Mandarin Orange: Sweet and Sour (3 page)

Kelly wasn’t about to say any of that to Riley, of course, so he just smiled a little and didn’t shrug because the motion would have made his head hurt worse.

“It’s only ten days, and I’ll be fine,” Kelly said, taking a slow, careful sip of soda. “As long as the electricity is turned on, I’ll manage until my stuff gets here.” Until he called his friend Justin’s moving company in San Francisco and had his things packed up and shipped.

It wouldn’t necessarily be fun, but Kelly would manage. He liked his comforts. Who didn’t? But Kelly was sure he could handle having a roof over his head and a sleeping bag between his back and the floor for a while. He’d slept in tents for weeks on end during many, many summers. At least in his new apartment he wouldn’t have rocks digging into his back or pine cones falling on his head.
Not to mention there’s less chance of waking up with a snake. Of the reptilian variety.

Riley snorted and took a long swallow of beer. “Dude. Seriously? Your bike is intimately acquainted with my fucking ride, you’ve managed to bust up your brain, and your stinky-ass dog is asleep on my couch. What part of that shit makes you think you can fend for your fucking self? I’m amazed you’re even still breathing.” The man paused, then grinned. “And I’m getting another beer, man. I’d offer you more Sprite but there isn’t any, so water’s gonna have to do. I’ll give Peter a call at some point, but unless he has some sudden fucking brilliant idea, it looks like you’re gonna be hanging out here for a while. At least until your brain unscrambles itself. I can probably find some aspirin or something, too, if you’re sure you don’t want an ambulance. Not that they’d get here anytime soon. I’m betting there’s a fuck-load of accidents all over the place, right now. So... yeah. I’ll be back, man.”

Weird, how Riley seemed to be so concerned for him, but Kelly didn’t spend more than a second or two thinking about it. Thinking hurt. Then again, pretty much everything hurt. He chalked it up to a combination of ramming Riley’s vehicle and not taking the time to train for the last week or so. But that was another thing an empty apartment would be good for. Space. Enough room for Kelly to sweat through regaining whatever flexibility he might have lost during his cross-country trek.

He wasn’t forgetting that Riley’s
something like that
hadn’t really answered the question of what kind of friendship existed between Riley and Peter, but then again, it wasn’t really any of Kelly’s business. He knew that much, but still... Riley seemed like a decent guy. And while Kelly didn’t actually know Peter Jamison personally, the things Kelly’s stepdad had said about the man -- always with an amused but slightly offended tone of the
boys will be boys
variety -- made it seem unlikely that it would end up going well for Riley.

And that’s none of my business, either, so I need to stay out of it and just be glad Riley’s the kind of guy who runs out in the rain to help someone. What goes on between him and my new landlord doesn’t have anything to do with me. At all. God, can someone please cut my head off until it stops pounding?

“Dude.” Kelly jumped, only then realizing that he’d been dozing off. “Here,” Riley added, setting a glass of water and bottle of aspirin on the small table, along with the cap for the pills. “You sure about that whole weird ‘no caffeine’ thing? Because you look like you’re gonna fall right the fuck over in about a minute. I thought caffeine helped headaches, anyway.”

Kelly carefully picked up the aspirin bottle and tipped three tablets into his hand before exchanging the pill bottle for the water glass. He did his best not to move too quickly while he placed the tablets on his tongue then chased them down with a sip of the cool liquid. “That’s regular headaches,” he said seriously. “The kind that happen when your brain gets bounced around in your skull are a whole other story. Um, how do you not know that? You look like you must have played some kind of sports in school. Football, maybe? You must have had a concussion at some point or other.”

Riley chuckled and sat in the chair opposite Kelly again. Maybe it was the dimness, or maybe it was just hitting his head so hard, but for whatever reason, Kelly got the impression that Riley was blushing.

“Nah,” Riley answered, twisting the cap from his beer in one swift, practiced motion. “Seriously, I was a little dude until I hit fifteen. Then I grew like eight fucking inches in one summer. After that, I was a reedy little shit. You know. Tall and skinny as fuck.” He took a swig of Heineken. “I didn’t start working out until after high school, and I was never coordinated enough for sports, anyway. Too much being aware of where everyone else is, you know? And fuck that. I’m lucky if I know where
I
am.”

