Page 14 of Meeting Mr. Adorkable
“Excuse me.” Arlo’s limbs twitched, and he jumped up. He couldn’t take any more, but if Wilbur thought him rude, it didn’t show, as he promised to tell Arlo later on about the highly acclaimed article about him, published in World of Dentistry.
Arlo had to stop himself from running across Hank and Francine’s yard and crashing through the gate to hightail it back home. He sucked in a deep breath, and veered instead toward the door leading to the kitchen, hoping to find a moment’s release in its air-conditioned emptiness.
He’d give it an hour, enough time to have something to eat before coming up with an excuse to leave that both Hank and Francine would believe. Shit, he needed another beer to drown the guilt in his stomach. Pulling open the refrigerator door, he grabbed a bottle and flipped the top. He drank deep. It was a local brew, on the sweet side but good, and he snorted, spraying a flume of beer as he wondered what Wilbur would think of all that sugary booze washing over his teeth.
Wilbur. The guy had been set up as much as he had. This wasn’t the first time Francine had attempted to matchmake. She seemed to pull gay cousins and friends out of her purse the way a magician pulled a rabbit out of a hat. But it would be the last time. He’d have to break it to her gently — or not so — that he could handle his own love life. Which was one fat lie.
He peeked out the window. More guest had arrived as he’d sought sanctuary. Much as he wanted to, he couldn’t hide in the kitchen all afternoon. He emerged into the sunny backyard. An hour, he’d give it an hour.
On the edge of the porch, Hank was brandishing a long fork, turning, prodding, and poking at what looked like a complete cow on the huge BBQ, all shiny gun metal gray and the size of a small car. BBQ, it seemed to be all everybody ate when folks got together. He’d forgotten, having been away for so long. Collier’s Creek had grown, had become more affluent. The tourist dollar was riding high, and the town had welcomed a couple of good coffee shops and some stores specializing in local artisanal products. It was a good place to live, but the small, mountain town where he’d been raised wasn’t feeling like the home he’d dreamed of returning to.
Maybe he could slink off now. There were plenty of people milling around in the yard, Hank and Francine’s kids, and members of their extended family. Neighbors and co-workers. A few he recognized from way back, but most were strangers to him. He could tell himself he wouldn’t be missed, but he knew that wasn’t true. Francine would be upset, and Hank would be pissed. And with good reason. They were solid people, and solid friends, and they deserved more from him. He sucked in a deep breath, plastered the smile back on his face, and made his way over to the BBQ.
“Hey,” Hank said, a sheen of sweat covering his face, glowing red from the thermonuclear heat thrown out by the BBQ that, on closer inspection, resembled not so much a car as an alien spacecraft.
Hank lowered his voice. “Sorry about the whole Wilbur thing, but even Francie’s avoiding him. She’s sent him off with a bowl of chips.” He nodded to a far corner of the yard where Wilbur, in between mouthfuls, was thrilling another guest about the noble profession of dentistry. Whoever they were, they looked like they were enduring cranial implants without the benefit of anesthesia. Arlo pitied them, but at least it wasn’t him, and that was all that mattered.
“Hey, you made it!”
Arlo turned at Francine’s enthusiastic call as Bibi entered the yard from the side of the house, holding a large display of colorful flowers. Francine’s enthusiastic appreciation for the gift floated across. Both women looked back towards the house and he was about to turn away when Lucian appeared, beckoned over by Bibi.
A lump lodged in Arlo’s throat and all but stopped his breath, all thoughts of feeling foolish crumbled to dust. In black jeans that were so tight they were probably illegal, and a blue shirt Arlo knew was the exact color as Lucian’s eyes, the young Englishman was breathtaking.
Lucian handed over a package to Francine, and she gave him a hug in return. A second later, balancing both the enormous bouquet and the gift, Francine was chivvying Lucian in his and Hank’s direction.
“Hank, Arlo, this is Bibi’s co-worker, Luci-Ann—”
“Erm, it’s Lucian, actually.” Lucian shuffled from foot to foot.
“Sure, that’s right. Luci-Ann put this wonderful bouquet together for me — and all my favorite colors, too. Thank you so, so much. And a darling little gift basket of real British chocolate.” She beamed, holding up the box of candy bars nestling on a bed of pink shredded paper. “I’ve never had Tunnocks Tea Cakes, Double Deckers, Crunchies, and Walnut Whips, but I’m sure I’m going to love them. Hank’ll look after you while I find a vase for this cute bouquet.”
“Let me get you a drink, Lu—Luci…,” Hank stumbled over the name; his face, already red, was turning an alarming shade of crimson.
“I’ll do that,” Arlo said. “You need to tend the meat.”
Hank gave him a grateful smile, as Arlo jerked his head to a huge bucket sitting a few feet away in the shade, which had drinks piled up in icy water.
“Here, have one of these — I brought them. They’re from a micro brewery upstate. It’s good.”
“No cat’s piss then?”
“I wouldn’t bring—” Arlo’s words came to a halt as Lucian’s dark blue stare and long, thick lashes captured his attention, despite the ugly glasses perched on his nose.
Lucian’s lips curved upwards in a smile that seemed full of secrets and promise. Arlo’s cock thickened and twitched against the confines of his jeans… oh, fuck… He coughed, and twisted the cap, upending the bottle and swallowing too much, the alcoholic sting at the back of his throat bringing tears to his eyes.
Lucian took a tentative sip and nodded. “This is good.” Shifting his weight from one side to the other, he looked everywhere but at Arlo. “What I said—”
“About stalking you?” Arlo pressed his lips together to stop himself from wincing. Jesus, the guy’s lack of filter was infectious.
“Yeah. That was — wrong and unforgivable, especially as you got me out of a hole with Eggy Kurt.”
“Excuse me — Eggy…?”
Lucian’s lips twitched and his gaze shifted to Arlo’s. “In my mercifully brief encounter, he revealed a disturbing penchant for eggs. Lots of eggs. And wrestling.”
“Wrestling? It’s a popular hobby around here. Nothing weird about that.”
Lucian laughed, his entire face brightening. “Then maybe I should have taken him up on his offer to… wrestle. Or maybe not,” he said, giving a shiver. “It wasn’t the first time I’ve been accosted in a coffee shop, but never by somebody who was so…”
