Chapter 10
Chapter
Ten
“Don’t you dare think about coming in and working tomorrow,” Laurel said as she locked the saloon’s back door. “Paddy’s on the schedule, and maybe he can’t toss a bottle and catch it behind his back, but he makes a mean Rusty Nail that patrons love. Take a damn day off.”
Iggy chuckled softly at the big-sisterly way she issued orders.
Patrick “Paddy” Silvero was a part-time bartender who was taking business classes at CSU, and he typically worked Sunday through Tuesday, to give Laurel and Uncle Howie rotating days off.
He’d never met Paddy, but Uncle Howie had hired him and worked around his college schedule, so he had to be decent people.
“Okay, fine, I’ll take the day off,” Iggy relented. “I need to make sure the trailer is clean and ready for if Uncle Howie comes home Monday. Not that it’ll take a whole day. It’s a single-wide, not a McMansion, but I bet the place hasn’t been thoroughly scrubbed in years.”
“Probably not.” She headed for her car. “Take it easy, Iggy. Give Howie a hug for me, if he’ll let you.”
“Night, Laurel.”
He waited until her vehicle turned the corner of the saloon and the sound of the engine faded.
The porchlight shined, and Iggy walked toward it like a moth, positive he’d seen a Malcolm-shaped shadow move behind the window curtain.
Desire and anxiety clashed in Iggy’s gut, and left him off-balance as he ascended the ramp.
The storm door opened before he could reach for the screen door. Malcolm grinned at him. “Hi, honey, how was your day?”
Iggy rolled his eyes but amusement helped dispel some of his nerves, and he went inside. Malcolm immediately held out a glass with dark red wine in it. Iggy took it and sniffed. Bitter and strong. “Where did you find wine?”
“I bought a bottle from Laurel earlier. Howie keeps a basic stock of house red and white to appease the fussy drinkers.”
“Yeah, appease is doing a lot of work in that sentence.” He took a polite sip. Drinkable but—“Well, it’s better than a fruit wine.”
“Herb Ertlinger would be offended by that.”
“Who—oh. Wait, you’ve seen Schitt’s Creek?”
“Several times. Melissa and Amy are obsessed with the show, and last year they insisted I join them for their bi-annual re-watch. Kind of gives you hope, huh?”
“That you have good taste in Canadian TV shows?”
“Obviously but no.” Malcolm swirled his own wine around in the glass, his cheeks darkening. “That David Rose lost everything he had, re-learned everything he thought true about himself, and he still found his happily ever after with an amazing guy.”
“Yeah.” Iggy wasn’t sure he could pull a David Rose and be happy putting down roots in a small town for the man he loved, but it was a lovely dream.
A kind of love to aspire to one day. “Maybe we should introduce Howie to the show while he’s home convalescing.
I bet he’d get a kick out it. Although, I don’t think he has any sort of streaming device. ”
Malcolm gently steered him toward the sofa, and they sat close together. The movement shut up Iggy’s rambling, and he sipped more of the wine, unsure what he wanted now that they were alone again. A tremor shot through his belly and made his leg shake.
“Hey, I’m not gonna maul you,” Malcolm said softly. “I just wanna spend time with you.”
“I’m not scared of you, Monte. I did say you could come over, and I don’t want you to think I’m leading you on.”
“I don’t. I like that we’re feeling each other out, instead of feeling each other up.”
Iggy snorted and nearly upset his wine. “Damn, you have matured.”
“Iggs, when we first got together, we went zero to a hundred really fast, and that was great. But we aren’t horny teenagers anymore, working with more hormones than brain cells. We’re adults with baggage and experience, and I don’t mind us taking this slow. Because I know you aren’t teasing me.”
“There’s a lot of baggage.”
“Yeah, there is. Too much to unpack in one weekend. So, let’s just drink our wine and fall asleep together, and then have brunch in the morning. That okay?”
Iggy melted a little inside. Malcolm had every right to demand they talk about high school, to clear the air of the thing neither of them wanted to name, like they’d summon Candyman if they did. But Malcolm wasn’t pushing, wasn’t clouding a tender moment with ghosts or old regrets.
He did not deserve this man, this sweet, sweet man, but Iggy would hold on tight while he could. “That sounds perfect to me.”
They made up the sofa bed, then climbed on and snuggled up with Iggy’s laptop and their wine.
If Iggy drank more than what was in his glass, he’d probably pass out.
They cruised YouTube for a while, searching for funny compilations, nonsense to keep the mood light.
