***
"You can stop staring at me, I'm not gonna throw the damn wrapper on the ground like a heathen or something." Mick shoved the Kit Kat wrapper into his pocket with a small smile. Rowen surprisingly enough didn’t put up a real fight for the crunchy candy goodness.
"Yes, you would've."
"Yes, I would've, before I met you, that is." He went to shoulder bump Rowe, and to his delighted surprise, the man didn't dodge this time. He'd take the little victories where he could get them. "See what a good influence you are on me?"
"Hmph."
Yep, there was the man of few words. They walked on without much chatter, which in itself surprised Mick, he was a natural talker. Used to tell people that he enjoyed the sound of his voice so much he had to talk. Truth was, he never felt comfortable with silence…maybe until now.
One good thing about the silence, though. He had no trouble telling the exact moment that Rowen withdrew back inside himself. The man stiffened next to him, the light rubbing of their arms as they walked gave way to a secure six inches separating them, his rich hazel eyes behind those glasses turned stony when he glanced over at Mick.
Or maybe that wasn't such a good thing.
Mick glanced up and realized they stood on the side of a cabin. It looked like Finn's cabin, but not as big. He took a couple steps back and noticed the tree that grew up against the window. Swinging his gaze between the cabin and Rowen's tense stance, he sighed. If Rowen only opened up while hiking through the woods at night, that didn't bode well for Mick.
He hoped his imagination somehow got the best of him. "So, about that dinner…" He let the question hang out there between them as he reached for Rowen's arm.
With a quickness about him that awed Mick, Rowen glided through three very smooth steps and suddenly stood on the porch with his hands on the knob of the front door.
"No dinner."
Mick held his hands up, palm out in a placating manner. "Come on, Rowe. We're friends now, right? Just like you and Finn."
He watched as Rowen fought some sort of internal battle. His eyes darted all over the place, not settling on one thing but taking everything in at once maybe, his lips started moving in silent conversation that only he heard, his left arm tapped the doorframe—starting off light but by the fifth time with force that would leave a bruise.
"Rowen!"
Everything about the man froze. His eyes drifted closed just to reopen moments later completely focused on Mick.
"You were hurting yourself." Mick pointed to Rowen's arm.
Rowen opened the door and backed into his cabin. "To hurt, you feel."
Mick walked to the porch stairs and stared up at the now closed door. He shoved his gloved hands into his pockets and felt the candy bar wrapper crinkle. "Maybe you are just a freak." He shook his head dejectedly and turned to leave.
The solid snick of metal connecting and tap of wood against wood chilled Mick's blood. If that door hadn't been closed before, it was definitely shut now.
"Shit."
Chapter Four
"What did you do to him?" Finn stared out his window at the dot that hadn't moved from the tree in over three hours. "I don't think I've ever seen him stay still for that long before. Well congratulations, Mick, you've been here less than a day and you've broken my neighbor."
"God, do you think he's okay out there?"
Finn sighed loudly. "Thanks to this unusual heat wave he'll probably be okay. Though I would think it’s in his own best interest to get out of that tree." The set expression on his face, lips pressed into a thin line and eyes narrowed, made Mick wince.
He slouched farther into the couch and covered his face with his hands. "I didn't mean to. I didn't even really mean to say it out loud, my ego was bruised or something."
"So you decided to completely annihilate his? One person doesn't show interest in you, so you must destroy them?"
"Close the damn drapes." He peeked out from under his hands to a very pissed off probably oldest ex-friend glowering over him. "Um…please?"
"I warned you that he was different. Different does not equate to bad or wrong, it just means different. If I thought for a second that you'd purposely hurt him—"
"Okay, I get it! I suck. I'm sorry oh grand non-suckage friend o'mine who is perfect and never utters anything under your breath that a normal mortal man shouldn't be able to hear anyway. Go fix this." Mick uncovered his face completely and knelt on the couch, scooting over to the end closet to where Finn stood. "You so could, too. He thinks the world of you—really it's quite baffling if you ask me—but every time I mentioned your name, I could tell his interest was completely vested in my next words. Go, go tell him I'm an imbecile who hasn't taken my medicine lately and that he has to forgive me."
