11. Ford
Ford
River, the local contractor recommended by the insurance agent, was waiting with a smile at the front door.
He was big and burly, taller than me, with a thick beard and chest hair to match.
It was practically waterfalling out of the top of his half-unbuttoned flannel shirt.
I tried to make my handshake forceful but in his vice-like grip, I felt like a schoolboy.
Even I had to admit, the dude was jacked.
“I tried calling,” he said. “But there was no answer.”
“Sorry about that. Forgot to plug my phone in last night.”
“Not a problem.” He clapped me on the back as if we were old friends, then said, “Why don’t you show me what needs fixin’.
” As we made our way around the side of the house, he said, “You’re not the only one with damage from that storm, you know, but you were the first to call me.
Plus, Yvette said you were nice to her and that’s a big plus in my book. ”
“Are you and Yvette together?” I shouldn't have asked—it was none of my business—but I had a feeling.
“Nah,” he said with a chuckle. “I’m as gay as a tap-dancing hyena. Same year in high school.” He must’ve taken my silence for bigotry. “Is that a problem?”
I shook my head. “N-no. I’m, uh…actually gay—well, kind of, bi—myself.”
“It’s a small world after all,” he said, putting his hands on his hips. “I knew I liked you when we shook hands. It’s nice up here. This area’s pretty queer friendly. Every now and then, I come up here for a skinny-dip with the boys.” He chuckled, nudging my stomach. “Water’s lovely.”
I helped him set up the ladder, then held it in place while he climbed up to take a closer look. With a grace I did not expect from him, he moved around the roof with confidence, climbing down the ladder with ease after about ten minutes.
“Easy peasy,” he said. “Should take only a couple days.”
“Don’t you need to go inside?” I asked.
“Oh, I took a peek under the shorts up there, but sure, we can go take a look. You out here all by yourself?” Before I could answer, he added, “I bet a looker like yourself has some cute young thing twisted around his finger. Am I right?”
“I-I’ve got a friend,” I said.
“A friend! Ooh boy, that’s a loaded statement if I ever heard one. I’ve got a few friends myself.”
Having met him only a short while ago, I already knew two things about River. He was very comfortable with himself, and he loved to laugh. He reminded me of a younger Santa Claus, but with darker hair and more muscle than fluff.
I held the door open for River and a few seconds later, heard him say, “Holy buckets!”
As I entered the kitchen a few steps behind, I saw what he had seen. A shirtless Dylan on all fours wearing a pair of gym shorts so teensy, the strap of his jock was peeking out the bottom.
“I spilled the milk.”
“This must be the friend,” River said, walking forward with his hand extended.
Dylan pushed up onto his knees and held one hand out to shake River’s hand, then cocked his head as his eyes bored straight into mine. “Friend?”
What the fuck was I supposed to say?
“Let me help you with that,” River said, grabbing the roll of paper towels off the counter and joining Dylan on the floor. I stood there like a cold fish, frozen by fear. “No use crying over spilled milk.”
More chuckling.
"Don't get a lot of your type out here." River’s voice was thick with rustic charm. His eyes lingered, executing a slow, appreciative sweep of Dylan’s body from his soft hair down to his bare feet.
Dylan raised an eyebrow, a slight smile playing on his lips. After a quick glance up at me, he asked, "My type?"
"Yeah.” River stood up and grinned, a flash of white teeth in his bushy beard, offering a hand to help Dylan off the floor. “Sexy ass twinks."
Sexy ass twinks.
River’s words felt like a violation. A possessive fire ignited in my gut, spiralling up through my body. Sweat broke out on my forehead, and my hands clenched instinctively.
Dylan seemed to be enjoying the attention. I watched him tilt his head with a playful smirk and lean against the counter with his arms crossed.
"Oh yeah?" Dylan’s voice was soft and smooth, like a fucking purr, as he flirted back. "And what makes you say that?"
I watched, my jaw clenching, as River smiled, a not-so-subtle dance of attraction. A tale of two charmers. Jealousy, raw and fierce, consumed me, twisting me stomach into knots, and I gave zero fucks if it was obvious.
I wanted them to know.
I stepped closer to them, trying to interrupt the vibe, subtly asserting that this was my territory without being overtly rude. "River, why don’t we go look at the damage inside?” I asked. My tone was harsh, my voice clipped, but I didn’t care.
“Oh? Are you two going to look at my hole?”
River choked on his own spit, coughing and wheezing until he caught his breath. Dylan handed him a glass of water and apologized, explaining, “It’s my bedroom that was damaged.”
River hadn’t moved, accepting the glass and taking a sip. “Thank you.” He seemed to remember I was standing there with them because he finally acknowledged me with a question. “You fellas stay up here often?”
"Dylan's just here for the summer," I said, the words coming out more possessive than I intended. "He's helping me with the cabin."
Dylan shot me a quick glance, a flicker of something flared in his expression. It was hard to tell if he was annoyed or amused. I wanted so badly to say something, to do something, but now wasn’t the time.
He returned his attention to River. "It's a beautiful cabin, though. Perfect for getting away from…everything." He let the last word hang in the air, a subtle invitation.
"It is that," River agreed, his eyes still fixed on Dylan. "Lots of beautiful things up here. You know…if you ever need company." He winked.
That was it. I couldn't stand it anymore. Even the subtle suggestion that Dylan was available to another man had me seeing red. Everything about this scenario felt like a direct challenge to my desires, and I couldn’t tell which way Dylan wanted things to go, which made it even worse.
The mixture of anger at the situation and embarrassment at how much of an ass I knew I was being fought inside me for dominance. But the thought of it, of anyone else looking at him like that, talking to him like that, made my heart race.
