Chapter 14 #2
It was the middle of the night—closer to dawn now—and neither of them had slept.
They’d come downstairs after their first round to feed the dogs and feed themselves, laughing at the half-gutted pumpkin on the counter as they’d assembled sandwiches for lunch.
They’d abandoned it after Ryland had pumpkined Dabbs’ eye, but Ryland was heading home in a few hours, and he didn’t want to leave a mess for Dabbs.
After lunch, they’d showered and taken the dogs to the dog park, ensuring they were sufficiently tired and wouldn’t bother Ryland and Dabbs during their second round.
Dinner, a third round, another shower. They’d caught the end of the Columbus versus Colorado game, where Columbus had won in overtime.
Blow jobs on the couch, a snack, and then they’d finally finished gutting the pumpkin.
Given the hour, Ryland should’ve been dead on his feet. But the past sixteen hours had been a whirlwind of sex and food, and he was as energized as he was before a game. And with his flight looming, he wanted to milk every second with Dabbs that he could get.
He glanced over at Dabbs and—
“No. Uh-uh. No way.” He pointed at the new word on the Scrabble board on the end of the counter. “There’s no way that’s a word.”
Dabbs grinned at him, sending Ryland’s emotions haywire.
“I seem to remember you saying the same thing a couple of days ago.”
“Okay, but this actually isn’t a word.”
Dabbs waggled his eyebrows and grabbed the block of cheese. “Look it up.”
Grumbling, Ryland typed S-P-I-N-E-L into the online Scrabble dictionary.
Congratulations. This is an official Scrabble word.
“Seriously?” He googled it next. “A gemstone? It’s a gemstone. How do you know that?”
“I . . . Actually, I’m not sure. I just do.”
“You just do.” Ryland set his phone aside, leaned over the counter, and dropped a quick kiss on Dabbs’ mouth. “Of course you do.”
“I’d never heard the word becquerel until you said it to me, if that makes you feel better.”
Ryland nodded. “You know, it does.” He contemplated his tiles, cursing at his selection, and added a g and e to an existing t.
“Get?” Dabbs said. “Again? We need to expand your Scrabble vocabulary.”
Ryland laughed. “Fuck you.” He waved his pencil at the pumpkin. “What do you think?”
Dabbs looked at it. “No horns?”
“No horns,” Ryland confirmed. “Not that it looks much like Bellamy anyway.”
“It just looks like a happy face. Here.” Dabbs slid the plate of apples and cheese across the counter. “Have a snack before you start carving.”
“Thank—oh hi, there.” Minnie, Bellamy’s kitten, sat at Ryland’s feet. “Have you finally decided to say hi? I’ve been here several days already, you know.” He crouched to offer her his hand.
She bolted.
“That was short-lived.”
“She isn’t a social creature,” Dabbs said.
He played a word on the Scrabble board. Ryland was half afraid to look at what it was.
And speaking of words . . .
“I noticed a book on the shelf in your room,” he said to Dabbs, munching on an apple. “Actually, I saw multiple editions of the same series.”
Dabbs nodded. “The Jerry Wallace series by Reginald P. Stokes. My fourth-grade teacher gifted me with Jerry Wallace’s Wild Adventure—the first book in the series.
I’m not sure why; if she told me, I’ve forgotten.
Anyway, I fell in love with it, and I remember being so bummed that my school library didn’t have the rest of the series.
And then, two weeks later, they did.” The joy of discovering those books was plastered all over Dabbs’ face.
“Books were my way of escaping. But I never would’ve known that if my teacher hadn’t given me that book. ”
That explained why Dabbs had written a series of books for middle-grade readers—the same age he’d been when he’d discovered his love of reading. He wanted to give other kids the same escape he’d enjoyed. “And that’s why you have multiple editions of that series on your shelf.”
“Yeah,” Dabbs said, running a palm over his jaw.
“Those books were my safety net. They hold a special place in my heart. The author’s UK publisher did a special edition print run a few years ago to celebrate its thirtieth anniversary, but I didn’t know about it until it was too late, and they sold out before I could buy it. ”
“That sucks.”
“It does, but the copy my teacher gave me is my most read copy. My favorite of all of them because it was the original. The first book that made me fall in love with reading. You know?”
“I don’t,” Ryland said, leaning his arms on the counter across from Dabbs as they munched on their snack.
“At least, not as it relates to books. I enjoy reading, but I didn’t have the same experience with it you did.
Your first book was my bicycle, the one my dad got me for my sixth birthday.
” He let out a little laugh. “Man, I went everywhere on that thing. This was pre-helicopter parenting. My dad would send me, Jason, and Brie out to play with our friends, and we’d come back when we were hungry if someone else’s parents didn’t feed us first. That bike was my lifeline.
It let me get out of the house after my parents divorced and get away from . . . everything.”
“Do you still have that bike?”
“I did for a long time, but I gave it to my niece last year after fixing it up. Figured someone other than me should enjoy the freedom it gave me.” Straightening, Ryland snagged the last apple slice. “Tell me: which of these knives is good for pumpkin carving?”
Dabbs came around the counter, deposited the plate and paring knife in the sink, and eyed the butcher block. “Beats me. I’ve never done it. A sharp one?”
“A sharp one,” Ryland repeated, trying not to laugh. “A sharp one, he says.” Ryland kissed him. “You’re cute.”
“Cute?” Dabbs raised an eyebrow. “That wasn’t what you said a couple hours ago. You said, and I quote, ‘Your cock is amazing, holy shit.’”
“You can be cute and have an amazing cock. Both things can be true. Although . . . ” Twining his arms around Dabbs’ neck, Ryland stood on his toes to whisper against his lips. “Maybe you should remind me of why I said that in the first place.”
“Gladly,” Dabbs said, already pushing Ryland’s sweatpants down.
The pumpkin didn’t get carved until later.