Drawn Together (21 page)

There was a silence on the other end of the phone. “That’s exactly right.”

“Any particular reason you called?” said Rory. “Or did you just call because you wanted me to know you could?”

“You’re a fine poker player, Rory, so I won’t try to play you. You’d better be here by Saturday. I can protect your grandparents till then…”

“Why the hell would you --”

“Look, we’re all caught up in something here. I’ll try to help if I can. Don’t come at all if you don’t come by Saturday -- there won’t be anything left to come home to.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Amelia is a vicious psychopath; I’m an accessory to two brutal attacks. The cardiologist lived. Be sure to tell Yamane. They were…close…” Rory was silent. Old news.

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“Delaplaines. I’m reviewing my options too…”

“What does that mean?” asked Rory, who heard an electronic hum on the line.

“Calderon?” No answer; the bastard hung up. What the hell did that mean?

Rory sat in the truck, looking at his cell phone as if it were an unpredictable dog. Why would Calderon, if that was actually his name, contact him? He looked for the callback number. Restricted. Quelle surprise.

Rory looked out the now misty window at the rain lashing down. Yamane was waiting for him. They had no food except for some chips left over from the rest stop, nothing to drink except the water from the tap. Rory pulled the truck out of the hotel parking lot and onto the highway. Later he’d think about what Ethan Calderon, or whatever his name really was, had to say. Right now, he needed to take care of Yamane, who was scared of the storm, hadn’t eaten anything except junk food in days, and waited for him to come back.

Yamane looked out the window. He stood leaning against the wall next to the drapes, watching the lightning streak across the sky, taking his chances by smoking a cigarette, knowing Rory would mess with him when he returned.

Yamane could see the truck from this side of the building, but the rain was too thick and the lot too dark to make out anything specific. He wished he could see Rory. Watching him when he wasn’t aware of it had become Yamane’s favorite pastime. Rory seemed so pure, so young. He leaned into Rory’s goodness, knowing it was unfair. Yamane wanted to give so much more, but found, always, he was the one taking. He watched the truck pull out of the parking lot, wondering what Rory was up to.

How simple it had been to buy a truck. The delight with which Rory accepted it made Yamane feel pitiful and stingy somehow. Rory had given so much and was willing to give more, when all Yamane had done was write a check. He stubbed out his cigarette. It was taking a long time for Rory to return. Yamane lay down on the bed, his eyes growing heavy.

His last diffuse thought was of Rory, but he couldn’t say exactly what it was. It was pleasant and made him smile.

* * * * *

When Rory returned with the bags, he brought food with him and some beer he purchased at a convenience store, along with fruit and bottled water. He found the room foul with the smell of cigarettes and Yamane sleeping peacefully on the bed. Rory placed dinner on the small table, setting it out as though he were home. He was just putting a beer out for each of them when Yamane stirred.

“Hi,” said Yamane. “That took some time…”

“I went for food. I want you to eat something that didn’t come out of a vending machine, okay?”

126

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“Okay,” said Yamane. He got out of bed nude, and Rory gazed at him, his eyes hot.

“What?”

“Nothing, it just never fails to amaze me how finely made you are.” Rory paused in the act of opening his beer. “It gets to me sometimes.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m just a man.”

“Um. Yeah. And the Grand Canyon is just another hole in the ground.” Rory opened a beer for Yamane. “I got chicken Caesar salad, some burgers, and a few pieces of fruit from the market where I bought the beer.”

“Thank you.” Yamane sipped his beer thoughtfully. He pulled out his plastic fork and began to eat the salad. “I’m sorry you had to go out in that horrible storm.”

“It’s not that bad. I was the only one on the road. Like I said, it’s not bad until the wind whips up.”

“It seems kind of windy to me.” Yamane looked out the window. The sky was harder to see now that the lights were on in the room.

“Hey. Can I have your lighter?”

“Sure.” Yamane got it from the nightstand. “Why?”

“I got a candle so we can watch if you want.” Rory pulled an ordinary vanilla-scented jar candle out of one of the grocery bags. He removed the top and lit it, then went to the wall to turn off the lights. “I like to watch a storm. You really can’t see it when the lights are on inside.” The lightning made dramatic displays of light on the walls, the flashes illuminating the two tired men’s faces for only seconds at a time. The effect was strobelike and eerie.

