Handyman (2 page)

Will took two mugs from the cabinet beside the sink. The wood looked to be of high quality, but it had been painted a seasick green color, which clashed violently with the pale orange countertops.

Will placed the mugs and the pot of coffee on the counter, along with a small carton of half and half and a bowl of sugar. “Help yourself,” he said with a smile, as he poured himself a cup.

As Jack did so, Will took the rolls out of the oven, filling the room with the yeasty, buttery aroma of fresh-baked croissants. Jack realized he was hungry. Will put the steaming hot rolls on the counter and moved to the refrigerator and retrieved the butter.

Returning to the counter, he sat at one of the two barstools there and pointed to the other. “Have a seat. We can go over what you’ve brought while we eat.”

Will pulled apart a roll and smeared it with butter, which instantly melted into a pooled yellow glaze. Jack’s mouth watered.

“Go on,” Will urged. “Have one. I can’t possibly eat all these.”

Jack took one and bit into the savory crust. “Thanks. I didn’t even know I was hungry until I smelled them.”

They drank coffee and looked through the catalogues, notes and blueprints on which Jack had drawn up a few ideas for the kitchen. Will seemed entirely uninterested in the cost of the project, focused exclusively on what he liked.

Jack was used to working with people in affluent neighborhoods like this one, people who had money to burn, but they weren’t usually as young as Will seemed to be. On an impulse, Jack said, “If you don’t mind my asking, how old are you?”

A smile curved Will’s mouth. Jack immediately regretted the question. He’d broken his cardinal rule of not prying into clients’ personal lives, no matter how innocuous the question.

“I’m thirty. Just celebrated the big three-o two weeks ago. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, uh, no reason really.” Jack felt the heat rise in his face and cursed himself. What the hell was he blushing about? What did he care what this kid thought of him? “I have two sons,” he threw out. “One nearly as old as you.”

“What? No way. You don’t look old enough to have grown sons.”

“Well, thanks, I guess. I’m forty-four. My oldest is twenty-five. His little brother is twenty-three.”

He watched Will do the math in his head. “Why, that means you had your first child when you were nineteen.”

Jack nodded. “Yep. Married my high school sweetheart.”

“Shotgun wedding,” Will said with a grin. Then, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“No, it’s okay.” Jack laughed. “It’s actually true. It’s amazing how one night can change the direction of your life.”

Will nodded slowly, and for some reason Jack noticed his eyes were green.

***

To keep himself sharp and his investment portfolio up to date, Will had taken up day trading out of his home. Using advanced analytical software, his connections in the financial markets and his direct line to the trading desk at his bank, Will continued to make a very nice living without the daily pressures of life on Wall Street.

The phone rang. Will let it ring a moment while he executed a trade. Satisfied, he glanced at the phone and saw it was the office.

“Spencer,” he said brusquely.

“Will. It’s Guy. Trenton’s going to be here today, in the flesh. Power lunch. Chosen few. I think I can finagle you a spot at his table if you get your ass down here. Lunch is at one. You in?”

Joseph Trenton was the CEO of Will’s firm, which had offices all over the country and around the world. Trenton liked to hold what were known as power lunches but which were really little more than popularity contests, so it seemed to Will. He’d been invited once or twice, permitted to sit near the boss and bask in his regal glow. He’d been largely ignored, except when Trenton turned to him at one point and asked his name.

“William Spencer, Mr. Trenton.”

Jovially the large, beefy man had boomed, “Call me Joey.”

Guy Gray, a trading buddy at work, lived for these lunches, believing they were the key to open doors to more power and prestige within the organization.

Be that as it may, sitting in his jeans and bare feet in his comfortable den, Will found it hard to muster the enthusiasm Guy obviously expected of him.

Not to mention, he was expecting Jack at ten.

Today Jack was going to begin the gutting process, ripping out the old cabinets and, if he had time, knocking down the wall that separated the kitchen from the dining room. He’d warned Will the kitchen would be pretty much unusable for a while.

Will had spent the morning clearing out the cabinets, mildly surprised to find how much he’d already managed to fill them in the few months he’d been in the new house. Stacks of dishes and rows of glasses and cups covered his dining room table, along with boxes of spices and canned goods.

“Sorry, Guy. Can’t make it. But thanks for thinking of me.”

“Okay, if you’re sure. I should warn you, though.”

Will laughed, surprised to find he really didn’t care. “I’ll take my chances. Give my regards to Joey.”

Will stood at the doorway of the kitchen watching Jack work. He was on a ladder, dismantling a row of cabinets. Will suppressed a sudden fantasy of moving behind him and sliding his hands beneath the loose work shirt to feel the supple movement of Jack’s back muscles as he worked.

