A Much Younger Man - Z.A. Maxfield Page 0,31

roaring fire, none of which can be found at the clinic.”

“You’re k-k-kidnapping me?”

“Yes.” I handed him my phone. “Phone the authorities. You don’t need to unlock it to dial 911.”

He turned away, but I thought that was to hide his relief.

When we got to my place, I pulled into the driveway. “Only a few feet to shelter. Make a run for the porch. I’ll catch up.”

He slipped out and opened the door for his dog. “C’mon, Callie.”

I grabbed a towel from the back and wiped up as much water as I could before running to the porch to open the door.

“Wow, the rain is fucking icy tonight.”

“N-not the rain. It’s the w-w-wind.” Lips that had been pale before were now positively blue. I led him to the guest bathroom and motioned him inside.

“Towels are under the sink. In you go. When you get out, there will be dry clothes on the counter. I’ll dry Callie off and start a fire.” He hesitated. “Go on. You’re safe here.”

He turned on his heel and opened the glass shower door to turn on the water. I closed the bathroom door between us with a sigh.

I told myself Beck was safe with me. His heart would be safer with me than it was with his own family.

I didn’t ask myself how safe my heart would be.

Chapter Eleven

I left a pair of sweats and an old band T-shirt on the sink for Beck while he showered. On the way out, I locked the bathroom door.

My awareness of him—that he was naked behind the billowing clouds of steam condensing on the door seemed to permeate my entire being.

That was normal, right? I was a gay, human male, so it was entirely normal to respond to the presence of an attractive male in his prime. It was nothing more than simple biology. If I could only look at it like that—as stimulus and response—I wouldn’t have to feel so…awkward about things.

I toweled the rain off Callie and made her comfortable before changing out of my work clothes. I opted for a worn pair of sweats, a T-shirt, and a hoodie, although I knew I’d probably steam like a dumpling inside it once I had the fireplace going. It was surprising how efficient the little fireplace was in warming the great room. From the front window to the kitchen, its cozy flames took the chill out of the air and fragranced my home with earthy wood smoke. The fireplace was the reason I loved the house so much. I’d always preferred my bedroom cool, so despite living near the beach I rarely needed the forced-air heater.

After I got a good fire going, I nuked food I had in the freezer. It was the perfect night for a hot bowl of chicken tortilla soup, and I had the stuff for cornbread—a mix of course—and all the extras on hand.

I was just putting the cornbread in the oven when Beck slipped into the kitchen on cat feet, like Sandburg’s fog. Why was he trying to be invisible? It didn’t seem very like him. Did he not even want to be around me? Well, duh. Probably not, because—to use Travis’s most recent accusation—I was a dick.

“I want to say one thing—” I began, but he started talking at the same time.

“Look. You don’t know me—”

We both stopped. Then I said, “You’re right. Go on.”

“You don’t know me, so I forgive you. But listen to me now. I’m not the type of guy who flatters people to get something from them.”

“I’m sorry. I may have—”

“And even if I were that kind of guy, there’s nothing wrong with that. Lots of guys spend their whole lives just being charming.” He poked my chest. “And plenty of men like that. Especially old men.”

“Oh, ouch.”

He gave me a little shove. “I’m not talking about you. I’m talking about the truckers who like to tell a story while they’re letting you hitch a ride. So what if they want to talk about their glory days in some war? It’s better than hitting me up for a blowjob.”

“Right.” This was the heart of the matter. “So you tell them what they want to hear whether it’s true or not? What do you care? You’ll be in someone else’s truck in a few miles anyway.”

“That’s not it. I’ve learned to listen to what people don’t say too, you know? I’m trying to be nice and maybe fill a void in someone’s heart. You only want to paint me