familiar. Young. Sexy. As I processed this information I recognized him as the twentysomething guy from Woody's a few nights before. "Ryan, isn't it?"
"Yeah. You gave me your card, right? Well, here I am."
I didn't know what to say.
"You said you need some work done in your garden? And some painting around the house?"
"It probably could do with some work," I hedged. I was not prepared for this. Part of me was still back in ancient Greece, which was not a good idea, in the circumstances.
"I came by earlier but you weren't home," he said, shifting his feet. "I'm real good with my hands."
"No doubt," I murmured, glad for the dimness as I felt the heat in my face.
"I can do a bit of carpentry and that," Ryan went on earnestly. "And paint too. And I grew up on a farm so I know about growing things." He moved forward into what little light there was and looked straight at me.
I shouldn't have looked into those hazel eyes. I saw the knowledge grow there, and I felt foolish standing protectively in the open door. We both knew that if I were going to send him on his way, I would have done it by now. What had ever possessed me to give him my card?
"I don't have no place to go."
I stepped back and waved him into the hall. He didn't need any coaxing. He scooped up his backpack and bounced into the house, grinning literally from ear to ear. His pleasure was infectious. His ass, in the tight jeans, was divine.
"You want some coffee? It's fresh."
"Cool. Hey, man, you wanna catch the phone?" "No."
He followed me silently to the kitchen. I could feel him watching as I reached for another mug, cut a few slices of pound cake, and set them on the table. I poured the coffee, and he added generous portions of sugar and cream. His hands were large and oddly delicate. An expensive gold link bracelet glinted on one wrist. He ate with concentration, slurping the coffee noisily as he looked around, assessing my brand-new kitchen with all its gadgets and appliances.
"Nice bracelet," I said.
"My mom gave it to me," he said, his mouth full.
"So, tell me something about yourself." I wasn't sure what game we were playing. The whole scene was unreal to me, the lateness of the hour, the persistent phone calls, his unexpected appearance in my private space, the way we avoided the real questions.
"I hate it when people talk like that! Like, I mean, what're you supposed to say?" He glanced at the phone. "Do you, like, hate the phone or something?"
"Not at all. I just don't feel like answering tonight. Tell me, why are you on the street?"
The kid looked hurt. "Hey, you gave me your fucking card."
"And now you're here and I asked you a question." I sat back and waited for him to spill the shabby story of his unhappy home life. It took longer than I expected, but there was nothing unusual about it when it finally came.
"So when my friend Brad split to the city to get a job, I came too," he finished.
"You have a job?"
"For a while I worked in a service station filling in for some guy who was off sick, and me and Brad shared a place. But then the job ran out and so did my money and then Brad's fucking girlfriend moved in, see, and they threw all my stuff out back in the rain. Some friend, eh?"
"Ever have any trouble with the law?"
"Look, man, even if I had a record as long as my arm, which I don't, I'd be dumb to tell you about it, wouldn't I?"
"Good point."
He dropped his lashes for a moment, then gave me a frank look. Man to man. No more beating around the bush. "The place I was at kicked me out, like they do everyone after three weeks. I can't take those shelters, man. Last time I got beat up by some guys and then they took my Docs right off my feet." He paused, took a sip of coffee. "I thought maybe I could work for room and board. There must be lots to do around this old place, and with me around you wouldn't have to hire anyone else."
The phone rang again. I must be losing my tiny mind, I thought to myself. One night I go to a gay bar for the first time in
"Yeah. You gave me your card, right? Well, here I am."
I didn't know what to say.
"You said you need some work done in your garden? And some painting around the house?"
"It probably could do with some work," I hedged. I was not prepared for this. Part of me was still back in ancient Greece, which was not a good idea, in the circumstances.
"I came by earlier but you weren't home," he said, shifting his feet. "I'm real good with my hands."
"No doubt," I murmured, glad for the dimness as I felt the heat in my face.
"I can do a bit of carpentry and that," Ryan went on earnestly. "And paint too. And I grew up on a farm so I know about growing things." He moved forward into what little light there was and looked straight at me.
I shouldn't have looked into those hazel eyes. I saw the knowledge grow there, and I felt foolish standing protectively in the open door. We both knew that if I were going to send him on his way, I would have done it by now. What had ever possessed me to give him my card?
"I don't have no place to go."
I stepped back and waved him into the hall. He didn't need any coaxing. He scooped up his backpack and bounced into the house, grinning literally from ear to ear. His pleasure was infectious. His ass, in the tight jeans, was divine.
"You want some coffee? It's fresh."
"Cool. Hey, man, you wanna catch the phone?" "No."
He followed me silently to the kitchen. I could feel him watching as I reached for another mug, cut a few slices of pound cake, and set them on the table. I poured the coffee, and he added generous portions of sugar and cream. His hands were large and oddly delicate. An expensive gold link bracelet glinted on one wrist. He ate with concentration, slurping the coffee noisily as he looked around, assessing my brand-new kitchen with all its gadgets and appliances.
"Nice bracelet," I said.
"My mom gave it to me," he said, his mouth full.
"So, tell me something about yourself." I wasn't sure what game we were playing. The whole scene was unreal to me, the lateness of the hour, the persistent phone calls, his unexpected appearance in my private space, the way we avoided the real questions.
"I hate it when people talk like that! Like, I mean, what're you supposed to say?" He glanced at the phone. "Do you, like, hate the phone or something?"
"Not at all. I just don't feel like answering tonight. Tell me, why are you on the street?"
The kid looked hurt. "Hey, you gave me your fucking card."
"And now you're here and I asked you a question." I sat back and waited for him to spill the shabby story of his unhappy home life. It took longer than I expected, but there was nothing unusual about it when it finally came.
"So when my friend Brad split to the city to get a job, I came too," he finished.
"You have a job?"
"For a while I worked in a service station filling in for some guy who was off sick, and me and Brad shared a place. But then the job ran out and so did my money and then Brad's fucking girlfriend moved in, see, and they threw all my stuff out back in the rain. Some friend, eh?"
"Ever have any trouble with the law?"
"Look, man, even if I had a record as long as my arm, which I don't, I'd be dumb to tell you about it, wouldn't I?"
"Good point."
He dropped his lashes for a moment, then gave me a frank look. Man to man. No more beating around the bush. "The place I was at kicked me out, like they do everyone after three weeks. I can't take those shelters, man. Last time I got beat up by some guys and then they took my Docs right off my feet." He paused, took a sip of coffee. "I thought maybe I could work for room and board. There must be lots to do around this old place, and with me around you wouldn't have to hire anyone else."
The phone rang again. I must be losing my tiny mind, I thought to myself. One night I go to a gay bar for the first time in
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