Lost and Found Page 7

  “But he’s my little buddy.” Flynn kept up the tummy rub as he spoke. “You understand—I love this little guy with all my heart. You don’t know how long I fantasized and even dreamed about him coming back. And then there was the real darkness when he didn’t and I feared the worst.” Flynn shook his head. “It was, really, like losing my kid. No exaggeration.”

  “I get it,” Mac said, having trouble keeping the sadness out of his voice. I get it all too well.

  “Anyway, it wasn’t just me who was affected by separating you two characters.” Flynn chuckled. “And thanks again for giving him such a good home and such obvious love. You have no idea how much I appreciate it.”

  Mac nodded. He would have liked to say “You’re welcome,” but the words got caught in his throat. He knew he wouldn’t mean them. Flynn was not welcome. “Sure, whatever,” Mac mumbled.

  “Barley missed you, my friend.” Flynn paused for a moment. Barley got up off his back and lay down, head on his forepaws, between them. “A lot. It almost pains me to tell you how much. If a dog could be said to be in despair, then Barley fit the bill. He searched for you, Mac. He waited for you. When I walked him, swear to God, he was looking for you everywhere. He seldom strayed from the door. And at night I’d wake up to find him perched on the back of the love seat I have under my front window, just staring out. I really believe he was hoping to see you coming along Stone Way.”

  “Really?” Mac was so flattered and, at the same time, a little disturbed. Was Barley truly unhappy? And if so, what would it mean for him? For the dog? He wondered if maybe, just maybe, Flynn was bringing him back. He didn’t dare ask him, though.

  “So, that was hard for me to see. I just expected him to be as happy to be home as I was to have him. I never really considered how his life had gone on without me. And it is nice that he had someone in his life who obviously made things so good for him.”

  Mac couldn’t stand the suspense. His wishful thinking was getting the better of him. “So, not to be rude or anything, but, uh, what brings you by today?” Say something like “I just can’t do it. Barley’s place was once with me, but it’s with you now, man,” please, please, please. Mac tried to send the thought out telepathically. He was wishing for it so hard, he couldn’t understand how the man couldn’t pick up on his signal.

  But Flynn obviously didn’t pick it up. Of course he didn’t. Flynn said, “I thought about what your landlady said last Sunday. You know, about the joint custody thing.” Flynn sighed, his eyes downcast.

  Mac’s spirits soared heavenward.

  “Yeah?” Mac asked, trying not to sound like a panting dog.

  “Well, even though Clara says we should make a clean break—”

  Mac interrupted. He couldn’t help himself. “Is Clara your girlfriend?”

  Flynn chuckled. “Not exactly,” Flynn said. “But I suspect she might not mind it so much, if our situations were different.”

  And what situation would that be? Mac wondered silently. I mean, for you? Maybe the situation where you’re a big old ’mo and like nothing more than sucking a big dick? Mac couldn’t help it. He burst into laughter.

  “What?” Flynn asked.

  Mac reined in his mirth. “Nothing.”

  “Anyway, Clara—and I trust her opinion—said joint custody was a bad idea. That it would just lead to hard feelings, trouble down the road, even that it might be actually harder on Barley here rather than easier.”

  Flynn eyed Mac again, and Mac thought that all these serious looks Flynn was giving him were just about driving him crazy. Eye to eye, at times, was almost as sexy as crotch to crotch. Seriously!

  “And I was inclined to agree with her,” Flynn admitted. “Until I saw how mournful Barley was, all week long, and there was no sign of it letting up. I know this dog. His lethargy and his just kind of being out of it are so out of character.”

  “You’re right about that,” Mac added helpfully.

  It was Flynn’s turn to laugh. “Of course you would agree.” He didn’t give Mac a chance to say anything more and went on. “Your landlady. What’s her name again?”

  “Dee. Dee Weeda. She’s a sweetheart. Like a grandma to me.”

  “Right. She does seem nice. And now I’m thinking maybe we could add ‘wise’ to the woman’s qualities.”

  Mac nodded eagerly.

  “I just live over in Wallingford.”