That surprised a laugh out of Kelly, and even though it made him cringe a little, it felt good to be laughing with Riley. Okay, it felt good to be laughing with anyone. Kelly hadn’t felt like laughing much in the last couple weeks. Still, there was something about big, buff Riley saying so bluntly that he just wasn’t an athlete that Kelly found amusing.

“I’m not big on team sports either,” Kelly said a few seconds later, staring out at the storm. “Sorry, is it my imagination or is the rain letting up? I don’t think there’s been any thunder or lightning in the last few minutes.”

Riley grinned, and Kelly noticed that he could actually see the man better. Not much, but a little bit, and that might mean...

“Clouds seem less thick.” Riley sounded happy about it, and that was a little strange considering how much Riley had seemed to be enjoying the force of nature. “Dude. Maybe we should go inside. If the sun breaks through, you’re gonna be in a world of fucking hurt. I don’t know how it works where you’re from, but here? When the sun comes out again, all that wet fucking pavement and grass and shit is gonna be bright and shiny, you know?”

Oh, crap. Riley was right. That didn’t mean Kelly could just go inside and hang out, though. “I should get my stuff. And my dog. We’ll be out of your hair in a minute. But thanks, Riley. I appreciate all your help.”

Riley snorted. “Kelly. Dude. Which part of ‘you need a fucking keeper’ don’t you get? You’re concussed, you don’t have any fucking furniture, and the power’s out in the house. You’re staying in my spare room until at least two of those fucking things are fixed. Seriously, Peter would kick my ass if I let you stay downstairs right now.” A huge, affectionate grin split Riley’s face. “And Peter might be ‘a flighty old queen,’ like he says, but he really would try. Or get my Aunt Edna to do the ass-kicking from Florida. So do us both a favor and don’t fucking fight me on this, okay? The last thing I need is to tell the guys at the gym that a swishy fifty-year-old dude gave me a black eye. Or an old lady who’s hundreds of miles away.”

There wasn’t much Kelly could say to that. Even if he hadn’t been relieved, there wouldn’t have been any point. As it was, he gave in as gracefully as possible. He did promise to cook Riley dinner, once he was settled into his own place and had pots and pans and utensils and so on. Riley seemed surprised that Kelly could cook.

“Well, I’m not a master chef, but I do all right,” Kelly said, smiling as he watched Riley try to shift Goober’s dead weight enough to wake the beast. That dog could sleep through anything, and apparently the trip had tired him out just as much as it had tired Kelly. “I just don’t use anything frozen, canned, or jarred. It makes it easier to be sure about what I’m putting into my body. That’s important.” His smile grew a little when Riley shot him a surprised glance.

“I’m not all-organic or anything,” Kelly clarified. “But I feel better about things if I know how much salt or fat or whatever is in the food I eat. Oh, and I’m not a vegetarian, either. A lot of people assume I am when I say stuff like that, but I’m not.”

Riley grunted and finally managed to wake Goobs up with a hard shove. “Well, thank fuck. I like most vegetables, but fuck if I could live on them. Give me a big, thick, juicy piece of meat along with my broccoli and shit, and I’m a happy dude.”

Kelly moved slowly across the floor, then dropped onto one end of the couch. Goobs whined and reluctantly shifted to the floor, where he put his chin on Kelly’s thigh and offered up the puppy-eyes-of-doom. “I kind of already had you pegged as a meat-man, Riley,” Kelly answered. “So, you planning on sitting down, or what?” he added, one hand resting on Goober’s head and scratching behind the dog’s ears to make up for the loss of the surprisingly comfortable couch.

Riley shrugged and slouched onto the opposite end of the sofa. “Guess I better. Otherwise you’ll fall right the fuck asleep, slip into a coma, and
die
.” Riley smirked. “Peter would be totally pissed off, man.”

“As long as it keeps you from getting your butt kicked, I guess it’s worthwhile.” Kelly wasn’t entirely sure that Peter Jamison would really be upset enough to fight with Riley, but whatever. He also didn’t think he’d end up in a coma if he dozed off. In fact, he would be able to do just that in a little while -- doze, not become comatose -- as long as Riley woke him every now and again. But Riley was laughing at Kelly’s last words, and for whatever reason, Kelly really liked the sound of it. It had his head throbbing, but it still sounded good.