Rory cut into an apple with his pocketknife and offered a bit to Yamane, who ate it right from his hand, taking a little bite of his thumb with it, which sent shivers down Rory’s spine. He smiled at the smaller man, who continued to chew as if nothing had happened.

Yamane sat there, gloriously naked, his long hair spilling over his shoulders and trailing down his back. Watching him made Rory feel dumbstruck and primitive by comparison. He ached to put his hands in that hair but prolonged the wait, enjoying the taut silence between them and unwilling to shatter the quiet of the moment. Yamane must have sensed something of this, because he seemed to light up from within, getting a seductive, lazy look in his eyes as he sipped his beer.

Rory cut another piece of apple, eating this one himself. He began to amuse himself by seeing if he could peel the apple in one piece, at least the part he hadn’t yet cut. He sliced off the peel, then another piece for Yamane, who seemed to be waiting for him. Again, Yamane silently took the apple from his hand with his mouth, this time, not nipping, but licking the fingers that gave it to him.

Rory ran his thumb across Yamane’s lips. The first time Yamane kissed him was clear in his memory. How he’d teased him about having something on his lip. Rory’s first hot, hot kiss from a man. That kiss was a key to something Rory knew he’d kept locked inside him for Drawn Together

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a long time. Rory got up and led Yamane to the bed, where he encouraged him to sit astride his thighs and pulled him close for a long, sensual kiss.

“Yamane,” Rory whispered. “Please…I need you.” They began to undress, but when he got to his jeans, Rory’s hands shook, so Yamane swept them out of the way. Unbuttoning Rory’s fly for him, Yamane skimmed Rory’s jeans down his thighs and swept them out of the way.

Yamane disappeared for a minute, then returned with a condom and that little plastic bottle of lube. Rory closed his eyes. “I still don’t really know what I’m doing here.”

“Don’t worry, cher.” Yamane mimicked him. “I do.” Yamane took Rory’s face in his hands and kissed him gently. Unwilling to give up the sensation of those gentle kisses, Rory held him for a long time, savoring the sweetness of being teased and kissed, licked and bitten.

Yamane left a trail of wetness down his throat and purred in his ear like a cat. Their bodies strained against each other; Yamane straddling him, grinding his flesh against Rory’s until Rory thought he would die from the sheer pleasure of it.

Yamane opened the condom and unrolled it on Rory’s cock. He took Rory’s hand and squeezed a small amount of lubricant into it. He kissed Rory and guided his hand until his fingers breached the puckered opening of his ass. Rory fingered Yamane, changing the angle and the depth, watching Yamane’s expressive face as he pushed deeper.

“Kiss me,” Yamane demanded as he slowly seated himself on Rory’s cock.

Rory pulled Yamane in for a searing, searching kiss and moved automatically when he felt Yamane’s hot, tight body close around him.

“Don’t,” Yamane whispered against Rory’s mouth. Yamane clutched at his shoulders, slip-sliding soft hands to cradle his neck. “Stay still for a minute, please.” Rory was content to stay joined in this kiss and this way with this man forever. He held Yamane’s body close to his and nuzzled his neck behind his ear, losing himself in that glorious hair…

“Rory.” Yamane whispered after what seemed like a lifetime to Rory, but could only have been minutes, even seconds. His face was flushed and his eyes were unfocused. “Go.” Rory rocked his hips up into Yamane’s tight heat. He pulled Yamane to him and pulsed up and back, moving his own body like a piston, muscles bunching, jaw clenched as he drove in and out of Yamane’s ass. He slipped his arms around Yamane and fiercely pounded him, pulling him down, more and harder and tighter, uttering inarticulate cries, until their foreheads were pressed together and he felt Yamane tighten and shudder around him.

Hearing Yamane breathe his name, seeing the wonder on his face, and feeling that tight ass squeeze his cock like a fist, Rory jerked, shooting his own release into the latex.

“Yes,” Yamane whispered, twining his arms around Rory’s neck and going limp against his body. “Yes…yes…yes.”

128

Z. A. Maxfield

* * * * *

Euphonia Delaplaines was making rice. In her lifetime, she had made enough rice, she supposed, to feed all the people who lived on the planet one meal. She made red beans and rice, dirty rice, curry rice, rice pilaf, and rice plain as a side dish to everything. Every grain lined up would go all the way to the farthest planet in the solar system.

