A Second Harvest (16 page)

“Hot?”

“Hot.” Christie nodded adamantly. “You’d be dishy anywhere, even in New York.”

David pulled his hand away so he could run it though his hair, nervously. “Thanks. I…. Hmmm.” He didn’t believe that, but he was grateful if Christie really thought so.

He got up and started clearing the table.

They worked together to take all the dishes over to the sink. They had to walk in and out of the large sand flat Christie made, and it was weird for his feet to go from sand to linoleum and back again. It felt like his life, actually. Being with Christie was like stepping into the sand—exotic, interesting, almost a fantasy. Then the linoleum came, the everyday, ordinary, inescapable reality of his life that underlay it all.

Walking between the two was damned messy.

“I’ll do the dishes later,” Christie said when the table was clear.

“I can help.”

“No, really. I’m so not in the mood to do them right now.”

Christie’s voice was warm and low. It made those eddies stir up again in David’s stomach and groin. “Okay.”

He stood in the kitchen with his hands stuffed in the front pockets of his jeans. “Thank you for going to all this trouble. The meal was delicious too. I’ll never forget it.”

“It was my pleasure.”

With a determined look, Christie linked his arm through David’s and walked him toward the door. When they got there, Christie took David’s coat from the rack and held it out for him, much like David did for Christie all those weeks ago. David let himself be helped into it. Christie seemed anxious to get rid of him, which stung a little. But the meal was over, after all, and maybe they could both use some space after what they’d talked about.

Christie tugged the sides of David’s coat closed, his mouth set in a firm line. He was so close. “There’s something I want to say.”

David took a shaky breath. “Go ahead.”

Christie raised his eyes to look at him. They were unusually dark and deep, almost the turquoise of the sea in Bora Bora. “I like you, David. A lot. I don’t want to lose our friendship, no matter what. I know this is complicated for you. I get it. But if you want more, I would like that. I would really,
really
like that.”

He closed the distance between them, slid both arms up around David’s neck, and kissed him.

David’s eyes slid shut and his knees went weak. He couldn’t summon an ounce of resistance. His hands slipped around Christie as if they knew what to do. His mind blanked out and he let it. Just this once he wanted to
feel
without questions or self-recrimination. This time the kiss wasn’t a shock, and he was very aware he was kissing a man. He reveled in the texture of Christie’s lips and was more than ready to open for Christie’s tongue. David savored the taste of coconut and spice, man and sin. He kissed back with everything he had, drawing hungrily on Christie’s tongue and tilting his head to seal them together more tightly.

Lord, it felt so sexy. Kissing Christie was as good as his food, as surprising as his conversation, as luminous as his eyes. Want pushed through David with the suddenness and strength of a heart attack. Oh. Oh Lord. He never imagined he would feel lust like this, powerful and raw and bound up somehow with love and admiration and hope. Had he ever felt anything so good with another person in his arms? No, never.

If this was wrong, David would go to hell gladly because nothing ever fed his soul like this. He almost sobbed at the thought of how long he’d denied himself this pleasure.

Christie pulled back, breaking the kiss and staring at him, breathing hard. “Right. I thought that might be pretty damn tempting. I…. We should take this slowly. I think?” He sounded doubtful.

“Yes,” David agreed. He didn’t want to take things slowly. He wanted all of Christie
now
. But another few breaths brought a clearer head and waves of nervousness and even a little guilt. Christie was right. He didn’t want to blunder into this and regret it in the morning—or have Christie regret it. He still had to come to terms with acting on his desires in the flesh and the idea that he wouldn’t be taking advantage of Christie—or vice versa. David reluctantly let go, his arms falling to his sides.

Christie gave a rueful smile. “Text me when you want to do dinner again. Okay?”

“I could pick up food tomorrow. Italian?” David offered. He didn’t want Christie to feel like he had to cook all the time, but he didn’t want to skip seeing him either.

