Page 9 of Mr. Frosty Pants
Swallowing hard, Casey shook his head and turned back to the rows of Christmas trees. Dejection seeped into him from the cold soles of his tennis shoes up to the top of his head. He walked more slowly back down the next row. He looked more carefully at the trees this time.
They were all of good stock. Many tall enough to choose for home. He could stuff one in the back of the SUV, leave some cash half-tucked beneath a poinsettia pot, and get going. It might be better to cut his losses and forestall further humiliation. Or, hell, he could always go to Costco like his mom had asked. The employees there might not give him a big ol’ hug either, but they wouldn’t make him feel like a total piece of shit by just walking away like he wasn’t worth their time.
Instead, Casey sat on a wrought-iron garden bench decked out with glowing, colored twinkle lights, and counted his breaths. Each exhale was released in giant, white puffs. It was a trick Ann had taught him during his first winter in the city: he could endure any amount of loneliness or pain for five good puffs of frigid air. And then he could do it again.
“Still here?” Joel asked, voice terse, shattering Casey’s concentration. His eyes were hot, though, as he stood at the other end of the row of trees, hands stuffed into his re-donned jean jacket’s pockets and one dark, thick brow arched questioningly.
“So many to choose from.” Casey stood and dusted off his ass. His cashmere trench coat didn’t provide the same warmth that Joel’s denim and fleece probably did, but he shoved his hands into his pockets all the same, mirroring Joel’s stance. “I gave up. Maybe you could help me out? You know, with your tree expertise?”
Joel stared at him.
He should just take the hint and leave. What compelled him to stay here and stare down Joel’s dark glare when he obviously wasn’t wanted? But he was still Casey Stevens, still that boy in Joel’s garage at heart. And he wasn’t going to leave until he got what he wanted. Not unless Joel actually outright told him to go. “Mom said it was up to me to choose. But, I mean, what’s the difference between Scotch Pine and Douglas Fir anyway?”
Joel shifted to his other foot and shrugged. “It’s just a matter of what kind of needle you prefer. The longer Scotch Pine or the shorter Douglas Fir.”
“Why would someone prefer one over another?”
“Some people think the Scotch Pine is prettier and has a nicer color, but the ornaments slip off the long needles. Others say the Douglas Fir has a stronger pine scent, though it isn’t as attractive. But the short needles hold the ornaments better. It’s all a matter of what you want.”
Casey smiled. A matter of what he wanted? He wanted Joel to talk more. He wanted to break through to him and be friends again. The length of needles was as good a place as any to start. “What do you like?”
Joel stared at him, his pale cheeks flushing before he broke eye contact. “It doesn’t matter what I like. You should ask your mom what she wants.” He started to turn away.
“Hey!” The word burst out of him before Casey could stop it.
Joel turned back, brows lifted in surprise.
“Want to hang out while I’m in town?”
Joel cocked his head. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
Joel’s expression fluttered through a dozen different shades of irritable shock and flabbergasted surprise. None of which matched Casey’s own disbelief that he was actually standing here talking to Joel again, asking him out—in a way—and he wasn’t going to let him get free without answering.
Casey strode closer until they stood face-to-face, surprised to find that Joel was a few inches shorter than him now.
Joel’s chin lifted, eyes intense as he held Casey’s gaze. “Why?”
Casey decided not to mention Joel’s muscles or tattoos. And he definitely was not going to mention how tough (and hot) Joel looked these days with his unshaven five-o’clock shadow and his callused hands. All he could spit out around the tightness in his chest and the dizzy rush in his veins was, “I’ve missed you, man.”
Joel tossed his hands up incredulously. “Are you serious?”
Casey swallowed hard, trying to get a grip. “Why wouldn’t I be?” He crossed his arms over his chest.
Joel scoffed. It sounded nothing like the rough giggle that used to send shivers up Casey’s spine. “Are you kidding me right now? You haven’t contacted me in almost four years.” He pierced Casey with a glare. “Now you want to ‘hang out’?” He snorted. “I repeat, why?”
“Because we were friends…” Casey trailed off. What had he been hoping for? A Christmas miracle where Joel was gay too and had been pining for him as well? He was insane.
“Ha! Before you left, I sure as hell thought we were friends. But after? Not so much,” Joel snapped. “Do you need me to remind you why? Or do you think you can remember on your own?”
Casey’s head spun. He’d never been unkind to Joel. He’d only ever wanted Joel to like him. He’d only everwantedJoel. He’d left Knoxville and turned his back on their friendship so Joel would never know how much.So why are you here now, idiot?
“Forget it.” Joel shook his head.
“No.” Casey stepped even closer. The scent of pine and fir filled his nose, and he wanted to drag Joel close and hold him against his body. He wanted to find out what he smelled like now, what he tasted like.
Joel frowned and shrugged. “No what?”
