Mandarin Orange: Sweet and Sour (2 page)

God, his head hurt. The rest of him, too, but mostly his head. The only thing Kelly could figure was that he’d cracked himself a good one when he’d tumbled from his bike. His face shield was split, or more like broken, and taking on water. Crap.

Okay, seriously? I am not going to die like this. I’m just... out of it. Maybe concussed? God, where’s that bastard, Bob, when I need him?
Oh, right. Bob was back in San Francisco, where he belonged. Back with the wife and baby Kelly hadn’t known about when he and the hot young EMT had been dating. Or whatever the hell they’d been doing. Crap.

Kelly groaned, the exhalation making a bubble in the rising water in his helmet, then struggled to make his sodden, wet-leather-clad arms move. Soaked through, the Kevlar-reinforced hide was heavier than he’d expected.

“Unnngh... crap.” He couldn’t help the grunts, but he also didn’t much care. He shifted enough to get his arms up, his palms against the ground. Grunting was fine. Even better when he did it again and managed to roll himself.

The water that had pooled in the front of his helmet drained to the sides, sending cold fingers of wetness under the sweat-heated mat of hair there, and even that was a relief. At least drowning was off the table, although more thunder growled and Kelly started to wonder about lightning. With him all flat on the ground, there were definitely much more attractive targets. Another tree, maybe. Or the house he was in front of.
Or Goobs, moron, because he’s still in that stupid crate and attached to way too much metal. Crap.

It wasn’t until Kelly turned onto his side so he could hopefully get to his knees and free his poor pup that he noticed the man messing with the trailer.

“Hey! Leave my dog alone!” Okay. Maybe not the most sensible thing to say. While Kelly’s head throbbed from the volume, the man turned. Regardless of the pounding rain, Kelly could see dark brows rising with
something
. Maybe curiosity, maybe amusement. He couldn’t be sure, especially since he was seeing the man through a cracked face shield.

The man stared for another second, then shrugged and shook his head. “Fuck off,” he said, nearly shouting. “You might want to roll around in the fucking driveway waiting to get electrocuted, but your fucking dog deserves better, shithead!”

Oh, God. Kelly supposed that was what it had to look like, really. He’d somehow gotten onto his back, then he’d started twisting around again, and there was a storm going on, so...
Yeah, I think I’m pretty well concussed. Crap.

“Sorry,” Kelly called back, the effort of making his voice carry even those few feet sending stabbing pains through his head. “His name’s Goober. Sorry. I’m kind of... crap.”

The man laughed. Kelly saw it, even though he couldn’t hear it through another ringing clap of thunder. Then the man did something or other and the next thing Kelly knew, he had a face full -- or as much as he could with his helmet still on -- of anxious, slobbery dog. He could tell. The slobber was much more viscous than the rain, though swiftly washed away.

“Come on,” the man shouted, wind whipping up even more around them. “We need to get you guys inside!”

Kelly didn’t bother to try speaking. He just nodded and let the man help him up. Between the man on one side and Goobs on the other, both trying to help -- the man more successfully than the mutt -- the three of them were indoors within minutes. Just in time for another growling crack of thunder, this one followed immediately by another bright flash that knocked out the electric lights in the small hallway where Kelly, Goobs, and the stranger stood.

“Well, that fucking sucks,” Kelly heard the man mutter. “But fuck it. There’s fifteen stairs and the door to my place is on the right. You and Goober go on up. I’ll follow you, just in case you fall or something.”

Kelly started to shake his head, but stopped the motion when it hurt. “Unngh...”

“Sorry, man, but you look like you’re about to fall over, and your dog doesn’t seem threatening, but I’m not a big fan of getting bitten. You know, in the not-fun way. So drag your undoubtedly hot ass up the stairs and I’ll make sure you don’t topple over and fuck yourself up any worse.”

