Sneak peek from AAWS

[Jamie sample]

There was a small portion of Jamie’s consciousness still holding out hope that he was not in Yellowknife, Canada, was not following a total stranger up the stairs into his apartment because he’d made an idiot of himself in a public place, that he wasn’t the blind fool who had come thousands of miles to surprise a lover who was, in fact, off whoring with Jamie’s money in Key West—Jamie hoped, fervently, that this was not happening, that he would wake up and it would all just be some really paranoid dream. He would turn over and tell Jo, and he would laugh and smile and nip at his shoulder, and they’d snuggle and it would all be okay.

But this wasn’t a dream, no matter how it felt like it. His mind was partitioning into strange compartments, each watching the other, and he was like a movie director always going to a new camera. First he was in the part that thought this had to be a dream, and then he was in the part that acknowledged, with clinical calm, that he was in some sort of shock. Then the camera switched again, and he found himself thinking, No, it’s worse than a dream. It was like he’d gotten into a plane in Des Moines and landed in some other dimension. There was a bright future out there somewhere, a universe where he was making love to Johann right now and everything was right and good, but he’d slipped between the frame or something. Like when he’d been a boy and knelt on the counter in front of the long mirror in his grandmother’s bathroom and leaned far over, trying to see into the other world he knew lived on that side of the glass. It was a world he was sure was better, a world where he was understood, where people smiled more, where he didn’t have to go to pee wee baseball practice and try not to act like it hurt when they called him “Jamie Blamie” or said he threw like a girl. He hadn’t thought about that mirror in years, decades even, but it came back to him now, and part of him really did believe he’d entered his own personal sort of Twilight Zone, because this was wrong, wrong, wrong.

And then the camera shifted again, and a dark voice said, in weary tones that sounded like his mother, This isn’t wrong. You knew he was like this. You knew, but you didn’t want to see.

The thought cut, and to his horror he began to feel overwhelmed again. He wished he weren’t here, wished he’d not been an idiot yet again, wished he’d said, “No, please just get me to a hotel,” so he could be falling apart in private right now.

But I don’t want to be alone! another part of him cried, and at this point Jamie was so overwhelmed by his partitioned psyche that he nearly grabbed Tom’s arm and demanded the man take him to the hospital, because quite clearly he had lost his mind. He didn’t, though; he just followed Tom up and up and up, further and further away from ration and reason and into his apartment, trying not to listen to the voice that whispered over the top of his heartbeat beating in his ears: I am such a fool. Such a fool. Such a fool.

And then, abruptly, they stopped, turned down a hallway, and they were in an apartment. Tom’s apartment.

And Jamie was momentarily distracted from his internal storm, because holy shit, was this place not what he had been expecting. It was spacious, and clean, and well-appointed; certainly not flashy, but it wasn’t the big-tough-guy bachelor pad Jamie had assumed someone who took people ice fishing for a living would keep. Why he’d assumed that he couldn’t exactly say, but he had. There were no five-gallon buckets of tackle and piles of dirty boots on newspaper beneath grungy coveralls, no Hungry-Man dinner boxes strewn across the counter next to Hustler mags. That had been the trailer of the ranch hands where, on a vacation with Johann last August in Colorado, he’d gone in to use the bathroom. He’d worried he’d catch a staph infection from the toilet seat.

That would not be happening here. The kitchen, visible from the foyer, was clean and white and boasting gleaming stainless-steel appliances—better ones than those in Jamie’s own condo. A dining room with an actual table was visible through a walkway, and there were bookshelves visible too—with many, many books. Jamie stood on marble tile, but it soon gave way to beige berber carpet which paved the way down a hall to a living room with a long sofa and a pair of chairs which were practically begging Jamie to collapse into them.

It was a nice place. A very nice place, belonging to a very nice, kind man. A man who had brought Jamie here because—because—

Why exactly had he done that?

When Jamie turned to look at Tom, as if the answer might be written there, he realized his host was talking to him and looking slightly anxious and uncomfortable. Except Jamie, lost in his own private horror show and pity party, had missed it all.

Get. A. Grip, he scolded himself, and did his very best to look collected and calm and maybe a bit chagrined, pumping out as much Jamie charm as he could manage. “I’m sorry. This is horribly rude of me—I can’t impose on you like this. I should go to a hotel.” He forced the smile to stretch a little further, pushing all his chaos down as tight as it would go. “I promise you I’m fine.”

But there was too much chaos, and it wouldn’t go; on “fine” it bubbled back up like a beach ball from beneath the water, and the word cracked and wavered in a way which said to anyone who wasn’t socially tone deaf that, actually, he was as fucking far from fine as anybody got.

