Page 64 of Mr. Frosty Pants
“I just want to shower off.” Joel walked briskly, naked and exposed, toward the bathroom. “Just give me a minute.”
He heard the impatient, worried sound Casey made, but thankfully stubborn Casey Stevens didn’t make an appearance, and Joel locked the bathroom door behind him before sitting down on the toilet and covering his face.
“What the fuck?” he whispered. He scrubbed his still-damp cheeks with his fingers and reached to start the water. As steam filled the small room, he stared down at his bare feet outlined against the linoleum floor.
What had Casey Stevens done to him? Fucking asshole. He’d ruined him. That’s what he’d done. He’d irrevocably and completely ruined him.
Now what was he supposed to do? How was Joel ever going to let this be over now? He’d have to cut out his own heart to make it out of this “holiday fling” alive. How could he have been so stupid?
He wished he had his phone to call Becca. She’d talk him down from this ledge. Probably. Or she might push him off it, actually, knowing her.
“Joel?” Casey’s voice came from outside the door. “I’m not trying to invade your space. But I’ve really gotta piss.”
“Um, right.” Joel wiped at his face again and rose to put his hand on the door. He caught a glimpse of his red, tear-stained face in the not-yet-fogged mirror and pulled his hand off the knob. “Skunks, man. Piss outside.”
“Oh. Right. You okay in there?”
“Just washing off.”
“All right. I’ll just…piss outside.”
Joel glared at himself in the mirror and whispered, “Get it together, asshole. You’re fucking this up.” The worry and insecurity in Casey’s voice twisted those painful shards that had pierced him so thoroughly.
He stepped under the water stream, washed the come away, closed his eyes, and tried to wash his panic away too. Yet it clung to him, and he grabbed some soap, trying desperately to scrub it off.
Chapter Eighteen
After Casey dressedand pissed on the bushes along the property line, he headed back into Joel’s trailer. Hanging his coat up on the rack, he wondered if he was going to be donning it again soon—if maybe Joel was about to kick him out.
He’d had sex with a lot of guys over the last few years but none of them affected him the way Joel did. And none of them had broken down while being rimmed. Casey was at a loss about what to say or do, but he wasn’t going to leave unless Joel actually told him to go.
When he resumed his place on the sofa, Bruno padded over to him with wide, worried eyes. Casey ran his hand soothingly over the dog’s head and back, whispering, “It’s okay, buddy. Our pal Joel gets scared sometimes, and when he’s scared he gets prickly.”
“Sorry.” Joel’s voice came from behind him. Casey looked over his shoulder to find Joel standing there in just a pair of fresh jeans. His dark, wet hair reflected the colored lights of the tree like hidden flames, and his pale torso glowed, dark hair swirling down the center of his chest and the hickey Casey had given him glaring red on the curve of his neck and shoulder. “Got a little freaked about losing my frosty pants there for a minute.”
“Hey,” Casey said, standing up, relief pounding in him at Joel’s small joke. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”
“Yeah, you should have. I wanted you to. It was great.” Joel swallowed hard, but his lips wobbled again, and he rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m just… It’s been… I’ve never…”
Casey abandoned Bruno to go around the couch and tug Joel into his arms. “You’ve been lonely.”
Joel nodded.
“Really, deeply lonely,” Casey added.
“My mom,” Joel started and then stopped.
Casey hugged him tighter and cupped the back of his head.
Joel cleared his throat and began again. “My mom was the last person to hold me or love me. No one’s wanted to make me feel good. Ever. And…” His voice broke. “I like it. But it’s… a lot.”
“It’s scary.”
Joel nodded again, like he didn’t want to admit the word out loud. Casey guided him back to the couch, where Bruno jumped up beside them both, pressing his worried face against Joel’s exposed chest and peering up at him.
Joel snorted a laugh. “It’s okay, Bruno. He didn’t hurt me.”
Casey could have sworn Joel’s tone somehow implied an unspoken “yet.” Joel’s muscles moved like coiled ropes under his skin, the shadows compelling. Casey wanted to trace them with his fingers.