  Mac wanted to say “You want me to come there with you now? I’m a bottom! Or I’m a top! I can be whatever you want me to be!” but he kept his own counsel. Again, the guy could be straight. Most men were, Mac reminded himself. The odds were that Flynn was one of those strange dudes who preferred pie over sausage. Whatever. It was a waste, but Mac could accept it—begrudgingly.

  It hit Mac like a truck that, added to all the complications of this strange and sudden relationship with Flynn Marlowe, he had a serious crush on the man. And it would be all the more pathetic if Flynn wasn’t even batting for the same team as Mac.

  Flynn continued, explaining, to Mac’s great disappointment, why he’d mentioned again that he lived in the Wallingford neighborhood.

  “So I’m not far at all. We could pretty easily share the little guy, if you were up for it.”

  “I’m up for it!” Mac exclaimed.

  Flynn smiled. “Don’t get too excited. I had in mind more of a regular visitation thing than fifty-fifty, you know?”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah, I don’t know how I’d feel about Barley here actually living in two different places. It might be confusing for him. Does that make sense?”

  Flynn cocked his head, and it reminded Mac of Barley doing the same. It was adorable.

  Mac nodded. “Yeah, I guess it does. How often were you thinking?”

  “A couple times a week. Uh, you know, maybe a hike on the weekends with the two of us.”

  “I like that idea,” Mac said.

  “And, you know, if I have to go out of town, for business or something, I could trust that you’d be the person I’d call to take care of him while I’m gone. And then, of course, he would come stay with you. If that’s okay….”

  The idea had many pros and cons. More pros than cons. Mac was elated, really, at the plan Flynn had just laid out. Not only would he get to continue to have Barley as a big part of his life, but he’d have a chance to see this hunk more often. And if Flynn Marlowe had any gay inklings at all, Mac knew he could sniff them out and put them to quick and deliriously pleasurable use. He smiled. “I think this could work, Flynn.” Mac shrugged. “At least it’s worth trying out, right?”

  Flynn grinned. “Yeah. Let’s do it. You want to start right now?” Flynn looked out at the lake. “It looks like the rain’s clearing up a bit. We could take Barley here for a stroll around the lake.”

  “We could stop at Starbucks,” Mac said. “I’ll buy.” He stood up. “Let’s go. I didn’t have anything better planned anyway.” Seriously? Mac wondered. You had planned to get drunk and screw…. Since when is walking a dog better than that?

  Since now, Mac answered his own question.

  Chapter 8

  THE TRAIL around the lake was slick, making it a darker shade of gray. The trees dripped water, but at least the sky was clearing. The gray clouds parted to reveal the blue above. And in the air, there was the smell of green. Flynn could think of no other word to describe it. Whether it was the grass, the leaves on the trees, or the water itself, there was something fresh and new about the aromas in the air.

  He’d given Mac Barley’s leash and let him take the lead. The dog trotted along companionably beside Mac, stopping, as dogs do, every couple of minutes to sniff something. If Flynn’s sense of smell was amplified, he couldn’t begin to imagine what Barley’s was doing. Barley, Flynn knew, had a super nose—it was the breed. And it was what had led Barley to run away from him that day at Discovery Park. Flynn told himself that now that he was reunited with his dog, he shouldn’t think about that awful day so much, but
somehow his mind kept returning to it.

  So he switched his thoughts, as Clara had once told him to do, to something more pleasant—the man walking beside him. Out of the corner of his eye, Flynn took him in again, head to toe, something that he found pleasurable to no end. Since he’d felt the first twinges of coming out, as a young teenage boy on the east side of Lake Washington, he’d had an attraction, or maybe a better word was obsession, with fair-haired men, especially redheads. And Mac here was a fine example of that particular breed. There was something genuine about his creamy white skin that Flynn knew would burn in record time in bright sunlight. Flynn loved the constellation of freckles across Mac’s snub nose. And his eyes—so green; they became even greener when the light hit them a certain way. If one looked closely, his irises had flecks of mica. Of course, Mac’s hair could just about cause the drool to slip out of the corner of Flynn’s mouth. A little wiry, not too brightly red, and buzzed fairly close, it was almost unbearably sexy. And he had a beard to match! In fact, if Flynn allowed himself to linger long enough on the hair and the beard, he just might come a little in his pants. Especially if he allowed his thoughts to wander to the patches of hair on hidden parts of Mac’s body.

