Secrets and Charms Page 8

  “Okay!” Olly replied eagerly.

  Rich dug around the boxes till he found the duffel bag containing his riding gear. He tossed the spare helmet and the jacket to Olly. “Put those on.”

  “Leather? It’ll be too hot.”

  “Not when we’re moving. Put it on.” As expected, the jacket hung loose on Olly—he looked like a kid in hand-me-downs. Rich unzipped a couple of front panels, revealing a mesh over the upper chest and the under-arm areas. “There. Happy?”

  “Yup. You got a whole fetish set there.” Olly surveyed the rest of the gear.

  “Not fetish. Protection.” Rich decided against the pants and boots—he didn’t plan on going far, after all—but put the gloves on. “Let’s go.” He had to open the big garage door to roll the bike out to the driveway. Out in the sun, Shadow looked even more glorious. He hopped on and waited for Olly to climb behind him. “Hold on firm and move with me. No sudden movements.”

  Olly gave a thumbs-up and wrapped his arms around Rich.

  The ride was nothing like being out on the open road, but the small streets he stuck to had little traffic and wound up and down the hills. Being on a bike was a world of difference from cars. You could feel the road, the speed, the machine thrumming between your legs. You were not a passenger in a metal box; the bike became an extension of your body, and zipping down the road felt like flying. It was the closest Rich had ever felt to freedom. Olly pressed against his back, and his hands on his ribs didn’t diminish the sensation one bit. If anything, Rich experienced a moment of pride hearing Olly hoot on a tight curve. He ended up riding around twice as long as he’d planned, but he had to go back to the house eventually.

  Chapter Seven

  Olly stumbled getting off the bike in the driveway. “Whoops, my legs have gone wobbly,” he announced and began to fumble with his helmet. He got it off at last and shook his head. Rich had to fight the urge to smooth his messy mop down for him.

  Rich tossed his gloves into his own helmet and marched up to the front door. He needed a cold drink of water, or maybe something stronger.

  Olly clambered after Rich, chattering. “Oh my God, it was awesome. We should do this up in the mountains—it would be rad.” They barely got inside when he pushed his helmet at Rich. “Hey, hold this.”

  Rich turned and watched Olly struggle out of the jacket, fingers trembling on the zipper, face flushed from excitement. As Olly pushed the jacket off, the too-small T-shirt rode up, flashing his tattoo.

  At the sight of blue tentacles coiling from under the jeans, something inside Rich snapped. The helmets thunked on the floor as they slipped from his grasp. An emotion as powerful but different from anger engulfed him. Want. He wanted to touch, feel, devour. He wanted Olly with every desperate pore of his body.

  Olly froze, eyes huge, locking with his. Rich seized Olly by the hips, shoving Olly back against the door. Impelled by the mad thrumming of his heart, he pressed his lips on Olly’s before either of them could utter a word. It was the point of no return—he was kissing another man, and not only that, but was getting turned on by it. Every wet, squirming second of their tongues and lips pressing together made him harder. He pushed his thigh between Olly’s legs, and, taking hold of Olly’s buttocks, he pulled Olly tighter and swallowed Olly’s moan.

  Far from being passive, Olly responded to Rich’s assault in kind. Digging his hands under Rich’s shirt, he raked his fingers along Rich’s back—slowly along the spine and none too softly. He canted his hips and pressed his crotch harder against Rich’s thigh. He groaned again and scrabbled at Rich’s belt.

  An image danced in Rich’s head: coils of blue tentacles and blond hair. He had to see them and touch them. Breaking the kiss, he dropped to his knees, and with shaking fingers, he undid Olly’s jeans. To his surprise, Olly wore no underwear. The inked monster was all dark, swirling limbs in stark contrast to the pale skin.

  Olly’s pubes were ash blond, and his cock jutted from its nest, slender with a pink head. A pearl of pre-come glistened on the tip. Rich tasted it experimentally. Salty. He took more into his mouth, and his eyes drifted close. He felt the same pangs of guilty pleasure as when he’d first discovered the joys of masturbation but, like then, he couldn’t stop. He tried to take in even more, but he choked and had to pull back.

  “Would be easier in bed,” Olly suggested in a croaky whisper.

