Nights in Sandbridge

Chapter 5-2

It was the same, and yet so, so very different. Standing at the rail, drinking coffee, staring out at the sea. Jeff had joined him about half the time, when he wasn’t sleeping off a bender, or just sleeping. Jeff could—and often did—sleep until noon when allowed. Jeff drank his coffee with half a mug of sugar, half a mug of milk, and maybe a splash of coffee. Scooter’s milk purchases would drop considerably if Andy took it black on the regular.

And, of course, there was the fact that his entire body was so enticingly aware of Andy. He was reminded that it had been a long, long damn time since he’d gotten laid. After Dad passed on—and to be fair, the year or so before that, because Dad hadn’t coped well with being a widower—Scooter just hadn’t had time to dedicate to finding a one-night stand, given that he refused to sleep with customers. Especially after—He slammed that thought away without giving it room in his head.

Which would have been fine, Scooter was used to it, except Andy drank coffee like he was getting a blowjob, and it was entirely unfair for Scooter to have to live with the memory of that sound. Because there was nothing Scooter could do about it. Scooter didn’t break the rules, not anymore. And Andy was as jumpy as a jackrabbit. Whatever had happened, he had been ill-used. So he didn’t want Scooter sniffing after him anyway.

Scooter grabbed a T-shirt and stepped into his aging red Keds. Quick time check: yes, they’d probably be back before the lunch crowd, and he could shower then. He crossed the walkway between the two buildings, glancing at the sea. If they were back early, maybe he’d have time for a swim. He knocked on Andy’s door.

His phone buzzed.

New Message from Jason

You dead?

Scooter sighed, held up his phone, and flipped off the camera. He took a picture of his outstretched finger, texting it back just as Andy came out. “Swear to Christ,” he muttered. “At least if you do murder me in my sleep, Jason will stop nagging me.” He tucked his phone away.

Andy’s mouth twisted into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Wondered if I was imagining the dirty looks,” he said.

“Jason…” Scooter pondered it as he headed down the stairs. How to explain Jason in fifty words or less? Like explicating poetry. “Jason’s a little overprotective. He says I trust too easy and he makes up for it by starting two strikes down with everyone he meets. We’ve known each other since we were in second grade, so…He’ll come around. You’ll grow on him. Like moss.”

Andy snorted and followed Scooter to the truck. “Or mold.” But when he’d climbed into the passenger seat and put on his seatbelt, his mood was back to pensive. Andy stared out the window, eyes focusing on nothing. “It’s nice,” he said, “to have someone looking out for you.”

“Eh, Jason’s a jerk. He forgets I knew him when he was a skinny little kid with a permanent chip on his shoulder,” Scooter said. Now those had been some fun times, back in school, before Jase had finally hit his growth spurt. When the bullies had finally left off tormenting Jason and turned their attention to Scooter, instead. Scooter had tried to ignore it; it was true, he was gay, and there was s**t-all he could do about people’s feelings on that matter. But Jason would wade in to defend him, fists flying. Sticks and stones was not Jason’s motto. More like shut the f**k up, and then Scooter would have to drag Jason’s stupid ass out of a fight they couldn’t win.

Scooter threw the truck into gear and scowled at the air conditioner. The little light was blinking again. He tapped it a few times, but nothing happened. f**k. “Ugh. Just what we need. AC’s on the fritz again. And it is too damn hot around here for 4-50 AC.”

“Four…fifty?” Andy was puzzled, blinking slowly.

“Four windows down, fifty miles an hour,” Scooter filled in. Yeah, his sense of humor was regional, too.

Andy laughed. “I like that. Does it really get all that hot here? You’re right on the water, and we’re only, what, like three hundred fifty miles from New York?”

“It’s not so bad, on the water, but you’ll want to get beach shoes if you’re walking on the sand, or you’ll burn your feet. In town, however? It’s gonna be over a hundred in August, with a hundred percent humidity. Feels like bein’ slapped in the face with a hot, wet blanket. And it doesn’t let up at night.”

“Well, that sounds unpleasant.” Andy stretched his arms, as much as he could in the truck cab, and Scooter tried not to watch the slide of muscle under his skin. “Would this be a good time to mention that I used to be a mechanic? I can take a look at it, see if it’s something easy to fix.” He sounded hopeful, even eager.

“Careful who you say that to,” Scooter said, grinning. “We’ll all impose on you for repairs. Th’ only one of us in this group who has a vehicle less than ten years old is Jason, and that’s because he’s a show-off.”

“I wouldn’t think he’d need a vehicle for that,” Andy murmured.

“Yeah, you wait ‘til you see him on that bike,” Scooter warned. Jason had been Scooter’s friend forever, but watching him roll up on two wheels with that growling motor between his thighs…there were days that Scooter would still make a deal with the Devil to tap that. Just once.

Andy chuckled. “Tragically straight, huh?”

“Straight best friend,” Scooter said. “Story of my life. Him and his mail-order bride.”

“I am sensing a story there,” Andy said. “And I wouldn’t mind helping out with the vehicles, honestly. It’s…relaxing. Engines and motors break for a reason.”

“Well, I don’t mind if you don’t mind. God knows, Merchant’s charges an arm and a leg for work,” Scooter said. He pulled into the lot near the liquor store. “This center’s got grocery—” He pointed as he talked. “—and Target, if you need clothes or something. Drug store. Aaand, frozen yogurt. I need to get a couple kegs to last us ‘til the weekend. And here.” He took the key off his ring. “Stop by the post office and tell Chester you want to pick up the Stahl box. He’ll give you the mail.”

Andy took the key on automatic, head swivelling to find the post office. He tucked the key into his pocket. “You are entirely too trusting,” he said.

“You wanna steal a handful of bills and my Publisher’s Clearinghouse sweepstakes entry, you have fun with that,” Scooter said, winking.

Andy grinned. “Yeah, okay. I’ll…Target’s probably the best stop, get everything all at once. You need a hand with the kegs first, or you want me to just meet you back here when I’m done?”

Scooter made a dismissive gesture. “They’ll give me a trolley and help me lift ‘em up. I’ll wait for you at the yogurt shop.”

“Frozen yogurt. Before lunch,” Andy said. He shook his head in mock-despair as he walked away. “I’ve fallen in amongst heathens.”

Scooter indulged himself just a little and turned to watch Andy walk away. It was a hell of a view.