Calvin’s Cowboy (9 page)

Brock pulled back, looked momentarily shocked, then let out a bark of laughter. “Yeah, right.”

Calvin couldn’t look at Brock. Why the hell had he told him the truth? At least the man took it as another of Calvin’s teasing jokes. Concentrating on the prices, Calvin realized he could get a basic wooden seat for about $25, so suggested they get one of each of the two main shapes, so they’d be covered.

“No problem. I’ll get you a refund for the one we don’t need. Probably have to come back here for this and that, so I can return whichever seat you don’t need.”

“Too much hassle. I’ll give you whichever one doesn’t fit. I assume you’ll be able to use it on another job?” Calvin risked a glance at the sexy cowboy.

Brock looked as though he might protest, but in the end merely nodded and said, “Thanks.”

“I’m ninety percent sure I need the elongated shape, but…” Doing it this way would help Brock out.

“No problem. Any particular preference for color or style?” Brock asked.

“Just wood color.” He wouldn’t be sitting on it for long.

Calvin watched Brock reach up and take down a couple of seats from the rack. The sleeveless black T-shirt he wore showed off his biceps beautifully. Calvin tried to adjust himself discreetly, but Brock caught him and raised an eyebrow.

“Shut up!” Calvin growled.

“Didn’t say a word.” Brock grinned.

The bastard took hold of the flatbed cart and began pulling it behind him, the effort causing the muscles in his right arm to flex wonderfully.

Calvin followed behind, readjusting himself again.

As they shopped for floor tiles, grout and lord knew what else, Calvin couldn’t help but observe other people in the store. He hadn’t realized quite how big a construction-worker fetish he had.

“You’re drooling,” Brock whispered to him at one point when a particularly fine example of flannel-shirted hunkiness walked past pulling a cart carrying lengths of two by fours.

“Yeah.” Calvin tore his attention from the hunk and focused on Brock. “But he doesn’t hold a candle to you.”

Brock shook his head. “Idiot.”

Surely the man didn’t have an inferiority complex? He was sex on legs.

Eventually Brock said they had everything he would need for the time being, and began pulling the loaded cart toward the checkouts.

Calvin removed the two toilet seats; he’d pay for those himself.

The bored-looking checkout operator leaned down and began to scan the various items with a hand-held scanner. He announced the total and Brock handed over his card, which the guy ran through the machine, twice. Then he punched in the details manually.

“Is there a problem?” Brock asked after restacking the last of the boxes of floor tiles.

“It’s declined the transaction.”

“Shit!”

“Do you have an alternate method of payment?”

“No,” Brock shook his head.

“I’ll page a manager.”

“No, it’s okay, I’ll—“Brock said.

The checkout guy ignored him and picked up a microphone and said something into it which Calvin couldn’t catch; the store’s acoustics were terrible.

Calvin snuck a glance at Brock, who looked distinctly uncomfortable. Calvin ached to do something, but didn’t think leaping to Brock’s defense, especially in public, would go down well. He’d learned his lesson from the ER the day before.

A manager came over, tapped a few keys on the register and confirmed what Calvin had already suspected, Brock’s trade account was maxed out and they wouldn’t advance him any more credit.

Brock looked embarrassed, and Calvin couldn’t stand it any longer.

“I’ll pay for this with my credit card.”

“No,” Brock said.

“That won’t be a problem,” the manager chipped in.

To Brock, Calvin said, “I’ll be paying for it anyway, so it makes no difference to me.”

Brock hesitated, and then shrugged his reluctant agreement.

Turning to the manager, Calvin said, “I will receive the same trade discount as you’d have given Mr. Brockwell.”

“I’m sorry, Sir, that isn’t possible unless you have your own trade account.”

Calvin, seeing that Brock was becoming increasingly uncomfortable at the situation, just wanted to get them the hell out of there.

“Fine!” Depositing the toilet seats on the conveyor belt, Calvin took Brock’s arm. “Come on, bud, we’re outta here. We’ll get what we need from
Home Depot
.”

“But what about your toilet seats?” the manager asked to their retreating backs.

Calvin turned around. “You can stick ‘em where the sun don’t shine.”

Calvin was relieved to hear Brock chuckle.

Another manager, who—judging by the fact that he was wearing a tie—was more senior, caught up with them at the exit. “I’m sorry, gentlemen. There’s been a misunderstanding.”