  Rich shook his head. The bed was too far. He was afraid he’d lose his nerve.

  Olly seemed to understand. “Couch.”

  Yes, it would do. Rich stood awkwardly and watched Olly shimmy out of his jeans and pull his shirt over his head. He sat on the edge of the couch, all milky skin and cock glistening with Rich’s saliva. His nipples were two tiny, almond-colored circles. “Come,” he said and stretched out his arms.

  Rich kicked off his boots and shed the rest of his clothes before closing the three-step distance on unsteady feet, but Olly’s hands braced him. Olly opened his fly with practiced ease and wrapped his lips around his cock. The sensation of warm wet heat engulfed him, and he couldn’t look away from the blond head bobbing up and down. He finally gave in to the need to touch.

  As Rich’s fingers came in contact, Olly pulled back, his eyes grinning up at Rich. He let Rich’s cock slip from between his lips completely and shifted his position, stretching out on the couch. A pale, slender body wearing nothing but that silly necklace. “Come lie with me,” he said.

  At Olly’s nudging, Rich lowered himself between Olly’s splayed thighs. They were now face-to-face and cock-to-cock. Rich moved his hips, and their cocks, trapped between their bodies, rubbed against each other and their stomachs. Olly’s legs wrapping around his own held them even tighter together. They moved slowly at first but built up to a steady pace.

  The windows were closed again, and the stuffy air wrapped around their naked bodies. Wherever their skin touched, the friction turned slippery with sweat. It was incredibly dirty and stimulating in its simplicity, and all thoughts not related to chasing his release fled from Rich’s mind. However, it was Olly who came first, his come further lubricating their stomachs. Olly moaning and writhing under him swiftly pushed Rich over the edge too. His jiz spurted in a big, long stream. He crumpled onto Olly and felt slender arms around him.

  When he caught his breath and his heart slowed to normal at last, Rich pushed himself up to a sitting position. He closed his eyes and tried hard not to get a panic attack, because with the lust and madness gone, anxiety rushed in to fill the vacuum. What the fuck have I done? And what the fuck am I to do now?

  “You all right?” Olly asked.

  Rich couldn’t look at Olly. “Hm. Yeah.” He pretended not to notice the feet nudging his naked thigh.

  Olly nudged again. “Tell me a secret.” Olly was vexingly chipper after…stuff.

  Rich grunted.

  “All right. I’ll start. Olly’s not short for Oliver.”

  “No?” Rich really wasn’t in the mood for a conversation.

  “No. My actual name is Oleander.”

  Okay, so that got Rich’s attention. He turned to face Olly. “You’re shitting me.”

  “Nope. I told you, my parents are hippies.”

  “No wonder you turned into a fruit with a name like that. What were your parents thinking?” Rich was aware of sounding a lot like his own father.

  Olly’s eyes narrowed, and his voice turned chilly. “Your logic is flawless, Dick. What made you gay, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “I’m not,” Rich said stubbornly, as if he could will his words to be true.

  “You’re not gay?” Olly’s tone shot up.

  “Correct.”

  Olly was really pissed now, his voice tight with withheld emotion. “I have news for you—having sex with other men is totally gay.”

  “We didn’t have sex.”

  “Then how come I have your spunk all over me, if you don’t mind me asking? Spontaneous spunk explosion?” Olly pointed at the mess on his ches
t.

  “It was just getting off. Don’t make a big deal of it.”

  Olly leapt from the couch. “Fuck you, and fuck this shit.” Snatching a piece of clothing from the floor, he used it to wipe the mess from his stomach and tossed it at Rich. “You are totally fucked up. I’m going home and forget this ever happened. Tell Sandy… Actually, don’t tell her anything. I’ll call her sometime next week.” He yanked his clothes on as he spoke, and flew out the door without a good-bye or a backward glance.

  “Fucking fuck, fuck,” Rich said to the empty house. He was taking deep breaths to calm himself, but the smell of spunk was everywhere. It assaulted him like a scent of remorse, and at first he wasn’t sure if he felt guiltier about losing his self-control with Olly, or what came after. Then he remembered the hurt in Olly’s eyes.

  Rich wiped the stickiness with the piece of cloth in his hand and realized it was his own T-shirt. It reeked of sex.

