Handyman (6 page)

Will drank the glass of water and poured another. Yes, he’d sent Jack away but, though he’d maybe lost an opportunity, he knew he had done the right thing. Any potential erotic feelings Jack was experiencing were too tentative to be taken advantage of while he was under the influence of alcohol. He might have been able to squeeze a one-night something out of it, but that wasn’t what he wanted.

For whatever reason, he had to admit he wanted something more with Jack. Unlike Paul and all the other sex partners he’d had over the years, he felt a connection with Jack he couldn’t explain. It made no sense when he tried to analyze it—Jack wasn’t particularly handsome, he was too old, he was straight, or even if he wasn’t, he came with a lot of baggage to shuck off before they could really have a meaningful relationship. Why would Will want to bother with someone like that? Why waste his time and energy? He could have his pick of men—why choose one so unlikely?

Why indeed? What made a person fall in love? Was it really something so simple as the way the other person smiled when you talked? The way he stroked the wall before applying paint, feeling for any hidden roughness he would sand away? Was it the way he’d touched Will’s elbow as he stood close behind him at the pool table, guiding him with a gentle, sure touch that spoke of his quiet self-assurance? Was it his scent, a sexy combination of male essence and whatever soap he used, mixed with the fresh laundry scent of his faded, soft denim work shirts?

Am I in love?

Surely it was too soon to say. Will knew he was in lust. He knew he wanted to explore Jack’s newfound interest, if that’s what it was. He was dying to pick up the phone and call him—just to see if he got home okay, if he was okay with what they’d talked about. He looked at his watch. Two a.m. was a little late to be checking, seeing as he’d sent the guy away hours before.

With a sigh, he hauled himself off to bed.

***

In the morning a single beam of light fell onto Jack’s face, waking him. Before he was fully conscious he knew something had changed. Something had happened that made him feel different, though still in a semi-sleep state, he couldn’t recall what it was.

He became aware of the chirping of birds outside his bedroom window. He sat up and opened his eyes, squinting in the bright sunlight to see two robins, their red breasts proudly puffed as they whistled their springy duet. Jack smiled. He’d always regarded seeing robins as a sign of good luck.

He glanced at the clock. It was after nine. He rarely slept this late. Must have been all that brandy. The night returned to him with a flash, scrolling across his brain like a silent movie. He lay back against the pillows and put his hands behind his head. Just what exactly had gone on last night?

He tried to recall Will’s precise words.
I feel a kindredness, something between us that sometimes I imagine you feel too. I have this crazy idea maybe we could explore it—together.

Men didn’t say that sort of thing to one another. Not straight men, anyway. Yet when Will had said it, Jack hadn’t recoiled, though he hadn’t known how to respond. He felt the same way, really. At least as far as feeling a certain connection—an easiness he rarely felt with anyone.

Will had crept up on him. He’d slipped past Jack’s usual reserve with his disarming admiration and open friendliness. Was that all it was? Was Jack merely lonely? Was Will the first person to bother, since Emma had been gone, to push past his defenses?

Or was there something more? Did he find Will attractive? As a man? As a potential…lover?

Just the word made Jack flush, though he was alone in the room in his empty house. Did he flush because the idea repulsed him? Or because it excited him? Was he finally ready, twenty-six years after the fact, to explore whatever homoerotic feelings he might have buried beneath a lifetime of denial?

Jack got up and went into the bathroom, his bladder for the moment distracting him from his ruminations. After he peed, he turned on the shower and waited for the spray to heat as he shucked off his pajama bottoms and underwear.

He stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. What could Will possibly see in him? He was in his forties, the hair on his chest going gray, the laugh lines around his eyes pronounced, as were the grooves along either side of his mouth.

His body was still strong and firm, as a result of steady, hard physical work all his life. No gym workouts and tennis games to keep in shape, not for Jack Crawford. He’d built his muscles through the labor of his back and the sweat of his brow. He grinned at himself, aware for a horrible moment he sounded just like his father.

He turned sideways, consciously holding in his stomach and thrusting out his chest. Then he laughed out loud. He was being ridiculous—acting as vain as any insecure kid.

He climbed into the shower and soaped up his body and his hair, his mind returning to Will. Will’s body was lean and firm—the body of an athlete. He was definitely good-looking—almost too good-looking, Jack thought. The kind of man whose face you’d see in an ad for men’s cologne or fine Italian loafers.

Will had the look of an aristocrat, that’s the word Jack was groping for. He was young, rich and smart. Why in the hell was he interested in Jack?

Was
he interested in Jack?

Will might have meant only and precisely what he’d said—that he liked and admired Jack. That didn’t mean he wanted to have anything more, did it? Just because he was gay didn’t mean he wanted to jump into bed with every guy he came into contact with.