"Clearly you've learned nothing from your faux pas."
Mick could feel Finn wearing down. "How many languages do you know?"
The droll look his friend gave him had Mick throwing up his hands in surrender yet again.
"Just kidding. See, a little funny funny every now and then is good for the soul. So, will you do it? Come on, Finn, fix this for me?"
"Oh, I think not. I've got my hands filled with one peculiar man as is. No, you broke my neighbor, you go march on over there and fix him yourself. Don't bother coming back until it's done either, or you're sleeping on the porch. Without a blanket."
***
Maybe you are just a freak.
He rested against the tree trunk and closed his eyes, as if doing that simple task could block out the words he’d heard Mick whisper.
Just a freak.
Rowen didn't know what came over him. During that trek in the snow with Mick, he was…he was so normal. Away from the walls…
Freak.
He glared at the cabin and a low-level growl emanated from his gut. Today would be a good day to get drunk. He could even imagine himself swilling from the beer bottle and then throwing it at some immovable surface out of anger. Throwing it at the roof of his cabin perhaps?
Isn't that what non-freaks did? They got drunk and threw things?
He nestled into his favorite spot on the tree and imagined what kind of life that man who had walked in the woods with Mick would have, the one that didn't have to look over his shoulder every ten seconds on the dot and try to read between the lines of what people told him. That man, who, when away from his home—his safety zone—didn't feel the need to be so safe.
Rowen closed his eyes and touched his lips, still feeling Mick on them. How many years had it been since another person wanted his touch?
He completely ignored the voice that whispered into his ear. Told you so.
***
A UFO flew through the sky and nailed the branch next to him. Groggily, Rowen wiped the sleep from his eyes and looked around.
"Son of a bitch! Rowen, goddammit, wake the fuck up!"
Rowen went to jump out of bed only to realize from his numb ass and the bark digging at the back of his neck that he wasn't in bed.
Another something whizzed by him, not nearly close enough to hit, before losing its momentum and falling back to the ground.
He looked down at the ground to see Mick standing there taking aim again.
"Are you drunk or do you randomly throw things at men sleeping in trees?" Rowen growled down at the man twenty feet below him.
Mick raised his hands as if to question Rowen's question. "We are never going to have a normal conversation, are we?"
They stared at each other, neither of them blinking or looking away. Finally Mick caved, like Rowe knew he would. "Do you even comprehend how dangerous it is to fall asleep in a tree that far up? One could twist to the left or right and it's goodnight forever."
"Is it as dangerous as waking up to someone throwing stuff at you while screaming your name? And I never move in my sleep."
He stretched his muscles out before he attempted to climb down and enter his cabin through his second floor window.
"
Never?" Rowen could hear the doubt in the man's voice.
"Ever."
"Well, that's a little freaky, isn't it?"
Rowen halted his movement to give Mick a droll look.
"No, wait! I didn't say you were freaky. Well, not that time at least."
Rowen deftly swung from the limb he was on instead of climbing down a few feet first. He held on to the limb until the bottom of the window sill jabbed into his lower back and both his feet were flat on the floor, then he released it.
"Seriously, Rowen, not all things freaky are bad. Some things happen to be very good freaky."
Rowen closed the window in the middle of Mick's—apology?—successfully cutting off any noise the man made.
Three knocks reverberated through the front door followed by Mick calling Rowen's name. He repeated that pattern two more times before Rowen finally decided to answer the door.
Mick stood there with a cheesy grin on his face, Rowen matched it with a less cheesy sneer.
"Let me guess, you don't watch television?"
Rowen blinked in confusion. "Huh?"
"The knock knock knock, Rowen…knock knock knock…never mind." He took a breath and looked up at Rowen with those distinct clear blue eyes. "Can we please talk?"
