Status Update (#gaymers) (2 page)

Beep.
Beep.
The battery warning signal sounded.
Craptastic.
He’d forgotten how fast his battery drained out here.

Looking up, he saw Noah headed back to the site, dark hair ruffled by the cool breeze. He was probably eight or ten years older than his own twenty-five, but he was a good-looking man. Not hot as much as classically handsome—the sort of long regal nose and deep-set eyes in a narrow face that gave him an almost aristocratic air despite the beard and rugged clothing. And he was almost certainly straight and Adrian had only been broken up with Trent for a whole half hour, so he had no business cataloging Noah’s appeal. Ulysses pulled at the leash, looking far more eager to see Adrian than his owner. And that wasn’t saying much seeing as how the dog was rather standoffish—curious, but not playful.

“Billy’s gone for the evening. I was going to have him take you into Green River, but he’s already there. Business’s been so slow, he left a note on the door of the house. Said he’d check in new arrivals in the morning. Too darn trusting, that man.” Noah looked right at Adrian as he said that last bit.

Okay, message received. Did
everyone
have to have an opinion about Adrian’s taste in men?

“He can just leave like that?” Adrian asked.

“There’s a whole six vehicles here. It’s winter. Most of the RV places nearby are closed for the season. This isn’t exactly a high-class joint.” Noah gestured. The campground was on the outskirts of the national park, more amenable to long-term campers like Noah, but close enough to attract the park tourists like Adrian too.

The other RVs were clustered closer to Old Billy’s cabin, in the neatly numbered spaces surrounding the covered picnic area and horseshoe pits. From here, all he could make out was the distant interior lights on the rig closest to Billy’s cabin. Adrian and Noah were down past the off-leash dog area, on a dead-end gravel drive. No seasonal decor down here. Adrian figured that Billy had stuck him and Trent out in a distant space to avoid gay cooties. He didn’t know what Noah’s deal was, but he struck Adrian as the sort of guy who would request the farthest, most remote space.

Noah scanned Adrian up and down, a condescending little smirk like he assumed Adrian was afraid of roughing it and wouldn’t know how to appreciate a place like this.

And yeah, that had been one of Adrian’s arguments with Trent—Trent liked the swankier RV parks with indoor pools and weight rooms while all Adrian had really cared about was the little dog-friendly icon on his trip guide app.

He wasn’t some pampered princess, no matter what Noah assumed.

“You have someone you can call?” Noah asked. His voice was smooth and cultured, like an NPR announcer, no hint of a Western drawl. Despite the outdoorsy exterior, he wasn’t from around these parts.

“Not exactly.” Adrian laughed because, really, what else could he do? “My family’s in Denver, but...it’s complicated.” Besides being eight hours away, he did
not
want to deal with confessing the whole Trent tale quite yet.

Noah studied him for a long moment, brows creasing in an expression that said he understood complicated.

“I get that. But you can’t stay outside tonight. The temperature will keep dropping.” Noah held open the door of his RV. “For better or worse, I think you’re stuck with me and Ulysses for the night.” He said the last bit all resigned and not as if he was doing him a favor. More like Adrian’s frozen carcass would be a nuisance he’d rather not have to clean up.

Something about that
worse
gave Adrian pause. Noah had a confident air, the sort of guy comfortable with the outdoors who probably knew a whole bunch of ways to harm someone that had nothing to do with brute strength. It finally struck Adrian how darn helpless Trent had left him. His chest hitched and his throat tightened.
Stranded.
He left me.
Now he was completely at Noah’s mercy, and defenseless was not the sort of guy Adrian was. In fact, that had been most of the problem with Trent—Adrian wasn’t the sort to shut up and take orders nicely.

Adrian stood, wrapping the blanket tightly around him and Pixel, but didn’t rush to follow Noah. This felt...big somehow. Bigger than admitting Trent wasn’t about to reappear. Warm light spilled out from Noah’s RV along with a spicy, meaty scent.

“Well, come on.” Noah motioned impatiently.

Pixel made a snuffling sound in Adrian’s arms. Poor baby was going to freeze out here long before Adrian admitted he was well and truly fucked. He was out of options—no choice but to accept Noah’s reluctant hospitality.