  All this, Flynn thought, made an amazing contrast to his own darker coloring. He could just about picture them together. Naked.

  Now stop it! Flynn mentally warned himself. You have no reason to think there’s any potential with this guy, because you don’t even know if he goes to your church. He’s manly as hell. He’s yet to mention Gaga, Garland, Streisand, or Cher. Flynn didn’t think he’d ever heard Mac use the word fabulous. Mac’s clothes were straight-boy boring yet oh so flattering in the way they revealed just enough skin to be tantalizing.

  He looked over at Mac, glad he wasn’t trying to force conversation. Glad he couldn’t read minds. But Flynn wanted to know him better. Who knew? Maybe Mac would let slip a “fabulous” or a reference to Project Runway and Flynn would have good cause to hope.

  He laughed at himself internally for his lack of political correctness.

  They’d made their way about a quarter around the lake when Flynn asked, “So how long have you lived in Seattle?”

  Mac looked at him, a smirk lifting the corners of his mouth. “Who said I wasn’t a native?”

  “I’m sorry. I guess I shouldn’t have assumed. It’s just been my experience that a lot of the people I run into come from elsewhere.”

  “And maybe my accent is just a little different?”

  “What accent?”

  “Maybe you detect a little ‘take me home, country roads’ in my voice, especially when I let my guard down?”

  Flynn chuckled, getting the song reference. “You’re from West Virginia?”

  Mac nodded. “Guilty. The northern panhandle, if you want to get technical, right where the state butts up against Ohio and Pennsylvania. It’s kind of a paradox back home—big gorgeous tree-covered hills that’re actually Appalachian foothills, the curving brown-green of the Ohio River, and some of the poorest people you’d ever want to meet. Used to be a lot of industry, but it all kind of died out. My grandma still lives there, though, in a trailer overlooking the Ohio River valley. I miss her—a lot. She taught me everything I know about loving dogs—and people.”

  “Maybe that’s why you chose to live with Dee?”

  Mac laughed. “You might be on to something there. Both of my parents were in a car accident when I was twelve. Killed instantly. It was a big pileup on the expressway going south. Bad snowstorm with whiteout conditions.” Mac slowed a little and paused to look up at the leaves blowing in a tree above. He drew in a big breath that quivered a little on his exhale.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  Mac shrugged. “It’s okay. Sort of. I had my grandma. Grandma Grace. She moved me in with her after my parents passed, and I couldn’t have asked for better. Grace is more than just her name, you know? It’s her. She’s the sweetest, gentlest soul you’d ever want to meet. I don’t think I’ve ever heard her say a bad word about anyone. We never had much, but I always had enough, so I don’t complain.”

  Flynn couldn’t believe it. Not only was Mac sexy as hell, he seemed like a hell of a good guy to boot. He loved dogs. Old women. He seemed to have a healthy outlook on life. Flynn thought he could fall in love with someone like Mac. If only he was gay….

  Not to say that Mac wasn’t gay. Flynn couldn’t totally rule out the possibility. There was hope. Sure, Mac wasn’t stereotypically gay, throwing around terms or cultural references that might give Flynn a clue to which way he was oriented, but he’d also never mentioned a girlfriend or even any interest in women.

  Of course, Flynn reminded himself, they hardly knew one another. But that was about to change, wasn’t it?

  “So have you worked at the Crumpet Strumpet long?”

  “Since it opened. Not my life’s dream, in case you were wondering.”

  Flynn wasn’t wondering, not exactly. He was too busy pondering which side Mac’s bread was buttered on. But to be polite, he asked, “What is your life’s dream, Mac?”

  They wandered over to the beach area behind the lake’s old boathouse, now converted into a small theater space, and took a break sitting on a bench, looking out at the swimming dock. There were a bunch of teenage boys shoving each other off its concrete surface and competing over who could do the fanciest dive from the diving board. Flynn thought it hadn’t taken them long to come out once the rain stopped.

