Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
His place was small. It was mostly all wood and earth tones. There were two small end tables made locally out of logs, a black couch with a matching LA-Z-Boy, and a built-in bookshelf filled mostly with books about cars, engines, and fixing random shit. Shane wasn’t picky about the shit he fixed, as long as it was something.
“It fits you,” Van said as he ran his fingers along the back of the couch.
“Small town boy who never left?” Shane asked.
“I didn’t mean—”
“No. It’s fine. I’m being a dickhead again.” He wondered what Van’s place was like in Los Angeles. How modern or large it was. “I just wanted something small…something that was my own. I helped build it and drew up most of the plans.” He moved toward the kitchen, Van behind him. “The deck is my real baby. She’s bigger than the house.”
He opened the sliding glass doors and pulled back the screen before hitting the light. He wanted Van to be impressed by it, he realized, which was some fucked-up shit if he was being honest.
Van took the hint and stepped outside. There were four wooden lounge chairs that Shane had made himself. His hot tub, a built-in kitchen area with a small fridge, grill, and counter space. Across the deck was a table, with an umbrella. Part of the space was covered by an Alumawood patio cover.
“What’s that?” Van asked as he pointed to the small building off to the right. There was a path where the deck narrowed to lead to it.
“That’s my…well, I guess my studio, in a way. I play around with woodworking, and shit like that. Gives me something to do.”
“Wow,” Van replied. “That’s really cool.”
“Eh. It’s nothing,” he said, because it really didn’t feel like it was.
“No, it’s not nothing. It’s you.”
They were quiet for a moment. A slight breeze swept over him and it struck Shane again that he was standing there with Maxwell—with Van. That he wore faded jeans and had mussed hair, that Shane suddenly wanted to fist.
“Grab a beer from the fridge and make yourself comfortable. I’m gonna run to the other house real quick.” To check on his mother, but he didn’t need to tell Van that.
“Okay.” Van nodded and Shane thought maybe he understood what Shane was doing.
He grabbed his flashlight and then made his way across the property. The kitchen light was still on and when he opened the door, he saw his mom sitting at the table.
“Perfect timing,” she said. “I just finished my puzzle.”
“Looks good.” He glanced down at the ocean scenery she’d made. She almost always did scenery puzzles. Maybe it was her way of seeing different places.
“You didn’t stay out very late.”
“I wasn’t really feeling it.” Which was the truth. “Are you good?” he asked.
She sighed. “Yes, and you didn’t have to come check on me. I have a phone and I know you always have yours within reach. I know I had a hard day the other day, but I’m okay, Shane. I promise.”
If he didn’t have Van at his place, he might not have gone to check on her. He’d needed a moment, though. Needed to work through the reality of having Van at his place, and being okay with it.
She stood, walked to the cabinet and got her nighttime meds out. “I’m taking this and going to sleep.” She swallowed the pill, smiled and asked, “Are you okay? You seem a little off.”
He thought about Van in his living room. It was the first time he’d brought a man home, and by man, he meant a gay man. Of all the people. He was thirty years old and it was the first time in his life he’d brought home a man that he had the potential of sticking his dick in…or having a cock inside of him. Not that he had any plans to fuck Van. Their past was too screwy for that, but there was a possibility there, when there never had been before.
It was always hotels, quick bathroom sucks, or heading back to someone else’s place when he made his visits to Portland.
As happy as he’d always been…in that moment, his life felt pretty fucking sad.
“Yeah, Ma. I’m okay. Good night.”
He closed the door, heard her lock it behind him, and then made his way back to his house…and back to his ghost from the past.
When he climbed the stairs to the deck, he saw Van with his elbows on the railing, a bottle of beer in his hand, and his ass toward Shane. His jeans fit across it nicely, and damned if Shane didn’t wish they had a different history and he could walk over there, slip the jeans down his legs, and plunge inside. Maybe spend a few hours with his tongue in Van’s ass until he was drunk off him. But it was impossible to forget who this was.