Charlie shrugged. “In the blink of an eye, everything became clear to me. The man I thought would be my home, my life, no longer had a place in it. Since my luggage from my trip was sitting by the door, I went back, picked it up, and caught a cab to the airport, where I retrieved the ticket, and here I am.”
“Did you ever talk to him again?”
“He called me about a week later when I didn’t come back after the tour. He acted all worried, said he missed me terribly and thought something had happened. I asked if that came before or after Scott fucked him. He didn’t say anything for a few moments. Then he told me he had needed Scott because I was always busy and never had time for him. I was either writing or on tour, and it didn’t seem like he was important in my life. Scott was there for him when I wasn’t.”
“It wasn’t your fault!” I shouted, then covered my mouth.
Charlie gave me a grin. “Wow, you’re a tiger, aren’t you?” He looked down at our hands, then back at me. “I never thought it was my fault. Mitch had been invited to come along on the trips but always said he had other things to do. It wasn’t like he couldn’t take time off. I make good money, so he didn’t need to work. He kept the condo clean, did the shopping, and things like that. It took me a year of being here to realize that we hadn’t been lovers so much as client and cleaning boy. With the blessing of distance, I found that the feelings I thought I had, I’d overromanticized in my head. The other curse of writing, you know.”
I didn’t. I had no idea what to say to him to make it better. I couldn’t even be sure that was possible. “I’m sorry,” I said sincerely.
He sat back and grinned at me. I immediately regretted the loss of contact, which seemed weird to me. “Nothing to be sorry for, I promise. Originally I thought being here would just be a vacation. I figured I’d pull myself back together, then return to New York and carry on with my life there. But this place has a way of getting a grip on you. Most people don’t seem to have a problem with me being gay, though there was a couple who approached me in the restaurant to assure me they didn’t care as long as I didn’t flaunt it. Oh, did I mention they were holding hands at the time?”
A very inelegant snort burst from me that had Charlie quirking a brow, then laughing so loud the birds scattered from the trees. My gaze went to the horizon, where I could see the long shadows creeping up. I hadn’t realized it had gotten so late. Charlie must have noticed where I was looking, because he stood.
“I’m sorry to have kept you from your yard work. It’s been a while since I had such a nice conversation.”
I wanted to tell him to stay. I didn’t want him to stop talking. But he had a life in town that I couldn’t be a part of. “Thank you for coming by. I’m sorry you had to stop your run.”
He waved a hand dismissively. “I run every day. I can afford to take a break.” He looked down at his shuffling feet. “Do you think maybe I could come back tomorrow? I’d really like… more lemonade.”
His innocent expression had me chuckling. “Yeah, I’ll have to make some more, but I’ll save you some.”
“Sounds great. I’ll even bring some supplies to fix your door, if you want.”
Shock coursed through me. Usually I was so anal about everything, but I hadn’t even thought about the door since we started talking. My hands shook a little at the realization that my routine had been disrupted and it hadn’t bothered me as much as I thought it would.
In fact, I hadn’t even given it a thought while Charlie was here. He occupied my mind and engaged me in spirited conversation. I actually enjoyed talking to him.
I should have known it wouldn’t last.
THAT NIGHTas I lay in bed, I reached down and touched my cock. I gave it a few tentative strokes, wanting to see if maybe it would do what a dick should do. It didn’t. It sat there, flaccid, as it usually did. I tried picturing Charlie in my mind. His body, his voice, his smile. Still nothing. Frustrated, I rolled over, punched my pillow a few times, and tried to sleep. Instead I ran our conversation over and over in my head. He had somehow slipped past my defenses, made me enjoy spending time with him, luxuriating in his attention. His voice, deep and sultry, held me spellbound. I could understand why people came to see him read.
That set me off on another tangent. What would he be like in his element? Sitting in front of an audience, holding court. He’d already admitted he had issues with panic attacks, but obviously they hadn’t prevented him from doing his job. I let my imagination wander, picturing myself in a bookstore when Charlie strode in, smooth and confident. He’d smile at me and take a seat. He’d toss out a few quips to get the audience ready, but his attention never wavered from me. When he read, the words were meant for me alone. He captured me with nothing more than the sound of his voice, which kept me mesmerized as he told his story. It didn’t matter what he read, though. Only that he didn’t stop.
I let my fingers drift down my stomach and through my pubic thatch until I reached my cock, which stood up tall and proud. I wrapped my fingers around the straining shaft, the memory of how good it felt coming back to me.
Then everything went haywire. I heard a noise outside, remembered the door, and realized I wasn’t safe. Anyone could walk into my house. I knew how ludicrous it sounded, because other than the deliveries for the things I ordered online, and Charlie now running the road, no one had come onto my property in years. But in my excitement, Mr. Jackson’s image loomed large in my mind, half-remembered nightmares that woke me in a cold sweat reminding me I wasn’t truly safe. I could picture the lock, and the fear reared up, threatened to consume me. My erection wilted, gone like snow under the summer sun. I bolted out of bed, dressed, and went to the door.
My brother and Charlie had done a number on the damn thing. While I’d purchased the sturdiest bolt I could find, which stayed in one piece, the door had been another matter entirely. Splintered wood stood up from where the lock had been. I grabbed my tools from the closet and set to trying to repair the damage. Of course the whole thing turned out to be futile. There would be no fixing this mess. I’d ordered the new one, but it would still be days before it showed up. My heart seized at thoughts I couldn’t control. Mr. Jackson was no longer in prison. Clay had said he’d moved to Alabama, but what if he’d come back? He could be outside, hiding in the dark. What would I do if he were there? Panic began to well up inside me.
Staying alone in the house, unprotected, had me rushing around, touching all of my things. I had been self-sufficient for years, never needing anyone for anything. I prided myself on my independence. I’d been a modern-day version of Sam Gribley. Now? My gut churned at the thought someone could come into my house.
I hurried back into the bedroom and grabbed my phone from the nightstand. I hated that I needed to do this, but in this case, fear had become the perfect motivation. My hands shook so hard I couldn’t be sure I had even dialed the right number until a gruff voice, rough from sleep, answered with a snarled, “Hello?”
“Clay?” I asked, even though I knew it was him. “Clay, please. I need you.” I couldn’t keep the quiver from my voice.
And immediately he was awake. “Where are you? What’s wrong?”
“My door is broken,” I sobbed.
Clay growled his reply. “Yeah, I said I was sorry.”
“No,” I whispered, squeezing my eyes shut. “I’m alone and… I’m afraid.”
Terrified would be more appropriate. I could see shadows outside, and every one of them reached for me, wanted to grab me.
“Matt?” He sounded concerned, but also authoritative. “Listen to me. I’m on my way, okay? Just stay there and I’ll get to you in fifteen minutes.”