Well, there wasn’t really anything in what the man had said that Kelly could argue with, and while it might not be the best idea to go to the apartment of some guy he really hadn’t even met, Kelly could hold his own and then some. Even with a concussion. He was at least on the right street, too. He’d missed the house numbers in the storm, but he was definitely on Calderon Drive. The strange man was a neighbor or something. And the bike was out front, big as day, so even if the strange man somehow got the drop on him, somebody would see the bike with its California plates and likely ask questions. So Kelly felt safe enough. For the moment, anyway.

Kelly started up the stairs, one hand tight on the railing while the other gripped the fur at Goober’s ruff. The man only had to steady him twice.

“I’ll get you some dry shit to wear,” the guy said once they’d entered the dim apartment at the top of the stairs. It felt big, just from the way sound traveled. “And some towels for the fucking dog, man. Shit, he stinks already. They’ll be big. Uh, the clothes for you, not the towels. Then again, I guess they might be big, too. I have this thing for those fucking bath sheets, you know? But fuck it. Just stay where you are, unless you can see. And maybe you can, but I doubt it, what with that cracked-ass helmet and shit. I’ll be back.”

Well, the strange guy had a point, Kelly decided after a moment of thought. The helmet had done its job, but there wasn’t really any point in keeping it on, was there?

His brain seemed to scream when he unfastened the strap and tried to maneuver the hard casing from his head, and Kelly thought he might have whimpered. Then he knew he had because Goobs echoed the sound, pitched high and droning, and crap. Just crap.

“Let me help.” The man’s voice was soft, even with as sudden as it seemed. Big, thick fingers slid up under the back of the helmet, somehow cupping Kelly’s neck while tangling in his hair. “Okay. Try again. Just go slowly, man.”

Between them, they managed, and Kelly breathed a careful sigh of relief as he dropped the helmet, his fingers unable to hold on. “Crap, that hurt.”

“Probably should have called for an ambulance,” the man said slowly, “but you were moving on your own and shit, so I figured you were okay. I can call now, if you want. Might be a good idea.”

Again, Kelly started to shake his head, only to stop with a small hiss. The last thing he needed was another EMT. If he
never
saw one again, it would be too flippin’ soon.

“I’m fine,” he answered, doing his best to unzip the heavy, rain-sodden leather jacket he wore. “I hit my head when I tumbled, but I don’t need an ambulance. I know what to do for it. I’ve whacked my head enough times to recognize the symptoms of a concussion.” It had been a while, but Kelly didn’t feel any need to announce it.

The man laughed, so close Kelly felt his breath. “That’s on you, man. I offered. So, here.” A rustling as the man bent down, then straightened, and fabric was being pressed into Kelly’s hands. “That’s clothes for you. I’ll start drying that stinky fucking dog of yours once I show you where the bathroom is.” A pause. “Uh, you probably need a shower or some shit, but there’s candles in there. I’ll get them lit for you.”

Kelly rinsed himself off in blissfully warm water while the man’s parting “Try not to take too long, I need to shower, too... and if you start feeling dizzy or whatever, call me, okay?” still rang in his ears. If nothing else, the guy seemed nice enough. A good host, and decent in a crisis. There were worse neighbors to have.

Chapter Two

“Well, you’re a huge fucking beast, huh?”

Riley chuckled when the dog cocked its head at him like it was trying to make sense of the words.

“A huge fucking beast of a dog who should look dangerous but really just looks like a giant fucking goofball,” he elaborated, and damned if the dog didn’t stand there dripping on Riley’s rug and grinning one of those doggy grins that said
yep
and
sure
and
huh?

Then the dog seemed to gather itself, and Riley knew what that meant. “Oh, fucking
hell
no!” he grumbled, even as he dove to wrap the stinky-ass dog in the big towel he held. One shiver-and-shake was enough, damn it, and while Riley hadn’t been able to prevent the first because he’d been too busy showing the dog’s owner to the bathroom and lighting candles against the near-dark that would become full once the bathroom door was closed, he was for damned sure not about to let
Goober
add even more stench-laden dampness to the environment.

“Goober’s about the perfect name for you, buddy,” Riley growled as he wrestled the big beast to the floor, his own wet clothes likely causing more harm than the dog’s shaking of water ever could. But
he
didn’t stink, so that was fine.

