Power Play

Chapter 4-2

He barely makes it to seven—at work, his

gaze keeps wandering to the phone on the other side of the counter,

and once he even picked it up when Bobby went in the back for a

minute, almost dialed Ryan’s number, but then a customer came in

and he hung up with a guilty start. Seven, he can wait that

long.

No, he really can’t. At ten ‘til he asks

Bobby if he can take a quick break. “We’re swamped,” Bobby tells

him, though that’s not quite true. They have three customers in the

shop and since it’s a small store, it seems more crowded than it

really is. But with the upcoming quarterfinals just two days away,

people are buying up replacement blades and buckles, skate covers,

helmets and gear. They’ve been steady all night, which is good—it

keeps them both busy, and it keeps Bobby’s hands off Dante’s body.

Still, it’s not like there’s a line leading out into the street or

anything. Ten minutes, what will it hurt?

“Let it die down in here first,” Bobby

says. With a wink, he adds, “We can get a moment to ourselves once

everyone leaves.”

You can get a moment to yourself,

Dante thinks, toying with the phone cord. That makes him grin, the

idea of Bobby holed up in the shop’s tiny bathroom, jerking off

into the sink on a ten minute break. For all he knows, the guy does

just that. He probably watches himself in the mirror while he does

it, too.

Five after seven, and two of the customers

have left but another’s come in. “Bobby,” Dante sighs, glancing at

the clock. He’s late now. Ryan probably thinks he’s not going to

call. “Five minutes. I have to use the phone—”

“Right this second?” Bobby asks. His

frown suggests that he knows Dante’s waiting to call another boy

and that’s the reason he’s dragging this whole thing out. Most

nights Dante works right through his breaks…without getting paid

for them, either.

“I’ll be real quick,” Dante promises.

Just say hello, tell Ryan he’s busy and can he call him later

tonight? After he gets home from work maybe. Since he’s not going

to the rink tomorrow, he can stay up a little later—he doesn’t have

to be into the shop until two because he asked for more hours and

Bobby’s being a d**k, he cut him back Thursday and Friday he’s off

completely. At least he’ll have a check in hand when he leaves

tomorrow, and that should be able to get him a spot on the ice to

practice on Friday—all day, too, which is good because he needs it.

Fifteen to skate then, twenty to register for the quarters, and if

he’s lucky, he’ll have enough left to put in a few days next week

at the rink. Here’s hoping, at any rate.

Before Bobby can refuse, Dante ducks through

the doorway behind the counter into the back—a narrow storage room,

lined with metal shelves of overstock. There’s a desk by the back

door where Bobby sits to pay the bills and watch Dante at the

register. Dante wonders if he thinks he’s being slick when he does

that, leaning back in his chair, watching, probably touching

himself, thinking thoughts Dante would rather not know about. He

hears the creak of the chair when Bobby’s back there, a slight,

steady sound that tells him more than he needs to know.

He heads for that desk now, pulls the chair

out and winces as it creaks beneath his weight. But there’s a phone

on the desk, and despite the open doorway, the storage room is a

little more private than the front counter. He dials Ryan’s number

from memory. Somewhere across town, a phone rings in his ear.

One ring, two—“Hello?” It’s Ryan’s voice,

expectant and a little loud.

Dante feels a silly smile pull at his lips,

and he glances up to make sure Bobby’s not hovering over him. “Hey

there,” he purrs. “I’m sorry I’m late.”

Ryan laughs with relief. “Don’t be,” he

says. He sounds young on the phone, no more than thirteen, but he

played for the college team so Dante thinks he’s about his own age,

maybe a year or two older, if that. He looks young, though.

Dante should ask him how old he is. Not over twenty, can’t be. In

his ear, he hears even breath, and then Ryan asks, “How’s work

going?”

“We’re busy,” Dante admits. Lowering

his voice, he adds, “I can’t talk long.”

“Okay.”

Dante imagines his friend sounds

disappointed to hear that—maybe he can call him later? That

would be nice. Searching for something to say, he asks, “How was

your session?”

With a groan, Ryan mutters, “Let’s not talk

about that.”

Dante frowns, sympathetic. “That bad?”

“Worse.” More silence, more breathing.

From the main room, Bobby calls out his name but Dante ignores him.

