Page 50 of Carver’s Craving

“Okay. So you can certainly call him in the morning. The other big shop—that could handle a van repair—is MATH. It’s run by a fantastic group of women. I think—” I squinted. “If I’m not mistaken, Holly does the scheduling. Anyway, whoever answers the phone will be able to help. I don’t think there’s a mechanic’s privilege or anything.” I tried for a smile.

Styx frowned.

“Like attorney/client privilege. Sorry—trying to make a joke.”

“Sure.” He did give me a small smile. “I’ll make those calls in the morning.”

“And if nothing comes of it, then you can call the police. The worst they can say is that you’re too early and then give you a time frame of when you can make a report. Regardless, they’ll have your concern on record.” I swallowed. “If something happened to Baxter, and he turns up—” In the hospital or dead. “—then they’ll know who to contact.

“Good idea.” He pressed his hand over mine. “You always were way smarter than me.”

“Hey!” I scowled. “You’re the one who thought about calling the police. So that’s all you. I’m just throwing out a few suggestions. You could also call the two hotels and the two motels in town. Now, I don’t know if they’d give you information—but you could leave your name. Of course if he rented a short-term place, or hunkered down with someone like you have, he’d be much harder to find.”

Styx frowned. “That’s what I was thinking. I just can’t figure out where he’s gone. I mean, unless he had money I didn’t know about—which is possible, of course—then tracking him down’s going to be tough. I need him to fucking call.”

Slowly, I turned my hand so I could clasp his. “He might still do that. At the very least, you need to get your guitar back. I mean unless you don’t intend to play—”

“Oh no.” He shook his head. “Don’t even suggest that. Well, if Baxter doesn’t want to play again, that’s one thing. We’d talked about finding another drummer in Vancouver. But even if he bails on me and wants nothing to do with me—I still plan to keep playing. I have two solo songs where I played acoustic unaccompanied.”

“I remember.” Two of my favorite songs in the whole wide world. I’d heard plenty of music in my time—yet nothing had touched me like those two songs. He needs a guitar. I smiled. “Okay…so you’ve got something to do tomorrow.”

“Yep.” He returned the smile.

We still held hands.

I gestured to the remote.

He hit play.

We didn’t let go of our grip until the time came to take the dogs out. And that memory of his hands stayed with me well after I got into bed—thinking about how damn much I wished more body parts had been in contact.

Chapter Fourteen

Styx

At the ass crack of dawn, I’d wished Carver a good day at work. Well, not even dawn as the sun hadn’t yet risen. I’d taken care of the dogs with great love. I’d also gone back to bed. Ostensibly for a nap. More to try to deal with my mixed emotions.

Trying to sort everything out was proving challenging.

First—I’d always found Carver attractive, but the time had never been right for us to hook up, and I hadn’t imagined he shared my interest. Okay. That attraction was still alive and stronger than ever. So…he was older than me. Was he supposed to make the first move? We were in his house. If I made a move on him would that be disrespectful? Would he kick me out?

More interestingly—how would he respond? Might I get lucky and actually have sex?

Which looped me back to the hookup app.

I hadn’t searched to see if Charles was back on the app. Whether he’d be up for a repeat. And I didn’t want to. Yes, it’d been one of the best—if not the best—nights of my life. That was purely physical…right? We hadn’t talked beyond the necessities of the hookup. We certainly hadn’t shared secrets, dreams, and aspirations. Or pains and disappointments. That connection had been just on a visceral level. Sex. Amazing sex, certainly, but just sex.

If I ventured to risk what I had with Carver to take it to the next level, would it also just be sex? Just scratching an itch. Just finding a way to cope with cabin fever? Or might I find some of the connection that I’d missed in the last eighteen months? Hell, maybe the entire last ten years since I’d started giving and receiving blow jobs. I’d moved to sex pretty quickly because I’d been comfortable with my sexuality—I was gay. I owned it.

My mom’s reaction was the most…over the top. She despaired of ever having grandchildren. Me trying to argue that Canada’d had gay marriage for more than ten years at that point—and that plenty of gay couples adopted—had fallen on deaf ears. Just a way of disappointing her.

Dad had been more muted in his disapproval. At that point, he still believed I’d join his construction firm. Barry and Donnie had been a little squigged out—having a gay younger brother. Neither gave me shit, though, and I appreciated— Oof!

“Hey, Poppin.” I grinned as she removed her foot from my stomach, climbed over me—narrowly missing my balls with her back paw—and settled on my chest. “It’s a good thing you’re so tiny.” Still a weight pressing down on my sternum. A reassuring weight. “Oh crap. Does Walter need something?” I shifted Poppin off me, rose from the bed, and hotfooted it into the great room. Odds were, Walter wouldn’t get off the couch to come and find me if something was wrong. I could totally see Poppin doing that, though.

Walter snoozed on the couch—his little chest rising and falling.

I eyed Poppin, who’d followed me from the bedroom.