When Jack had arrived that morning he’d refused Will’s offer of coffee and muffins, which oddly disappointed Will, though of course he hadn’t pressed. Jack was, after all, just a hired hand.

Jack carefully lowered a cabinet to the ground. “We’ll want to order a dumpster,” Jack said, startling him. He hadn’t realized Jack was aware of his presence. “I have the name of a good local company, if you want me to set it up.”

“Sure. That would be fine. Whatever you think.”

Jack nodded and turned back to his work. After a few minutes he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a balled-up bandana he drew across his forehead.

Though it wasn’t quite April, spring had definitely arrived and the room was a little warm, especially if one was exerting as Jack was. “Let me open some windows,” Will offered, stepping into the room.

“Careful. There’re nails and debris on the floor. It might be better if you just stayed out of here while I do this. At least until I can get the mess cleaned up.”

“Oh. Well, okay. Feel free to open windows. There’s a screen on the back door so you can open that too. I’ll just be in my den working. Uh, thanks.”

“No problem,” Jack said, though he was apparently too intent on unscrewing a difficult bolt from the wall to turn around.

Will went back to his den and sat in front of his computer, but instead of returning to his work he stared out the window, distracted. What the hell was wrong with him? Why had he made muffins for the handyman, for crying out loud? What did he care if the man was sweating?

It wasn’t like he was potential play material. He was straight. He was married, for God’s sake. He had grown kids nearly Will’s age. He wasn’t particularly good-looking, though Will couldn’t deny there was a certain appealing strength in his features, and his body was definitely nothing to sneer at.

He had the heavy, thick muscles of a man who used his body to earn his living. Will looked down at himself, mentally comparing. His was a strong body as well, but by design. He worked out religiously three days a week at the gym, and played tennis and golf. He kept a set of barbells in his bedroom, using them while he watched TV to keep his muscles strong.

What it would be like to earn a living by the sweat of one’s brow? Raised in the city by wealthy professionals, Will had been groomed practically from birth to attend Columbia University, where he’d obtained both his undergraduate degree and MBA.

He wondered if Jack ever cracked a book.
That’s unfair
, he admonished himself.
You know nothing about the guy. For all you know, he’s got the IQ of Einstein. Even if he doesn’t, so what? Stop judging someone by what they do instead of who they are.

Why was he judging at all? It wasn’t as if he were interested in the guy as a potential lover. He rubbed at his cock through his pants as Jack’s image floated unannounced and uninvited into his mind.

Annoyed with himself, he reached for the phone. He’d call Paul and ask him out. Paul, with his dark, sensual good looks and insatiable sexual appetite, would distract him from whatever the hell it was he needed distracting from.

“Man, you weren’t kidding. This place looks like a bomb hit it. What’s with all the dust?” Paul said as they entered the house. They’d only stopped by Will’s place so he could pick up an overnight bag before heading to Paul’s for the night.

“Yeah. Jack says that’s because the wall he’s tearing down is plaster. They used plaster in these older houses, before drywall was invented. He made me put on a dust mask when I came into the kitchen to watch him.”

“You came in to watch the guy work? What for? Afraid he’s going to steal the silverware?”

Will felt himself flush and he jerked his head in dissent. “No, nothing like that. I’m just kind of…interested. In the process, I mean. I never owned a house before. It’s exciting to be in at the beginning of the renovations. Jack and I are going to create the perfect kitchen, designed especially for me. He has so many good ideas. He drew up blueprints and everything.”

Paul tilted his head inquiringly at Will. “Do I have something to be jealous about here? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”

“What?” Will burst out laughing, aware he was nearly guffawing, which made him even more self-conscious. “No. No, no, no.” He shook his head for emphasis. “The guy is some old married dude. Jesus, Paul. You think everyone is up for grabs, as long as they have a dick.”

“And your point is…?” Paul raised his eyebrows in mock question.

“God, shut up.” Will headed toward his study. “I just need to check something on my computer and I’ll be ready to go.”

Later that night Will knelt behind Paul, his cock poised to enter his lover’s tight ass. He stroked himself in preparation as Paul wiggled provocatively toward him. He closed his eyes and pressed against the entrance, drawing a moan from Paul. The hot grip of muscle felt so good as he slid himself deep inside.

What would it be like to fuck Jack or to be fucked by him? He’d played down his interest to Paul, but in fact his fantasies skated along a hot, dangerous path he knew would only lead to frustration. He could pretend to Paul and to himself he wasn’t interested, but he was—he definitely was.

All thought flew from his head as he began to rock and thrust. Paul held himself up with one hand, using the other to massage his own shaft in time to Will’s motion.

“Yeah, baby. Yeah.” Paul arched back to take Will deeper. Will gripped Paul’s hips as his body coiled for release. He grunted his pleasure, thrusting in a series of hard spasms as he ejaculated.