“Who are you making all that food for?” said Claude Delaplaines. “Rory’s gone, and I’m playing poker tonight with the cancer survivors.”

“I don’t know,” said Euphonia. “Something’s bothering me.” She sat down at the chipped Formica kitchen table.

“What?” said Claude. “You feeling bad?”

“No, I don’t know. I can’t imagine what Rory’s thinking, going off to California like that, and now, he’s off with that Yamane. Something’s wrong, I just know it. How can that little car of his still be going? I just don’t feel easy in my mind, Claude. I truly don’t.”

“Now, Rory’s a good boy. He has a fine head on his shoulders. I’m more concerned about that Amelia woman. Does she seem a little overdone in the brain to you?”

“Yes indeed, she does. She keeps stopping by. I thought I would have to throw her out the other day. She’s an odd one.”

“We just have to wait till Rory gets back. Didn’t he say he’d come by Saturday to meet that woman for her concert?”

“Yes. Still…well. I’m certain he’s going to be fine. All the same, I just can’t help but think somehow that something’s not quite right.”

“It’ll be all right, woman. We’ll keep an eye out. Do you want me to stay home from poker?”

“No. But don’t be driving all polluted, Claude, or Sheriff Rene’s going to lock you up for sure this time.”

Euphonia finished putting the last casserole in the freezer, thinking that it never hurt to have some food on hand in case someone gets ill or passes, when she heard a knock on the door. She walked to the front of the new manufactured home and saw that Amelia woman standing on the porch.

“Amelia,” she said. “I must say, it seems as though you’re more anxious to see us than our boy is.” Euphonia didn’t invite her in, and yet she came in anyway. “To what do we owe this pleasure?” she asked with a smile that she knew didn’t bother showing up on the rest of her face at all.

“I just thought I’d stop by and see you,” said Amelia, looking around. “Rory not here yet?”

“No, he’s not. I imagine he and that Yamane are looking at some sights on the way home.”

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“Yes. I imagine they are,” said Amelia in a leering way that made Euphonia grind her teeth.

Euphonia smiled and then said with a perfectly sanguine expression on her face, “Did I ever tell you that my husband Claude is a cancer survivor? No? Well, come on in, I want to tell you all about it.”

“Uh…well,” said Amelia, still looking curiously all around the living room of the manufactured home.

“The thing is, it’s the prostate, you know?” said Euphonia. “It seems like all the men get to a certain age and the prostate just starts going. And of course, that means the men stop going, if you know what I mean.” She took Amelia by the arm and began to lead her to the couch. “Sit right there, dear. I’ll make us a pot of coffee. This is a long, long story.”

“No, I…” said Amelia, but Euphonia was already headed to the kitchen.

“So where was I?” Euphonia called from the kitchen, pretending to make coffee. “I thought when Claude was getting up ten, maybe fifteen times a night and peeing only two drops each time that he ought to go the darn doctor, but you know men, don’t you, Amelia?” She returned to the living room, only to find Amelia gone and the front door wide open.

“And that takes care of that,” she said out loud.

Seeing that door wide open didn’t stop Euphonia from checking every single closet, cupboard, and drawer to make sure Amelia wasn’t hiding in the house. When she’d checked every space conceivably big enough for the dreadful woman to hide in, she checked spaces too small as well. Finally, she locked all the doors and windows carefully, and made a mental note to ask Claude to load the shotgun. That woman gave her the creeps. She sat down at the computer in her office/den.

Dear Rory,

I am so longing to see your sweet face. Amelia was here again today, and I shared the story of your grandfather’s brush with cancer, but she seems to have had somewhere else to go, because when I came out from the kitchen where I’d “put on a pot of coffee” so I could warm to my story, she was gone.

I must say, cher, that even the thought of Yamane with her makes me worry. I am sure, dear, that if you have the kind of relationship with Yamane where you might guide her as a good friend, you should tell her that she must steer clear of people like that. I cannot be easy in my mind about Amelia. She strikes me as someone who belongs in New York City or someplace like that. I made your favorite casserole s

, o if no one ge s

t il o

l r passes before you