Handle With Care (3 page)

Assuming he was even into guys, which he probably wasn’t. And even if he was, why on earth would he be interested in me?

I had to keep telling myself that because I was starting to act like Zoe used to when she complained about having
nothing to wear,
despite her wardrobe bursting at the seams. I stretched up to the top shelf where I’d stowed all my clubbing gear, and as I did, the tape holding my catheter tube in place pulled free. I looked down to see it swinging loose and wondered who I thought I was kidding. There was no way I’d be able to disguise the outline of it through the close-fitting T-shirts, and then there was the fluid-filled belly of doom to take into account too. I had thought about skipping a bag and staying up late to fit it in before sleep, but it wasn’t like I could rely on Ollie coming at all—the tracking had been wrong before—and I figured I should probably put my health first.

Doctor Singh would be so proud of me.

I fingered the fabric of one of my favourite shirts and sighed. I knew I should probably just get rid of them all, but there was still a chance of getting some kind of life back before I got too old to wear it again. I just had to wait for someone with the right blood group and tissue type to die in a horrible accident that left a kidney intact. And their pancreas too, so I could be cured of the diabetes at the same time. God, while I was at it, why not wish for them to leave me a fortune as well? I felt like a complete and utter bastard wishing death on a random stranger just so that I could go out on the pull, so I shut the door on temptation and went to the chest of drawers where I stored all my day-to-day clothes. My stretchy, elasticated, baggy clothes. Great.

I found a Wolverine T-shirt in vibrant blue and pulled that on, along with the least dorky-looking pair of trackie bottoms. It would have to do. At least I didn’t have a mullet anymore.

The doorbell chimed.

“Hang on a minute!” I called. I looked around for the tape I used to hold the tube down but couldn’t see it anywhere. Must have knocked it down the back of the bed again. Good thing the T-shirt was so roomy, as it hid the bloating as well as disguising the outline of the untethered catheter tube.

God, I was attractive these days.

I almost tripped over my own feet getting to the front door, then froze when I saw the purple-haired form outside. I had to bully my legs into getting going again. It was what I’d been hoping for, wasn’t it? Only thing was, I was paranoid all those fantasies I’d been indulging in—the ones about Ollie taking one look at the new haircut then pushing his way in and tearing all my clothes off—would show on my face. I ran my hands over my belly to remind myself of the real situation. Fantasy Ben didn’t look like this. Fantasy Ben had a nice set of abs and boundless energy. Yeah, fantasy Ben could go fuck himself, the smug git.

“Hey there,” Ollie said when I opened the door, that million-watt grin lighting up his face again. “Like the hair. Got another one of these for you.”

“Thanks.” I tried to kick-start my mouth into saying something interesting, but it refused to cooperate and decided it wanted to dry out instead. I suppose it was slightly less embarrassing than drooling over him. In an effort not to stare, I forced my gaze away and fixed it on the front garden next door. There was only a low, brick wall separating my spartan, gravel driveway with Mrs. Felpersham’s garden, but it was like another world over there. She’d crammed it full of blowsy pink flowers, a wooden wishing well and more garden gnomes than you could shake a stick at. Those gnomes always gave me the heebie-jeebies, but at least there were plenty to keep my eyes occupied at times like this.

“Oh, sweet! I’ve got that exact same T-shirt! ’Course, mine’s a bit smaller.”

Ollie started bouncing up and down on his heels, and I wanted to lick him all over, he looked so appealing. At that thought, despite being full of dialysate, I felt my cock starting to stir. It’s a good thing I was in the XXX-Large version of the Wolverine shirt. Still, I leant forward a little just to make sure nothing showed.

My mind got stuck on the idea of how much I wanted to see him in that T-shirt and then out of it. I started to worry that I was going to blurt it out by accident, so I kept my mouth firmly shut. I must have looked like a right stuck-up twat. Didn’t seem to bother Ollie, though.

“I should bring some of those comics round for you to read. It would be good to have someone to chat about them with. Most of my other friends think I’m nuts, you know?”

What?
Other
friends? Did that mean he considered me a friend? We’d only known each other for a few weeks. I realised I needed to speak, and fast, if I wasn’t to make a terrible impression and get struck off that friends list.