His heart thumping, he sagged against Paul as Paul finished himself off with his hand and fell forward, taking Will with him. They lay together, their ragged breathing slowing in tandem as they recovered.

“Don’t get too comfy,” Paul announced with a grin. “I’m going to do you next, baby.”

Will awoke to the sound of his cell phone ringing and vibrating in his pants pocket. His pants were in a heap on the floor near the bed. Heavy curtains at the windows shut out the light. Will stumbled toward his pants and fumbled for the phone. By the time he got to it, he’d missed the call.

He glanced at the digital clock beside the still-sleeping Paul. Eight-fifteen. Eight-fifteen! He’d told Jack he could come back at eight.
Shit.
Why had he stayed over at Paul’s place? Usually he liked to hightail it out of there once he’d gotten what he’d come for. And he hadn’t meant to sleep this late, damn it.

After a lengthy session in bed, he’d let Paul convince him to soak in the hot tub he kept on his deck. They’d shared champagne, finishing the bottle between them before returning to the bed for more leisurely fucking until they drifted into an alcohol and sex-induced coma.

Stepping into the bathroom for privacy, he called back the missed number. Jack’s deep, gravelly voice answered. “Affordable Improvements.”

“Jack, it’s Will. Will Spencer. Look, I’m really sorry. You’re probably there waiting and I—”

“What?” There was a pause and then Jack continued, “No. No, I’m not at your place, if that’s what you mean. That’s why I was calling. I’m running late. A neighbor had a little emergency with their plumbing. I just wanted to let you know. I should be there by about nine or nine-thirty. I need to pick up a few things. The dumpster should be delivered late this morning too.”

“Oh. Okay. No problem. I’ll see you when you get there. Uh, here. When you get to my place, that is.”

Feeling like a fool on a number of levels, Will hung up the phone.

“Hey, who’re you talking to?” Paul’s sleepy voice reached him.

“Um, nobody.”

“Good, then get back in here and service me, stud.”

***

Will opened the door and again the scent of shampoo and soap wafted from him. His wavy light brown hair was wet, a towel still in his hand.
This guy showers a lot
, Jack thought with amusement.

“Hi. Sorry about the mix up earlier.” Will stepped back and waved Jack in. “I—I was actually out when you called. I got us some bagels and coffee. I thought we could sit in the living room and go over the catalogues one more time. I’m having some second thoughts about the cabinet styles we talked about.”

Jack nodded without comment. He hoped he’d be able to convince Will to stick with what he’d selected, since they’d already placed the order at the home-improvement warehouse. He followed the younger man into the living room and sat across from him at a card table where Will had placed the blueprints and design notes.

He noted the two cups of coffee and the bagels set on a plate and smiled. Will really was a very nice guy. All too often, especially in neighborhoods like this one, Jack was treated like the hired help he was, sometimes instructed to use only the back entrance, and to speak only with the maid if he needed something. Not that he particularly minded—he came to do a job and he didn’t care what door he used to get there.

Will began to talk about the cabinets, pointing and gesturing at the various styles in the catalogue. Slowly and calmly Jack talked him down, relieved when Will finally agreed what they’d ordered was the best fit for the kitchen.

Will passed the plate of bagels toward Jack. “They were still warm when I bought them. I hope you like bagels. I could toast one if you want.”

“No, this is fine. Thanks very much. It’s very nice of you to keep feeding me like this.” Jack reached for a bagel and spread some cream cheese on it. He was mildly amused to see Will watching him anxiously, as if he’d baked the bread himself and was waiting for Jack’s approval.

Jack ate the bagel quickly and slurped some of the coffee, though by now he’d already had three cups before this one. “I’ve got some stuff out in the truck. I’ll just get to work.”

“Wait.”

Jack looked at him expectantly, trying to hide his minor irritation, as he was eager to get on with it. Will stared at him, his face working, and Jack had the impression he was trying to come up with something to say. “We were going to talk about the handles. The handles and knobs for the cabinet doors and the drawers.”

Jack stood. “Plenty of time for that. The cabinets won’t even be delivered for a week. I’ll pick up some samples and we’ll be able to make a more informed decision then. Okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, sure. I’ll be in my den working, if you need me.”

Because he had been curious, Jack took the opportunity from this segue. “What is it you do, anyway, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“I’m a trader. A day trader. At least that’s what I’m doing now. I work for an investment bank in the city. Right now I’m on leave. A sabbatical you might say. I was burning out—the pace can be very intense and the stakes are so high—it can about kill you. It did kill my boss.”

“No kidding.”