“Well, I won’t stop you… if that’s what you’d prefer.”  Tom hesitated, then said with a smile, “But… are you sure you want to be alone right now? I’m a pretty good listener.”

It was at this point that Jamie finally noticed something else about his rescuer: he was very, very good-looking.

Johann was a former model, and he looked it. And yes, Jamie liked that. But he hated photos of the two of them together, because Jo looked too stiff, too perfect in them, like his whole life was a glossy ad. What Jamie had fallen for was the way Jo’s eyes danced when he laughed, the way they burned when they looked at Jamie in… well, clearly not love. Affection. Pleasure. His boyfriend—his boyfriend who had deliberately “lost” his cell phone so he could have sex on a houseboat full of men in the Florida Keys—had looked good.

Tom looked good in a different way. His handsomeness was subtle, not striking. He didn’t look glossy; he looked real. He had beard stubble that needed shaving or trimming. His hair was neat, but it was mussed from wearing a hat.  He stood tall and broad—very, very tall—built of muscle that was not thick and bulky or carved in a gym to make men swoon; he had a body built by work.

He also had the most beautiful green eyes Jamie had ever seen. You had to really look into them to catch the color, but they were green. Real green.

Real man.

Right here. Smiling. Kind. Inviting.

Waiting for Jamie to answer his question, which he’d asked over a full minute ago.

You should take the out and go, his conscience nagged. This is a ridiculous, embarrassing situation. This man is not coming onto you. He’s pitying you. You are ridiculous beyond reason. You came up here to chase a man even a stranger knew without being told was off cheating on you. He wants nothing to do with you. He’s just feeling obligated. Thank him, apologize, and get out of here before you make an even bigger fool of yourself.
Jamie opened his mouth to do this and said, instead, “Certainly you have better things to do on a Friday night than take care of soppy head-cases who misplace their boyfriends by three thousand miles.”

Oh, yes, he’s surely charmed by you now, his conscience sneered back.

“Actually, no, I don’t.” Tom's smile looked sincere. ”And believe it or not, I know what it’s like to be a soppy head-case, to think that my…trust has been placed in the right person, only to find out I was wrong.” He motioned to the kitchen. ”At least stay long enough to eat some dinner?”

Jamie knew he should go. The same social codes that said a nice guy like Tom should try to shepherd a head case like Jamie said that the head case should know better in the first place. Or maybe that wasn't a social code. Maybe that was just his mother.

What do you want? This time the voice wasn't his conscience. Jamie didn't know what it was, but he kind of liked it.

"You're sure?" Jamie tightened his grip on the strap of his carryon.

"Of course," Tom said, and gestured towards the hall.

Jamie followed him back to a bedroom which was as nice as the rest of the apartment. It was done up in neutral gray—the carpet, anyway. There was a lovely Asian-inspired print on the wall, a dresser beneath the window, and a queen-sized bed with a solid-looking and beautifully polished wood frame. The comforter was white, and a patchwork quilt of blues and purples and deep reds  all done up in a crushed, velvety material was folded at the foot of it. Four pillows were arranged up at the head of the bed, practically inviting Jamie to grab a book from the shelf on the wall by the door and curl up against them.

Tom, who had put down Jamie's suitcase near the dresser, ran his hands absently over his jeans as he nodded at the bed. "I just bought new sheets for this bed last month.  I'm a bit of a closet interior decorator."

"Oh, I can tell!" As soon as the words were out of Jamie's mouth, he realized how ridiculous he sounded. "Ah—I mean, you have a very nice place."
Jamie was pretty sure he caught a blush. "Anyway, did you want that smoke now or would you like to get cleaned up before dinner, or...?"
Now it was Jamie who was blushing. "I'm not—I mean, okay, I've been smoking too much lately, yes. But it's not like I'm going to attack you if I don't get my fix or something." He realized how that came out and felt his whole head heat. "Sorry—do you have a toilet I could soak my head in? Because I think I left my social sense back in Edmonton. Or maybe Denver. It might not have even made it onto the plane in Des Moines."

Tom relaxed, looking like he were trying not to laugh. "Okay, so now that we know neither of us will attack the other, what would you like to do?  I can fix us something to drink, or I can let you get cleaned up...There's time enough for a shower, if you'd like.  I think I might have one, if you don't mind?"

"Oh! Sure. I mean—no, I don't need one. But you go ahead." That was probably why he'd mentioned the cigarette, hoping Jamie would have one so he could escape and take a shower. Well, actually, he almost had full use of his fingers back, so why not take out more of his lungs? "Maybe I will have a cigarette then. If you don't mind."

"Not at all."

