Page 11 of Meeting Mr. Adorkable
“What are you doing here?”
“Waiting to get my toenails cut.”
“Your…?” Confusion creased Lucian’s brow.
Arlo’s deadpan expression turned into a crooked smile, and Lucian tutted.
“I was passing by on my way home after picking up a package,” he nodded toward a large padded parcel, on the ground next to him, “when I saw what was happening.”
“You seem to do a lot of passing by. This is the second time you’ve passed by where I am today. I thought it was only celebrities who attracted stalkers.” Lucian laughed.
Arlo’s face closed down, the wonky smile flatlining.
Oh, fuck… Everything he said seemed to come out wrong. Arlo had saved him from Eggy Kurt and his dreams of wrestling, and here he was all but accusing Arlo of stalking him.
“That sounded… I’m sorry, truly I am. I was just making light of it all, but… I didn’t mean to accuse you of being…” Could this really, truly, honestly get any worse? He took a deep breath. “You got me out of a spot of bother and I’m very grateful.”
“Glad to be of help.” Arlo’s voice was curiously flat. Or maybe not so curiously.
He got up, ready to go. Lucian wanted to pull him back down and start all over again, telling him he was sorry for being such a prat, and yes, he was more than happy for Arlo not just to pass by, but to stop, anytime he wanted. But his tongue had turned to stone and a lump the size of a boulder blocked his throat, and the words he wanted to say refused to be said.
“Enjoy the rest of your day. Or what’s left of it.”
Lucian nodded as Arlo picked up his package, only finding his voice too late as Arlo strode off, his broad frame straight backed and dignified, leaving Lucian feeling more like a stranger in town than ever before.
CHAPTERNINE
Arlo dumped his package on the kitchen table, going through the mail he’d picked up on the way in. Junk, except for one, although he wasn’t too sure he wouldn’t dump that one in the trash as well. He’d deal with it later, or whenever; he threw it to the side, along with the rest.
Making a coffee, he nursed it between his hands. He’d been about to ask Lucian if he’d like to stay awhile in CC’s, but the younger man’s comment had cut him to the bone. Sure, Lucian had made a stumbling, clumsy apology as his face had heated to the color of an overripe tomato. The guy had no filter; he opened his mouth, and ill-thought out words came tumbling from his plump, red lips… Arlo’s jaw tightened. He should have thrown back some snarky, smart ass comment before they laughed it off. He couldn’t, not when he was made to feel… Arlo narrowed his eyes as he searched for the right word, his chest tightening as he found it.
Foolish.
With a burst of irritation, he chucked the barely touched drink into the sink.
Fuck it. He had a thick skin, he’d grown it long ago because without it he wouldn’t have survived. So then why did the eccentric Englishman make that same skin feel very, very thin?
A skitter of claws on the tiled floor snagged Arlo’s attention as Peanut ambled over and pressed his warm, stocky body against his leg, looking up at him with impossibly liquid chocolate eyes. Arlo scratched him behind the ear and smiled, the little dog instantly lifting his spirits.
Arlo unlocked the door to the yard so that Peanut could wander out and collapse in a heap in the late sunshine, leaving him to unwrap his package.
Paints, mostly acrylics, but watercolors and oils too, in all the colors of the rainbow and more. His gaze drifted to the yard, and the mountains bathed in light and shadow, his mind already working on the composition, using the door frame as a literal frame. But that wasn’t for today, and he packed his treasure trove away again and took everything upstairs to the light flooded space that was his studio.
The late afternoon light was perfect, and the mountains were begging to be sketched. The act of running pencil over paper, the faint rasp as it flew across the roughened surface always soothed, always took him away from whatever problem snapped at him, whatever worry troubled him, unwinding and freeing whichever knot had tightened damn near enough to choke him. But not today, because all he could think about was how foolish he’d felt, and how foolish he’d been to turn and walk away.
Back downstairs, Arlo pulled a bottle of beer from the fridge. Taking it out to the porch, like Peanut, he collapsed into a patch of sunlight. Drinking alone… He snorted. If he didn’t drink alone, he’d be near teetotal. He stretched out on his recliner, the warmth, along with the soft buzz from the alcohol, urging him to close his eyes.
Against the backdrop hum of insects and the whisper of a cooling breeze in the trees and shrubs, he drifted, hanging in the vague, nebulous space between sleep and wakefulness. A face came into focus. Lucian, pale and oval, eyes of the deepest blue and fringed with long, sooty lashes. Lucian’s lips parted slightly, the sweeping tip of his tongue leaving a glistening sheen. His head dipped forward, and Arlo thrust his fingers into thick, silky hair.
“Jesus!” Arlo lurched forward, fully awake, as the painful bulge of his erection pushed against the confines of his jeans. Cupping himself, he rubbed at his fully hard dick, as a light sweat dampened his face. He squeezed hard… maybe he should take a shower where he could…
His cell rang, the shrill jangle shredding the air and ripping Arlo’s hand from his needy dick. Fuck it, it can go to voicemail… but he was already reaching for it, checking the caller ID.
“Hey, Hank.”
“You okay? You sound like you swallowed a truck load of grit.” Hank laughed against the background of hammers beating against metal, the screech of machinery, and the raucous shouts of the other men who worked in Hank’s car repair business.
Arlo looked around, almost expecting to see Hank emerge from behind a tree. Stupid.