“Yeah. He dropped dead of a massive coronary right in the middle of screaming at a subordinate for making a serious error on a trade. It could just as easily have been me who had cost the firm several million dollars. I think that’s what really made it hit home. I realized I was badly in need of some downtime. I decided to take a break and figure out what the hell I want out of the rest of my life.”

“A worthy goal,” Jack said, nodding. “What does a day trader do exactly?”

“Well, simply put, a day trader is a stock trader who holds positions for a very short time, never keeping positions overnight. They utilize high amounts of leverage and short-term trading strategies to capitalize on small price movements in highly liquid stocks or currencies. There are several different strategies you can use including swing trading and arbitrage. It’s a risky business if you don’t know what you’re doing.” He laughed. “Even if you do. But I love it.”

Though Jack had almost no idea what Will was talking about, he couldn’t help but smile at Will’s obvious enthusiasm. His whole face became animated when he spoke about his passion. He reminded Jack of someone, though for the life of him he couldn’t think who at just that moment.

“I could show you a few trades on my computer if you want.”

Will must be lonely, no matter what he said about needing “downtime”. Still, it wasn’t his job to provide company—he had been hired to work.

“No, no. That’s okay. I’m really behind today. I have another job I have to stop by later this afternoon. I was hoping to get the rest of the wall pulled down and the debris out to the dumpster before I go.”

Will nodded, the smile on his face falsely bright. “Of course. You get to work. Let me know if you need anything.”

***

“Would you look at that.” Jack, perched on a ladder in the middle of the decimated kitchen, had just removed several of the old drop-ceiling tiles to see what lay beneath.

“What is it?” Will, who had been standing in the doorway of the kitchen watching Jack work, looked up with interest. Was there hidden treasure? Or, more likely, a mouse nest?

Jack pulled out several old panels, yellowed with age, and handed them down to Will. “It’s the original old tin ceiling. Looks like the genuine article. I can’t believe they’d cover this with ceiling panels.”

Grinning down at Will, Jack added, “These tin ceilings were popular in the second half of the nineteenth century and the early twentieth. They were an affordable alternative to the expensive sculpted plaster that was used in the finer homes. This would cost a fortune today.”

He pulled a few more panels out of the thin metal framing that held them in place. Will took them and placed them on the growing pile in the middle of the gutted kitchen. The dumpster was already filled with the rest of the debris from the kitchen demolition.

Will moved closer, looking up for inspection. The ceiling hidden beneath consisted of white tin-plated steel pressed into an embossed design that made a pleasing pattern. “That’s really cool.” He liked the look of the old-fashioned ceiling, but even more, he liked how animated Jack seemed to be over its discovery. In the few days Jack had been coming to work on his kitchen, he mostly kept to himself. He was polite and cordial when they spoke, but nothing more.

Not that Will had the right to expect anything more. Not that Will
wanted
anything more. Yet he couldn’t deny a certain attraction. Something about Jack seemed to grab his attention and hold it.

It was odd, because he wasn’t usually attracted to older guys. In fact, most of the guys he dated were younger than he was. Paul, for example, had just turned twenty-five. Not that he and Paul were particularly dating—they were more casual-sex partners, which suited them both. Paul was fun and hot but there was no deep, abiding emotional connection between them.

Will actually prided himself on avoiding guys who seemed to offer the potential messiness of an all-out love affair. Living footloose and fancy-free had suited Will for most of his adult life. It went along with the fast-paced, high-stakes nature of his work.

It was only recently, with his near crash and burn at work, that he’d begun to take stock of his life and his priorities. It hit him maybe something was missing. Something vital.

Surely he wasn’t looking toward the handyman in his search for meaning, or whatever the hell it was he was searching for. And yet…and yet he couldn’t seem to get the guy out of his mind. He couldn’t seem to help hovering nearby when Jack was working—making up excuses to come into the kitchen, thinking up questions that no doubt irritated Jack while he was trying to work.

When Jack was around he couldn’t concentrate on his work, and the problem, instead of getting better, was getting worse.

It wasn’t that the guy was handsome. His eyes were a little too deep-set beneath heavy brows, giving him a brooding expression. His nose, obviously broken at least once, was large and crooked, the lips beneath perhaps too wide for his face. His beard was heavy, five-o’clock shadow already in evidence by the end of the workday. Though he wasn’t especially tall, he was strong and thickly built—giving the impression of power and girth.

In other words, he was most decidedly not Will’s typical choice in a man. Will’s tastes tended more toward men like Paul—slender, even slight, with the graceful features of a Greek statue. With these men, he realized with a sudden flash of not-really-welcome insight, he was superior—older, wiser, stronger.

With Jack he felt like a kid. Jack didn’t seem impressed by the obvious wealth he’d amassed at such an early age or his fancy investment banking job and the degrees that went along with it. He was politely interested when Will talked about his life, but fairly closed off about himself.