Calvin held his tongue.

“On this occasion we’re prepared to let you use a different credit card to pay for your items.”

“Big of you,” Calvin muttered under his breath and followed Brock back to the register.

Calvin paid for the goods, including the much-maligned toilet seats. Brock pulled the cart out of the store and loaded his truck, all the while not saying a word.

Getting into the cab, Calvin did up his seatbelt, and waited while Brock tried to start the engine. It finally coughed into life on the fourth attempt.

“Fuck!” Brock said when they were finally underway.

Calvin put a hand on Brock’s knee and gave it a squeeze. “At least someone in there had the sense to realize they were about to lose a sale.

“I’m sorry.” Brock let out a breath and pulled his Stetson lower on his forehead.

“You don’t need to apologize.”

As he drove, Brock bit at his bottom lip. Calvin gave the man’s knee another squeeze before reluctantly returning his hand to his own lap.

Brock pulled into another parking lot. “Need to visit the bank,” he said quietly, not looking at Calvin. “To deposit your check.”

“No problem. I need to go do some of my own banking, too. Who’re you with?”

“Chase, the same as you.”

For a second Calvin wondered how Brock knew where he banked, then realized the name was on the check he’d given him. This set Calvin thinking. He figured Brock was probably overdrawn and the check would merely go to pay off the bank.

As they walked, a number of people either stopped Brock to talk, or just nodded in his direction. Calvin felt himself standing just that bit taller being next to such a popular and well-thought of man.
And it doesn’t hurt that he’s a fuckin’ hunk,
Calvin told himself.

Standing in line, awaiting their turn at the one open cashier window, Calvin verbalized his earlier thoughts. “Would it help if I withdrew the cash and gave you that instead of you depositing the check I gave you?”

Brock thought for a second. “Yeah. That would help. Thanks.” He lifted his head and treated Calvin to a small smile.

Calvin wanted to lean over and kiss the cowboy until his smile widened into the beautiful shit-eating grin Calvin knew it could be.

“No problem. It makes no difference to me either way.”

“I’m still grateful, though.” Brock’s smile widened a little, but not as much as Calvin wanted.

A woman entered the bank, joined the line behind Brock and immediately started in at him. “You said you would come out and fix my leak.”

“Good morning, Mrs. Patterson.” Brock took off his Stetson. “I gave you a price, but you said you would rather get someone else.” Brock’s voice was quiet; obviously he didn’t want to conduct business in such a public setting.

Mrs. Patterson evidently didn’t have such qualms. More loudly she said, “I wasn’t paying that! Daylight robbery is what it was.”

The line moved forward.

“Ma’am,” Brock said, running the brim of his hat through his fingers, “I quoted you the going rate, a bit less actually, because you’re a previous customer.”

“And the gutters you cleared for me last year are all blocked up again.”

Calvin bit his tongue. This had nothing to do with him. Fortunately he’d reached the head of the line and the teller’s window had just become free.

Transacting his business as quickly as he could, mindful of the bitch still haranguing Brock, Calvin moved back to the line, a wad of bills in hand.

Interrupting the woman in mid flow, Calvin said, “Here you are, Mr. Brockwell, the full amount like we agreed.”

Calvin would have left things there, but the woman sniffed with evident derision. That was it. Calvin wheeled on her. “Brock charges a fair price for a fair day’s labor. I for one am more than happy to pay for good work.”

“Well!” she expostulated.

Calvin moved to one side. “The teller is free now. I’m sure you won’t want to keep her waiting.”

Mrs. Patterson sniffed again, and—nose in the air—walked past them.

A young guy behind them snickered. “Jeez, guy, I’d hate to get on the wrong side of you in an argument.”

“All part of a day’s work for a New Yorker,” Calvin admitted, but couldn’t help smiling.

“Old lady Patterson is a real tightwad.” Raising his voice so it would carry, the man continued, “If she stuck a lump of coal up her ass, within a week she’d shit out a diamond.”

Calvin and Brock laughed over that one—and the resultant stare of disapproval from Mrs. Paterson—all the way to the dry cleaners.

* * * *

Brock insisted on carrying the dry cleaning back to the truck.

“I can manage a few shirts and a pair of pants,” Calvin bristled as they walked down Main Street.