"Do you have any sturdier gloves I can borrow?" He waggled his fingers in front of his face. Then stopped. "Oh, wait. I'd get them all stinky. Never mind."

"You won't need to go outside," Tom said. "I'll just get you an ashtray from the kitchen.  This way."

Tom led Jamie to the kitchen and produced an ashtray, which he set on the counter. "Make yourself at home.  The remote control is... well, I'm sure you know how to find whatever you need.  I'll only be five minutes or so."

"Wait—I can't—" Jamie gestured wildly at the nice, clean kitchen. "I can't smoke in here!"

"Why not?  It won't bother me.  And besides, that's what Febreeze is for."

Tom smiled, and Jamie just stared at him. He was just going to let Jamie smoke in here, just like that? Jamie didn't even let himself smoke in his own condo. Not even in January. Jamie shook his head. "You know, it's a good thing you're not gay and live in Iowa, or I'd have to marry you."

"Does it have to be in Iowa?"

Tom delivered the line so deadpan that for a second Jamie didn't know what to make of it. Then he caught the twinkle in those green eyes, and he couldn't help it. He laughed. "It's too far of a commute to Yellowknife, I'm afraid."

"And there's probably not a lot of ice-fishing down there." Tom winked, the twinkle in his eye deepening as his lip curled up in a sly smile. "More dumb luck for me, I guess."

Jamie grinned and waved a hand at him as he reached with the other into his coat pocket. "Go take your shower."

Tom headed down the hall, and Jamie fished into his pocket for his cigarettes and his lighter. He kept his eyes on Tom, though, as he did, taking in the very fine view of his host's backside.

His host who, apparently, was either gay too or the most open straight man Jamie had ever met.

Hmm.

*****

[Tom sample]

As usual, Tom's eyes opened long before his alarm was to sound; it was a habit he'd become far too comfortable with during his university days.  He wasn't what anyone would call a morning person, but he was just more aware of everything early in the morning.  He preferred to do most things in the morning; paperwork, exercise, returning emails, even sex were all better for Tom in the early morning hours.

He rolled onto his back - a sure sign he was awake and would stay that way until he got up and fixed breakfast - and found himself smiling a little.  It had been so nice to have someone to talk with last night; Tom’s life wasn’t devoid of human contact.  In fact, sometimes, he felt like he had far too much contact with other humans.  But it had been nice to have been there for the poor kid.  Poor kid?  Tom chastised himself.  Jamie was no kid, Tom was very sure of that, but his heart had broken while he listened to his unexpected guest come to terms with having been fooled by that Johann schmuck.  How Tom had wanted to wrap his arms around those solid shoulders and reassure Jamie that everything would be okay.  You think you want a man like Johann, Tom had wanted to say, but you deserve so much better; someone like me; someone who will love you and care for you, treat you like you should be treated.  But Tom knew he couldn’t say anything like that;  Jamie was from Iowa - another country, for pity’s sake - and he would probably be going back to his life sometime today.

As Tom flung off the duvet and swung his legs over the side of his four-poster bed, he turned off the alarm so it wouldn’t wake Jamie and shook his head at his dumb luck.  A gorgeous - albeit vulnerable - man was sleeping twenty feet from him, but the distance may as well have been as wide as the Grand Canyon.  Making a mental note to get to Edmonton as soon as possible, Tom flipped the light on in his bathroom and turned on the hot water.  He would shave and shower, and then head out to the kitchen to fix a breakfast like Jamie had never seen before - well, not since he’d been ten anyway.

The hot water and the steam did what they always did to Tom, energized and invigorated him, helped him get ready to face a day of uncertainty.  By the time he was pulling on his jeans and his favorite navy blue t-shirt, he was almost chuckling to himself at how silly his thoughts had been last night.  He’d wanted to comfort Jamie, tell him that not all men were as callous and unfeeling as Johann; there are plenty of guys out there who would give anything to find a man so committed and loving, a man that would fly half-way across a continent to be with the man he loved.  As he headed for the kitchen, pausing by Jamie’s door to see if he was up yet, Tom offered up his own furtive prayers - yet again - that he would be able to find one of those men, soon.

He worked quietly in the kitchen, removing all of the equipment he would need to make Jamie a good breakfast, and hoped that his guest’s appetite would return this morning.  Tom had almost finished his dinner, but Jamie’s had lain almost untouched.  The thought ghosted across his brain again as he started to mix the ingredients for the chocolate-chip pancakes:  Maybe I’ll offer to take him out on the ice, do some ice-fishing, go riding on the ski-doo, camp out overnight in the tent.  He wasn’t sure if Jamie was the outdoorsy type - something assured him Jamie wasn’t - but maybe he could do this for Jamie; the man had come all this way only to be faced with disappointment and betrayal.  Tom wasn’t naive enough to think that fishing through a hole in the ice of Great Slave Lake would fix any of that, but - if nothing else - it would give him some more time to be there for Jamie, help him see that not all men were lying, cheating, egotistical, snivelling, lying bastards.