Chapter Three

Kelly was situated in the spare room, probably calling home because he’d said he needed to do that. Riley couldn’t deny that the guest room was far from perfect -- it was small, as so many were in houses of the era during which the old Victorian had been built -- and although one corner was filled with piled-up boxes, it did have a bed and a dresser, along with a bathroom right across the hall.

Kelly’s things were in the living room, suitcases standing on a pad of three old towels that would hopefully soak up the rain that had apparently leaked inside during Kelly’s ride and the time after, when those same cases had sat outside in the raging weather. Riley figured they could open the cases the next day. With any luck, the power would be back on by then and they would be able to do a few loads of wash. Rain water might be more natural or whatever, but Riley knew for damned sure that even hanging Kelly’s wet things out to dry wouldn’t leave them anything like soft.

And why the hell do I give a flying fuck whether my uncle’s newest fuck has soft fucking clothes? Jesus Christ, why do I even care if he dies in his fucking sleep? Except then I’d be stuck with his dog.

That was bullshit, of course, and Riley knew it. He did care whether Kelly lived or died, even wanted him to be comfortable. And that was the moment -- standing there in his own living room, with a stinky fucking dog on his couch and four suitcases seeping water into a pile of towels -- that Riley felt it happen.

The world
changed
, somehow, though Riley was sure he’d imagined it. It was only a moment. A simple instant during which Riley felt off balance and borderline dizzy. Then he was fine.

It was probably a shift in the atmospheric pressure, he decided, because the clouds were clearing and spears of sunlight were starting to shine through. Or else it was some weird kind of surge from the power coming back on, because once the strange sensation faded, Riley heard the hum of his old refrigerator starting up in the kitchen. He needed to see about replacing the ancient machine with a new one. Something with a water and ice dispenser on the outside of the door would be good.

He took one more look at the big, hairy monster on his couch and rolled his eyes at how fitting that name, Goober, actually was. Then Riley made a mental note to call Uncle Peter once the post-storm inspection of the outside of the house was done. If nothing had been damaged, Peter still needed to know that the new... well. Peter deserved to know that Kelly had arrived. Early and injured, but Kelly was there. And Kelly was a good guy, from what Riley had seen, so maybe there was some way to warn Peter off.

Yeah. Riley could manage that much, at least. He would.

***

No one ever said having the front wheel of a motorcycle jammed into an SUV’s wheel well was a good thing, Riley thought with a grunt as he strained to drag the bike backward. Unfortunately, jammed was exactly the right word. He hadn’t thought Kelly had been going that fast when the impact occurred, but it had been enough to mess up the guy’s helmet and cause a minor concussion, so what did Riley know? And maybe the seemingly permanent joining of vehicles had something to do with the rain. Like the wetness made the rubber slicker than usual and the bike’s wheel had pushed in farther and harder than it could have done while dry.

Now, of course, it
was
dry, which might explain the degree of difficulty in uncoupling Harley from Ford. The added weight of the trailer-type contraption that Riley had managed to detach from the motorcycle had probably contributed to the degree of connectedness, too, but the fact that the trailer was up against the side of the house didn’t seem to be helping much right then. “Fuck, I’m gonna have to lube it up.”

“Um, excuse me?”

Kelly stood on the front walk, a grin on his face, though Riley didn’t know if the smile was due to the way he’d jumped at Kelly’s voice or what Riley had just said. Only one way to find out, though, so Riley repeated what he’d thought a moment or so earlier.

“I’m thinking you got it way deep in there because it was so wet, man, but it’s dry now, and just jerking it at random isn’t doing any good. So maybe if I work something slick in there, it’ll be easier to slide you the fuck out again. Make sense?” Riley shrugged and Kelly burst out laughing. “What?”

Kelly shook his head slowly. “Nothing. Just... no, never mind.” That grin was still there, though.

“What?” Riley demanded again, crossing his arms and trying to look stern.

Another head shake. “I don’t know you well enough to say what I’m thinking,” Kelly said, shoving his hands into the front pockets of what Riley knew were freshly laundered jeans. “It might freak you out or something.”

