back to the kitchen, where I found the large bowl designed to look like a movie theater popcorn bucket. The previous owners had left it behind.
I was rummaging around the cabinets myself when Austin returned and walked right past me, placing a light touch on the small of my back as he scooted around me to the refrigerator.
“Popcorn and beer, I think? Instead of more wine. Wine is way too sophisticated for a big bowl of greasy popcorn and waaayy too sophisticated for that movie.” He emerged from the refrigerator in time to swing two bottles of locally brewed beer at the paused TV screen.
I really didn’t need another drink.
I nodded at him and held up two jars of seasoning.
“Sweet or savory?”
“Sweet, I think.” Austin had taken to opening drawers with the same hyper energy he’d used when slamming cabinet doors a few minutes prior. I put down my small spice bottles and rested a hand on top of his as he was mid-pull.
“I’ll give you the grand tour of the kitchen tomorrow, when we’re both a little … fresher. For now, why don't you just tell me what you’re looking for.”
“Bottle opener,” he said sheepishly, and then we looked down, both realizing at the same time that we were basically holding hands.
Something compelled me to keep still. I didn’t look at him, couldn’t look at him, nor could I pull my hand away.
I had a handsome young man in my house and possibly days with nothing to do.
My mind began to imagine what Austin and I could do to fill that time, and just as quickly, I pictured my long-lost friends and what they would think of me if they knew what I was imagining doing with their son.
I gave his hand a friendly little squeeze as if it was no big deal for us to be touching. “Right. Over here, near the cooler.”
“Of course,” he exclaimed with the same energy that had him bouncing around my kitchen. “That makes sense. Very logical.”
Those words shouldn’t have hit me, coming from this virtual stranger, but they did, and I suppose I didn’t temper the look on my face. Austin frowned and left the drawer open to step in front of me. I turned to busy myself with the popcorn flavoring.
It was his turn to link our hands as he stopped me from sprinkling the seasoning by locking my wrist and encouraging me to turn toward him.
“I’ve said the wrong thing,” he stated matter-of-factly but with sympathy in his voice.
“Don’t be …” I couldn’t get the word silly out.
“I have, and I’m sorry if it upset you. I may have been joking, but I meant it as a compliment.
I could never be so organized, at least not in my personal life.
I’ve learned to be careful in my classes and with my schoolwork.
But with life in general”—he nonchalantly let go of my hand and went back to fish out the bottle opener—"I’m a disorganized mess.
I mean, I didn’t even pack for a month at home with my family.
I just let my laundry accumulate until I was down to my last pair of clean …
everything.” He tugged playfully at the hem of his shirt.
He handed me a beer on the word “everything,” and for some reason a heated look flashed across his face.
It couldn’t possibly be the thought of his dwindling wardrobe or the fact that he was wearing my sweatpants that had him looking like that.
Was it the brush of his finger against mine?
Of course, I started thinking about Austin running out of clothes and had to quickly distract myself.
I took a swig from the beer bottle before handing it right back to him.
“If you wouldn’t mind?” I asked as I did so. “And I’ll take the popcorn.”
“Oh, yeah. Of course.” He was flushed and flustered as he took the beer from my hand, our fingers brushing again, like they were required to touch. I knew I was in trouble as I made no effort to pull away.
He scurried in front of me and landed on the couch, placing both beers on the coffee table in time to reach out and take the bowl from me so I could sit down.
Intentionally, I did so with enough room for the bowl to rest between us.
Austin hesitated before placing it on the coffee table, but I moved it to the couch with a smile.
He grabbed a handful and shoved it in his mouth, smiling back at me before grabbing his beer and taking a sip. I started the movie and tried my best to relax while sitting in close proximity to Austin and listening to the wind pound on the side of my home.
A gust made the fire flutter, and I jumped up to add more wood to it, feeling Austin’s eyes on my backside as I bent down to place two more logs.
I grasped the poker and decided it would be best to bend at my knees to organize the fire.
I took a few more minutes than were probably necessary to get a good blaze going, my face and thighs heating up as I stared into the flames and thought about the two friends I had left behind years ago.
The friends whose son, I was sure, would be staring at me and not up at the TV screen when I eventually stood and turned.
Martin had taken me under his wing from the day we met and had remained my friend throughout our time in college and beyond.
Dragging me along with him as his roommate from dorm room to dorm room, then on to a college group house, and eventually to a two-bedroom apartment for three.
All along the way, Martin had made friends and introduced me to others, and I remained happy to live in his shadow, ever the introvert.
The only contribution I had made to our group of friends was to introduce Martin to my study partner for a sophomore year project, Stephanie.
Having done so was as important as it was devastating, my hopes of a future with Martin shattering as the two of them grew closer.
At least I had stayed in the closet all those years and didn’t have to add humiliation to my disappointment. I was their roommate up until their wedding, and they had assured me I could stay on afterward as well.
Both were doing well in their careers, and they didn’t need me to contribute to the rent, though they’d insisted to me that they did. I stayed on with them for about a year, Stephanie about to give birth when the opportunity for me to move to England presented itself.
When I graduated college, I thought about coming out to my mother.
One snide comment from her about my single state compared to my lovely friends the Lessands had me slamming the closet door shut at that point, but she took ill right before I left for London, and I did come out to her during that time.
Her devastation and laments about what the family would think of me had me vowing to keep the closet door shut tight.
The only other people I was close to were Martin and Stephanie, and after that I never dreamed of telling them. I never dreamed of telling anyone.
So instead, with their baby on the way and my secret buried along with my mother, I ran away to England.
I had thought I could create a new life in London along with my new job. I purposely didn’t reach out to Martin with my international phone number, and when social media became a thing, I stayed off of it personally, though David insisted my picture show up on his occasionally.
