Indigo Road (9 page)

“
I don’t want
to open it,” Alex stated, parking Maude at the back of a group of
shops where the
re were some
dumpsters.

“
Well, I’m
not. I’m still sick, remember
? I can’t
afford to get a whiff of that.” My excuse was lame and he knew it
as much as I did.

“Wait here. Open all the windows and the back
door. I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Where are you going?” I yelled after him,
but he just waved and jogged down the street.

He returned fifteen minutes later with a
plastic shopping bag.

“
Here, put
this on,” he said, handing me one of those cheap face masks you see
painters wearing. He put one on
also and
started pulling out disinfectant, Febreze, and a multitude of other
cleaning products, including gloves.

After
we
put
the
rubber gloves on, Alex started with the instructions. “Okay, when I
open the fridge, you pull everything out and put it in the bag.
I’ll tie it off and throw it in the dumpster.” Alex’s voice was
muffled behind the mask, and I stifled a laugh. We were two grown
men, afraid of a little stink.

Alex
stood
at the side door, holding the now
empty bag open, waiting for my okay.

“
Okay.”
Alex lifted the fridge
lid, which was a little stuck because it hadn’t been running for a
week, and the smell burned my eyes.

“
Holy
shit,” I said, my voice just as muffled as
Alex’s had been.

“Hurry the fuck up, I can smell it from
here.”

“
How do you
think
I’m
doing, then, if
you
can smell it?”

“
Cut
the whining and hurry up.”

“How’d I get this job, anyway? I’m the one
who’s sick.”

“Skill.” Alex winked.

I threw the
last of the fridge’s contents
—green,
slimy bacon—into the bag and slammed the lid shut. I watched Alex
tie the bag with the fingers of a ninja and hurl it into the
dumpster.

I rolled onto
the mattress and laughed so hard my ribs ached. Alex stood at the
back of Maude
, far away from the smell,
and eyed me for a second before doubling over. “Next time you’re
sick,” he said between big gulps of air, “you’re on your
own.”

His planned abandonment in my time of need
made us laugh harder.

AFTER
THE
fridge debacle, Alex and I slipped
back into friend mode and things became normal once more, but the
hand-holding/finger-touching had come to an end. We shared laughs
by the campfire—snarky and sarcastic comments flying—sometimes with
fellow travelers, but mostly just the two of us. Alex kept checking
the books. It looked like he was trying to figure out
something,
but he
never asked me for help or advice—which was fine, he was the
economics major. We stopped at Starbucks, not only for coffee but
to use their free WiFi and to charge the phones and
laptop.

We never missed a chance to charge the
fridge.

Alex
eventually told me what he
was thinking
when he looked over
our account.

“We can afford one night in a cheapish motel
once a week until we get home. Possibly with pizza,” he
finished.

“Seriously?”

“
No
,” he quipped
sarcastically.

“
We’ll be
able to shower without spiders and the threat of snakes,
and
sleep
in a real bed?” This excited me more than it should.

I
only hoped that the motels we stopped at had one
bed as I couldn’t imagine not sleeping next to Alex.

WE TOOK
our time
making our way south through Washington before heading east and
spending a couple of weeks in Idaho. We eventually ventured west
again into Oregon. Our friendship remained firm and as strong as
ever, and although we weren’t touching anymore, there was an
underlying intimacy between us that I didn’t understand. But as
long as we were still friends and there was no weirdness between
us, I could put those other feelings aside.

We
were heading toward the California state line
along 101 and we stopped for the night in a secluded parking lot
overlooking the ocean. The weather was calm that day, but the sky
was full of ominous clouds and it was pretty cold. Oregon weather
sucked. The waves crashing on the beach matched the color of the
sky, and I wanted to head south sooner rather than
later.

When I
awoke in the morning, I climbed out of bed and
walked down to the sand without waking Alex. The sky had cleared
from the previous day, but the ocean still churned and there was a
chill in the air the sun hadn’t been able to chase away that early
in the morning.

There was a
surfer cutting through the waves like a pro, a lone
black dot in the ocean. I wondered where he had
come from as there were no other cars in the lot and no homes close
by.

I sat on the
sand, burying my feet while I watched him ride
on the water. He was graceful, letting the waves take him
where they wanted. When he tried to do something against the waves’
wishes, he was dumped violently. I held my breath until I saw his
head pop up, and he climbed back onto his board, ready to start the
process all over again.

After
he
got
dunked
again, he straddled his board, raised one hand, and waved. I looked
around, thinking maybe one of his fellow surfing buddies had come
to join him, but there was no one else there.

He continued
surfing, and I continued watching him, mesmerized by his
poise and how in-tune he appeared to be with the
ocean. After long minutes, he rose out of the water and walked
toward me with the same grace on land as he had in the sea. He
shook his long blond hair out of his eyes and unzipped his wetsuit,
pulling it off his torso to reveal a chiseled chest and defined
arms. His suit hung limply off his lean hips.

He headed
straight for me, and I looked around again, thinking his friends
were coming down the dunes, but there was
still no one in sight.

“G’day, I don’t normally see anyone here at
this time. I’m Johnno.” He stood in front of me, hand extended
while the board was tucked under his other arm.

His arms and
chest were covered with light blond
hair
that I hadn’t been able to see before. His light blue gaze held
mine and I almost forgot my manners.

I stood and shook his hand. “Josh. It’s nice
to meet you,” I replied, stuttering a little.

Johnno looked me up and down before placing
his board in the sand, sitting on it, and encouraging me to sit
with him.