22

“Yeah, uh, great. I mean, I’d like that, if you don’t mind lending your stuff to a stranger.” Great. Now I’d called myself a stranger when he was trying to be friendly.

“Nah, it’s cool. I know where you live, after all.” He gave me another huge grin that made his cheeks dimple. It really wasn’t fair. No one should be allowed to be that cute.

We did the parcel-signing thing, and I instructed my hands to stay where they were and not go straying over to stroke his. He had a graze on the knuckles of his left hand, and I wanted to kiss it better, like I used to with Zoe.

“Looks nasty,” I said.

“Oh yeah,” Ollie said, flexing his hand. “Skating injury. I was going for a 360

kickflip, but I bollocksed it up. Looks worse than it felt.”

Shit, I must have been staring. I hoped I hadn’t started making kissy lips or anything.

“I didn’t know you were a skateboarder,” I said. After all, dressing like a skater was no guarantee of actually taking part in it. “Are you any good?”

He twisted his lips in a half smile and wrinkled his nose, but his eyes still sparkled. “Not as good as I’d like, but that’s okay. I know I’m never gonna compete, or anything, but it’s fun. I like hanging out with the guys, you know?

Studying their technique.”

There was this glint to his eyes, and I thought maybe he was trying to imply something, but I wasn’t going to risk making a fool of myself and spooking a straight bloke.

I mumbled something even I couldn’t understand and hugged my parcel close. Then I worried that it would pull my T-shirt in tight and reveal the tube, so I dropped my arms to my sides and tried to look casual.

“What have you got today?” Ollie asked, pointing at the parcel. “Another film? You should sign up for that Love Film thingy, you know? Save you a heap of money.”

“Uh, no… I mean, they’re not all films.” Shit, why hadn’t I prepared a lie for if he asked me that? I was rubbish at making things up on the spot, and I wasn’t about to tell him it was a couple of DVDs about delivery guys who liked to deliver more than just the mail to their eager customers. “This is work stuff,” I added lamely.

“Oh yeah? What is it you do?”

Okay, this I could handle. The trick was trying to make it sound interesting enough so as not to send other people into a coma. “Software design. I’m currently working on the code for a complex payroll system.”

Ollie nodded, and I was pleased to see that his eyes hadn’t glazed over. “So does that make you your own boss? Nice one.”

“Not exactly, but I only have to check in with him now and again. I’m mostly left to my own devices.”

“Ah, that’s not so bad, then. I wanna be my own boss one day. I’ve got two bosses, and they’re both bastards, but at least the one in the café lets me have free coffee on my shifts.”

“You work in a café too? How on earth do you fit that in?” And how the hell did he have the energy to get up in the morning after holding down two jobs?

“You must be knackered.”

“Nah, it’s no trouble. I just do a couple of hours there early evenings and on weekends. Need to save up some money coz I want to open a little café by the ramps in Caversham Park. I could sell proper coffee and watch the guys skate all day, and whenever it gets quiet, I could draw. That’d be well sweet.” He had this faraway look in his eyes that made him look so young and innocent. He had to 24

be at least eighteen, though, right? It’s not like they’d let someone who’d just passed their driving test out in a big van like that.

Then the sparkle was back. “Shit, man, I’d better get going or someone’s gonna wonder where I am. Listen, I’ll bring those comics next time, all right?”

“Yeah, great. I mean, that would be really kind of you.”

“No trouble.” He grinned, and for a moment, I thought he was about to hug me or something, but then the moment was gone, and he was bouncing down the drive.

“Bye, Ollie.” God, I envied that energy. And I was so fucking desperate to get my hands on those pert buttocks and squeeze.

“Laters,” he threw over his shoulder with a smirk, and I flushed as I realised I’d been caught in the act again. Damn it! It was such a tease, trying to work out just what his arse looked like under those baggy trousers.

That night, I watched both the DVDs, but my mind wasn’t really on the overly groomed actors grunting away on-screen. I was picturing a shock of purple hair bobbing between my legs, those big brown eyes giving me that sparkle as he sucked me down. I came harder than I had in a long time.