Christie thought about it, then nodded. “That sounds good.”

“Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Good night.” With a wistful look, Christie opened the door, and David walked through it.

As he walked down the dark lane back to his house through the crusty remains of the last snowfall, David wanted to shout for joy. He wanted to store this moment, and this feeling, in a bottle like a magic tonic. He wanted to spin like a child and praise a god who probably wasn’t all that thrilled with the development.

This. Somehow
this
incredible thing had come into his life when he’d given up hoping for anything exciting to ever happen again. And he couldn’t find it in himself to be even the least bit sorry.

Chapter 13

CHRISTIE FLOATED
through the dishes and through shoving the foam core panels back into the garage. Dismantling the sand box, he decided, could wait until morning. It was far too practical a task, and he didn’t want to kill his buzz.

David is gay. Closeted, yes, but still gay.

And we kissed. He was passionate and trembling. Oh good God.

Crazy ideas flew through Christie’s mind. Fantasies about a kitchen that was
theirs
, cuddling on the couch, and trips together to far-off places. Fantasies that involved words like “marriage” and “forever.” It was crazy. Before David came over, Christie was determined to end it. Now, dear God above, he was utterly, devastatingly smitten.

He adored David’s solid, masculine presence, how real he was, how competent at working with his hands, how mature and grounded and dependable. He loved the gentleness and seriousness inside that all-he-man frame. Now that the door had been opened to having David romantically, to belonging to him and having David be his, it was like life shoved Christie right off the edge of the pool into the deep end. Hard. He wanted
it all
. The entire white fucking picket fence.

Shit, it was terrifying.

He poured himself a glass of red wine and decided to take a bath. He needed some assisted daydream time. He added some muscle-soothing bath salts, ran the water hot, and climbed in. His aunt’s tub was the kind with a shower overhead and sliding plastic doors in lieu of a shower curtain. He shut the doors so the steam would build up and sank against the back until his chin was just above the water and his long legs were bent, his knees rising like the peaks on the Polynesian beach panels he made.

Maybe you’d like to take a walk after dinner? Climb some hills?
He thought absurdly. He could picture David’s large, rough hands on his knees, sliding downward….

No. Jerking off in the tub was all well and good, but it wouldn’t solve anything. He needed to
think.

Christie knew they could have ended up in bed tonight if he’d encouraged it. But he knew instinctively it would be a mistake. Not a huge mistake, probably, but a mistake nonetheless. When David came to his bed, Christie wanted him to do so soberly, having had plenty of time to think about what he was doing, to
choose
it without the temptation of a hard dick pressing against him addling his brain. Because ultimately it was David’s life that was going to have to shatter and be rebuilt for this. If he chose Christie, it would have consequences. He had to make that decision for himself.

Christie snorted at his thoughts. When did he get so responsible? But it wasn’t just about David, not really. It was self-preservation. If David came to him of his own free will, having fully considered the fallout, then he’d be strong enough to stay. Christie wouldn’t end up being shoved away later in a fit of fear and denial. Or at least he could hope not.

Did Christie honestly want this? He did. God, he did. It wouldn’t be easy. This wasn’t like meeting some nice guy in the city, someone unencumbered and openly gay. But then Christie would never have met someone like David in the city.

Had David ever been with a man? Christie was pretty sure he hadn’t. In fact, he’d married young, so he’d probably only ever had sex with his wife. It was hard to even imagine being gay and confined to a life like that. God, the things Christie wanted to show him! The things he wanted to make David feel. He shuddered in the warm water.

But even if David wanted him, wanted a relationship, there were so many barriers in the way.
Joe
, for one. Christie couldn’t begin to imagine being a stepdad to Joe Fisher. God help him. He might as well just stick his head in an oven right now. And Amy. How would she take the news her dad was gay and dating the cute young neighbor? Probably not well. Then there was the area they lived in. David couldn’t just up and leave his farm. How would people take it if Christie moved in with David, if they were a couple? And did Christie seriously want to stay in Lancaster County? A temporary respite from the city was one thing, but permanently?

