Special Delivery: Special Delivery, Book 1 (3 page)

Delia aimed a finger at him. “Remember, young man, I’ve got my eye on you.”

She left. Sam made a face, murmured, “I’ve got my eye on you” in mocking singsong under his breath, put his ear buds back in and hoped he could be left alone to work.

Sam enjoyed doing stock. Sometimes he did tech work behind the counter with his uncle, but he had to dress up and wear a lab coat there, deal with customers and worst of all, put up with his aunt. In the stockroom, people left him alone.

In the stockroom, he could dance.

As discos went, shelves full of shampoo, Band-Aids and rubbing alcohol were poor decor, but he had a wide floor to himself, and he’d long ago developed a trick of reaching into a box, grabbing a bag or bottle and inserting it onto the shelf in time to the beat. Emma teased him, warning if his aunt found out, she’d freak, but Sam had his argument ready. Yes, he spun his way down the aisle and sang into bottles of Pert, but he was a full five minutes faster when he did it than when he didn’t. He’d timed himself once to prove it.

The best of all music to stock to was Kylie Minogue, and she sang to him now. “All I See” took him through the Depends and Charmin, “Giving You Up” gave him the courage to face sorting through a case of makeup with all its tiny, tiny packets refusing to lie orderly on a shelf, and “Sensitized” encouraged him to tap his toe all the way through bar soap, shaving cream and cotton balls. By the time “Kids” came on, he was really in a groove. After breaking down the boxes he’d done so far, he shut his eyes and boogied backward with them out the door. Belting along with the chorus as he spun, he tossed the boxes into the dumpster, swung his hips and shimmied down the wall beside the rail.

Movement out of the corner of his eye stopped him short, and he blushed as he saw a man leaning on the bumper of a semitrailer filling the alley, a trailer which was, he noted, attached to a bright blue cab. It was the same man who’d been climbing into the cab beside the road on Cherry Hill.

The man had a slow, wicked smile on his face, and he was clapping.

Chapter Two

Sam tugged the ear buds out and backed up against the railing. He stood on the pharmacy’s loading dock, an ancient, slightly crumbling concrete structure which only sort of met the ramp of a delivery truck. The semi’s trailer was docked on the opposite side of the alley at a stoop belonging to the bicycle shop, its metal ramp extended and jacked sideways to make a walkway. The driver, however, stood on the ground about twenty feet away from Sam.

“Hi.” Sam gave a feeble wave.

“Hello yourself, Sunshine.” The man said nothing else, just watched Sam for a minute, and when the silence went on too long, the trucker gave a rough salute against his forehead as if tipping an invisible hat. Then he pushed off the side of the trailer, climbed up on the ramp and started unloading again.

If Sam could have placed an order for a man, this would be what he called in. The man was
ripped
. His muscular frame bulged through the thermal shirt rucked up around his elbows and filled out his jeans until they strained the seams. It was cooler now that evening was coming on, but the trucker was sweating enticingly from his exertions. He hefted huge boxes with ease and bore them away as if they were full of feathers. Best of all was when he crouched to pick something up—Sam wished he dared to pull out his phone and snap a photo of the moment before the man started to rise, his perfect,
perfect
ass presented to Sam for a private viewing.

His face wasn’t bad, either. He wasn’t quite a Greek god, but he was chiseled, his jaw peppered with stubble, his nose not pert and cute but not chunky, either. Good mouth. His lips weren’t lush, but they weren’t thin. They seemed quite luscious, in fact, especially when the man’s tongue snaked out between his teeth to wet them. The only flaw the man had at all was his hair. It was ragged, too long and dull, suggesting the man washed it with a bar of Coast and got it cut with a butcher knife every three months.

Ah, straight men,
Sam thought with quiet regret.

The man caught Sam still looking at him and smiled. As the gesture became laced with invitation, Sam stilled.

Maybe not straight?

You’re imagining things. Even if he’s gay, this guy won’t come on to a scrawny little rat like you
.

The deliveryman’s thumb stole up to his mouth and toyed lazily at the side of his lips, which had the effect of making Sam fill out his own jeans a bit more snugly.