Jack rinsed in the hot spray and soaped himself up again, this time lingering over his cock and balls. He sighed with pleasure as his cock elongated and hardened beneath his fingers. He closed his eyes, lifting his face to the hot spray as he massaged his shaft.

Will… Despite himself, Jack saw those brilliant green eyes, fixed so intently upon him. He felt for one ridiculous heart-stopping moment Will was actually there, watching him stroke himself in the shower.

Would Will like to watch such a thing? Jack flushed at the thought but tried not to censor himself from thinking it. Did Will have sexual fantasies about him? Was he way off the mark about Will’s feelings for him? After all, he’d only said he liked him. He’d said he enjoyed spending time with him. Yet when he had tried to respond in kind, admittedly in a clumsy, drunken ramble, Will had sent him away—dismissed him. Though part of him was relieved, it rankled nonetheless.

“My God, give it a rest, Crawford,” Jack said aloud. “For all I know, the guy has zero interest, no intentions. Here I am, gearing up for some kind of gay encounter and Will has probably forgotten the whole thing. Jesus, I’m pathetic.”

He forced himself to think of a naked woman as he finished jerking himself off. Just as he ejaculated his libido got the better of his conscious mind, thrusting the image of Will, bent over the pool table, his hair falling into his eyes, his lips parted as he prepared for a shot…

Jack finished his shower and roughly toweled himself dry. If only he hadn’t finished the job at Will’s place already. He prided himself on working steady and fast—it was a big reason he got repeat business, maybe the main reason. He had two jobs lined up for next week, though neither would take more than a day or two. After that, maybe he could call Will, invite himself over with some plans for Will’s master bathroom. It could definitely use some renovation…

Wait a minute. What was he thinking? Jack never solicited business. He let it come to him. If Will wanted more work done, he had Jack’s number. He wasn’t about to foist himself on the guy just because they’d maybe spoken a little too freely after a little too much to drink.

If Will wanted to see him again, Will could call. Will, after all, had been the one to send him away. Let him call him back—if that’s what he wanted. And if he didn’t, well, that was that. Jack had been doing fine on his own these past two years. There was no reason to suppose he couldn’t go on just as he had been for the next twenty.

Jack went about his business, making himself breakfast, eating it in front of the TV as he watched the Friday morning news, washing the few dishes and putting them in the rack to dry. He had a small job that afternoon—some finishing touches on a sunroom he’d built on a house not far from Will’s. Then the weekend loomed.

As he poured himself a second cup of coffee an uninvited thought slipped into his head.
What if you wait for him to call, but he doesn’t? Will you let this second chance slip away like you did the first?

He had no answer.

“Jack, you do
such
nice work. Your wife is so lucky to have such a
handy
man.” Mandy Williams, an attractive woman in her late forties with perfectly dyed blonde hair, large blue eyes and rather too much makeup and jewelry clattered toward Jack on very high-heeled sandals.

The thick platinum wedding band and huge diamond on her ring finger left little doubt as to her marital status, but that hadn’t stopped her from flirting, or attempting to flirt, with Jack since he’d arrived to finish the molding in her new sunroom.

He was used to women coming on to him over the years, and had always successfully rebuffed them, usually with a reference to his wife. This time he hadn’t mentioned a wife but when she brought one up, he didn’t disabuse her of the notion.

He was standing on the middle rung of a ladder, using a nail gun to secure a section of the ornate molding she’d decided on, after he’d already put up her first selection, which he’d personally preferred. Still, it was her dollar, and if she wanted to spend it having him put up and take down molding, that was her decision.

She came up directly behind him, standing so close he could smell her perfume. “Do you think she’d lend you to me, Jack? Just for a little while? Hmmm?” Her voice was low and sensual, its tone both insinuating and confident. He smiled to himself, wondering how many other hired hands she’d seduced over the years while her husband was off earning the sizable income it must take to maintain this suburban mansion.

She moved closer, her surgically enhanced breasts pressing up hard against the backs of his legs. He was surprised at himself—at how little her attempts at seduction moved him. He was pretty sure he could step down from that ladder and take her in his arms right then if he wished. He could follow her to her bedroom and fall into her king-sized bed and fuck her if he wanted.

He had absolutely no desire to do that. What he really wanted to do was finish this job and check his cell phone for messages. He’d left it in the truck by accident and hadn’t realized it until he was in the middle of the job.

Maybe he’d call Will himself—apologize for his stupid drunken monologue of the night before. First he needed to head this one off at the pass.

“She’s pretty darn jealous, my wife.” He turned back to smile down at Mrs. Williams. “I imagine Mr. Williams feels the same way about you.”

“Call me Mandy.” She blinked up at him with long curling lashes as she slid the tip of her tongue suggestively along her full lower lip. “And no, he doesn’t care what I do when he’s not around. We have an—understanding.”