The ensuing tussle and tumble was kind of fun, even if it was a bit uncomfortable, what with the way wet cotton tended to bind. Riley was grinning just as much as the dog by the time they finished. He was still wet, but Goober was mostly dry, and that was the important thing. Or it was, right up until Goober apparently decided that Riley’s couch looked comfy. “No! Bad dog!”

A soft laugh from the hallway that led to the bath had Riley sighing. “Sorry, man, but your dog is fucking bold.”

Motorcycle Guy chuckled again, then cringed slightly as another bolt of lightning lit up the room, reflected through the still-open balcony doors by the rain. “You don’t know the half of it,” the guy said, and now, finally, Riley could hear something other than pain and cold in the guy’s voice. He sounded... young, sort of, except not really. Or maybe it was just that his voice seemed weary and worn, and that robbed it of some youth.

“I found him four years ago,” the guy went on. “He was tiny. Like the size of a potato. Someone abandoned him in a box with a few other pups. Goobs was the only one still alive.” A sigh. “Even the vet didn’t expect him to live, but I figured what the heck, might as well try, you know?”

The guy moved closer, out of the deep darkness of the unlit hallway, and Riley’s breath caught for some reason. Not that his living room was that much brighter, between flashes of lightning, but there was something about the way the guy moved. Fluid. Controlled. Easy, but with some sort of contained force to it.

Riley didn’t have those sorts of moves, himself, but he’d known enough people in his life that he recognized the way the guy moved.
Dancer. Gymnast. Swimmer. Something like that. This guy isn’t just some random dude on a bike.

That last thought had Riley blinking, even as another blast of thunder sounded, but it was true. The dude seemed like a pretty cool guy, so far. Even though he’d crashed a motorcycle into Riley’s ride. Then again, that was what car insurance was for, wasn’t it? Of more interest was why the fucking clumsy-ass biker was even there.

“No offence, man, but is there some reason you were flopping around on the ground like a landed fucking fish? I don’t mean just the storm and shit, but why here? I’d fucking recognize you if you were local, and this isn’t exactly a high-traffic area.” Riley cocked his head, trying to see the guy more clearly.

A small sound that Riley couldn’t classify came from the guy. “I’m supposed to start living around here,” the guy said. “It’s the right street, anyway, but I couldn’t see the house numbers at all. Um, sorry again. Or not ‘again’ because I’m not sure if I said it before, but sorry. For all the trouble. And the truck. Unless it’s someone else’s truck I ran into, in which case, I guess I need to apologize to them, too.”

Oh, fuck. It almost sounded to Riley like the guy was... but no. It was way too early. And yet, what were the odds that he was wrong?

It was with that thought in mind that Riley moved a few steps closer to Motorcycle Guy and cocked his head. “Don’t worry about it. So. Dude. Tell me if I’m totally off fucking base, but I’m guessing you’re the guy Peter told me about. Uh, I mean Peter Jamison. The landlord here.”

Riley saw long, dark hair move while the pale oval of the guy’s face dipped in a nod.

“I guess I forgot about the dog.” Except he hadn’t. His uncle hadn’t mentioned anything about the new... special guest... having a pet of any kind. Riley would have remembered that. He liked animals. He just didn’t have the time or energy to keep one of his own.

“Okay.” Riley didn’t bother with trying to smile or anything else. Motorcycle Guy wouldn’t be able to tell, anyway. “Well, you made it to the right place, even if I think you’re fucking crazy. I would have stopped somewhere once it started raining. Especially with a fucking pup in a box, but whatever. None of my business. I’m Riley Abrams. Peter and I are...” How to explain it without making it sound like he was taking advantage of his uncle’s wealth, or worse, like he was a total loser who had to rely on relatives in order to keep a roof over his head? Riley didn’t know, so he fumbled through as best he could.