That line of thought should put him off—a million miles off, in fact. But all Christie had to do was picture David’s face, close his eyes, and remember how easily they talked over meals, how he kissed Christie at the kitchen table, all grief and longing, how he was so ready, passionate at the doorway, and the list of why-nots
melted away like the salt crystals in his bathwater.

Things would take the shape they were going to take. There was no point anticipating exactly what the trouble would be, though undoubtedly there’d be some. The real question was this: was Christie prepared to fight for David?

Yeah.
Fuck
yeah, he was. David deserved happy, and Christie deserved David. And a big “fuck you” to anyone who thought otherwise.

DAVID LAY
in bed that night, unable to sleep. Christie had kissed him.
I like you, David. A lot.

He had a hard time believing it, but apparently it was true. He supposed it should have been obvious. Like Joe said, why else would Christie spend so much time with him?

For the same reason I want to spend all
my
time with
him
. There’s something between us, something that defies all logic but is strong nonetheless.

It suddenly occurred to him he hadn’t said anything back after Christie’s confession. He barely said good night. Good Lord. It was so long since he dated or courted anyone, since he had to think about these things. Feeling like an idiot, he went downstairs to fetch his phone and brought it back up to the bedroom. He sat up against his headboard in the dark and sent a text.

I like you too.

He sent it. Then he added
A lot
and sent that too.

Christie’s reply chimed in the dark. He sent a smiley and the line
I know this is new for you. Don’t worry, we can take it as slow as you want.

David huffed. He was a grown man. He’d been married for twenty years and fathered two children. He didn’t need to be coddled. Yet he remembered the wave of nerves and guilt he felt when Christie kissed him. There had been heat, certainly. Fantastic heat. But there was that other too, toward the end. He wondered if Christie sensed it. Was that why he pulled away?

David considered it. Christie said David could talk to him. How strange to be able to talk about this with someone. Finally he typed,
It is new. I’ve only ever had photographs. Of men.

The phone was silent for a long while, so long David started to second-guess himself. He shouldn’t have admitted that. It sounded so lame. And the implication was he’d
touched
himself to those photos. Oh Lord. Did Christie think he was pathetic?

Just as he started to panic, his phone chimed. The text message came up.
Photos like this?
There was a picture attached. Heart in his throat, David hit it with his thumb to bring it up.

A soft noise escaped his lips.
Dear Lord in heaven.

The photo was of Christie, or at least the part of him from his waist to his upper thighs. It looked like he was lying on his bed. He wore soft pajama bottoms in plain blue, and
he was erect
. The material of his pj’s did little to disguise the shape of his hard member. Christie had his palm on his hip as if to frame the photo’s central feature. But no framing was necessary to draw David’s eye. He stared and stared. Christie’s cock under the thin material looked long and heavy. The head tapered a little, was smaller than his width at his biggest point, as if made to
insert
.

Oh my God.

He couldn’t believe Christie sent that. Had he thought Christie was brave? The man was
fearless
.

The photo sent a primal physical reaction coursing through David. It chased away any thoughts of guilt or sin and left only want and an aching arousal. David closed his eyes and breathed. When he could finally type again, he sent:
You have no idea what you do to me.

Show me
, Christie replied.

David’s face burned with embarrassment. He didn’t dare take a photo like that. Did he? But Christie went first. In a way it was easier like this, with Christie in another place. David didn’t feel as self-conscious as he would have in person.

He thought about trying to take a photo like Christie’s, showing his erection under pj’s. But David’s bottoms were thicker and plaid. It would be hard to make anything out except a tent. He stripped them off and tried a few options, hardly able to believe he was doing this. He chose one in which his palm was mostly over his erection but the shaft peeked out along the side. He took the photo close up, which looked a little obscene, but he sent it anyway, his mouth dry.