Riley cocked his head, trying to figure out what the hell Kelly was talking about. Then he replayed his own words and it hit him. “Fuck,” he said, laughing, “I say that kind of shit all the time, man. Jer says I’m missing my brain-to-mouth filter, but what the fuck ever. I just think it’s funny.” And sometimes he didn’t even notice when he said things that might make other people -- like Kelly, apparently -- try to censor themselves. Weird.

“I guess it is,” Kelly agreed once Riley had gone back to examining the intimacy of the vehicles. “Honestly, you kind of reminded me of my kid brother for a minute, there. He’s seventeen, but his sense of humor stopped maturing around twelve.”

Riley’s loud snort was deliberate. “And you’re what? Twenty going on forty? Please. Now do us both a favor and find me something to oil these babies up, okay? Or... wait. I’ll do that. You need to get your ass back upstairs and rest or some shit. You had a fucking concussion yesterday, man.”

“I’m twenty-four. And I feel okay now,” Kelly answered, and Riley snorted again.

“Shut the fuck up, get inside, and sit your ass down. Play with your fucking dog or something. Or... fuck. He didn’t shit in my house, did he?” Because that would suck. Goober already smelled bad enough. The last thing Riley needed was to have his apartment stinking of dog shit on top of it.

Kelly’s eyes rolled. Riley saw it while he stalked toward the porch. “I took him out a couple hours ago. You were still asleep. He’s fine. But I need to find a store. I gave him what little food didn’t get ruined by the rain, but there isn’t any left now.”

Well, shit. That was what Riley got for taking in a guy with a big-ass fucker of a dog, wasn’t it? “Fine. Get upstairs. I’ll get your bike the fuck separate from my ride, then you can tell me what kind of shit we need for Goober, okay?” And Uncle Peter was going to get a fucking earful, just as soon as the man started answering his phone. He should have mentioned that his new fuck had a dog.

***

It was actually sweet, the way Riley kept trying to take care of him. In a weird, Riley-Tarzan, Kelly-Jane kind of way that didn’t sit quite right with Kelly. He might be the smaller of them and the one who had done a crappy impression of a rag doll when he’d flown from his bike the day before, but that didn’t make him helpless. Kelly was anything but helpless. He’d been a bit woozy and slightly damaged, but he really did feel fine. The headache was almost gone, and while his pupils weren’t quite back to normal, they were well on their way.

And Riley seemed to think Kelly was mentally deficient or something, judging by the way the man kept hovering. So yeah, it was sweet. It was also incredibly annoying and more than a little bit offensive. That Goober seemed to think Riley was the next best thing to liver treats and celery only added insult to injury.

Then again, Riley’s probably used to taking care of people. He seems like the type. Maybe that’s even part of his thing with Peter Jamison. It’s possible. Peter Jamison might be ill or something. If he is, how in the world does he… Pills, maybe?

Peter Jamison, little blue pills, and Riley. The idea alone was enough to have Kelly feeling queasy again. It was also
still
none of his business, and Kelly knew it.

“We can watch something else.” Kelly blinked, Riley’s voice pulling him from his thoughts.

“Huh?”

“Dude,” Riley said from the other end of the couch, shrugging, “I said you can change the channel if you want. The way you were frowning, I figured you were probably tired of sports.”

Kelly hadn’t been paying any attention, but it was as good an excuse as any. The last thing Kelly wanted to do was explain that his expression had been due to disgust over whatever might be going on between Riley and Riley’s
close friend
Peter Jamison.

Kelly smiled a little and picked up the remote from where it lay between them on the sofa cushions. “Sorry. I told you I’m not a huge fan of football, right? Not even the European kind. Now, if they were showing
my
sport, that’d be a whole other story.”

Riley laughed. “Fuck. Yeah, you did say that. So what’s your sport, man? We got kind of sidetracked by the fucking weather before.”

Kelly nodded. “Various martial arts, mostly. I used to swim some, but I gave that up after high school. Grandfather’s pretty well known as a teacher back home, so he started me out really young with karate and judo. Then he sent me to study with some of his friends for other forms and styles.” Kelly chuckled. “They’re all old men, but I swear I wouldn’t want to mess with any of them. They taught me everything I know... but not everything
they
know. Kempo, hapkido, even some tahtib. Um, that’s Egyptian, in case you’ve never heard of it. Egyptian stick fighting. I picked up some other less traditional stuff along the way.” And hadn’t his mother been thrilled about Kelly’s interest in things that could get him hurt? Not. Of course, she wasn’t exactly happy that Kelly had managed to give himself a concussion on his first day in Hartford, either.

