Mandarin Orange: Sweet and Sour (6 page)

Chapter Five

It was good to be back on his bike. It was better than just good. Kelly felt almost completely free for the first time in days. It hadn’t taken more than a few minutes to remove the remains of the cracked face plate, and while it wasn’t entirely safe to ride with a damaged helmet, it beat the crap out of no helmet at all.

Goobs had been left on the balcony with a bowl of food and an even bigger bowl of water. The poor guy wasn’t too happy about it, but Kelly had seen what the dog had been eating and there was zero chance that all that roughage wasn’t going to cause some issues. It wasn’t the first time Goober had gotten into vegetables, after all. The dog would be fine. Unfortunately the same wouldn’t have been true of Riley’s floors or rugs if Kelly had left Goober inside. If the yard had been fenced, Kelly would have left Goober out back, but it wasn’t, so the balcony and some spread-out newspapers would have to do.

Kelly would deal with that when he returned. At the moment, he had a ride to take.

The weather was fine, it was still daylight out -- thank God for summer -- and Kelly wasn’t going too far, anyway. Just to the nearest motorcycle shop, which was what he’d been looking for online. Assuming he’d read the directions provided by the map service correctly, it was less than a twenty-minute ride, which Kelly figured would be perfectly safe as long as he was careful, and he was always careful.

That was one of the things Bob had laughed about, before everything had gone wrong. “I don’t understand how you can have such a sweet bike and never tear it up,” Bob had said at least once a day.

“And I don’t get how you’re an EMT but think speeding through busy streets without anything substantial between you and the pavement is a good idea,” was what Kelly had usually said back.

But Bob isn’t here, and he turned out to be a completely different kind of man than he seemed. God, it’s not like I loved him or anything, so why am I still dwelling on this? Just because he managed to fool me? It’s crap and I need to get over it. No, I
am
over it, as of now.

Kelly nodded to himself and pushed it all to the back of his mind, letting the air flowing past soothe him. He watched the roads and other vehicles, but that was really second nature, and between moments of pure focus, he darted small glances at the rest of the city around him, seeing the Victorian-style houses give way to smaller, more modern-looking ones. Then the houses became interspersed with smallish apartment buildings before fading out in favor of more apartments, condos and businesses. It was interesting to see that, at least in the part of the city where he was riding, even the newest buildings weren’t ultra-modern, but more in keeping with the old-fashioned, nearly historical style.

It was different downtown. Kelly remembered that much from his incredibly foolish ride in the storm. Most of the buildings downtown had been huge. Even the obviously ancient ones had towered over the streets, while the newer edifices had been glass and chrome, much as in any other city. Kelly preferred the character of the area where he was currently riding. It almost reminded him of home. Less hilly and with straighter streets, but there was still that bit of quaint charm that was appealing.

“Sweet machine,” called the guy who’d stepped from the shop while Kelly had been backing his bike to the curb at a forty-five degree angle. “Looks sorta like a Softail, but not really. Still sweet, though.”

Kelly laughed and popped the bike up on its stand. “It’s had a lot of work done,” he admitted, “but it started out a Softail Custom. The guy I bought it from was a big fan of messing around with things.” He shrugged and unfastened his ruined helmet, then pulled it off and offered the tall, tattooed guy a grin. “It runs like a dream, though. Made it here from California without any problems.”

The guy stared pointedly at Kelly’s helmet, clearly noticing the missing face shield. “Uh-huh. Looks like it.”

Kelly’s grin turned sheepish. “Yeah. The helmet happened after I was already here. You know that storm the other day? Well, let’s just say it didn’t go well for me. So I’m looking for a new helmet. Um, I’m Kelly.”

“Spider,” the bike shop guy replied, and he cracked a grin when Kelly blinked. “Yeah, I know. I’m a walking cliché. I blame my dad for the name. Mom wanted to call me Oliver. I’m not sure whether that would have been better or worse. Come on inside, Kelly. I’m pretty sure I have something that’ll work for you.”

As it turned out, Spider did. The new helmet was almost perfect, colored just a half-shade lighter than the deep burgundy of Kelly’s bike. Kelly tried it on and decided it fit well enough, even when he took his hair down from his habitual ponytail. “I’ll take it,” he announced happily, already pulling his wallet from the inside pocket of his leather jacket.

Spider chuckled. “Don’t you want to know how much it is?”

