Calvin’s Cowboy (8 page)

Breakfast over, he whistled as he rinsed his coffee cup and left it on the drainer.  Still whistling he padded back into the bedroom to dress.

“Now, what to wear.” He stared at his mostly empty closet. He needed to do laundry, but the washing machine needed a new pump and…he shook his head, determined to think about such things another time. Pulling his best pair of Wranglers off the rail Brock eyed them critically. Would he be working today? He didn’t want to spoil them if he were. He replaced the hanger and took down a pair of black jeans. They were a little tight on him, but…they showed off his ass. Brock smiled and reached in and took a sleeveless black tee off the shelf to go with them. Black wasn’t exactly a suitable color for working out of doors in the summer, but he’d deal. A pair of grey boxers went on first, followed by white socks. Lying on the bed, he had a bit of trouble with fastening the waistband, but a sharp breath in did it. He fed a belt through the loops, slipped on the T-shirt , stomped into a pair of boots, and put on his Stetson. Before closing his closet door he tipped his hat at his reflection in the mirror.

* * * *

Calvin didn’t answer his door when Brock knocked. Surprised, Brock went round back and peered through the window of the garage. KITT was there. The sliding glass doors to the bedroom were close by so Brock thought he’d take a look to see if Calvin was still asleep. The strong sun reflecting off the glass made it difficult for him to see much of the room. Using his hands to shield his face, he leaned in close.

“Do you make a habit of peeping in folks’ bedroom windows?” Calvin said from just behind him.

Brock jumped and spun around, surprised and more than a little embarrassed at being caught. Calvin had obviously been out for a run, his closely-cropped dark brown hair was plastered to his scalp with sweat. His white wife-beater had a damp patch running from mid chest to the hem, below which Brock could see a pair of strong legs encased in blue nylon running shorts.

Brock said the first thing that came into his head. “You look hot.”

Calvin gave Brock a slow appraising look, from the tips of his black cowboy boots, up his legs, resting for a moment on his silver belt buckle, then further up until their eyes met.

“And you’re looking particularly sexy this morning, too, Gary Cooper. Black really suits you.”

Brock felt his face flush.
Darn it, why did the guy always best him?

“Have you had breakfast yet?” Calvin asked, confusing Brock.

He remembered the small slice of cold pizza. “Uh, not exactly, why?”

“Because after my shower, I planned on making breakfast, and thought you could join me.”

Brock wasn’t sure if Calvin was referring only to breakfast. “Thank you, that’d be mighty neighborly of you.” Brock tipped his hat.

* * * *

Inside, Calvin waved at the coffee maker. “Help yourself. There’s sweetener and non-dairy creamer in the canisters if you need them. I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Okay, thanks.” Spying Calvin’s laptop computer on the kitchen table, Brock asked if he could use it for a few minutes.

“Sure, no problem. Hang on, I’ll just log you in.”

Calvin stood rather close as he waited for the computer to boot up. Brock could smell the man’s sweat; it was clean, masculine, and he found his dick hardening. He quickly sat down, which put his nose level with Calvin’s right armpit. Brock resisted the temptation to take a deep sniff.

After tapping a few keys, Calvin announced, “There you go.” He twisted the machine to face Brock.

“Thanks. Appreciate it.”

“What do you want to look at? Cowboy porno?”

“Yep. But I’ll be sure to bookmark the best sites for you to drool over later.” Brock looked up and smiled, pleased that he’d at last got one over on Calvin.

However, without batting an eye, the man moved behind Brock’s chair and put his strong sweaty arms around Brock’s shoulders. Bending, Calvin whispered in Brock’s right ear, “Why would I need pictures on a screen when I’ve got a real-life cowboy right here?”

Calvin’s tongue snaked out and licked Brock’s ear, causing Brock to shudder. Calvin then stood up, removed his arms from around Brock and sauntered out of the kitchen.

“Back soon, sexy.”

“Fuck!” Brock said to the empty doorway through which Calvin had just passed.

Pushing down on his painful erection, wishing he’d chosen a pair of more forgiving jeans, Brock stared at the laptop and tried to concentrate on spackling, grout and exterior paint.

* * * *

“Find what you were looking for?” Calvin asked several minutes later.