“You sound like you miss it,” Riley said, and while Kelly didn’t know the guy all that well, the surprise he thought he heard in Riley’s voice dragged him back on track. “You any good?”

Made the national karate team once, but I broke my arm before I could compete, damn it.
Of course, Kelly wasn’t going to say that. Half the time when he did, guys got belligerent, wanting to test him or possibly themselves. “I’m okay,” Kelly said instead. “I’m supposed to start teaching in a few weeks. One of my old teachers has a former student who’s just bought a school here. He’s someone I’ve competed against and was kind of a friend back then, so when he asked if I wanted to be one of his partners, I said yes.”

Hell, he’d leaped at the chance, not only because he would be teaching what he loved, but because the idea of owning even part of a business at twenty-four was incredibly appealing. That the school was in somewhat dire financial straits was only an added challenge. Besides, Kelly had been aching to spend time somewhere other than San Francisco. It was a great city, but he’d lived there almost his entire life.

Riley grinned. “Cool. Beats the fuck out of looking for work. And answers the question of what you’re gonna do with your time.”

“Plus the question of what I’m going to do for money,” Kelly added. “The rent won’t pay itself, right? I’m lucky that the school is already established. At least we have a built-in customer base. Harry’s been working there for years. His old sensei decided to move to Hawaii, so he offered to sell to Harry.”

This time, Riley’s surprise was visible rather than audible, but all the guy said was, “Okay. I’m getting a beer, man. You want a Sprite? I picked some up when I was getting the shit for fucking Goober.” Riley frowned. “Not for, like,
fucking
Goober. Just. Fuck it. You know what I mean.”

“Well, now I know you’re not into bestiality, so that’s a plus.” Kelly smirked while Goober raised his head at the sound of his name, then put it back down with a muffled huffing sound. “And a Sprite would be good. Thanks.”

Riley chuckled. Nodded. “No problem, man. I’ll be right back. Don’t fucking move. One concussion at a time is e-fucking-nough.”

Yeah, sweet but annoying pretty much summed it up. “And that means we need something with explosions to watch,” Kelly muttered to himself as he flipped channels, Goobs’ chin resting on his foot.

***

Riley was a lot of things, but stupid wasn’t one of them. At the moment, irritated was definitely on the list, though.

“Goober,” he called, “I’m not screwing around, dog! Stop jerking the fu... the funny leash!” The word changed in mid-breath out of deference to the group of kids playing in the Henderson’s yard. They looked about ten or so, and the last thing Riley needed was angry parents banging on his door.

Christ, the fucking dog was a pain in the ass. Big and brown-mixed-with-beige, and while Kelly claimed the beast was four years old, Goober acted like his age could be counted in months rather than years.

Goober pulled harder at the leash, seeming suddenly determined to go see the kids.
Strong as fuck. Add that to the list. Jesus!
The damned dog was practically dragging Riley down the street. It was pathetic. He was the human; the dog should have been listening to him, damn it!

Of course, it was also funny. At least, Riley was sure he would have been laughing if he’d seen anyone else being hauled down the street by an enormous goofball in a dog-suit. He was just glad none of his friends were there to see it. Pauly, Randy, and James would probably take pictures, given the chance, and even Jeremy and that damned Troy Ballard would laugh and tell the story at every opportunity, though without photographic -- or video -- evidence.

“Ooof!” The breath left him in a sudden gust as Goober devoted one final burst of speed to reaching the fence around the yard where the kids were playing and Riley hit that same fence, the top edge banging roughly against his stomach. “Goober!”

The threat in his voice had no effect, other than to make Goobs look over at him as if to say
what now?
Then the dog turned back to the kids, little whining sounds coming out as Goober panted, long strings of slobber hanging from his doggy tongue.

The kids shrieked with laughter and the boys moved closer to the fence while the three girls of the bunch backed away, their noses scrunched up like they smelled something nasty. Probably Goober, Riley thought with a grin. There were nine more days until Kelly’s things were supposed to arrive from California. Riley was determined to get the damned dog to a groomer long before then. With any luck, a professional would be able to do something about the dog’s stench.