“I got a camera in the front of my truck.” The trucker spoke the words in a drawl so thick he practically applied it with a trowel. He jerked his head toward the front of the semi. “You could take a picture and make this last a bit longer.”

Sam tried to keep his voice steady. “I’ve got one on the phone in my pocket.”

The man planted his feet firmly on the ramp, lifted his square chin and held out his arms. “Well?”

Sam’s hands were shaking, and his mind shut down all thought outside of
oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God,
but he managed to pull out his phone without dropping it, and his hand was almost stable as he fumbled with the camera function. He had no idea, though, where he found the chutzpah to lift his other hand and make a spinning motion with his finger. “Turn around.”

The man grinned, rubbed his thumb across his lips and did as he was told, boldly giving Sam a front-row view of his jean-clad ass. The tiny
click
of Sam’s phone shutter echoed like a gunshot through the alley. Sam felt surreal—happy, but surreal. This wasn’t the sort of naughty Sam was used to. No shame at all, only
fun
. It wasn’t the usual quiet, desperate sex or parody thereof. It wasn’t sex at all.

Yet.

The man glanced over his shoulder. Sam’s thumb, still hovering on the camera button, quickly clicked again, but he cursed his timing when the man’s mouth curved into a slow, delicious grin. He frantically pushed the button one more time, but he lowered the phone without looking to see if he’d captured the gesture.

“Thanks.” Sam tucked the phone into his pocket and gave what he hoped was a rakish and not constipated smile.

“Not a problem.” The man didn’t go back to work. He kept watching Sam, as if he didn’t have a trailer full of stock to unload. Then Sam peered inside and realized he didn’t see any more boxes at all. The man was done delivering.

Yet he was still here, playing with Sam. Waiting for him to play back.

Sam tried to think of a witty rejoinder, or any rejoinder, but his mind was blank, still melting down to
oh God, oh God, oh God,
his dick helping nothing by pulsing like a nuclear bomb.

“I’m Sam.” He extended his hand then realized the ridiculousness of the gesture when they were standing more than twenty feet apart. He tried to turn it into a wave but gave up and stuffed both hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Hi.”

“Howdy, Sam.” The man eased his stance and rested his arm against one of the open doors of the trailer. “Mitch Tedsoe, at your service.” Another lazy smile stole across his lips, this one so wicked it practically came with its own arrest warrant. “You need anything delivered, Sunshine, I’m your man.”

I am not cool enough to play this kind of game.
“You do seem to know your way around a package.”

“It’s all in the handling.” Mitch’s drawl made the last word come out missing its g. “You have to treat them careful, but at the same time, you can’t be afraid to be a little rough when the occasion calls for it.”

Sam was now so far out of his element he was on another planet, but he couldn’t seem to stop. It was one thing to mess with guys from school, but a total stranger?
God, yes.
He gripped the metal rail and pressed his groin against it, willing the cold iron to permeate his jeans and calm him the hell down.

“That sounds dangerous.” It was a lame comeback, but his brain cells were all shutting off as his libido ratcheted up. And if he didn’t keep talking, this play would end, and Sam would have to go inside and unpack more boxes of Depends.

“I’m only as dangerous as you want me to be.” Mitch gave him another lazy smile. “But something tells me you could use some danger, and I bet you’d find you like it a little rough.”

It was good Sam held on to the rail, because it turned out to be a handy support for failing knees. “
Hhhnnnnh,
” he said, out of vowels. He swallowed, drew a breath and laughed, but it was shaky. “Okay. You got me.”

A pair of blond eyebrows shot up. “Far as I can see, you’re still up there on your balcony and I’m all alone over here. I don’t got anything, Sam.”

Shit, this guy was actually propositioning him? Here, in the
alley
? “Uh.” Sam’s hands, despite the cold, were growing sweaty. “Aren’t you—uh—working?”

The man kept looking at Sam’s mouth. “I could use a break. You?”