Jack shot the last nail into the edge of the molding and climbed down from the ladder, forcing the woman to step back. He decided to act as if he hadn’t heard her. “That should do it. The room is done at last.” He glanced pointedly at his watch. “I’m sorry to run, but I have another job I need to be getting to—”

Mandy gripped his bare forearm. “Don’t go. Please.” The yearning in her face, the loneliness, was so palpable Jack found himself blushing, not for himself but for her. She barely knew him—they’d exchanged only a few words before today. He understood she didn’t want him per se, but just a warm body—someone to hold and admire her, someone to fill the emptiness she must feel to proposition the handyman.

“Mrs. Williams, I—”

“Mandy.” Her grip tightened, her long red fingernails grazing his skin.

“Mandy.” Gently he uncurled her fingers from his arm and stepped back. “You’re a beautiful woman. I just don’t do that sort of thing. If I did, you’d be first on the list.”

Mandy threw back her head and laughed, a high musical peal, though there was no joy on her face. “Well, at least you’re gallant. I’ll give you that.” Her mouth curved down, making her suddenly look her age. “Faithful to little wifey to the bitter end,” she sneered. Tossing her blonde hair back, she sniffed. “Well, that’s your problem, not mine. I’ve got the plumber coming later.”

It took Jack a moment to understand the implication of this statement. Mrs. Williams’ voice was cold. “What do I owe you?”

“You’re paid in full, ma’am. Your husband paid me last week.”

“Oh Jesus, so it’s
ma’am
now. Get out. Go on. Just go.”

Jack went.

***

He meant to drive home but found himself instead driving in the direction of Will’s place. The cell phone sat beside him in the cab, no missed calls or voice messages in evidence. Maybe he’d freaked Will out with his drunken declarations of affection. He could barely remember what he’d said now, but he knew he’d waxed on ad nauseam about how much he liked Will and liked doing things with Will and liked being with Will. He had probably sounded like a goofy teenager. No wonder Will had sent him home.

Well, he’d put it to rights. He took a detour as he neared Will’s neighborhood, stopping at the Italian bakery Will had taken him to the night before. He pointed at the empty cannoli shells behind the glass. “I’ll take six of those, please.”

His mouth watered as the woman squeezed the fresh sweetened ricotta from a pastry tube into the delicate fried wafers. She placed them in a small white box and beamed at him as he paid for his purchase.

“You were here last night. I remember you.” She pointed in his direction with an empty cannoli shell. “You like my cannoli. You’re a good boy.” Jack grinned at her use of the word boy though he supposed it was all relative. She looked close to eighty, her small dark eyes nearly lost in folds of wrinkles, thinning white hair pulled back in a bun, revealing strips of bald scalp.

Her smile was friendly, her eyes twinkling with pleasure as she watched Jack lift a cannoli from the box and take a bite, his eyes closing in ecstasy. Her accent was thickly Italian and gravelly with age. “You can’t even wait to get it home, eh? You save some for that handsome boy you had with you last night, okay?”

Jack felt his cheeks heat, though he doubted she considered the two of them lovers. Not that they were. Jack shook his head. He was going to drive himself insane with all this nonsense.

As Jack drove, he again glanced at his cell phone on the seat beside him, wondering if he should give Will a call before just showing up. He might not be home. Or worse, he might be home with someone else.

Jack slowed as he turned onto Will’s street, still trying to decide if he should call first. As luck would have it, Will was in his front yard, kneeling in front of one of the flowerbeds pulling up weeds. Deciding this was a good omen, Jack pulled his truck into the driveway and cut the engine.

The sun was warm in a clear blue sky, and Will had taken off his shirt. He turned at the sound of the truck. When he recognized Jack, his face broke into a radiant smile and he waved. He stood, brushing the dirt from the knees of his jeans. Jack couldn’t help but admire his broad bare shoulders and well-defined pecs and abs.

He climbed out of the truck and walked toward the garden. Will met him at the driveway. “Hey there. I was going to call you later. I assume you got home okay last night? I felt bad afterwards, sending you home with maybe too much alcohol in your system. I would have called this morning but I, well to tell you the truth, I chickened out.” He grinned sheepishly and looked down at his bare feet.

Jack didn’t know how to respond to this. Instead he held out the bag of pastry. “I brought more cannoli. I have to confess, I bought them more for me than for you.”

Will laughed and took the bag. “Hey, that’s okay. Come inside. I’ll just get cleaned up and we can have an afternoon sugar-fest. I’ll put on a pot of coffee.”

Jack followed Will into the house, feeling happy and relieved. Will didn’t seem put out to see him. In fact he seemed very happy. He wondered about Will’s comment about chickening out, but decided he would find out in due time, if he was supposed to know.

