New Lease of Life (17 page)

“Sorry about that. So can….”

Colby’s voice came back in full force, wrenching Pip from thoughts that had him squirming in anticipation and delight. He continued as if the break in conversation hadn’t given Pip the time to consider Colby’s thick fingers fucking into him until he begged to ride Colby’s dick. To be fair, he hadn’t left Pip unattended for more than about thirty seconds, but the step from Colby’s fingers to his dick was an easy one to make. Damn, and Colby was still speaking.

“… name? You didn’t protest earlier?”

“Earlier you scrambled my brain with all the kissing and the foot massage.” And yet he wasn’t actually saying no. Pip was well aware that he was simply playing for time, not wanting the conversation to end.

“True.”

“Modest.”

“Jesus Christ!” Colby’s exclamation followed a resounding and unexpected thud from his end, and he didn’t bother to cover the mic or even move his mouth away. “Cris, we’re only going for a weekend. Sorry, Pip, I’m going to have to go.”

No, no. Not ready. “Yes,” Pip blurted out. He’d only meant to protest a little; he knew Colby would bring him back around. He didn’t mind the pet name in the slightest. “You can call me—” Pipsqueak. Pip didn’t get a chance to finish, though.

“I will, promise. Catch you later, Pipsqueak.”

“Drive safe.” He didn’t know if Colby heard the last words, not with the dead air echoing in his ear.

Two and a half hours later, his phone beeped an incoming message.

Arrived safely.

COLBY HAD
been right about one thing: Pip really didn’t have anything to do tonight. Actually, he’d been right about several more things, including the facts that they appeared to be on the cusp of some sort of relationship that went beyond a newfound friendship, the meals he’d been forcing down himself on a regular basis were probably doing him more harm than good, and his blog had been painfully neglected.

Setting up his laptop and ignoring the gnawing guilt that he’d done very little work earlier that day, Pip made his first port of call the delivery website for his regular supermarket. He filled his virtual basket with fruit and vegetables, fresh meat and cheese, and chilled pasta and bread that would actually taste better than the plastic it came wrapped in. On a whim, he clicked onto their homeware section and ordered himself a top-of-the-line juicer.

Feeling healthier just from the thought of the spinach and ricotta conchiglioni—his favorite meal before the accident—he would be able to make for himself tomorrow evening, Pip rode his newfound confidence and navigated to his blog. He logged in, the password coming to him without any conscious thought, and started to compose a new post, explaining in the vaguest form possible the reason behind his disappearance.

He’d intended to wrap up the post with the news that he had disposed of his collection, where it could be found, and a final sentence confirming the closing of the blog forever. Instead he listed the details of Colby’s shop with a link to the website; a site that could use a bit of work if it was going to be experiencing an increase in traffic. Pip would talk to Colby about improvements that could be made during their lunch date on Monday.

Best not to disable comments either, just in case anyone had a question about Colby’s business that Pip could answer. If there was anybody still out there reading, of course.

Checking his e-mails Pip was surprised to find messages from both the plumber and the carpenter. He opened the plumber’s e-mail first. It was a simple missive with an estimate attached. A reasonable price for the work involved, but a hollow emptiness gripped him in the pit of his stomach. Had he made a rash decision? Ripping out all those beautiful bespoke cabinets…. Colby was right. Again. At least the carpenter would be able to reuse the wood. Maybe he could simply shelve the units that were already there and make one of the wardrobes into a comfortable seat with a reading light.

Now would be a good time to reassess the situation before Mr. Graham of Wooden Wonders got much further on than the rough sketch attached to his e-mail. Although for some reason, the carpenter had kept one of the spaces as a wardrobe, and Pip needed to see what that was all about. He left the plan open on the screen and grabbed his cane from where it rested against the edge of the desk.

Moving around was much easier with the cane, and as he made short work of the stairs, Pip had to wonder how much the use of the crutch had been holding him back. Another thing Colby had been right about, apparently.