Chapter Two

“I don’t mean to impose,” Adrian channeled his mother’s manners as he followed Noah and his dog into the RV. He wasn’t sure what else to say. “Sorry I’m such a loser” came to mind, as did “Please don’t turn out to be a serial killer.”

Not that Noah exactly had the crazy-hermit vibe—his beard and short hair were much too groomed to pull off the whole Unabomber look—but he did seem to have the recluse thing down pat.

“I should probably put a note over at my space, so Trent can find me when he comes back. Do you have some paper I could borrow?” Adrian’s words came out much too fast, a product of his overactive imagination latching onto the serial-killer thing. However, it was true that he and Pixel were pretty much at the mercy of the man and his giant beast of a dog. Like Pixel, the dog appeared to be some unholy mix of breeds—Adrian detected some black lab along with some shepherd. But where Pixel resembled the smallest varieties of his breeds, Ulysses had maxed out the large and shaggy gene pool.

“I have a bit.” Noah raised one eyebrow as he pointed at the dining nook and small L-shaped kitchenette area. Both were covered in neat stacks of papers and post-it notes. Additional stacks took up the couch opposite the entryway. Noah plucked a sheet off a stack, scanned it, then handed it to Adrian along with a black pen. “Here. You can write on the back of this.”

“Thanks.” Adrian scribbled a quick message on the sheet. “You a writer?”

“God no.” Noah gave a bitter sounding laugh. “Archaeologist. If I were more of a writer, I wouldn’t be stuck spending my holiday trying to finish this book.”

“Archaeology? Like buried treasure? Or more like dinosaurs?”

“Indiana Jones or that dinosaur show on PBS are my only options?” A smile teased at Noah’s lips. His lips were slender but wide and when he smiled, it gave his whole face an unexpected devilish glint. “No. I’m the boring kind of archaeology professor. No big bones. No treasure. I’m actually a geoarchaeologist—I specialize in the study of how early civilizations interacted with their physical environment and how that physical environment influenced the artifacts we find.”

Professor—that made total sense. Noah’s intriguing combination of refinement and outdoorsman slid into new focus. The man was no Harrison Ford, but Adrian would bet he made his fair share of undergraduates swoon. Noah got more animated as he talked, muscles seeming to relax a bit. Tension unspooled inside of Adrian too, his internal sensors coming off red alert—Noah wasn’t an antisocial loner; he was simply one of those guys who didn’t really come alive until you got him talking about work. Adrian could sympathize. Being able to only talk about work was
exactly
how he’d landed in this mess.

It had been only too easy to get wrapped up in his
Space Villager
work until one day he’d looked up from his monitor and realized it had been two years since he’d had more than twenty-four hours away from the job, and months since he’d socialized with anyone not connected to work. And then along came Trent, and Adrian’s overworked brain and underutilized heart shorted out, failing to see the warning signs.

Adrian ducked out of the RV and put the note on the marker for his space. When he returned, Noah was clearing off the couch and dining table, collecting stacks of papers. His RV was bigger than the one Adrian had rented with Trent. It’d been the smallest the rental place had—one of the ones with the bed-over-the-truck cab and a small eating area and bathroom in the back. Adrian had gone with higher gas mileage and easy-to-park over comfort, something else Trent had bitched about. No doubt he’d be more approving of Noah’s bus-like RV with its flat face and side bump-outs that created more width for the kitchen and dining areas. An open door beyond the tiny kitchen led to a bedroom—complete with neatly made bed, while the front of the RV was almost like a living room with the driver’s and passenger’s chairs flipped around to face the long, narrow sofa. A flat-screen TV was mounted near the kitchen cabinets, completing the almost homey feel of the place.

“This is pretty swank,” Adrian said as he set Pixel down. Ulysses studied him cautiously, slinking off to the bedroom and flopping in the doorway, undoubtedly to keep an eye on the intruder. “You camp a lot?”

“Sort of.” Noah gave him another of his half smiles. “This is actually my primary residence—I’m out in the field most summers and on breaks, and I did enough tent camping in graduate school to make me decide to get this over an apartment. There’s a nice RV park close to campus, and I ride my bike everywhere I need to go in town.”

“Where do you teach?”

Noah looked away as he sorted papers on the counter. “Landview Christian College. It’s in Northwest Texas.”