Iggy began nodding off with his head on Malcolm’s shoulder, and he briefly woke long enough to stretch out.
To roll onto his side and nestle backward when Malcolm curled around him from behind. “Need to clean tomorrow,” Iggy mumbled into the pillow.
“Clean as in a shower? Is this a participation plan?”
“Clean the trailer. Participate, please.”
Malcolm kissed the side of his jaw. “I’ll clean every house in Chance if it means spending time with you.”
“Promise?”
But Iggy drifted off before he heard Malcolm’s reply.
Malcolm woke Sunday morning much like he had the previous day: draped over Iggy, snuggled so close he was breathing on Iggy’s neck, with raging morning wood he tried to keep at a polite distance from Iggy’s ass.
It was almost perfect. He inhaled a deep, comfortable breath, and released it slowly. Sure enough, it woke Iggy.
Iggy’s entire body tensed tight and then relaxed on a long breath that reminded Malcolm of better times. Long-ago sleepovers. The familiar way Iggy pulled his body inward to stretch, instead of extending his limbs or wiggling his toes.
“Morning,” Malcolm said. He brushed his lips across the side of Iggy’s neck, loving the way his skin pebbled. “A guy could get used to this.”
Iggy made a noise that could have been a soft, “Yeah,” but he wasn’t sure.
“Sleep okay?”
“I did.” Iggy twisted around to face him in a mirror of yesterday, their heads close while their groins stayed separate. “It’s nice sharing my bed with someone again.”
Malcolm made an exaggerated face of disappointment. “Just with someone? I could be the guy who picks up empty bottles along the highway?”
“Depends on how much money those bottles will make in deposit returns.”
“Ah, there’s the bartender I know and love.” The words slipped out with zero forethought, and Malcolm’s insides went both cold and hot. He fought to keep his face frozen in its lazy smile, and not allow his panic to show.
Iggy blinked sleepily at him, showing no signs of agitation or of pulling away, not like Malcolm expected.
Iggy was so goddamn guarded most of the time.
And maybe it wasn’t romantic love that Malcolm felt—not yet, anyway, not like when they were teens—but he still loved Iggy on a very instinctive level. Probably always had and always would.
Iggy was his first love.
He also understood that he wanted to find romantic love again. To break down Iggy’s walls and see what they could have together. And the fact that Iggy hadn’t created an excuse to flee their bed after Malcolm dropped the l-word?
It gave him hope Iggy felt the same way.
“It isn’t just the bartender in me,” Iggy said.
“I remember a foster home when I was…maybe nine? Eight? Something like that, and I’d go out with two other kids in the house to collect recyclables.
Cans and bottles and scrap metal we could get a little money for, so we could buy bubble gum and comic books.
” His gaze went distant, thoughtful. “I’d forgotten about that, actually. ”
Malcolm ran his palm down Iggy’s upper arm to his elbow. “You told me once that you chose to forget a lot of your childhood, because it was safer that way.”
“I did. Guess that means I feel safe with you.”
“I’m glad. I want you to feel safe with me. I don’t wanna hurt you ever again, Iggs, not ever. Not hurt, not push, not scare, none of those things. Do you believe me?”
“Yes.” He leaned in and gently pressed his lips to Malcolm’s. The kiss was brief but full of meaning, and it took all of Malcolm’s restraint not to topple Iggy onto his back and attack his mouth. Iggy might go with it in the moment, but Malcolm was positive he’d regret it afterward.
“I’d offer to go make us coffee, but I don’t know where Howie hides the machine,” Malcolm said after a few moments of comfortable silence.
Iggy wrinkled his nose. “He doesn’t have one.
I found three jars of Sanka on a shelf, and since I already wanted to make a trip to Walmart for some cleaning supplies, I’m going to buy a small coffeepot.
For now, you want to get dressed and go use the one Uncle Howie keeps in the saloon’s break room? ”
“The saloon has a break room?”
Turned out, the staff’s break room and the green room where musical guests or other performers waited their turn, was one and the same.
After they took turns showering, Iggy led him through the saloon’s back door.
Going inside in the early morning, while everything around them was quiet, the town seemingly still asleep, felt as illicit as the one time they both sneaked in to steal booze.
The back door led into the building’s south side, past the office and straight into the kitchen area.
They went out onto the dark main floor, which was eerie and echoed terribly when empty.
Malcolm gazed around, eyes adjusting to light from the front windows and a few of the lit beer signs that never went off, amazed at how huge the space actually was. Upside-down stools lined the bar top.