“You know, about last night—”

“What I said last night—”

The two of them spoke in unison, processed what the other said and then laughed. “You go first,” Will said.

“No, I want to hear what you have to say. Please.”

Will nodded. This had to be harder for Jack than for himself, he realized. He, at least, was very comfortable in the terrain of homosexual encounters, having been gay and aware of it since he began having sexual feelings.

Though he doubted Jack was ready to declare his sudden conversion to Will’s side of the tracks, his very presence today, unsolicited and without the excuse of work, said as much as the way he kept shyly glancing Will’s way when he thought Will wasn’t looking.

“I just wanted to say I really enjoyed spending time with you last night. I felt really bad though about the way it ended. I mean, I got the feeling you thought I wanted to get rid of you. In fact, that was the furthest thing from my mind.

“The truth is”—Will swallowed, thinking
now or never
, as he plunged on—“I wanted you to stay too much. I knew if you stayed, with the amount we’d had to drink, I might do something really stupid and scare you away.

“That was the last thing I wanted. You said a lot of things—things you might not have said otherwise, things you may not even really feel now in the sober light of day. If I’d taken advantage of you, because that’s what it would have been, you might have regretted it later. We both might have.”

Will took a breath. Jack was watching him, waiting with a calm expression, as if this were the sort of thing he talked about every day. Will was struck by the unusual blue gray color of his deep-set eyes. They were trained on him as Jack listened. Will got the sense, as he often did when Jack listened, that he was listening with every part of himself. He didn’t fidget or fool with something on the table or in his hand, glancing from Will’s face to something else of interest in the room, poised to interject his own thoughts or opinions at the first opportunity, as most people Will knew did.

Knowing Jack was listening, really listening, gave Will the courage to continue. “I guess I’m trying to say I think something could be happening between us, Jack. Something I’ve only dared fantasize about until now. Your coming here today gives me hope. Maybe that hope is misplaced, and if so please forgive me, because the last thing I want to do is make you uncomfortable.

“I’ve come to value our friendship in the short time we’ve known each other. It means more to me than a one-night stand. Way more.”

He folded his hands on the table and tried to smile. “Okay. Your turn.” The ball was in Jack’s court. He waited to see if Jack would return it.

Jack nodded slowly, as if weighing his words before delivering them. He lifted his coffee mug and took a sip. He set down the mug and said, “I have to tell you, I’ve been thinking a good deal about what went on between us last night. You should know, since Emma died, I really haven’t opened up to anyone the way I’ve opened up to you. I don’t know why, exactly. I mean, I guess I was in mourning at first. We’d grown up together, me and Emma. She was what I knew.

“Then it just got so I was used to being alone. I’ve never been a very social guy. I mean, I like people, for the most part, but give me a good block of wood and a lathe and I’m happy as a clam, building something in my workshop. It was easier to hide, I guess. To let well-meaning friends drift away after I turned them away enough.

“Getting back to work was good for me. Not just financially,” he grinned and continued, “but because it forced me back into the world. It required me to be sociable, or at least to communicate on a daily basis with some part of the human race. But still I didn’t really connect with people. I mean, I’d talk to them, of course, but I certainly never made friends with anyone outside the confines of the workday.

“Then you came along, so interested in my work, so interested in”—he paused, flushing—“in me. I mean, at first I just took you at face value. I figured you really wanted to know about the history of tin ceilings in the area.” Will started to protest that he really
was
interested in that but Jack silenced him with a raised hand.

“Hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to pretend with me. That’s what I guess I’m trying to lead up to here, though it’s taking me a while. I’ve been thinking about it a lot actually, ever since last night. I think what happened between us is this, and you correct me if I’m wrong.”

Will leaned forward. This was it. Jack was going to say thanks but no thanks, in his kind, rambling, gracious way and Will would have no choice but to accept his decree. He forced himself to be calm and tried not to leap to conclusions.

“Last night you told me in so many words you…” He paused and gave a small, embarrassed laugh. “I’m sorry, I don’t know the right words for this sort of thing when it’s between guys, so just bear with me. I don’t even know the words grownups use for this sort of thing. It’s been so long since I was in circulation, if I ever was. So I’ll just say it best I can. Last night you admitted you had a crush on me. And I tried to tell you back that I do too.”

Will stared at him, his heart beginning a rapid, steady patter.

Jack looked embarrassed but tried again. “I mean I”—his voice lowered to nearly a whisper—“have a crush on you too.”

Will felt laughter bubble up and threaten to spill out. He forced it down, aware Jack was very serious and also very embarrassed by what he was saying. The last thing he needed was for Will to laugh at him. It was hard, though, not to smile. His language was so quaint, so junior-high sweet. A
crush
? They shared a mutual
crush
? Was the next step to ask each other to go steady? Or taking it back another generation, who would wear whose pin?