Seasons Greetings (2 page)

Break room was a fancy name for the converted closet, barely enough space for the small sink set on top of a bar-size refrigerator. But at least Sandy tried, and honestly, Russ would rather have the stability of full-time employment and a closet for a break room instead of the uncertainty working freelance, which was the norm in the competitive world of greeting cards.

“You hit that yet?” Mike handed Russ a glass mug out of the cupboard clearly marked “Clients only,” and Russ studied the rim with suspicion. In an effort to revamp her image, Lacey had taken to wearing a new, long-wearing lipstick which lived up to its name and so far resisted all efforts to scrub the gooey remnants away.

“Ian?” Russ held out his mug demandingly. Mike tossed his tie over his right shoulder and poured the coffee. “No way.”

“Come on. I’ve seen you drooling.” Mike shook some powdered creamer into his own mug, frowned, and added more when the murky fluid refused to lighten. “He’s worked here for weeks. Usually you’ve already been there and done that.”

Russ grimaced. His initial sip of the overly blackened liquid definitely proved the pot had sat on the burner too long. “I told you. I’m not interested in Ian like that.”

“Sure you’re not.” Mike snorted and wiped the light brown spray off his face. “That’s why whenever I talk to you all I hear is Ian this, and Ian that, and why you guys spend so much time together after work. I just want a few little details.”

“Screw you.” Russ muttered, unable to deny the truth in Mike’s wheedling. It sounded trite, but he and Ian had somehow clicked on Ian’s first day. They had started with lunches out, graduated to dinners, and soon they were hanging out together on the weekends. But it didn’t mean anything, Russ told himself. “You just want some
quid pro quo
so you can tell me about your latest whacked-out girlfriend.”

Mike gave Russ a considering look before he put his palm on Russ’s forehead as if to test his temperature. “You like him. You really like him. Have you even been out with anyone else since he started working here?”

“Do not.” Russ knew he was being childish, but he refused to answer Mike’s second question. He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead harder against Mike’s sweaty palm. He still had a headache; either he was coming down with something or Ian’s hypochondria was catching.

“Do too,” Mike replied automatically before he groaned. “This is bad. This is very bad.”

“Why is this bad?” Russ asked as he gave up and poured his coffee down the drain. Concerned at the strange twinge in his gut, he rubbed his stomach through his shirt only to wince when he pressed the hard buttons into his flesh.

“Why?” Mike waved his hand as if the motion explained everything. “You’ve lost your mojo, man. I can’t have this. Hell, most of my card ideas are based on your one-night stands.”

“You make me sound like a slut.” Russ wondered if Ian thought he was a slut. That might explain some of the strange glances Ian sent his way all afternoon. His stomach ache increased. Funny how the idea bothered him more than his so-called friend mining Russ’s sex life to further his career. “You haven’t said anything to Ian, have you?”

“No, no. Forget about him.” Mike put his mug down on the counter and rubbed Russ’s shoulders like a trainer sitting behind a prized fighter at a match. “We can fix this. Trust me.”

*  *  *

His
feet pounded the solid pavement below, and Russ let his stride lengthen as his muscles warmed and stretched out. The December rain had finally stopped; the air was crisp and cool instead of humid for a change. A light breeze dried the sweat brought on by their run through the small park.

Russ felt good; he was loose and relaxed as the exercise dissolved the last of his stress from the day. He assured himself it didn’t have anything to do with the man keeping pace beside him, each footfall a match to his own.

“This is great.” Russ couldn’t help but share his enthusiasm. “I needed to take a break from the stupid Easter campaign. Damn thing is killing me.”

“Tell me about it.” Ian groaned. “I’m reduced to listening to Mike talk about his girlfriend in search of new ideas. I’m practically coffee-mugged out.”

“You poor thing.” Russ laughed. “That’s desperate.”

“Your form is better.” Ian changed the subject. His voice sounded smooth and steady despite their efforts. “Keep it up and you’ll be leaving me in the dust.”