"I don't see why."
"I don't think you're a freak."
Rowen tilted his head and examined the man in front of him. "One funny thing about freaks is that we don't realize we are. So there are people put on this planet to inform us of our differences and make sure that we're aware of our place here.
"The other funny thing about freaks is that we don't really give a damn either way. We live our life by our rules and society can go to hell. I like living life my way, so I'll keep the title, please. Just wish you weren't the one who felt the need to inform me of my place."
Rowen held his breath, willing his pulse to slow. He wasn't normally a man of many words and this stranger had him breaking all his rules. It was time to settle down by himself in his safe home.
"Goo—"
"I want to get to know you. I don't want to be that person in your mind," Mick hurriedly spoke over Rowen's good-bye attempt.
Rowen shook his head. "Not something that will happen with one night. Good-bye, Mick."
He slipped back into his cabin and closed the door softly behind him.
Chapter Five
A sharp rapping woke Rowen from a very unrestful sleep. Dreams of pterodactyls chasing him up trees screaming that they were all going to laugh at him. The trees and the pterodactyls were screaming actually. No matter how strange his dream sounded, it made perfect sense to him, two movies that scared him to death when he was younger: Jurassic Park and Carrie. Nothing like combining your two biggest threats to scare the sleep away.
A banging brought his focus about as to why he no longer had to run from the talking dinosaur. Well shit, when did his house turn into Grand Central Station?
He slid his glasses on before crawling out of bed, then pulled his sweats on over his long underwear and slid his feet into his slippers. He retied his long hair back while silently making his way through the hall. When he got to the window, he glanced out it in passing.
Finn.
This was three times in that many months, Rowen was officially going soft.
"Rowe, come on, we need to talk. Open up, this is serious." Did he hear the mumbled again under Finn's breath?
Rowen positioned his foot behind the door an inch and opened it that wide. "What?"
"My friend Mick never came home yesterday. He left to come here and apologize to you, and I haven't heard from him since."
He looked into his friend's eyes and realized Finn wasn't accusing him of anything, just wanted to know Mick was okay.
Surprising himself, Rowen also needed to make sure he was.
"I'll get dressed and we can look for him. It's still early afternoon, we can cover a good amount of acres tonight and resume again in the morning. As long as the cloud coverage is minimal, the moon should still be bright enough for me to stay out longer. I just woke up now so sleep won't be needed for some time."
Finn took a step back and stared at Rowen with his mouth hanging open. "That's good, Rowe, but his truck is gone also. I'm thinking it's more likely he just left and will probably call me later, but I wanted to find out from you what happened. Can we talk?"
"He's gone?"
Rowe grabbed his hoodie hanging on a knob by the front door and pulled it over his sweatshirt. It was middle of the day with a clear sun, so even though the air nipped at him, it didn't cause discomfort.
"Looks like." Finn sat in one of the two chairs on the porch and gestured to the second one for Rowen. "I know he was upset about saying what he did to you. You have to know he didn't mean it, it was one of those things that just slip out. He felt bad."
Rowen shrugged but didn't answer. His mind was wrapped around the fact that he'd said good-bye to the clear blue-eyed stranger that had forced him partially out of his shell and Mick had taken it to heart and listened…and left.
He knew Finn was studying his profile, even without looking. He felt it.
"Something is different about you, Rowen. Do you want to talk about it?"
Did a part of Rowen secretly wish that he'd run into Mick? If so, where was that supposed to happen? What should he say? No, this was obviously for the best. Clean breaks heal quicker, not that there was anything that needed to heal.
Finn accepted Rowen. The new owner, Scotty—even through their minimalistic meetings—seemed accepting of him so far, but Mick wouldn't be so understanding.
He stood and mumbled some excuse for needing to go back inside. When he turned toward the door, that damn orange tabby darted out from the side of the cabin and into the road, immediately forcing a truck to lay on his horn and scare it up onto the porch of cabin fourteen.