  Rich barely had a chance to clean himself up and put on fresh clothes before he heard a loud, purposeful knock on the door. His first thought was it could be Olly—he decided he’d explain in a calm and polite manner that what they’d done was a moment of madness, and would apologize. Profusely. The idea of Olly hating him bothered him more than he was willing to admit.

  The burly, sweaty-faced man at the door was definitely not Olly. “Hi, I’m Larry from Babot’s Custom Cabinets. I have a delivery for”—he glanced at the clipboard in his hand—“Ms. Baker.”

  The wandering kitchen cabinets had arrived at last. Rich had to make room for them in the garage, because Sandy hadn’t paid for installation. She must’ve figured Rich would do it for free. Good thing too, because the floor still needed refinishing. The dumb-ass previous owners of the house had put wall-to-wall carpeting in every room, even in the kitchen. At least it had protected the original floor. As an added benefit, the job would keep his mind occupied.

  The plan worked for a couple of hours while he was ripping the old carpeting out. He had to pile the pieces in the backyard, in lieu of a Dumpster. Either he or Sandy would have to arrange for one soon.

  Rich was happy to find the hardwood largely in good condition, although covered in gunk. It wasn’t going to look brand-new, but once sanded and varnished, the floor would have a rustic quality to match the house. Only the laundry room had a patch of water damage, making it necessary to replace some boards. It wasn’t something he’d done before, but he’d seen it on This Old House and knew he could manage.

  What caused him trouble was not having a proper floor sander. His orbital sander would do fine in the tight space of the laundry room but wasn’t an option for the whole house. Unfortunately, Sandy was off somewhere at the beach having fun, and he’d managed to alienate the only other person he knew in town. For a good ten minutes, Rich toyed with the idea of calling Olly, apologizing and then asking for a favor. The idea had a strong appeal.

  Rich pictured Olly framed by the door, backlit by the sun, blond hair lit up like a halo. Like the first time they’d met. He’d be cranky at first but would loosen up eventually. Rich would take him out to lunch. He might even smile, making those dimples appear.

  Out of nowhere, the smell of sex assaulted Rich’s nostrils. It had to be a product of his imagination, because all the doors and windows stood wide open and he’d moved the couch to the back porch. No, he decided, he better not call Olly. And he didn’t even know Olly’s number, he belatedly realized. Well, that simplified things.

  Stomach grumbling, Rich walked two blocks to the main street, and from there another two to a taco stand he’d spotted earlier. There were a couple of wooden benches out front, and Rich settled there to consume his fish burrito and horchata. All throughout lunch, Rich tried exceptionally hard not to think of Olly. By nature of the human brain, he couldn’t think of anything else. Memories kept sneaking in—Olly fondling the sideboard and looking and beaming at him, Olly in his jacket, with messy hair, face flushed. Olly naked— Fuck.

  It would be a long fucking day if Rich didn’t find a distraction. He considered getting drunk or stoned, or possibly both at the same time, but he liked his liver, and the prospect of becoming a wino scared him a little.

  The solution to Rich’s conundrum came in the shape of a couple of Hispanic guys in a beat-up pickup truck. From the lawnmower in the back, he correctly assumed they were landscapers. For lunch and twenty bucks, they happily drove him to the hardware store and back to the house with the rented floor sander. Even better, for another forty, they agreed to pile the scraps of the old carpet into their truck and haul them away.

  Rich kept sanding till well into the evening, but it wasn’t quite as efficient at keeping his mind from wandering as he’d hoped. Pushing a buzzing machine back and forth didn’t require a lot of brain power. Worries and uneasy thoughts about things left behind in Chicago, uncertainties of his father’s legacy and Julie’s call—they mixed with unsettling memories of Olly. Rich’s mind skipped from one topic to another, unable to settle anywhere peaceful.

  After dinner, he tried to read—a dog-eared copy of LA Confidential he’d found in one of Sandy’s boxes in the garage—but the words slipped through his brain without leaving a trace. The house echoed with emptiness. When his phone rang, he hoped it would be Sandy telling him she was on her way back. A chance of Olly calling crossed his mind too, till he remember Olly wasn’t likely to have his number either.