Kelly shook his head. “It fits and it’s a close enough match. It’ll cost whatever it costs. But don’t worry; I know it won’t be cheap.” It really wouldn’t, but that was fine. Kelly was willing to pay for top-of-the-line safety. His credit card company would love him for it just as much as Kelly hated using credit in the first place.

“O’Connor,” Spider said when he took Kelly’s card to run it through the machine. “Kelly O’Connor. Why does that sound so familiar?” He frowned, obviously wracking his brain. “I swear I’ve heard it somewhere before.”

“I doubt it,” Kelly said, one hand running possessively over the hard, curved surface of the new helmet. “I only got here a few days ago. Nobody knows me yet. And vice versa.”

Spider shrugged and swiped the card, then handed card and a charge slip back to Kelly, along with a pen. “I’m sure I know the name, man, but it’ll come to me eventually.” He traded Kelly’s signed slip for a duplicate. “Enjoy your new helmet and if you need anything else for that sweet bike, you know where to find me. I’ve got a nice little repair shop off the alley out back. We don’t do any real custom work, but you can’t beat us for regular fix-ups and maintenance. We do some painting, too, just in case you want to touch things up a little.” Spider had a point. There were a few dings and scratches from the altercation between bike and Bronco, but they could wait a little while. At least until Kelly started teaching classes at the martial arts school.

“I’ll keep it in mind.” With those words and a smile, Kelly left the shop and donned his new helmet, then straddled his bike and headed off for his next errand. The movie rental store was back near Riley’s, only twelve or so blocks from the house. Kelly was in the mood for something sappy, silly and sweet. He had hours before Riley got home from work. A couple of so-called chick-flicks would fill that time just fine. Then maybe a thriller or an action movie. Possibly something that combined both, like one of the
Bourne
films. Matt Damon was kind of hot. Or something with Will Smith, because the guy was incredibly funny and talented, and oh, yeah. Hot, too. Not as hot as Riley, but not many were.

Kelly could definitely watch one of those movies. Again. And the hotness on the screen would probably be enough to keep him from wondering why someone like Riley was all tangled up with Peter Jamison. Kelly hoped so, anyway.

***

Riley woke up feeling grumpy. He didn’t have any reason to be, but he was. He’d spent a decent night driving around. He’d gotten some dinner at the pub in the Hotel Durmont, hit some bars, and considered hooking up with a few of the chicks he ran into, but he’d more or less promised to be home at the same time he would have been if he’d actually gone to work, so he’d passed on the idea. Most women didn’t much like it when a guy got off and then disappeared without so much as a cuddle.

In his most honest moments, Riley admitted -- only to himself, of course -- that he enjoyed the cuddling. There was something about being wrapped up with someone following full-on intimacy that just felt really fucking good. Not good enough for him to break his word, but still. Good.

So he hadn’t gotten his groove on. He’d picked up some beer and gone back to his place, where he’d sat on the couch and watched
The Bourne Identity
, followed by the first
Men In Black
movie, and it was fun. Right up to the part where Riley realized Kelly was completely ignoring him unless Riley asked a direct question. Even then, Riley had understood. There were some damned good-looking actors in those movies, and Kelly was obviously gay. Not because he seemed gay, really, but because... well, there was the whole thing where Kelly was going to be staying in the downstairs apartment, and that meant Kelly was Peter’s latest fling, trick, whatever.

Kelly had been completely comfortable with Riley’s friends, too, and that was sort of telling. Most straight dudes got all fucking weird when they were surrounded by not-so-straight guys. Riley didn’t, but he’d been around gay dudes most of his life. Long enough to realize that there was way less macho bullshit with his non-hetero friends than with the few straight friends Riley had. Not that gay guys didn’t do the whole macho thing, but it was less... something.

Less in your face, I guess. Like there’s not as much fucking need to prove how manly they are or something. Can’t say it gets much more manly than deliberately letting another dude shove his dick up your ass, though. Shit, a guy would have to be pretty fucking secure about himself to do that. It’s probably not easy to step up and be open about it, either. But fuck it. I didn’t get laid and I came home and fucking Kelly ignored me like I wasn’t even there. Might as well have just done the guy-thing and hooked up with some chick for all it mattered that I was here.

That probably explained it. He’d passed on orgasms in order to keep his word, and Kelly hadn’t even fucking appreciated it.