It had to be a joke. Or a mistake. Or something. Because this was the sort of fantasy Sam jacked off to alone in the dark at night. This wasn’t even something he
hoped
would happen to him. This did not happen to Sam—or anyone—in real life, and it never would.

Except for right now.

Sam dropped the game and started doubting the situation out loud. “What, right here on the loading dock?”

“Naw.” Mitch jerked his head toward the open door of the truck.

“Isn’t it a bit cold?” Sam’s voice was high and panicked. He couldn’t stop looking at the open doors of the trailer.
Dark and close. And he’s right. Nobody would see.
But this was a far cry from Keith in the handicapped stall. Keith he
knew
. Even Emma might not get behind this sexual adventure. This guy could kidnap him.

Yes, he could tie you up and take you with him, fucking you cross-country.
Sharp, erotic images flashed across Sam’s mind, and he swayed.

Mitch gave a dark chuckle. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep you warm.”

“You’re serious.” Sam gripped the rail so tightly his wrists ached. “You’re seriously propositioning me.”

Mitch lowered himself to the ground. Sam tried not to hyperventilate as the trucker ambled over to the concrete dock of the pharmacy, tucking his hands into his jean pockets. “Come on over and play a bit, Sam. I got the bat, and you got the ball.”

This was insane. “I have a bat too.”

“That you do, and I would rightly enjoy getting my hands on it.” Mitch’s eyes were bright blue, Sam could see now, and they burned. “Wouldn’t mind a taste of it, either. Wouldn’t mind tastin’ any part of you.”

Maybe he gave in because Mitch was so close, or maybe it was because nobody had ever talked to Sam this way, or maybe, as another queen of drawl would say, it was Memphis. Whatever the reason, Sam fell victim to it, and it took every last bit of his strength to keep from melting off the loading dock and into Mitch’s waiting, able arms. The promise of sex washed over him, and as if someone had thrown a switch, he calmed, aiming himself with strange serenity toward this new goal. If he did this, he wasn’t going to fuck around. Not with safety, anyway. “Do you have a condom? Lube?”

Mitch’s blue eyes darkened. “I’m afraid not. But there’s plenty of playing to be done with the equipment we bring with us.”

“You might not have noticed,” Sam said, his voice only breaking a little bit, “but I’m standing behind a pharmacy.”

Cats with cream didn’t have Mitch’s grin. “Of course there’s also nothing wrong with being well-supplied. But the question is, if you go through that door, are you gonna come out again?”

“With a box of Trojans and a tube of KY in my hand,” Sam promised, not so much as batting an eye. “What about you? Are
you
going to be here when I get back?”

This time Mitch didn’t smile at all. “Sunshine, if you don’t come out in under a minute, I’ll be coming in after you.”

Sam’s heart slammed into his chest and then slithered down into his groin with the rest of his vital functions. “Make it two. I think I have to unpack the box.”

Chapter Three

Sam found both the condoms and KY in under thirty seconds, but he stayed inside for a beat to calm the nerves which had sprung up once he’d left Mitch’s line of sight. Was he really going to do this? He knew he was, but he felt obligated to make a pretense of thinking it over. His heart pounded at his throat, and his ears rang—or so he thought they did until he realized they also sang a song, and this was when he remembered the ear buds dangling around his collar. He fumbled for his phone, stopped the music, locked the screen and replaced the phone in his pocket.

He was going to have sex with a stranger. In the alley. While he was on shift. He clutched tighter at the box in his hand. He was using protection. Surely that counted for something.

Of course, technically, he’d just stolen the condoms.

Aunt Delia would freak if she found out. She’d fire his ass and kick him out of the house and never pay for another dime of tuition. Was fun with a trucker worth risking his future?

Sam wiped the back of his hand across his sweaty brow, taking strange comfort from the feel of cold skin brushing against heated skin. Yeah, it was worth it, because she’d never reward him for being good. He thought of all the shit Delia gave him, of her constant criticisms and lists of his sins.
You want sins, Aunt? I’ll show you sinning. I’ll make the devil weep, I’ll sin so bad.

He straightened, ran a hand through his hair and opened the door.