Reaching the doorway to the dressing room, Pip paused, running the plan through in his head to confirm which unit Mr. Graham had left as a wardrobe. The one in the far corner, which currently housed a long-length hanging rail, a shoe rack, and not much else.

Tapping the tip of the cane against the hardwood floor, Pip composed himself and then strode—actually strode rather than hobbled—the three steps required to reach the corner of the dressing room. Sliding his fingers into the recess of the handle, Pip took a steadying breath and then eased the door open.

His chest tightened as that breath seemed to be sucked straight back out of him. A prickling sensation in the corner of his eyes was the only warning of the sudden blooming wet heat that flooded his tear ducts and turned his vision into a sodden, hazy mess.

“Ridiculous,” he muttered to himself in admonishment as he swiped the back of his hand across his cheek. “They’re only clothes.”

His clothes. Or at least a small proportion of them. Hanging there on the rail.

The outfit he’d worn to Henley last year—that one Colby had so admired in the photo—hung in its entirety to the left of the wardrobe. Striped blazer, off-white slacks, even his boater had been placed on the shelf above. His two-tone lace ups graced the shoe rack alongside a pair of ankle boots. Light brown suede boots that would go perfectly with the moleskin trousers hanging up to the right of the rail next to a tweed jacket and waistcoat combo.

Not his favorite waistcoat; that would be the one the soft color of Scottish heather. Nor the jacket that had the most sentimental memories attached; that was his grandfather’s, and the one loss he felt most keenly. But the whole outfit tied in neatly together, as though Colby had given the matter some thought.

In the space between the two outfits, there were several shirts in a variety of colors and materials and, on the shelf next to the boater, Pip could see one of the boxes Colby had used to package up the delicate knitwear collection. With the handle of his cane, Pip eased the box out over the edge of the shelf so he could see the pattern and color of one of his Fair Isle knits. A sleeveless pullover, if his memory served correctly.

More importantly than whether the garment in question had sleeves, what the hell was it and its fellows doing in what should have been an empty wardrobe? He’d watched Colby empty each drawer and hanging rail in the small room. Seen his new friend carefully store the brightly striped blazer on one of the mobile garment rails that had crowded his lounge and hallway.

You didn’t notice him sneak back up and hide the cane, either.

It seemed that while Pip had been sleeping comfortably with a stranger in his house, Colby had wandered around doing whatever he liked.

In fact, the whole collection could be back where it belonged.

Pip’s heart leapt, but he quashed that surge of eager hope. He’d already opened two of the wardrobes to find the cane and the hanging rails had been empty.

Nevertheless Pip leant over and pushed open the sliding door to his left.

Nothing.

To his right, the wardrobe was decked out for his knitwear with cubbyholes just the right size for a folded sweater or knitted waistcoat.

All empty.

What the hell!

Why had Colby left these particular items? Why had he left anything at all?

None of these items had been in this particular wardrobe to begin with, except the Henley outfit, which Pip had watched Colby pack. Colby had left these items on purpose. But why? To taunt Pip? Like the incident with the crutch, it seemed too cruel for the Colby that Pip had come to know.

He reached for his phone.

I think you forgot to empty a wardrobe.

Pip pressed Send and hoped Colby would know what he was referring to.

Nope. Don’t think so. Enjoy.

Bastard.

Glad you’ve finally gone into the dressing room. Have you eaten?

He should eat, but the new deliveries wouldn’t arrive until tomorrow. He’d phone out for something. Maybe pasta.

I’ve ordered an Italian.
He hadn’t but he would the moment he got back downstairs.

Bored with me already?

Never.
Pasta, you idiot.
He pressed Send before he could add something that reflected that adamant denial.

Colby hadn’t said why he’d left the clothes. Apparently Pip would have to ask if he wanted to know.

Why did you leave the clothes?

His phone beeped as soon as he pressed Send. Not enough time for Colby to have read that message, let alone composed a new one.

Now you’ve got me told off for using the phone at the dinner table.

Oops.
That one word would show up without Colby even having to bother to unlock his phone.