Or maybe, Riley decided as he lay there in his bed staring at the too-bright ceiling reflecting the sun from the window right at him -- maybe he was grumpy because Goober’s enthusiastic scarfing of the fucking veggie platter the day before had resulted in a whiny, pathetic dog who whimpered every time either Riley or Kelly shifted on the couch. Riley was fairly sure that the outcome of Goober’s un-doglike feast was directly related to the lack of newspaper left in the apartment, but he’d been afraid to ask.

And
that
most likely explained his mood. Goober’s obvious distress had kept Riley from fully enjoying the movies, and he was grumpy because they were movies he liked and he hadn’t been able to lose himself in them because of the damned dog. The pitiful, unhappy dog. Fuck, Riley hoped Goober was feeling better. Poor thing didn’t deserve to suffer that much. And Goober was really just an overgrown puppy. Pauly shouldn’t have fed him so much broccoli in the first place, not to mention the celery and fucking carrots and shit.

So, yeah. He was grumpy because Pauly was a moron. “Like that’s a fucking news flash,” Riley grumbled as he finally threw back the sheet he’d slept under. “Pauly just doesn’t fucking think. Not with the big head, anyway. Shit.”

And possibly, Riley thought, he was grumpy because whatever he’d been dreaming just a few minutes earlier had left him hard and aching, but he couldn’t remember the dream. He definitely felt disappointed that he’d woken up too soon, though. Fuck if his cock wasn’t still pulsing like he’d been about to come from whatever had been going on in his head.
And if that’s not the stupidest fucking reason for being so damned grouchy, I don’t know what is.

Riley chuckled to himself as he got out of bed, looking down at the tented boxers he’d slept in. “Fuck it. At least I can rub it out in the shower. No such thing as a bad fucking orgasm.”

Ten minutes later, Riley felt much more relaxed. He didn’t bother to watch the last of his spunk flow down the drain. Instead, he rinsed off, wrapped a towel around his hips, and brushed his teeth before running a comb through his hair. He was happy to find that his mood on waking had passed during the familiar morning activities, though it was actually past noon by the time Riley tugged on a pair of gym shorts and a tank and left his room.

Kelly wasn’t around, but neither was Goober, which led Riley to the belief that Kelly was walking the fucking dog. Probably a good thing, considering.

The kitchen was cleaner than Riley remembered leaving it in the early hours, but the scent of coffee seemed fresh, rather than having that burned tinge it acquired when the pot sat on the warmer for too long. “Thank fucking God for that much,” Riley murmured to himself as he grabbed a mug and poured it full.

He took a careful sip of strong black nectar and moaned softly while he opened the fridge. “Shit. I need to go to the fucking store. There’s fuck-all to eat in this place. And Kelly’s probably gonna be hungry after walking the mutt. The little bit of shit here isn’t gonna cut it.” It was the truth, too, because while there were a fair number of things in the refrigerator, none of them actually went together.

A red bell pepper. A green one. Half an onion. Two lemons and a Satsuma that had probably been in the fridge for weeks, if not longer. One package of smoked salmon -- something Uncle Peter had turned Riley on to as a teenager -- some ketchup, four beers left from the night before, and a quart jug of milk.

“Fuck. Well, at least I know what I’m gonna be doing first today. Before ‘work,’ I mean. Shit.”

A bark answered his words, followed quickly by Goober’s galloping entrance into the kitchen. Riley startled and stepped back and the dog jumped up, his front paws on Riley’s shoulders. Then Goober barked again, sharing his nasty-ass breath.

“Oh, fuck no! Jesus Christ, dog, get the fuck off of me!” Goober panted, his nails digging into Riley’s skin. “Now, you fucking backward mutt!” It didn’t help that Kelly was suddenly in the doorway and obviously trying not to laugh.

Riley finally managed to get purchase on the huge-ass beast with his one empty hand and he pushed hard at Goober’s ribs, even as Kelly said “Goobs! No! Bad Goober! Down!”

It could have been the shove or Kelly’s words; Riley didn’t care which. All that mattered was that the hell-beast’s gaping maw was the fuck out of his face. “Shit, man. When’s the last time the mutt saw the doggy dentist? He needs a fucking teeth-cleaning in the worst damned way.” Yeah, fuck it. He was grumpy again. Shit.