“Sorry, sir. Mr. Holt, sir. The, uh … machine has a tendency … actually, y’know what?” He comes up to the machine himself and, with a weird sort of side maneuver that looks a lot like humping it with mild sexual passion, my Oreos dislodge and tumble down. He reaches in, gets it out, then presents it to me with both hands like it’s a prized artifact. “H-Here you are, Mr. Holt, sir. I’m a … I’m ahugefan. I … Iloveyour work. Ever sinceHate Me. I can’t believe I’m looking at you. I can’t believe you’re you, and you’re here. I mean, I knew you’re here, but you’re you, and you’re here!”
“I’m me, and I’m here,” I agree, then peer down at the Oreos, still outstretched with both his hands. After a second’s hesitation, I reach for the pen in his shirt pocket instead—startling him, eyes going as wide as his face—and autograph the white area on the Oreo packaging. I tuck his pen back into his pocket, glance at his nametag, then say, “Thanks for bein’ a fan, Justin,” before heading off, leaving him staring, unable to blink, breathe, or speak.
By the time my phone moos at me again, I’m back in my room. After a long, deep breath enters and vacates my lungs, I sit on the edge of my bed, pray I hung up fast enough, then answer. “Hey.”
“Think we got disconnected,” he says. “Phone just cut off. Did you get what you wanted, by the way?”
I smile with relief, then lie back on the bed, the crisp, cool sheets welcoming me like a hug. “Sure did.”
“Four days sounds like forever.”
“Sure does.”
“I’m glad you picked up. To be honest … I wasn’t ready for this phone call to end just yet.”
I grin. “Me neither.”
Chapter 9.
Timothy
The first day, I’m running errands for T&S’s, driving around town picking up this and that, delivering this and that, checking in with so-and-so, then surprising myself when I check my watch and realize it’s already late afternoon.
I’d forgotten about a “top of the summer” gathering at the Strongs’ that my mom basically obligated us to attend, the guest list consisting mainly of their immediate family plus one or two others—us being one of the “one or two others”. So I end up spending the evening in the Strongs’ main house loitering around the bar (even though I don’t really drink, choosing a glass of Jacky-Ann’s legendary lemonade over anything alcoholic).
Most of the night, I end up hanging with Billy chatting about college. He shares his cutthroat culinary school experience with me, leaving me admiring all he went through to become what he is. I tell him how I sort of found myself at school, omitting the part about making lots of gay friends—and exes I strategically avoid. AJ is a part of that (major protective straight bestie energy, though honestly, most of the time he’d scare awaypotential dates, too). I figure Billy can do without all the tedious details.
Though thinking of it makes me wonder what it’d be like if I met Austin on campus, too. He’s so unlike any of the guys I’ve ever dated before. I figured he didn’t attend my university, since he’s just chasing Chase Holt concerts—pun intended. Whereishe from, for that matter? I should remember to ask him next time we chat.
My mom and Mayor Nadine gossip in the kitchen like a pair of lifelong gal pals about … well, who cares. They’ve gotten so close lately, and neither I nor Billy can make sense of it. Nearby, Billy and Tanner’s kids are playing video games on the big living room TV with Tanner right by them, and it isn’t long before Jimmy and Bobby are crowded around, too, wanting to take turns. My dad and Mr. Strong were ordered not to talk business tonight, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure what they’re likely discussing on the side porch by the pool. I’m guessing it’s to do with tractors or insurance or something else that would bore me to tears if I get sucked in, so I stay well away from that dangerous porch. Mr. and Mrs. Parker—Bobby’s parents—are also here, but seem way more interested in picking over the snack table than socializing. I don’t blame them; the snacks are all gorgeous, no matter the casualness of tonight’s gathering, and every single one tastes like heaven—especially the lemon tarts courtesy of Billy himself. When Mrs. Parker first arrived, Nadine warmly greeted her and they caught up a bit, their sons Bobby and Jimmy being married and all. I always wondered why the two weren’t closer, figuring it’s just the nature of them having busy lives—Nadine a bit more than Mrs. Parker, presumably, being the mayor and all.
Watching everyone socialize tonight has me wondering what Austin’s life is like when he isn’t chasing rock stars across Texas. We usually talk about me when we chat, yet he doesn’t divulgemuch about his personal day-to-day stuff. What are his dreams? Is he close with his parents? Do they obligate him to attend parties at his own Strong Ranch equivalent wherever he’s from?
It’s late at night that I’m back home, long after the Chase Holt concert ends, and Austin and I reconnect. For some reason, he isn’t able to talk on the phone—did shouting and screaming in the crowd blow out his voice?I wonder—so we text each other back and forth instead. I can’t stop smiling. Our conversations always flow, even in text form. He’s actually cleverer with words than I thought he’d be, always finding ways to make me laugh or bite my lip, giddy. And when we finally say goodnight, I’ve forgotten to ask all the things I thought of at the Strongs’, too caught up in the fun we always have, and fall asleep with the phone right on my chest, wondering to myself what tonight would’ve been like had he been with me at that Strong ranch and I wasn’t just lingering by the sidelines as usual, sipping lemonade and talking to my boss.
The next morning, my mom gives me a look she thinks I don’t see just before I’m heading out, and stops me to say, “Sweetheart, just whenever you get the chance, your father wanted to show you something in the office. Try not to spend all day out, if you can help it. You’ve been so run ragged this week. I’m sure Billy doesn’t mean to wear you out.”
I didn’t tell her it isn’t Billy wearing me out, but a beautiful guy with an even more beautiful heart who’s got mine on a leash.
Is it too soon to be saying things like that? I barely know him, right? We haven’t really defined what this is between us. Do we even need a definition? It’s like a friendship with a door pleasantly left open to whatever it wants to become. A recognition of one another’s value. A connection in an increasingly senseless world.
I won’t lie. I want it to become something even more. The past two times we met have been absolutely electric. I’m notcounting the very first time, because I was a mess and barely knew who I was talking to, hardly registering his stunning patience to put up with me crying into a trashcan.
But there’ssomethingabout Austin—his energy, his sensitivity, his voice, even the words he uses when he texts me—that has my body climbing up walls trying not to think about being next to him, to feel his intense stare on me again, to have that constant, prickling, unbearable anticipation of whether he’ll touch me. And damn, I want him to touch me—badly.
It’s on the third day Austin calls me in the afternoon. Must be because I decided to wear my strawberry socks, second luckiest to my bumblebee ones. “I’m tryin’ to play it cool here,” he says, “but damn, I can’t help it. I really, really wanna come out there and …” Dramatic pause. Cue the drumroll. “… check on my Little A and my Kit-Cat. I’m losin’ sleep worryin’ about ‘em.”
I’m around the corner from T&S’s, having been sent to Patsy’s on an errand, now leaning against the wall in the shade. “Oh, isthatwho you’re losing sleep over?” I ask. “I’m not sure I’m doing a good job caring for them. I went to the pond with bread just this morning, and every other duck came right up, but Little A wasn’t having any of it. I don’t think he likes me.”
“Bet you don’t even remember which one he is.”
I suppress a laugh. “Guess he’sreallyscrewed. Probably much better you come here yourself, then.”
“Maybe I should just … ditch the show tonight.”
I part my lips, for half a second asking him if he really would. IfIwas on a quest to see every show my favorite song artist was having around town—assuming I had such an artist I was devoted to—it’d be a huge deal to give up even one of those concerts just to hang out with some small-town guy I barely know.
But even I know we’re more than that by now. He’s invested in me just as much as I am in him.That door keeps opening wider…