Russ looked over and smiled. Ian’s face flushed red with exertion. Moisture dotted his cheek and darkened the neck of his T-shirt, and Russ wanted nothing more than to lean close and start licking. They had begun running together a few weeks ago, and once Russ had overcome his initial desire to lay down and die he had to admit he enjoyed the developing routine.

“I think my stamina has improved,” Russ panted slightly. Okay, maybe not as much as he thought.

“Trust me; it will make a big difference in other areas of your life.” Ian winked suggestively at Russ, his hazel eyes crinkling with amusement.

Russ bristled at the implication. He was only three or four years older than Ian. “I’ll have you know the other areas of my life are fine.” He lifted the bottom of his shirt to wipe at forehead. “I’ve not had any complaints.”

“Yeah, I bet.” Ian exhaled heavily, and Russ tried not to notice how his chest expanded with the deep inhalation that followed. “So, uh, you’ve never said if you’re seeing anybody?”

Russ didn’t know how to respond to the question. He could answer with the truth—which would make him look like a jerk—or he could say what he thought Ian might want to hear—which would make him feel like a jerk. Damn it, Mike was right. He really liked Ian. An uncomfortable silence grew between them, broken only by the sound of their shoes hitting the ground in synchronized motion.

“Sorry.” Ian gave in first. “I didn’t mean to pry. We’ve spent a lot of time together; I figured I ought to find out if there’s some significant other out there gunning for me.”

“No.” Russ told himself it was their pace that left his throat closed and tight. “It’s okay. I just, well, I’m not seeing anybody right now.”

“Cool.” 

Russ heard the happy smile in Ian’s voice, and he stared at the tree ahead in the distance, the weeds lining their path, his shoelaces. Anything but those dimples, his undoing every time. He knew he could have stopped there, but he was determined to man up and not lie to Ian. He didn’t know why it was so important, it just was. “Actually, I don’t exactly do relationships. Period.”

“Oh.”

Russ snuck a quick glance over after he heard the flat tone of Ian’s voice. Ian had stopped smiling and the dimples to die for had disappeared. Russ told himself that no matter what he imagined, a magic “J” for “jerk” hadn’t appeared on his forehead.

“Never learned the relationship thing. Never really saw it in action, if you know what I mean.” Russ uncomfortably tried to explain. Damn difficult as he hadn’t bothered to examine his reasoning in years.

“Just because you didn’t grow up in the Huxtables’ family doesn’t mean you can’t learn new tricks.” Russ guessed he shouldn’t have been surprised Ian understood what he tried to say. Ian was scary like that.

“Actually, we didn’t even resemble the Bundys.” Russ’s lungs burned with the effort to suck in more air, and despite his desire to run so fast he’d be unable to think about any of this, the constriction forced him to slow down.

Ian slowed his pace as well, and they jogged silently for several minutes until Ian spoke up again.

“Do you think the creators of that sitcom deliberately named the family after a serial killer?”

Russ couldn’t help but laugh at the serious tone of Ian’s question, and just like that, everything between them was okay again.

3

“I hear
those sleigh bells jingling—ring, ting, tingling too.”

Russ grit his teeth as the jazzed up version of the old classic played over the bar’s loudspeakers. He couldn’t escape. Halloween decorations had just been taken down, Thanksgiving still more than a few weeks ahead, and they were already playing Christmas carols. It was bad enough he had to live two or three seasons in advance at his career, he couldn’t believe the rest of the world did it willingly.

A quick glance showed him a path through the tables. Russ preferred a different type of bar for his downtime. Some place quieter and more casual, kind of like the sports bar he and Ian had gone to last Thursday to watch the basketball game after work. Here, he couldn’t even have a decent conversation between the distraction of the lights and the booming bass line assaulting the brave souls on the dance floor.

But he wasn’t here to relax or make polite small-talk, Russ reminded himself. Despite his doubts at trusting Mike to be his wingman, Russ needed to follow Mike’s game plan and overcome his fixation on Ian. Russ wanted to get his life back to normal.

Step one entailed finding a distraction for the evening, someone warm and willing who knew the score and wouldn’t waste time with expectations Russ had no intention of meeting. Russ yawned. He could do this in his sleep.