Although Tom had only known him for a few hours, really, he was beginning to have difficulty seeing Jamie as a stranger now; Tom couldn't remember the last person with whom he'd shared intimate details of Kathy's betrayal - besides Paul and Wendy, but that was different.  Jamie was an attractive man, an attractive gay man.  Tom had always had a bit of difficulty learning to trust a man he also found attractive.  His one-night stands in Edmonton or Calgary had never been about emotional intimacy, but rather raw, uninhibited animal release.

Jamie was relationship material for some lucky guy back in Iowa.  Tom wasn't sure if that guy would continue to be Johann - and that thought made Tom feel kind of queasy - but he was seriously hoping that he could convince someone so sensitive and loyal to dump the loser and find someone who would treat him as he should be treated.  Like I'd treat him.  The thought snaked its way through Tom's brain and he found himself smiling as he continued to prepare breakfast.  He allowed his libido to contemplate the silkiness of Jamie's hair and skin, the feel of that tight body underneath him as he kissed and nipped and worked Jamie into a frenzy of unimaginable passion.  He allowed himself to wonder what it would be like to wake up with his arms wrapped around that muscular chest, his nose buried in that shiny mop of hair.

The smoke pulled Tom out of his reverie and he quickly removed the skillet from the stove before the bacon was a total loss.  Good thing, too, he thought to himself, because I think I just heard some movement in the spare bedroom.

Tom flipped the last batch of pancakes, threw another six strips of bacon in the frying pan and halved some oranges for fresh-squeezed juice.  He hadn’t remembered to ask Jamie if he was a coffee or tea person in the morning, so he’d dressed the table with both.

As the sounds grew, confirming Tom’s suspicions that Jamie was indeed awake, he quickly finished dressing the table with some jam, the peanut butter, the butter, the maple syrup and two more napkins from the drawer, complete with napkin rings before he heard the squeak of the bedroom door, followed by the sound of running water in the guest bathroom.  He had to wait only a couple of minutes before he heard Jamie behind him.  He turned and greeted his guest.

“Morning, Jamie.  Sleep well?”  Tom looked over and saw how Jamie was dressed; had anyone ever looked so good in black jeans and a t-shirt?  The only word that came to Tom’s mind was “Wow!”  It wasn't until Jamie drew closer that Tom was able to read the t-shirt; it read "Des Moines:  French for The Moines".  Tom couldn't help but let out a little chuckle.  "Is that what passes for French down in Iowa?"  Tom noticed the flushed cheeks, fresh from sleep, the slight grin to those luscious lips and the hand running absent-mindedly through the silky hair.  "Breakfast can wait if you want to grab a shower?  I put some towels out on the counter for you."

Tom smiled as he watched Jamie glance down at his shirt.  "Oh—ha. This is from Raygun, my favorite store in the East Village in downtown Des Moines. Half my non-work wardrobe is from there."  God, Tom thought as he watched Jamie stuff his hands into the pockets of those incredible-fitting jeans, this guy is adorable.  "I can wait on a shower. Especially if that's coffee I see there."

Tom had to pull his eyes away from the slim hips and the strong, muscular legs.  "It is."  Tom hoped Jamie wouldn't see the flush that was spreading its way up to the tips of his ears.  "Come.  Sit.  Enjoy.  I wasn't sure what else you'd like with your pancakes, so I made an assortment."  Tom waited for Jamie to seat himself and then sat down.  "And," Tom announced with a sly grin, "it was really hard to get, this being Canada and all, but I got some maple syrup."

Jamie flushed a little and sat back, taking a deep breath. "This is... amazing. Thank you." Tom watched with some satisfaction as Jamie reached for the coffee, but seemed to be more interested in the tall stack of pancakes.

"Least I could do."  Tom took the plate of pancakes and placed it closer to Jamie; once Jamie was done with it, he'd help himself.  "We don't stand on ceremony here, so if you see something you like, just grab it."  Tom stopped the mug a few millimeters from his lips, realizing what he'd said, and looked over at Jamie.