“I’ve heard of it,” Adrian said carefully. He sat gingerly on the couch. Great. Great. Totally his luck to get trapped with a right-winger. Noah was probably no more accepting than Old Billy—only better at hiding his disdain for Adrian and his “deviant lifestyle.” He’d heard of Landview in an HRC piece on the least-accepting colleges in America, and their president had been a vocal endorser of the hate-filled “family values” candidate in the last presidential primary.

“Oh wait. You need dry socks.” Noah sounded a bit too hearty as he ducked into the bedroom. His voice didn’t have the typical Texas twang, instead tinged with something softer, a little more southern and cultured. He handed Adrian a cushy pair of hiking socks. Simply pulling them on felt
so
good on his chilled feet.

Noah must be one of those guys too nice to let Adrian freeze even as he condemned him. Adrian had a few of those in his extended family, but it had been a while since he’d had to walk this particular tightrope of social interaction.

“You want stew?” Noah finished clearing papers and opened a slow cooker on the counter.

“Yes, please.” Adrian jumped at the distraction. Food was a nice, safe conversation topic. “Oh wait. Does it have flour in it?”

Noah gave him a hard look. Okay. Not such a safe topic after all. “You on some sort of diet?”

“No. Celiac. I can’t have gluten.” God. Could he
be
any more of a pain? If it wasn’t for horrific cramping he got when he screwed up and ate wheat, he’d happily shut up about his stupid restrictions.

Noah fished a seasoning packet out of the trash under the sink. “You’re in luck. This batch doesn’t. And be glad you caught me on a cooking day.”

“Cooking day?”

“Cook once, reheat thrice.” Noah’s little smile was back. Adrian liked the man so much when he smiled—the little flashes of a sense of humor made Adrian feel less like the biggest burden on the planet.

“With me, it’s more like takeout day and leftover day. Rinse and repeat. The folks at the Co-Opportunity deli counter know me by sight.”

“Where’s home for you?”

“Santa Monica. Right outside of LA.”

Pixel made an unhappy whimper from his spot in front of Adrian. Adrian lifted him to his lap, but he was still shivering all over.

“Is he always so cold?” Noah hovered over the couch. “Or do you think he’s sick?”

“He’s always cold. He’s got a whole collection of sweaters. And I got him a special cat bed—one with a hood. He loves being cozy...” Adrian drifted off as he realized he sounded like one of
those
dog people.

Noah bustled off, stopping at a cabinet by the bedroom door. He returned with a faded red towel. “You’re sitting on what serves as a dog bed around here, but maybe you could wrap him in this?”

“Thanks.” Adrian’s eyes felt suspiciously itchy. He busied himself wrapping Pixel. Noah was being way nicer than he had to be. Maybe it was a good Samaritan sort of thing, but it had been a
day
, and even this amount of compassion made him feel all floppy inside.

He dug out his phone because that always made him feel more centered, but a blank screen greeted him and he remembered the battery situation.

“Hey, do you happen to have a spare Apple charger?” he asked, holding up his phone.

Noah looked up from stirring the stew. “For your phone? I’m afraid not—I’m an Android guy. I’ve got plenty of mini-USB chargers though.”

“That’s not going to work with my iPhone.” Adrian rubbed his head. Now he was even more isolated and trapped. “Hell. Now I won’t know if Trent tries to call.”

Noah snorted as if he doubted that possibility was an issue.

“He
could
. And I’ll have a pile of email to sort through once I finally get power. But not your problem—sorry to be such a pain.”

“What do you do? Are you still in school?” Noah took two bowls down from an overhead cabinet.

Adrian almost groaned. Of course, Noah saw him as young and helpless; because only college kids got themselves into pickles like this. And yeah, Noah was older, but he wasn’t that much older.

“I’m a video game designer. And I’m twenty-five.” Yeah, there was totally a defensive tone to his voice, but Adrian couldn’t help it.

“Which game?” Surprisingly, Noah perked up, shoulders lifting and eyes brightening, like he had when he’d talked about his own work. He set the bowls on the dining table and then motioned for Adrian to join him.

