Page 16 of Mr. Frosty Pants
“Safe travels. And hey—thanks. I… You’re a good friend. It’s nice to catch up.”
“Anytime, man. Don’t be a stranger like usual, okay?”
“I won’t.” This time, Casey meant it. Ann would be proud.
Before Casey climbed out of the car, he opened up the Facebook app on his phone and typed in Joel’s name. It brought up the profile Casey had set up four years prior. There he found the same profile shot he’d originally uploaded. A picture of The Millennial Yodels—Joel, RJ, and Becca’s old band—stretched across the top of the page, and the single, solitary post was the one Casey had typed up on Joel’s behalf years ago.
But there was one new picture now. Something Becca had tagged both Casey and Joel in ages ago: an old shot of the band practicing in Joel’s garage, with Casey sitting on the concrete floor staring up at Joel with stars in his eyes.
But Joel himself had posted nothing on his Facebook page at all. Typical. He’d always been a closed book. And now Casey had taken a page from that book and closed himself off too. And he was sick and tired of it. Sick and tired of feeling alone and disconnected.
The idea that Joel might be gay or bi and that he’d actually crushed on Casey in high school? Casey couldn’t process it. How the hell had Joel kept that all locked away?
Probably the same way you did.
Maybe RJ was wrong. Casey closed his eyes, telling himself not to get excited or hopeful. Not even a little. Even if somehow Casey’s greatest wish had come true and Joel liked guys, he’d made his opinion of Casey crystal clear. Whatever he may or may not have felt back then, he clearly didn’t feel it now. No point in wishing for anything where Joel was concerned.
But what if…
Tamping down the flare of hope, Casey put his phone away and stopped torturing himself. Freeing the Christmas tree from his SUV was easy enough. It was maneuvering it into the house that was hard. The short Douglas Fir pine needles tugged and clawed at him, and when he went back out to grab the wreaths, the holly stuck him good. A bright bead of blood welled to the surface of his thumb when he dropped them on the front porch.
Staring at it, Casey thought of Joel’s pinched face glaring at him from down the row of Christmas trees. He stuck the wound into his mouth and sucked the blood away. It wasn’t a big deal. Just a small stab from the holly.
But damn if that little prick didn’t hurt like hell.
Best thing to do was stay the hell away from Joel. Don’t think about him—and the incredible possibility that he could be gay too. RJ had to be wrong. No, Casey definitely wouldn’t try to see him again.Definitelywouldn’t look up his current address.
With the metallic tang of blood on his tongue, Casey pulled out his phone.
Chapter Seven
Joel couldn’t sayhe was surprised so much as annoyed when he stepped out of his trailer the next morning to find a gleaming white SUV parked in the yard next to his own gray Chevy. As for Casey, well, he looked ridiculously gorgeous leaning back against his Lexus, his arms crossed over his broad chest. The sleeves of his pale-yellow button-up shirt were folded to expose his strong forearms, and his long legs were crossed casually at the ankles.
Bruno, traitor that he was, dashed past Joel, bounding excitedly at the prospect of a new friend. Where were his pit bull roots now? Where was the big booming bark that would scare Casey into his car and away from here?
“Sic, Bruno!” Joel called out. “Attack!”
Bruno didn’t know those commands. He was a giant teddy bear. And despite Joel’s best effort to sound like Bruno might be an actual killer, Casey wasn’t perturbed at all. In fact, he squatted down to pet and rub Bruno’s ears while the turncoat dog pranced and slobbered all over Casey’s nicely pressed khaki pants. At least he’d sullied him a little. If only Bruno would jump up and put his muddy paws on Casey’s pristine shirt, then they’d be getting somewhere.
Speaking of Casey’s shirt, it was clear the guy still had no fashion sense. What sane person their age—Casey was almost twenty-two now—dressed like that? He looked like he took fashion advice from his grandpa. And yet he was still so fucking handsome.
Ducking back into the trailer, Joel left Casey to deal with Bruno. He tugged his fleece-lined jean jacket on over his black short-sleeve T-shirt and checked that his wallet was still in the back pocket of his jeans. Then he glanced at himself in the mirror, relieved by what he saw. His dark hair was on point, his skin remarkably clear given his crap diet, and he looked mussed enough that he could easily pretend he didn’t care what Casey thought of his appearance at all.
“His name’s Bruno?” Casey asked with a friendly smile when Joel came back out.
“No, it’s Murder. Which is what he’s going to do to you in a few seconds. Once he stops slobbering all over you.”
“Right.” Casey smiled as he rubbed Bruno’s head and talked to him in that high-pitched voice that everyone used with dogs and babies, except for Joel. Well, hediduse it with Bruno when they werealone. But never where other people might hear him. How humiliating for Casey that he didn’t know how ridiculous he sounded. How humiliating for Bruno to have to hear it. And how damn annoying that it was all kind of cute.
He took in the whole of Casey again. The morning sun loved Casey. It reflected the gold flecks in his light brown hair and, damn, all along his exposed forearms. It wasn’t fair how beautiful he was. It wasn’tfairthat Casey’s rich boyfriend got to enjoy all that shiny glow and probably took it for granted. Joel’s gut did flip-flops, but he fought against it and made certain his sour expression held.
“So, are you stalking me now?” Joel asked, stomping across his yard and glancing at his cell phone to check the time. He didn’t want to be late. Angel was opening Vreeland’s this morning, which was nice of her given the fact that he’d left her to close on her own the night before. The shit show of texts she’d sent, including the picture of the Blow Mold baby Jesus with Satan’s numbers Sharpie’d on his forehead, had made her irritation beyond clear.
So he didn’t have to rush in to work, but he did need to go by the nursing home to bring his father breakfast first. He stuffed his cell back into his pocket and took a deep breath, preparing for emotional battle before meeting Casey’s eyes. “Well, stalker?”
“No, I’m not. Well, maybe.” Casey grinned sheepishly.
“Maybe? I’d say definitely. How’d you find me?” Not many people knew where he’d moved after selling the house. “Was it Becca?”