He hasn’t even been back here what, two minutes? If that. Bobby can

wait. “So what are you doing tomorrow?” Ryan asks him.

“Work?”

“Not until two,” Dante

replies.

Bobby calls his name again. Then he peeks

into the storage room, glares at the phone in Dante’s hand. “You

about done?” he wants to know. You’re just pissed it’s not you

I’m calling here, Dante thinks, narrowing his eyes at his boss.

“I’m not paying you to chat.”

“You have to go?” Ryan asks in his

other ear.

“Not yet.” Covering the mouthpiece, he

tells Bobby, “I’ll be off in a minute, okay? One minute, jeez.”

Bobby rolls his eyes but leaves. Into the phone, Dante sighs.

“Damn. What’s a boy gotta do to get a little respect

here?”

That makes Ryan laugh, a warm sound that

washes over him like the tide. “Tell him to leave you alone or he

can answer to me,” he says.

Dante likes that image, Ryan coming in here,

wheeling up to Bobby, What the hell’s your problem with my

boy? My boy, Dante likes that. Jared never used that

phrase—once he said they were f**k buddies, and then he laughed

like it was a funny joke, but Dante didn’t see any humor in it.

Mostly he just said mine, a phrase Dante didn’t particularly

like. Mine, like he was property, a piece of furniture or a

shirt or a book. But my boy, he can almost hear the words in

Ryan’s voice, see the indignant anger flash in those light

eyes.

“What are you doing right now?” Dante

asks. Say you’re thinking of me, he prays. Say I’m on

your mind, please. Give me something to grasp onto, Ryan. I know

you’re feeling this, you have to be, you look at me the way those

girls do so I know you’re interested. Just give me some sort of

indication and I’ll take it from there. What if he makes the

first move and Ryan backs off? He gets the idea that the boy’s

overly shy, not used to guys, probably never even had s*x. The

wrong move, the wrong word, and he’ll run away. Dante’s not sure

how far to go.

Ryan’s reply gives him an inkling of hope.

“Waiting for you to call,” he whispers, and then he laughs,

self-conscious. “Working on your web site. I’ve got the first page

done.”

“Cool!” Dante laughs—a web site, he

has an official web site. What other skater in the club can

claim that? Maybe Wil but Dante doesn’t think even he’s got

one yet—if he did, the url would probably be sewn across the back

of his racing suit.

“You should see it,” Ryan’s saying,

excited. “I’m not real good yet and I’ve only got the main page

done, none of the links work, but I like it. Hey! I have an

idea.”

“What’s that?” Dante cringes when

Bobby calls his name again. “s**t. I gotta go. What’s your

idea?”

Ryan sighs. “Well, I was thinking…” He

trails off, unsure.

“Thinking what?” Dante wants to know.

He sees Bobby pass in front of the doorway and rolls his eyes.

“I’ll be right there, Bobby. I’m hanging up now.”

“You don’t have a computer, right?”

Ryan speaks in a rush to get the words out. “And you’re not going

skating tomorrow, so maybe you can come over here instead? If you

want to. I can show you what I’ve done on the site.” He’s

inviting me to his house, Dante thinks, suddenly light-headed.

So hopefully he’s not wrong about Ryan after all. Mistaking his

silence for reluctance, Ryan adds, “You don’t have to stay

long.”

“No, that’s great,” Dante tells him.

“I really have to go, though. Bobby’s having a fit up there. Can

you call me tomorrow? In the morning maybe? I get up

early—”

Ryan laughs. “Me too. Nothing like a morning

skate, is there?”

That brings a smile to Dante’s face.

See? he thinks. You’ll be on the ice again in no

time. “Damn straight,” Dante replies. As Bobby looks into the

storage room again, he says quickly, “Call me. First thing.”

“I will,” Ryan promises. “I’ll talk to

you then.”

“Bye.” When he hangs up the phone and

stands, energy courses through his legs and arms, tingles his skin,

he’s going to Ryan’s house tomorrow. His mind rushes away into a

million different scenes, kisses and touches and hugs and the two

of them on Ryan’s bed, giggling beneath the covers. You’re just

going to see the web site, he tells himself. There’s no use

getting all excited over nothing.

Still, he had thought he wouldn’t get a

chance to see his friend tomorrow and now they’re hanging out. Even

Bobby’s angry stare as he comes back up front can’t wipe the grin

from his face.