“
Space Villager.
It’s not out yet, but it’s a big crowd-funded game—”

“I’ve heard of it.” Noah’s smile reached his eyes, making their hazel depths dance with little gold flecks. “Donated actually.”

“Really?” Adrian couldn’t hide his disbelief. Noah so did not seem like the gamer type.

“Well, usually I’m more of an
Ultima
man, but I have this thing for crowd funding.” Noah’s neck turned a little pink. “Last year I supported a gravity light and about ten different board games. And other stuff. And
Space Villager.
”

“Yeah? Which colony did you purchase?”

And just like that, dinner conversation got far easier. They chatted about the game and Adrian filled Noah in on where they were in the release schedule. Noah was ridiculously easy to talk to—a good listener with lots of great questions. As long as Adrian kept the whole right-winger-who-probably-hates-me thing out of his head, this wasn’t going to be a terrible night.

* * *

Noah tossed and turned in his bed, making Ulysses groan. Ulysses was already in a bad mood because Noah had made up the couch for Adrian and Pixel. Ulysses still wasn’t sure what to make of the usurpers, but giving up his bed had made the old dog even more cranky. He’d taken forever to settle and had finally decided that across Noah’s feet was the only acceptable location for his considerable bulk.

Noah wasn’t used to sharing his bed. Wasn’t used to sharing his space. Wasn’t used to a stranger using his sheets, burrowed under his spare comforter, close enough that Noah could hear his soft snores. What would it be like to have another person next to him? Would it be as irritating as wrestling with the dog for space? Or would it be like the winter nights when he was grateful for a little extra warmth? Of course, another human next to him would be all sorts of more complicated than a canine.

And that thought had him tossing off the covers, limbs feverishly hot. It would be so much easier if Adrian were some slacker college student—then Noah could place him firmly in the thou-shalt-not-even-think-of-it category as his own students and head off these errant thoughts. But no, Adrian was a man
.
Despite his current predicament, Adrian had proven himself to be a highly functional adult. He was a lead developer on a game Noah was dearly anticipating and they’d stayed up chatting about the game for several hours.

Part of why Noah had secluded himself out here for the duration of his book writing was because a powerful Wi-Fi connection was his kryptonite—it was far too easy to lose hours to games and surfing. He’d cured himself of the
World of Warcraft
addiction he’d had in grad school but
Space Villager
threatened to be every bit as addictive. Listening to Adrian talk about the game was all kinds of torture—not only did Noah wish he could play it now, but also Adrian turned all adorably focused when he talked about
Space Villager
.

Adrian had the best kind of voice—animated and enthusiastic with a natural melodic tone. Noah spent plenty of time around stuffy guys with dry, monotone voices. Men who droned on and on held zero temptation. But that wasn’t the case with Adrian. Watching him talk was almost as intoxicating as listening to him. His pale blue eyes got wide behind his frames and his big hands waved about, showing little flashes of that wrist tattoo.

Noah wanted to know what else made Adrian’s eyes go wide and where else he had ink and...

And nothing. In the morning Adrian would have to figure out a new plan because there was no way he could stay here. It was just too darn risky to keep a guy like him around.

* * *

Naturally, the morning conspired against him. Noah awoke to a hard, driving rain and a big temperature drop. Rain seldom lasted very long out here, but it did lessen his ability to send Adrian on his way. Adrian was still lying on the sofa bed when Noah got up with Ulysses, but Pixel did a happy dance when he saw them.

“Better let me take the dog out for you,” Noah said as Adrian stirred under the comforter. “You won’t last a minute out there with no shoes.”

“Thanks.” Adrian sat up and the covers pooled around his waist.

Lord save me.
Sometime in the night Adrian had removed his shirt. In addition to the tattoo on his right forearm—some sort of pixelated action hero with a rainbow cape—a massive scene of battling spaceships, each emblazoned with the
Space Villager
logo, stretched from the top of each bicep, under his collarbones, and skating across his pecs. Fancy Latin script of some sort of motto danced right above his nipples.

“You must really love your job,” he said, the words escaping before he could recall them.

“I do. Robert may have had the prior game-developing experience and the venture capital connections, but I’ve been with the team since the earliest concept drawings.” Adrian had terrible bed head, which only added more appeal to his impish grin. A grin which said he knew Noah had been checking out his ink much, much too intently.