Brock looked up from the screen to see that Calvin had dressed in a white T-shirt that showed off his toned arms. The front of the shirt had a drawing of the Manhattan skyline on it, and in case anyone didn’t recognize the view, the word “Manhattan” was written underneath. Calvin also had on a pair of faded denim cut-offs and flip-flops on his naked feet.

“Yes, thanks.” He went on to tell Calvin of his experiences at the library the previous afternoon.

“Some things never change. Old lady Aldridge was a complete bitch back in high school.”

Brock was surprised to hear Calvin say that. “I thought you were her golden boy. She was always holding up your work as an example to us lesser mortals.”

“Exactly, how do you think that made me feel?”

“Smug?” Brock offered.

Calvin snorted. “It made things worse. I just wanted to do my schoolwork and stay out of the limelight as much as possible. It was all right for you jocks to excel, people patted you on the back or lauded you as a hero when you scored the winning touchdown or hit a home run or whatever. When I did what I was best at I got shoved into a locker and got called a nerdy fag.”

Brock looked at the keyboard. “I never did anything like that to you.”

“True.” Calvin let out a breath,

“But it didn’t stop me from laughing with them as they did it.” Brock swallowed and looked up at Calvin. “I was too scared they’d discover my own secrets.”

Calvin, who had been sitting at the table opposite, suddenly stood. “All that was years ago. I’ve moved on.”

Brock recalled the conversation he’d had with Junior the previous day, and the memories it had evoked. “Yeah. Look,” Brock stared up at Calvin, who turned from the open fridge to face him. “I wish now I’d stood up to those meatheads, told them to lay off you.”

Calvin treated Brock to a thin smile. “Thanks.”

Brock nodded.

“Well, this pleasant stroll down memory lane won’t get breakfast made.”

If Brock had been expecting sausage, biscuits and milk gravy, he was disappointed. Calvin pulled out fresh fruit and yoghurt before closing the fridge with an elbow. Though after taking a few bites Brock had to admit the food was refreshing and very tasty.

“I guess you being a hard-working physical kind of guy, you’ll need more than this to keep your strength up.”

Was Calvin starting with the sarcasm again? “It was very nice.”

“Thanks. But how about an omelet with turkey bacon, peppers and mushrooms?”

Despite having just eaten something, Brock’s stomach took that moment to growl.

Calvin laughed. “That’s settled then. One healthy but cowboy-sized omelet coming up.”

Brock watched as Calvin opened the fridge again and pulled out more ingredients including a carton of Egg Beaters, a product he’d seen but had never tried. As Calvin chopped, stirred and cooked, Brock couldn’t help but think how comfortable and domestic the scene felt.

“Like I said yesterday, you’d make someone a great housewife.”

“And like I said yesterday,” Calvin observed from the stove, cast iron skillet in hand, “Fuck off.”

Brock laughed. Then he remembered something else about the previous day. “Hey, thanks for paying my bar tab. But you shouldn’t have.”

“No problem.” Calvin slid the omelet onto a plate and carried it over to the table.

Brock reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. “Hal said it was twenty dollars, so—”

“Honestly it’s not important.”

Brock eyed Calvin. “I pay my debts.”

“Okay, okay. But how’s about I take it in trade.”

Brock, who had just swallowed a mouthful of food, choked.

“Whoa there, cowboy.” Calvin moved behind Brock, to thump him on the back.

“I’m all right,” Brock coughed. He took a drink of coffee.

“That’s a relief.” Calvin massaged Brock’s shoulders. “It’s not usually my cooking that causes a man to choke.”

Brock wondered if there was a double meaning in there.

Calvin stopped massaging Brock’s shoulders and went to the counter to pick up the coffee pot. Refilling Brock’s mug, he said, “No, I meant I require your contracting abilities to replace the toilet seat in my parents’ master bathroom. It snapped yesterday.”

“Oh?”

“So if you’ll find the correct replacement seat and install it, then we’ll forget about your bar tab.”

Brock knew Calvin was perfectly capable of attaching a new toilet seat himself, but recognized this was Calvin’s way of allowing Brock to save face regarding his debt. Brock felt grateful at the man’s thoughtfulness.

“Deal.” Brock nodded. “This is a great omelet.” The subtle flavors of the bell peppers, tomato, and bacon made him forget that this was supposed to be a healthy meal.

“Thanks. I do my best to please.” Calvin smiled.