  “My life’s dream?” Mac sighed. “Well, I don’t think I’ll ever achieve it, so part of me doesn’t even like to think about it.”

  Flynn felt his eyebrows moving toward one another—confused. “You’re giving up on your life’s dream? Already? What are you? Twenty-two? Twenty-three?”

  Mac laughed and bumped his shoulder against Flynn’s. The simple, brotherly touch still managed to send waves of electricity through Flynn, culminating in his groin. He couldn’t imagine what an erotic touch from Mac would do to him. Well, he could, actually, but he needed to keep his mind in the present, lest he find himself needing to visit the men’s room behind them to clean up.

  “I like you,” Mac said when he’d reined in his laughter. “Actually, I just had a milestone in December. I turned thirty.”

  Flynn looked at him, jaw dropped, playing up the surprise. “Seriously? I never would have guessed.”

  “You flatter me, man.”

  They were quiet for several moments, and then Flynn returned to his earlier line of questioning. “But really, what would you do if you could do anything other than wait tables? And if it’s not being too nosy, why aren’t you?”

  Mac laughed, but Flynn could see a little sadness in his eyes.

  “Dude, did you hear me before? I’m an orphan, raised by Grandma in her trailer. I was and am pretty poor. I wasn’t a star athlete in high school. I wasn’t a brain, although I think I’m smart. So I really never had the means for any kind of higher education. And I know I don’t have to tell you, a high school diploma doesn’t get you very far these days… not at all.” Mac snickered. “You know Val? The girl with the rainbow hair who waited on you and your girlfriend the other day?”

  Flynn nodded, resisting the impulse to correct Mac for calling Clara his girlfriend. He supposed she was, just not in the sense most people took the term.

  “Val has a master’s degree in English from the University of Washington.”

  “What’s your point?” Flynn asked. He had an English degree, but only a bachelor’s from the same Seattle school.

  “I think waitressing is the best Val can do.”

  Flynn resisted saying maybe having rainbow-hued hair put potential employers off, not to mention the septum piercing he’d noticed hanging from Val’s nose. Instead he said, “Maybe Val is doing exactly what she wants to do.”

  Mac stood up. “Let’s walk some more. I’m jonesing for that coffee.”

  Flynn followed him and Barley back to the trail.

&n
bsp; “You’re probably right about Val. She’s a free spirit. Her big passion is doing burlesque on the weekends at a little theater down in Belltown. It’s nothin’ too raunchy, just fun. I’ve gone to see her. Val probably works at the Crumpet Strumpet because it lets her be her, you know?”

  “Makes sense. But what about you? What do you want to do? You still haven’t told me.”

  “I love books, Flynn. Reading them, living in them, dissecting them, thinking about them, sniffing them—” He cut himself off to laugh. “When there were more of them around, I could spend hours upon hours in used bookstores and spend way too much for my meager budget. Now Amazon has forced most of them out of business, except for maybe Half Price Books over in the U District. Anyway, I’d love to share my passion for books with students.” He glanced over at Flynn, perhaps a little shyly. “I’d like to be a schoolteacher. English.”

  Flynn kept walking, gathering his thoughts. His heart went out to Mac, and his little confession made him feel even closer. There was something that touched Flynn about Mac’s wanting to be a “schoolteacher” and the fact that he thought the position was too lofty and out of reach. His own parents had looked down on Flynn for majoring in English, his father begging him to comajor in business administration, just to “be practical.” And if Flynn had chosen teaching as a career? He could hear his dad scoffing, “Those who can, do. Those who can’t, teach.”

  Flynn was excited to learn that Mac had a passion for reading—just like he did. It was something maybe the two of them could share, if their tastes aligned, or even if they didn’t. He was always open to having his mind expanded. Flynn felt a little ashamed, though, too. His publicist job left him little time to read these days, what with long hours in the office and then trying to squeeze in a run when he got home. He was usually too tired after all that to think of doing much more than plopping on the couch next to Barley and channel-surfing on his fifty-two-inch flat screen.

  “Well, that’s a noble goal, Mac,” Flynn said, hoping he didn’t sound condescending.