“Whatcha’ contemplating over there?” Austin interrupted my thoughts.
I chuckled, stood up, and turned. He was, of course, staring at me, and the truth, a small part of it at least, found its way out of my mouth as another gust of wind hammered the side of the house and pushed its way through the chimney.
“Social media.”
It was his turn to laugh. “Social media? Trying to decide what to post about being snowed in with me in this picture-perfect cabin?” He pulled out his phone and began typing. “What’s your handle? I can’t find you on …”
I interrupted him. “I’m not on any social media. That’s what I was thinking about. You know, being in the closet and all …”
Austin paused the movie and placed the big plastic bowl on the coffee table.
He patted the couch cushion next to him.
I dropped the firewood prodder back in its stand, watching it settle as I thought about what else to say.
Could I simply sit back down and encourage him to hit play on the movie with an obvious joke about hot superheroes?
One look at the compassion in his eyes, and I knew I could not.
“It seemed safer to just not be on there. I never came out to anyone in the States. Well, anyone except my mum.”
“Mum,” he muttered with a smile. I ignored it.
“Then I got married over there. If you want to spy on me, search for ‘David B.E.E.U.K.’”
“Your ex-husband? You don’t mind?”
“Go on, then,” I said as I took a seat next to him, closer than before since the popcorn had been moved.
“You know you could get me to do anything with that British-not-British accent of yours.”
“I bloody well don’t have …” I scrunched my face up as Austin’s eyes went wide in amusement. “Ahh, shit. Americans don’t use the phrase ‘bloody well,’ do they?”
“No, they bloody well do not,” Austin said before looking down at his screen, which he had been scrolling on throughout our exchange. The smirk on his face could only be described as adorable.
“Your ex seems to be getting around,” he muttered, eyeing me from under long lashes that were illuminated by the light of the screen and the dance of the fire.
I shrugged. “Water under the bridge. Really. Whatever makes him happy. I’m just happy to be home.” He looked at me inscrutably for a moment before taking me at my word with a nod.
His eyes narrowed as he studied his phone. He kept on scrolling until he found what he was looking for. “Here you are! Look how shaggy your hair was!”
I ran my fingers through my much-shorter, much-more-contained locks. “Yeah, he liked it that way.”
He shut his phone and pointed at it. “That was cute and all.” He circled a hand in front of my face. “But this Clark Kent thing you’ve got going on …” He tilted his head and let out a grunted, “Mmm.” The noise shot right to my dick, which I worked very hard to ignore.
“Clark Kent. Yeah, right,” I scoffed before pressing play on the remote to a shot of the god of thunder jumping to the ground, down on one knee. I may have grunted myself.
He rolled his eyes at me before a yawn escaped him. We both focused back on the movie.
There was no longer a barrier between us since he’d moved the popcorn. I struggled to concentrate on the movie and avoid the heat I felt burning between us, doing such a good job of it that I didn’t notice him falling asleep until he slumped and landed on my shoulder.
I gave a small shrug, hoping to wake him up, but to no avail.
That simply made him dig in more, his legs curling up on the couch.
There was nothing I could do but raise my arm and let him ease in.
I had vague memories of my college days and final exams and wasn’t surprised that Austin didn’t make it to the end of the long film.
“Clark Kent.” I shook my head. “As if, sweetheart.” He made an adorable clicking noise in his sleep.
The movie continued, with me sitting there trying to decide whether to wake him up or let him sleep.
I decided on a compromise. I would get up when the movie ended.
If he woke up, great. If he didn’t, I would make him comfortable on the couch for the night.
At the climax of the movie, with explosions firing off and the noise level increasing, I looked down at my old friend’s son. Even that hadn’t woken him.
Without thinking, I whispered to the top of his head, “My family is horrible; that’s why I never came out to them.
Well, I did, to my mother, near the end.
And she called me selfish and a deviant.
And your dad, well, I couldn’t really tell him, could I?
I’m so glad coming out was easy for you.
Everyone deserves that. Maybe you’re right. Maybe I can have that now.”
As if I timed it perfectly, the fighting and explosions ended on screen as I ended my little whispered confession to my sleeping companion.
He snuggled in closer as I moved slowly to reach for the remote.
When I sat back up, his head fell to my lap.
In the same whispered voice, I said, “Okay. Too far.” I slipped out from under him and off the couch, shutting off the TV before clearing the remote, the bottles, and the large bowl from the coffee table.
As quietly as I could, I tamped down the fire.
My actions didn’t wake him, so I found a pillow and a blanket.
I propped the pillow on the arm of the couch, hoping he would find it in his sleep. I draped the blanket over him.
I shut off the lights before tiptoeing to my bedroom loft.
After finishing my nighttime routine, I crawled into my chilly bed, lying flat on my back and pulling the blankets up to my chin.
I should have tried to get more comfortable, but my mind raced, thinking about the man asleep on my couch a floor below me.
Not the son of my best friend, but the future pediatrician, with the explosive smile and the sexy torso.
The first person in the United States I’d ever come out to if you didn’t count my mother and the one hookup I’d found in a bar in Boston when I very first returned from overseas.
The man I would be stuck with—I yanked my phone from the nightstand and checked the weather report—for potentially the next two to three days.
And the only single queer man on the entire continent who was off-limits to me.
I sighed and turned to my side, still clinging to my phone.
I closed my eyes for a few minutes but opened them right back up.
Normally I would get up and work, but I didn’t want to disturb my guest, so I pulled a book up on my phone and read until the words blurred and mixed with images of Hollywood gods and blinding blizzards and charming young men.