Brock wasn’t going to take the bait, if bait was being offered. “I’ve worked up an estimate for you.” He pushed the sheet of paper across the table. Calvin took a seat opposite and began to read.

After a minute or so Calvin looked up. He was frowning. Surely the man wasn’t objecting to the price, Brock had cut down the costs as much as he could.

“Is this a one or a seven?”

“Show me.”

Calvin slid the paper across the table, keeping his finger on a particular column.

Brock studied the figure in question. “A seven.”

Calvin nodded.  “You added it as a one, so your total is lower by sixty dollars than it should be.”

Huh?” Brock got out his pocket calculator and began to punch in numbers. How the hell had he made such a basic mistake, and how had Calvin worked it out so quickly in his head?

“Sorry.” Brock handed back the amended paper.

“That’s okay.” Calvin shrugged. “It was you who would have been out of pocket.” Glancing down at the sheet again, he said, “I accept.” He got out his checkbook and began to write.

Brock let out a breath.

“Is half now and the other half when you’ve done acceptable?”

Brock hadn’t been expecting Calvin to be as generous as that. “Sure.”

“Brockwell & Son?”

Brock nodded. He hadn’t changed the name when his daddy died, and he hoped one day Junior would maybe join him in the business.
If the fuckin’ hospital doesn’t get it first.

Calvin tore the check out of the book and pushed it across the table to Brock.

“Thanks.” Brock glanced quickly at the check, but knew it would be correct. He folded it and put it in his wallet. “We can hop in my truck and go get what I’ll need.”

“We?”

“You need to choose the colors of the paints and the style of tiles you want.” Brock thought about adding,
seeing as you’re a homo you’d be good at shit like that,
but he knew Calvin would fire something back at him.

“We’ll have to stop off at the dry cleaners.”

“No problem.”

“Uh, your shirt was still stained,” Calvin blushed, “so I took it in for cleaning.

“Why? I mean, it could have just gone into the washing machine.” Brock thought of how much dry cleaning cost.

“I needed some of my own stuff cleaning, so I thought I’d take your shirt as well. It’s silk, I didn’t want to take the risk of damaging it.”

“Oh, okay.” Brock knew Calvin was only doing what he thought was best, but the extra expense was…

“Don’t worry, it’s on me.” Calvin held up a hand to quell Brock’s protests. “You’re right, I could have washed it in the machine, or better still hand washed it. But it would have needed ironing, and mom will have taken her iron with her.” More softly Calvin added, “And besides, I fucking hate ironing.”

Brock laughed. “Me, too.” Then he sobered. “I can start this afternoon, but I’ll need to take Friday off though.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Need to watch my kid play a ballgame and bring him home from camp.” He realized this was the first time he’d told Calvin about Junior. “I can work Sunday to make up for it.”

“Sunday is the fourth.  You’ll want to spend the day with your family.” Calvin removed the plates and mugs from the table and stacked them in the dishwasher.

“Oh, yeah, I’d forgotten about that.” Brock stood and put on his Stetson. “So it’s okay that I take off Friday?”

“No problem.” Calvin smiled at him and nudged the door of the dishwasher closed with his foot.

“Thanks.” Brock tried to put his hands in his pockets, but the jeans were too tight.

“Oh, your Resistol is in the family room. Do you want me to get it?”

Brock shrugged. “Might as well leave it where it is for now.” His Resistol was his best hat and he didn’t want to get it dirty with work.

“Okay then, Gary Cooper, let’s go and round ‘em up.”

Brock shook his head and turned for the back door.

“Fuck!”

“What?” Brock turned back around.

“Nice ass!”

Chapter 5

“So, what shape seat do you need?” Brock asked.

They were standing in the bathroom section of the home-improvement store
,
a seemingly endless selection of fixtures and fittings in front of them.

“Shape?” Calvin asked, confused.

“There are two basic kinds, round and elongated.” Brock sketched with his hands.

“I have no idea.”

Brock shook his head. “How can you not know? You sat on the thing for years.”

“Yes, but I don’t have eyes in my ass.”

Brock smirked.

“Don’t go there, Gary Cooper.”

“Okay.” Brock held up his hands defensively. “Say, how’d you come to break the seat anyway?”

Calvin leaned in to Brock’s side and got under the brim of his Stetson. “While jerking off thinking about you, of course.”