  The caller was Julie. “Richard, you’re a moron,” were her first words. She sounded mad as a wasp.

  His heart started beating faster. “Good evening to you too, Jules.” He forced the words out.

  “Fuck you. I know what you did. Martin told me in confidence—seeing how you and I used to be involved.”

  The fucker. “So the new accountant knows his job, I take it.”

  His words only incensed her more. “Rich, why the hell did you do it? All that money—”

  Rich cut her off. He didn’t want to go into details. “I had to. You would’ve done the same.”

  “No, I wouldn’t have. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Rich imagined Julie’s dark eyes sparkling with anger and hurt. He’d seen that look too often. Especially toward the end—she accused him of keeping himself hidden, not sharing. God knows she was right, but there was no point in going down that path again. “What does Martin plan to do?” he asked instead.

  She huffed, and there was defeat in her voice. “Nothing. There’s no money missing, and airing the dirty laundry wouldn’t do the firm any good.”

  It was good news, but strangely, bitterness tinted his relief. “Good.”

  “Rich, are you coming back? To Chicago?” The fight seemed to have gone out of her, leaving her voice flat.

  “No,” Rich said without thinking about it.

  “Why not?”

  Her simple question was like a crowbar prying open a door to his soul. The truth poured out before he could stop it. “I fucked up, Jules, made a mess of things. Not just the firm, the money, my father…you. Everything. I need to clear my head, figure some shit out, and I can’t do it there. You understand?” He wasn’t sure he did—he’d never tried to put these murky emotions into words before.

  “Yeah,” she said quietly. “So how’s it going?” There were barbs in her words, but he couldn’t blame her.

  “Too early to say.” So far he’d been making a mess of things again. He should do something about that.

  On the other end of the line, Julie rallied. “You’re staying with your sister, then?”

  “For now.”

  “How’s Sandy?” she asked. Julie and Sandy had met only a couple of times, but they’d gotten along.

  “She’s fine. How have you been doing?”

  “Good. I met someone.”

  “I’m happy for you. Honestly.” He was, but not without selfish reasons. If she found happiness with someone else, there would be one less thing for him to feel guilty about.

  “Yeah, well, you should be.” There
was a moment of awkward silence. “I hope you find what you need. I mean it, Richard,” she said at last, in a tone of finality.

  “I know, Jules. I’m glad you called. Take care, all right?”

  After the call, Rich went to bed, but sleep didn’t come easily, and when it did, its refuge didn’t last. Around midnight, Rich was wide awake again, full of restless energy. He had to do something, move, act, or he’d blow apart into tiny pieces.

  He pulled on his riding gear and hopped on the Shadow. He could’ve just ridden around aimlessly, not caring where he ended up or if he’d find his way back, but he had a destination. Something Olly said had stuck with him—that photographer… What was his name…? Kane. The guy still had the clip and could use it to hurt Rich’s baby sister. Well, it was time to find out if the asshole was an early bird or a night owl.

  Rich took the same route he and Olly had taken together earlier. He had to circle around a few times to find the right street—everything was different in the dark—but the yellow house was easy to pick out. The SUV with the AAA sticker stood in the same spot in the driveway. Rich parked the bike behind it and walked up to the front door. Light filtered through the living room window. Rich knocked, rang the bell and knocked again, but harder. He strained his ears for a response, but all he heard was one of the neighbor’s television—not the nosy old woman’s but the one on the other side.

  The window shutters weren’t fully closed, and, peeking through the slats, Rich saw a comfortably furnished living room. A camera bag sat on a coffee table as if someone had just plopped it down. There was more light coming from farther in the house. On a whim, Rich decided to check the back door. No fence barred his way after all, and since he’d come all this way, he might as well go a few feet farther. In an atypical fashion, the yard didn’t butt against that of the next property but opened to a narrow alley. Tall hedges surrounded the backyard on three sides, with a gate on the far side.

  He rapped his knuckles on the back door of the house, and it came ajar. He pushed it open more. “Hello? Kane?” he yelled. No reply. Rich stepped inside and found himself in a dark kitchen. He saw a light in the hallway beyond. He took another step, and his foot slipped on something. He bent down and picked it up—it was paper, some photo. It was too dark to make out what, so he stuffed it into his back pocket and kept walking.