"Thank you." Tom was grateful that Jamie seemed so focused on the food that he missed the double-entendre.  Tom's worries about Jamie's appetite seemed unfounded; Jamie took two pancakes, reached for the butter and slathered it generously between and over the cakes and then finished it off by drizzling some of the maple syrup over his little stack.  Jamie offered a smile when he said, "I haven't had maple syrup... well, I don't know since when. It's Aunt Jemima or bust." Tom was more than a little turned on by the wicked look Jamie gave him then. "I didn't like it when I was a kid. Thought it tasted like shoes."  Tom raised an eyebrow and smiled wanly - shoes?  He was at a loss for words as he watched Jamie take a generous helping of his stack and push it past that wicked grin.  Tom didn't know if Jamie knew what effect he was having on him; all he knew was that he didn't want Jamie to stop.  "Hey—I grew up on the 80s and was raised on high fructose corn syrup. Also, maple was too expensive to get every day. Don't worry. My tastebuds have refined since then."  Tom sat back, his own meal forgotten, as he watched Jamie reach for his coffee cup and drink.

Tom realized Jamie had said something and now it was his turn to contribute to the conversation.  "Uh, um..."  Tom had no idea what he could say to that; it wasn't that he hadn't heard what Jamie had just said.  No, that was it; he had been too busy watching Jamie lick the syrup off his lips.  "Well, this is real maple syrup...straight from Québec."

"Really?" Jamie looked down at the label on the tin of maple syrup.  "I suppose ours comes from Minnesota."  Tom began to dig in to his own stack of pancakes as Jamie offered another smile and reached for the bacon. "Thanks for this, really. It's amazing. Thanks for everything."  He noticed the smile on Jamie's face become a little more somber, rueful even.  "If you ever chase anybody to Des Moines and get abandoned, be sure to look me up, and I'll happily take you out to Perkins. They make better pancakes than me."

"You're the only person I know from The Moines."  Tom knew he would regret not being able to stop himself.  "Listen," he began, "I know you're probably itching to get out of here and back to your boyfriend, but..."  Tom's fingers rolled the hemmed edge of the napkin back and forth.  "I have a few days off and I thought maybe you might like to actually do some ice-fishing, or maybe see the Northern Lights, or..."  Tom stopped himself from going any further.  It had seemed like such a good idea in his head, but now he was convinced that Jamie would see him for the lonely old fool he really was.  "Never mind."  Tom waved his hand absently, his appetite suddenly gone now.  "Forget I said anything.  Can I get you anything else?  More bacon?"  Tom picked up his own plate and headed for the kitchen.

He was glad that Jamie didn't say anything right away, or follow him to the kitchen.  Instead, Jamie just turned in his chair to look at him. "Oh—oh, that's... wow, that's really nice of you. And I—" Tom wondered if the blush on Jamie's cheeks was a show of sympathy for the fool Tom had just made of himself. "It's just that my sister texted me already and told me she's bought me a ticket home. She's a little... miffed at me. To put it lightly." Jamie seemed dejected. "Except I really, really wanted to see the Northern Lights." Tom held out a glimmer of hope when he saw Jamie's indecision manifest itself in his fingers as they drummed on the table.  Tom wanted to interrupt, but didn't want to make things even more uncomfortable.  Finally, Jamie looked up at Tom, directly into his eyes.  "She made the reservation for a flight at seven. But I could make it for the morning, couldn't I? I mean, it's in my name. I might have to pay to move it, but I would, to see the lights. Unless—" Jamie gave a nervous laugh. "Well, I don't know anything about them. Do they come every night?"  The thought of hugging Jamie came back stronger than ever; he didn't know where this need to protect an almost-perfect stranger were coming from.  "Forget it. Never mind." 

Tom drew in a deep breath as he placed his plate in the sink and returned to the table.  Jamie's ears were scarlet.  Maybe, Tom thought as he took his seat again.  "I'm game."  Tom offered a sincere smile.  "I can't guarantee the Northern Lights are, but we won't know unless we try, right?"  Tom took another slow breath and waited.

He found himself counting his heartbeats and willing Jamie to say yes.  He didn't know why it was so important all of a sudden that Jamie agree to stay for a few more hours, another day, but it was.  He was about ready to jump out of his skin when he heard Jamie's sharp intake of breath, followed by, "Okay."  Tom wasn't sure which one of them seemed more surprised at that answer.  "Okay. So—so I guess I go get on the Internet and try to change my reservation?"

Tom's laugh was quick and filled with relief.  "I'll do you one better."  Tom smiled softly and studied the flush creeping up Jamie's cheeks.  "I've got a friend who works for the airline.  I'll call her and she'll take care of it for us...you, I mean."  Tom corrected himself, but he didn't care that he'd said it.  Even if it was only for another day, only in his mind, he liked the idea of finally being part of an us.

Copyright 2010 by DW Marchwell and Heidi Cullinan