“
You surf?”
he asked, watching the waves
crash
against the shore. “It’s mad this morning, got wiped out heaps.”
His accent confused me; clearly he was not a local.

“
No, I don’t.
Looks great
, though.” I had no idea what
to say, and I was sure everything I did say was going to be
lame.

Johnno turned
to me, grinning.
“You live here and don’t
surf? What’s up with that?”

“Ah, no. We just parked here for the night
before heading to California.”

“
You’re
traveling? That’s so cool. Where
’re you
from?”

“
Indiana
. Been on the road since
early June.”

“Where’s that?”

“Indiana? It’s east, borders Illinois.”

“Any surf out that way?”

“None.”

“Bugger.”

“Where are you from?” I asked him, keen to
keep the conversation going.

“Straya.”

“Where?”

“
Australia,”
he said more slowly. “I’m on a surfing holiday
. Needed a break from the job, you know?”

“
The job?” It
sounded like the mafia, and I instantly wished I hadn’t
asked
in case there was an Australian
branch I hadn’t heard of.

“I’m a sparky by trade, but I’d rather surf,
you know?”

He wasn’t a redhead and I had no idea what he
was talking about, but my curiosity got the better of me again and
I asked him.

“
I’m an
electrician.
Wiring houses and
stuff.”

“Oh, I get it.”

“
You
’
mericans
are a weird bunch.” He laughed and shook his
head before nudging my thigh with his.

He’s the one
who
implied he’s a redheaded hitman, and he thinks
we’re
weird?

We talked
easily for a
while, just watching the
surf. Johnno was big on ocean conservation and he wanted to be part
of the crew of the
Sea
Shepherd
, a large environmental ship
determined to stop the Japanese whalers from killing in the name of
‘science.’ He was quite passionate when he spoke and I found myself
staring at his lips. They were pink and plump, surrounded by dark
blond stubble, just like Alex’s. I wondered briefly what they would
feel like against mine. His eyes flashed with enthusiasm when he
spoke; they were a familiar color, but they lacked the exuberance
of Alex’s.

He talked and
I
half
listened, my mind in a whirl, comparing the
blond
of Johnno’s long
hair and Alex’s where it was now growing out. I remembered when
Alex asked me to shave his head the day before leaving home and the
soft moans he made. I wanted to hear them again.

Johnno smiled
at me every now and then before
winking
at me and continuing his story.

“
C’mon, mate.
I’ll give you a surfin’ lesson.” Johnno stood, but not before
squeez
ing my knee.

“What, out there?” I pointed toward the huge
waves. I stood and Johnno picked up his board and started walking
toward the water.

“Not yet, country boy. I’ll give you the
basics on dry land first. I’ll take you out to the wet stuff later
if you want,” he said over his shoulder. Johnno’s smile was
contagious and I jogged down toward the ‘wet stuff,’ following his
footsteps in the sand.

My new
surfing instructor gave me the rundown, showing me
first how to lie on my stomach and paddle, which
I thought was fairly obvious.

“
Okay, now
imagine you’re just in front of a wave. Jump to your feet and
bend
at your knees, keeping a low center
of gravity. You need to tighten these,” he said, patting my abs,
his fingers lingering near my waistline a little longer than
necessary, sending a tingling sensation through my spine. His other
hand was on the small of my back, encouraging me to keep my spine
straight and fixing my posture to get the right balance on the
board. I was glad we were on the sand because it was harder than it
looked. It was also difficult to concentrate with Johnno standing
so close.

“
If you don’t
use your abs, you’ll overbalance and wipe
out.” Johnno rubbed gently over my stomach again. I looked
at his hand, then looked at him, a question on my lips that refused
to come out.

His gaze met
mine as we both straightened from our half-crouch position.
I stepped
off
the board as he rested his hands on my waist,
squeezing slightly, and I watched his lips part on a soft breath.
The air stuck in my throat as I thought of Alex and his blond
stubble. If Johnno kissed me, which looked likely, would he kiss
the same as Alex? Did all men kiss the same? I wanted to kiss my
best friend, but over the last few weeks since leaving Montana, it
had begun to seem less and less likely.

Although it wasn’t Johnno I wanted to kiss, I
knew I needed to kiss a man to make sense of the feelings I had for
Alex.

Johnno
searched my eyes, watching for my reaction.
His gaze dropped to my lips, and he leaned in, brushing his
mouth gently over mine. His lips were soft, yet firm, similar to a
girl’s, but there was a roughness that no female I’d dated
possessed. The scrape of his stubble against mine made my blood
hum, my skin prickling with heat that made its way to my cock. One
hand cupped the back of my neck, fingers playing in my hair. He
tilted his head and deepened the kiss and I opened for him, seeking
more of this familiar, yet newish feeling. I remembered the one
time I’d kissed Alex, which we’d never spoken about, and Johnno’s
kiss was similar. I knew I wasn’t kissing a girl, there was much
more to kissing a man. More roughness, possession, heat.
Just
more
. Johnno delved his tongue deep into my mouth, searching,
exploring everywhere. Soft noises were coming from his throat and I
suspected from mine as well.

I gripped his biceps, feeling their hardness,
my fingers digging into his flesh. Johnno’s arms came around me as
he deepened the kiss further.

I had to stop this. I wasn’t sure I was gay,
but if I was, I certainly wasn’t going to be gay with some surfer
dude from ‘Straya.’ As nice as Johnno was, he wasn’t Alex.