“Close,” he said. “Peter and me. We’re friends. Close ones. I look after this house for him, so if you have any problems here, like plumbing or whatever, you tell me. If I can’t fix it, I talk to Peter. Make sense?” Not that he expected the guy to be hanging around all that often. They usually didn’t. There was no point in mentioning that the reason Riley was responsible for just the one house out of all Peter’s properties was to keep the manager of the rest of Peter’s properties from finding out too much about the frequently changing downstairs tenants.

The guy blinked. Riley could just make out the dark wash of thick lashes closing and opening again. “Um, okay. I. Sorry. Riley. Can I... you mind if I sit down?”

Oh, fuck. The guy had already said he was concussed, and Riley was making him stand around, for fuck’s sake. “Dude. Sit. Uh, your dog looks like he’s already using most of the fucking couch, though.” It was true. Goober had stretched out and from end to end covered a good six feet, leaving about nine inches of sofa for anyone else. “Got a table and chairs out on the balcony, if you want.”

Dark-hair-pale-oval turned slightly, and Riley saw teeth gleam in the gloom. “That would be exactly why I don’t let him sleep with me,” Motorcycle Guy said. “The balcony sounds okay. I’m guessing it doesn’t get too wet?”

Riley smirked. “Nah. A little bit, sometimes, depending on the way the wind’s blowing, but it was fine before I ran down to rescue your ass from the storm. Uh, I’m guessing you don’t want a beer, but if you think you can make it out there on your own, I can bring you some iced tea or something.”

“Nothing caffeinated,” Motorcycle Guy said quickly. “It’ll just make my head hurt worse. I’d kill for some water if you don’t have anything else. Most people don’t.”

Well, whatever. Riley just shrugged. “Will kill for water? Good to know. Head on out, then. I’ll see what I’ve got.”

He hadn’t been looking forward to the new tenant Peter had mentioned. Not even a little. Mostly because Riley already knew how that whole song and dance went. Peter liked them young and stupid and desperate, but somehow Riley didn’t think this guy met more than one of those requirements. Maybe two, considering the dude hadn’t just stopped to wait out the storm.

He grabbed a beer for himself, because chances were the last one wasn’t icy cold anymore, even with it being less than fifteen minutes since he’d first heard the sound of Motorcycle Guy’s bike. He also grabbed the lonely can of soda that was left from the last time the twinkies-three -- Riley’s good friends Pauly, Randy, and James, who were all together -- had been by. Then he made his way back to the living room and out onto the balcony.

“I found a Sprite, so drink it. The sugar will probably be good for you or some shit. Can’t figure why Mr. worried-about-his-waistline Pauly would drink it, otherwise. I’m gonna take a quick shower and change. Just... you know. Try not to fall the fuck asleep, okay? The last thing I need is some fucking biker dude going all comatose on me.”

“Kelly.” It came as a surprise, but then again, so did the way Riley felt when the guy on his balcony turned to look at him.

“I. Wha... Huh?” Riley bit the inside of his own cheek to keep from gaping.

“My name,” the guy went on. “Sorry. I suck. My name. It’s Kelly. O’Connor. Kelly O’Connor.”

Riley forced himself to take a long, slow breath through his nose, then nodded and let his jaw relax, releasing the flesh he’d had trapped between his teeth. That was the last name Riley would have imagined belonging to an obviously part-Asian guy.

“Nice to meet you, Kelly,” he managed to say, even as his eyes catalogued long, wavy-even-while-wet black hair, alabaster skin, and vaguely almond-shaped dark eyes. He already knew the guy -- Kelly -- was lean and about an inch or so shorter than his own just-under six feet. Riley knew that even with the leather armor Kelly had been wearing at first, Kelly had to weigh a good thirty pounds less, too. That much was obvious. “Let me go shower and I’ll see you in a few, man.”

What Riley didn’t know -- and definitely didn’t want an answer to -- was the question of why it actually bothered him that Kelly was being installed in the downstairs apartment Riley’s uncle Peter used for tricks. Long-term tricks, granted, because the shortest had stayed there three months and the longest for more than year, but... tricks.