"Are you sure you aren't taking in strays?" Finn chuckled behind him.
When Finn muttered, "Oh damn," that was just about the moment they both recognized the Dodge Ram with its truck bed filled to the max with what looked like moving boxes.
"Do you know anything about this?" Rowen asked Finn as Mick climbed out of his truck and jogged up the steps of cabin fourteen to pick up the large orange tabby who didn't even attempt to run from him.
"Not a clue."
"He's your friend, go talk to him. He obviously can't live here."
"I am not going to be the one having that conversation with him. The way I see it, my guest bedroom just became vacant."
He passed Rowen on the porch and paused at the steps before descending. "I'm not sure what happened, my friend, but this is good. I like this." Rowen only partially flinched when Finn patted him on the shoulder.
Rowen watched the two friends cross in the street and had to steel himself not to dart inside and play it safe. Hadn't the need for being safe brought him to this predicament in a round-a-bout way? So he took a fortifying breath, or three, and waited for Mick to make his evidently humorous remarks to Finn before he continued on his way to Rowen's cabin.
"I brought back your pussy." Mick raised the orange tabby for Rowe to see before setting her down at the foot of the stairs. "Though to be honest, I think she likes my place better."
"She isn't mine."
"Huh, really? Well, she needs a home and a name. What should we call her?"
"Are you renting that cabin?"
Mick smiled up at him. "Absolutely. What about Petunia? Do you like that name?"
"Absolutely not. Why are you renting the cabin?"
"Because you told me to." He ran his hand through the tabby's thick fur. "What about Creamsicle?"
"Hated those as a kid, and I did not tell you to." Rowen suddenly wished he had dodged into the house when Mick wasn't paying attention.
"Sure, you did, you told me I couldn't get to know you in one night. Well, I counter that with what about six months of nights? Betcha I can make a dent in that armor in that amount of time. Look at
how dainty she acts even though she's a big damn cat. What about Filigree—can we name her that?"
Rowen stared at Mick with what he was certain was a look of complete and utter shock. He had no words for this situation. Thankfully Mick seemed to understand this as he straightened up from his kneeling position on the steps.
"I'll leave Filigree over here for the time being. But I expect equal rights to her. Oh and now that I've got my own place, I'll be expecting you to come over for that dinner also."
Rowen ignored his chuckling as he turned his back and fled to the safety of his cabin…again.
The End of Book One...
Havan Fellows Author Bio
I annoy, love, respect, scare, seduce, hurt, anger, infatuate, frustrate, flatter, envy, amuse and tolerate everyone. I just do it better in writing thanks to a little thing called…edits.
Okay no, seriously…I'm a simpleminded person who enjoys the escape from real life through a book. I write with the group Story Orgy and hope to continue doing so for a long time. I also am privileged to be with the Pulp Friction writers, creating intermingling books in a world all our own. And just like every other red-blooded human—I love hearing from people. So feel free to drop me a line—whether it's a comment on my blog, an email, a tweet, or you track me down on FaceBook or Google +…it's easy to catch someone who wants to be caught.
Blog - https://havanshawthaven.blogspot.com
Email -
[email protected] Twitter - @havanfellows
FaceBook - https://www.facebook.com/HavanFellowsauthor?fref=ts
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Additional titles by Havan Fellows
Story Orgy
And The Prompt Is…Vol 1 (Out of Print)
And The Prompt Is…Holiday Edition (Out of Print)
And The Prompt Is…Road Trip Edition (Out of Print)
Story Orgy Singles
Farewell (originally from And The Prompt Is…Vol 1)
A Trace of Christmas Spirit (originally from And The Prompt Is…Holiday Edition)
Melting Jack Frost (A Christmas Trio)
A Guy Like Grant (originally from And The Prompt Is…Road Trip Edition)
The Mama's Boy (Bad Boyfriend Collection)
Synchronous Seductions Trilogy
Harlan's Ryde