Anger won.
"River," I said, my voice sharper this time, cutting through the easy banter. "Time is money. Let’s go look at the interior and then you can give me a concrete timeline."
River finally tore his attention away from Dylan, his smile fading slightly as he registered my current mood. "Right, right. Of course, Ford. Lead the way."
“After you.” I motioned to him before following behind. When Dylan stepped forward to come with us, I reined back my anger and in as gentle a voice I could manage said, “Please stay here.”
Again, our eyes met, and despite the almost-tender tone in my request, he knew—with just one look—how close I was to the edge, the imperceptible shift in my posture, the tightening of my jaw.
Without a word, he nodded and returned to leaning against the counter. I imagined he was torn between a perverse satisfaction at my overreaction, and what I hoped to be true, a genuine discomfort with River’s flirtations and a desire for me to end the situation.
In the moment, I chose words, even though my body wanted action.
Seeing the tremble in his lips made it that much harder to leave the room, but the sooner River was done looking at the damage, the sooner he would leave.
River was busy looking at the ceiling, taking photos, and scribbling notes when I joined him. As soon as he realized we were alone, he leaned in conspiratorially and said, “Friends, my ass.”
I wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but he must’ve seen my expression because he continued.
“Ford, my friend, I have a feeling you’ll be thanking me when I return. If your feelings for each other were unclear before today, I don’t think they are anymore.”
“Y-yeah.”
“You better do something about it, handsome, before someone not as nice as me comes along and snatches that little snack right off your plate.”
“Y-you’re helping me?”
The howl of laughter that erupted from River made me almost jump across the room. Another clap on the back, followed by a hearty squeeze. “He likes you,” he whispered. “He knew what he was doing when he flirted with me. Trust me.”
How could a relative stranger see something so easily? I had been trying to figure out Dylan’s feelings for weeks.
"So, what do you think, Ford?" River asked, raising his voice as he made his way back into the kitchen. "Me and my crew could probably start at the beginning of next week. Rainbow Beams should have everything we need."
“Rainbow Beams?” I asked.
“Local gay-owned lumber yard. It’s where I get all my wood.”
Even I had to laugh a little at that comment. “That sounds good,” I said, my tone lighter, as I tried to process that River had been performing to…help us?
That was all well and good, but one glance at Dylan, who had finally looked at me, told me nothing. His expression was unreadable.
As River left, the cabin settled into an uneasy quiet.
“Ready for some breakfast?” I asked.
“I’m not hungry,” Dylan said. “I think I’m going to go for a walk.”
“Oh”—I knew I had fucked up—“okay.”
Without a backwards glance, Dylan was out the door, and I was alone.
The impulse to go after him had been strong, an aching need to fix what I might have broken. Hours ticked by, each one falling like a domino, pushing me to abandon the cabin and search for him. But if I left, I reasoned, I might miss his return.
I had opened the door countless times only to falter on the porch, over and over. A few hours into the cycle of indecisiveness, I finally thought about calling him. The ringtone of an unknown pop song echoing from upstairs was a punch to the gut, confirming my worst fears.
He had taken nothing with him, and I was left with nothing but silence and regret.
It was almost dark when I heard the footsteps. My heart leapt into my throat.
“Dylan?!” I ran to the door.
Framed against the fading light, he looked utterly ravaged.
His shorts were dirty, streaked with dirt and mud.
His hair was plastered to his forehead, and his face.
..his face was a tear-streaked mess, eyes red and swollen, a clear track of pale skin cut through the grime on his cheek. He looked like he'd been through hell.
He didn't speak, just stumbled into the kitchen, his shoulders slumped. Almost defeated, he sank into the closest chair, burying his face in his hands. His shoulders shook with silent sobs.
I knelt beside him, hesitating for a moment before gently placing a hand on his trembling back. "Please talk to me, Dylan."
He shook his head, unable to speak, his sobs wracking his slender frame. I didn't push. My mind raced, trying to figure out what he needed.
Food.
He must be starving…and cold.
Mac and cheese would be quick. I filled a pot with water and put it on the stove, then filled a glass with some milk from the fridge. By the time I offered it to him, his sobs had lessened to quiet sniffles and he accepted the glass with a quiet “Thank you.”
After seeing his tear-stained face again, so close, a fresh wave of guilt washed over me. I cleared my throat, forcing myself to speak the words that had been nagging at me since River left. "Dylan, I…I need to apologize."
He looked up, surprised. "For what?"
"Earlier," I said, taking the seat next to him, and clasped my hands on the table.
"With River. My reaction, the things I said. I was…out of line. I was jealous. I was possessive. I wasn’t being fair to you.
I should never have acted like that." I squeezed one hand with the other, looking back up at him. "I'm truly sorry."
He studied my face for a moment, his expression neutral, before a faint smile touched his lips.
"It's okay," he said softly, reaching out for my hand, which I let him take. “I was overwhelmed with feelings. I shouldn’t have run off either. I’m sorry to have worried you. I just…it’s just I’ve been throwing myself at you lately, trying to see if you felt the same way and nothing.
Then this big bearded man shows interest in me and then that’s when your brain wakes up! ”
Wait…what?
“You’ve been throwing yourself at me?”
“Uh, yeah. ” He threw his hands in the air. “I figured my ass grinding against your hard cock this morning was pretty clear.” His expression said it all.
How could I have been so dense?
The water boiled over, hissing as it hit the burner.
“Shit!” I forgot I had even turned the stove on.
Before I could dump the macaroni in the pot, Dylan’s chair scraped the floor.
“I’m gonna take a shower. I’ll be back down in a few minutes.”
“Okay.” I nodded, watching as he headed upstairs.