The other question Riley wasn’t asking himself was why he cared. He’d just met Kelly, for fuck’s sake. But Kelly seemed like a cool enough guy, or maybe it was just that Kelly had needed Riley earlier, whether he’d known it or not.

Yeah. He just needed me and he’s hurt. And he’s early. I’ll tell Peter that his new fuck is here, and that’ll be the end of that. Except maybe I’ll be friends with this one, even after he and Peter go their separate ways. I like his dog.

Riley smiled to himself as the warm water of the shower poured over him. It was just that he’d helped Kelly out. His interest had nothing to do with the fact that Kelly was stunning and far sexier than any man ever ought to be. And Riley knew he’d enjoy having a dog nearby. Maybe Kelly would let him walk the mutt or something. All the fun of a pet with none of the responsibility.

Yeah. It wasn’t that Kelly was fucking hot, it was that Kelly had a pup.

Riley finished his shower in record time, then pulled on the sweats he’d grabbed earlier. It was only when he was out on the balcony with Kelly again that Riley realized they were dressed alike. While the sweats and T-shirt Kelly was wearing were big on that smaller frame, Riley couldn’t help thinking the guy looked good. Better than just good. Kelly looked fucking awesome in Riley’s clothes.

Oh, fucking fuck.

***

Kelly’s head still hurt, but thankfully it had stopped throbbing unless he moved quickly. When he did that, the pounding, pulsing sensation returned with a vengeance. Fortunately, there wasn’t really anything that was making him move too fast, aside from the occasional rumble of thunder and flash of lightning. Those were bad enough, but there wasn’t any way to avoid them. The storm was still going strong. Strong-
ish
might be a better term. It was still vicious and violent, but not as much as Kelly remembered from being out in it. Even being in a dark room probably wouldn’t have helped his head, so Kelly didn’t suggest it to the man who’d dragged him in out of the rain.

Riley. That was the guy’s name. Riley.

Taller than Kelly, Riley was bulkier as well. Dark hair, dark eyes, and a body-by-gym, though from what Kelly had seen, Riley moved well enough. Some gym guys were sort of stiff and lumbering, but from what Kelly recalled, Riley wasn’t one of them.

To be fair, Kelly reminded himself, his head had been swimming in the deep end while Riley was helping out earlier, and the two of them had been sitting on the balcony pretty much ever since. It was possible that he’d just not noticed, but Kelly doubted it.

The can of Sprite in his hand was still relatively cool, even after twenty minutes or so of no conversation. Riley seemed to be fascinated by the storm. Ordinarily, Kelly would have been happy to let that intense focus continue, but regardless of the sugar in the soda, he was starting to flag. He could actually feel his mind growing fuzzy, his eyelids drooping just a bit more with each passing minute.

“So,” Kelly said, the words emerging as more of a mumble than anything else, “I really do need to thank you for before. Getting Goobs out of his crate and the shower and stuff. Um, thanks.” Yeah, talking was waking him up some. The last few words had sounded almost normal.

“You said you’re friends with Peter?” Maybe he shouldn’t have asked that, but Kelly couldn’t help it. He wanted to know. According to Kelly’s stepfather, Peter Jamison only had a certain kind of
close friend
, and Riley just didn’t seem like the type.

Riley started a little, then shrugged. “Something like that,” he said, offering up a sort of half-grin that looked guilty to Kelly, though he had no basis for that notion. He barely knew Riley. “And you’re the dude who’s supposed to be moving in downstairs. In, like, two fucking weeks. You’re really fucking early, man. The apartment isn’t ready yet.”

Yeah, that was what Kelly had been afraid of. Or rather it was what he would have been afraid of if he’d thought about it beforehand. Before throwing his clothes in suitcases and his dog into a travel crate. Before heading off across the entire damned country because Bob wouldn’t believe Kelly really was through with him.

Because I couldn’t figure out how to explain to him that being married and pretending he wasn’t while we were dating was the same thing as cheating. On me
and
on his wife. It’s not like I wasn’t coming here anyway, just not quite so soon. What difference does a week and a half make?