“I know you can,” Brock bumped shoulders with him. “But I just wanted to do this. It’s nothing compared with what you’ve done for me today, for the past couple days.”

“Well, if it soothes your macho pride to carry for me, then I’ll live with it.” It was Calvin’s turn to bump Brock’s shoulder. “But don’t make a habit of it.”

“I’ll try my hardest not to.”

Calvin had to admit the view of Brock’s bent arm as he held the clothes on their hangers over his shoulder was worth the mild irritation at being thought weak.

“And don’t think I didn’t notice that you paid me half the bill and didn’t take out what I owe you from earlier
,
” Brock said, waiting to cross at the light.

“We can deduct that from the other half. Besides, it was too good an opportunity to pass up, paying you what we agreed in front of that old witch.”

“Yeah,” Brock chuckled.

“And, too, it’s the right time for my credit card. I won’t have to actually pay for that transaction for another five weeks.”
By which time I’ll be back in New York.
The realization troubled rather than thrilled Calvin.

* * * *

Having unloaded the van with Calvin’s assistance—something Calvin did to prove to Brock  he was no longer the weak nerd he used to be—the two sat at the kitchen table drinking tall glasses of ice tea.

“So, what are you going to tackle first?” Calvin asked, draining his glass and getting up for a refill.

“The seat for the john. Can’t have you not having a place to sit your ass.”

“Why, thank you, kind sir,” Calvin attempted to flutter his eyelashes. He didn’t bother pointing out that he could always use the guest bathroom in a pinch. “Glad you noticed my ass.” Calvin twisted round to try and look at it himself. “Some people think it’s my best feature.”

Brock snorted. He stood and handed his empty glass to Calvin.

“You disagree?” Calvin affected a wounded tone. “So, Mr. Cooper, what do you think is my best feature?”

Brock seemed to struggle for an answer. Calvin had to admit he’d sure got him good with that one.

“Why do you keep on callin’ me Gary Cooper?”

Shit! He
wasn’t willing to go there. “Can you sing?” Calvin was proud of his quick thinking.

Brock looked confused. “Uh, no.”

“Exactly, so I can’t call you Gene Autry or Roy Rogers, can I?”

Brock tilted his head to the side. “Huh?”

Oh, fuck it!
Calvin told himself. He put the glasses on the counter and turned to face Brock. “Gary Cooper was a beautiful man.” He reached up and rested his fingertips on Brock’s cheeks. “And you are a beautiful man.”

Calvin felt the heat rise in Brock’s face. Brock shook his head, dislodging Calvin’s fingers.

“Well you asked,” Calvin said, doing everything he could to show how sincere he was being.

“You shouldn’t tease me like that.”

“I’m not teasing.” Calvin took hold of Brock’s face again and tilted it toward him. “I’ve never been more serious in my life. You are a beautiful man, both inside and out. And in the next twenty seconds I’m going to kiss you, so if you don’t want—umph!”

Brock’s chest barreled into Calvin’s, pressing him up against the fridge. The impact caused bottles inside the appliance to rattle, and a roll of paper toweling to glance off Calvin’s arm as it fell from the top of the fridge. Brock’s mouth latched onto Calvin’s, his tongue demanding entry into Calvin’s mouth.

Calvin soon recovered his shock and thrust his tongue into Brock’s mouth. Calvin’s hands started to roam up Brock’s muscled arms, his wide shoulders, his strong neck, and up into his hair. He didn’t care that he was whimpering and rubbing himself up against Brock’s strong, work-hardened body.

Eventually—but all too soon for Calvin’s liking—Brock drew back for breath. Calvin glided his hands downward and held Brock’s waist. No way was the cowboy gonna flee like last time.

“You okay?” Calvin asked when Brock stayed silent, apart from his elevated breathing.

“Yeah.”

Calvin pushed his crotch into Brock’s and felt a definite bulge. “From the feel of things I guess you are.” Calvin rubbed the man’s back, reveling in the muscles underneath his black, sleeveless tee. Sinking to his knees, and eyeing Brock’s impressive bulge up close for the first time, Calvin said, “I owe you a blowjob. And now seems like the perfect time to deliver.”

Calvin started mouthing Brock through his jeans, but the man stiffened, and not in the way he’d intended. Stopping immediately, but refusing to let go his hold on Brock’s thick thighs, Calvin looked up into Brock’s now troubled eyes.