As I lay in bed in a post-orgasmic haze, I knew I needed to do something about this growing obsession. The question was, what? It was a Friday, and I didn’t have anything else on order, so I wouldn’t see him again until at least Tuesday. Three whole days without so much of a glimpse of purple hair. It was going to be torture, but it wasn’t like I knew where to find him outside of work…or did I?

The following afternoon, I pulled up outside one of the tall, terraced houses lining Caversham Park and killed the engine before hunkering down in my seat and turning to stare at the skate ramps through the railings.

It was at times like these I wished I had a less conspicuous car. Okay, Ollie had never seen it as it was kept locked in the garage, but a vintage red MG

convertible has a way of getting you noticed. I’d bought it as soon as Zoe moved out of home, in the period I was starting to think of as my midlife crisis, even though I’d only been in my late twenties. It was a couple of heady years of making up for all the normal, adolescent things I’d missed out on while bringing up Zoe, but with the added advantage of me having enough money to shower around to ensure I always got plenty of dick. And okay, I know I took it too far with the recklessness and the drugs and the casual sex, but I was paying for it now, wasn’t I?

The April afternoon sun was low in the sky, and it only lit the skater on the ramps when he was at the top, but I could tell that it wasn’t Ollie even from this distance. There were a few other figures in the gloom at the base of the ramps, but it was too murky to distinguish them from each other.

What the hell was I doing here? It was no use trying to pretend to myself that I’d just stopped by while in the neighbourhood, because I’d taken a ten-minute detour through Reading traffic to swing by here on my way back from Zoe’s place. No, I had in fact hit a new low: predatory older man stalking nubile twink at the bloody playground. I was a fucking chickenhawk.

I groaned and sank lower in my seat. I just needed some human contact.

Some intimate, male human contact. Maybe I should just go ahead and do what Zoe kept suggesting—sign up with gaydar.co.uk and be honest about my situation. There must be a few blokes out there who wouldn’t care about the catheter tube so long as they got a decent seeing to. Trouble was, I wasn’t even 26

confident I could promise that anymore. I’d probably be so nervous about my weakened body I wouldn’t be able to get it up, let alone give their arse a proper pounding.

And more to the point, I didn’t want just anyone. I didn’t want simply a convenient hole to stick my dick into. I wanted Ollie with his gappy-tooth grin, boundless energy and sinfully delicious arse.

I had to stop thinking about his arse. There would only be one thing worse than spying on teenage boys in the park, and that was doing so with a stiffy.

I was just about to start the engine and take myself back home when a familiar voice stayed my hand. Ollie!

“And besides, it’s not like you’re using it right now.”

“I said no! Fucking hell, Oll.”

The other voice was gruffer, deeper than Ollie’s, with just a trace of a Pakistani accent. I scanned the street and saw the two figures crossing the road some fifteen yards ahead. They turned in my direction, and I froze. Would they notice me more or less if I sat still? Could I pretend to be visiting someone in the nearby houses if Ollie spotted me? Just how good a liar was I, anyway?

Whatever the argument had been about, Ollie seemed to have let it go, because when he next spoke, I could hear his smile lighting up the words.

“What do you want for dinner tonight? I was thinking I could make pie and mash, seeing as how it’s your favourite.”

Jealousy burst through me with a stinging pain.

“There’s no point trying to get around me like that, and I’m not accepting sexual favours either,” the other lad answered.

I gripped the wheel so tight I’d leave permanent dents in the leather.

The two of them walked straight past the car, and I was treated to a vision of Ollie in baggy jeans and a skinny-fit T-shirt with what looked like rhinestone writing on the front. I wasn’t able to decipher it because I was too busy getting a look at my rival: a tall, dark-skinned guy with a shaved head that gleamed even in the dusk. Shit, they looked good together. Better than Ollie and I ever would.

“You’re no fun,” Ollie grumbled. “Not even a blowjob?”

“Not a chance.”

“I’ll just ask your wife, then, shall I?” Ollie suggested, punching the tall guy on the arm. “I know she’s the one who wears the trousers in your relationship, anyway.”

As Ollie’s friend laughed and scuffled with him, relief flooded through me, turning my arms to jelly. They slithered down the steering wheel and landed on my lap. I sat there until the sound of their banter had faded into the distance, then drove home as fast as I dared.