Resigned to hearing nothing more from Colby for a while, Pip pulled up the number of his favorite Italian place from his contact list. It had been months since he had last used them. He placed an order for spaghetti in the house sauce and couldn’t tamp down the smile when the manager asked if he wanted the cheese and garlic dough balls—his guilty pleasure—as though he hadn’t been AWOL for the last six months.

Dinner ordered, Pip turned his attention back to the clothes on the rail. For the first time in a long time, the vibrancy of the colors in the boating blazer hit him. He risked reaching out to touch the material, repeatedly stroking a finger down one of the bright ocher-yellow stripes until the motion lulled him into a hypnotic daze.

The message alert on his phone shattered the silence and his trancelike state. He jerked his hand away from the jacket as though he’d been caught in a compromising position.

Had Colby inhaled his dinner? Or was he risking his mother’s wrath to talk to Pip?

I just want you to be happy.

You don’t know me.
That wasn’t right. Pip deleted the message and tried again.
You didn’t know me when you left these.

I knew you were grumpy. And getting rid of the clothes wouldn’t improve that situation. So I left you a few.

Grumpy. God yes, that first morning he’d jumped down Colby’s throat before the door had opened more than half an inch. He hadn’t always had such a short fuse. He had photos showing how often he smiled, laughed, even.

Colby had seen the proof, had seen right through him.

I knew I wanted to make you smile. Are you smiling?

Rubbing the well-worn material between his fingers and thumb, Pip did just as Colby requested, although he wasn’t sure whether the hard-fought-for expression was for the texture of the familiar beneath his touch or the realization that Colby cared.

I am now.

Mission accomplished. Now phase 2.

Phase 2?
A frown wiped out all the work Colby had achieved.

Dating :)

Pip’s smile returned in full force.

WHAT A
day! When he clambered out of bed that morning, he wouldn’t have dared dream that he would end the day having kissed Pip not once, but twice.

Colby stripped off his jeans, kicking them off from around his ankles and leaving them in a pile on the floor beside the bed. Mum and Cris had graced him with identical astonished expressions when he pleaded exhaustion from the drive and said he was heading for bed. In all honesty, he was hoping to send Pip a flurry of texts without the hawklike gaze of his sister seeking him out every time his message tone blared out a chorus of trumpets.

Even though Colby now wore nothing but his T-shirt and boxers, the room seemed unseasonably warm. He padded over to pull the curtains shut, pausing to take in the view. Above the fields and trees, the sky still held a myriad of colors from the recently setting sun. It reminded Colby of the smoothie he’d shared with Pip earlier that day, and for a moment, he ached with the desire for Pip to be standing next to him to appreciate the beautiful sight. That they had known each other for less than a week seemed immaterial.

He could and would share the scene with Pip, regardless of time and distance. He strode over to the bed, grabbed his phone from where it had landed in the duvet, and headed back to the window. After throwing open the latticed casement, Colby paused to take in the beauty of the surrounding countryside. He took several photos of the view, using the window frame as a border for his composition. Selecting his favorite, he sent it to Pip with the caption:
view from my bedroom
.

It’s stunning. Even though I thought I might be getting something else from the caption.

Something else? Oh! Heat rushed into Colby’s face, infusing his cheeks with embarrassment and desire.

Wish you could see it in the flesh.

Are we still talking about the view? Me too.

Colby leaned his shoulder against the frame as he formulated a response.

I should have asked ydfjs

Fuck! He jerked away from the radiator and glanced down. Two red lines were seared into his flesh just above the knee. No wonder it was so hot. His mother still had the heating on. His phone blasted out a trumpet call.

You okay?

Damn, he must have sent the garbled text to Pip. He rubbed at the rapidly cooling flesh.

Yeah. Sorry. What have you been doing?

While he waited for Pip’s reply, Colby closed the windows, turned the radiator off, and, leaving the curtains open, wandered over to the bed. A screenshot of Pip’s computer screen came up on his phone. The page showed a set of his
Kickstart
DVDs with a starting bid of five pounds.