The open stool had his name written all over it. Russ slid onto the cool, vinyl seat and nodded at the bartender. His beer in hand, he swiveled around to check out the scene. Too early for much of a crowd, easier that way. He could be in and out without a lot of fuss. Not that his presence went unnoticed.

From the moment he had walked in the door, Russ knew he was being watched. Not that he was vain, but he wasn’t stupid either. Russ’s dark good looks and the confident, controlled manner he cultivated to hide his doubts guaranteed tonight’s search for company wouldn’t be unsuccessful.

Sure enough, the stool beside his filled within minutes. He cast an approving glance over the neatly dressed blond with carefully disheveled hair and an obvious come-on visible in the pale blue eyes. Russ tried to ignore any perceived similarities to Ian. Everyone had a type, right?

“You looking for a little holiday spirit?” The casual impact of the opening line was ruined by the way the words had to be shouted into his ear, but Russ gave the blond points for effort and held out his hand with a practiced and insincere smile.

“Russ.”

“Steve.”

“How about I buy you a drink?” Russ let his palm drop from the introductory shake onto the thigh pressed close to his. He gave the quad a slight squeeze when it tensed under his grasp. Steve’s leg wasn’t as muscular as Ian’s, Russ thought, and then felt immediately ashamed of himself for the comparison.

“Absolutely.” Steve smiled; obviously pleased by the success of his maneuvering and leaned in closer, eagerness apparent in every line of his lithe body. “So what do you do?”

Immediately discouraged at having to play the same, tired old game even though he knew this was all part of the dance, Russ decided to cut to the chase before he changed his mind. “Do you really want to waste time on small talk?”

Blue eyes blinked and then partially closed, warming with sure knowledge. “I guess I can get a drink at your place as well as here, can’t I?”

They walked out together, Steve deliberately brushing his body against Russ and Russ just as deliberately trying to step away. Russ couldn’t hear what Steve murmured into his ear, but he nodded anyway. Now that they weren’t sitting the height difference between Steve and Ian became apparent. On the other hand, Steve’s blue eyes seemed darker, deeper, and closer to the color Russ imagined in the dim light. It made things easier. If Russ concentrated he could almost pretend— 

Russ stopped, disgusted by his original intentions. This impersonal hook-up wasn’t what Russ wanted, not really. He had let Mike convince him it would help, but in the end a meaningless encounter wouldn’t be fair to either Russ or Steve. For once, something wouldn’t be better than nothing.

“What?” Steve asked, startled by the abrupt lack of motion. “Did you forget something?”

“Look,” Russ said awkwardly. “I’m sorry, but I can’t do this. You don’t deserve to be taken advantage of.”

“You’re kidding me, right?” Steve laughed. “I’m a big boy. Let’s go have a good time.” He stepped closer into Russ’s personal space and placed his hand on Russ’s chest. “Just relax.”

“No, really.” Russ backed away from the contact. If nothing else this experience showed him how foolish he was for thinking some stranger could satisfy his desire for Ian’s touch. “I’m sure you’re a great guy and all, but I can’t.”

*  *  *

The
next morning Russ tried to hide at his desk. He didn’t want to see Mike, and even though he had walked away last night, he didn’t think he could face Ian without feeling ashamed. He had tossed and turned, unable to sleep, and by morning still hadn’t come to any coherent conclusions.

He looked up, hoping for some divine intervention, and instead was confronted by the unblinking reminder his Easter project was due. He couldn’t work with those damn eyes staring at him. Russ picked up the stuffed animal and hurled it out of his cube, surprised at the exclamation that followed.

“Hey there, big guy. Chill.” The yellow ears of the rabbit poked up over the side of his wall, Mike’s bright eyes right behind. “Mr. Fluffy is our friend. Let’s adjourn to the coffee machine, and you can tell me how your night went.”

“Last night?” Ian’s blond head appeared over the other cube wall. Russ looked into his hazel eyes and then back at his desk as he quickly realized there was no escape. “What happened last night?”

Mike smiled and the resemblance between him and the stuffed rabbit became obvious. Russ couldn’t help but glance at Ian again, and the two of them shared a quick, unspoken laugh at the similarity. “My man Russ here went out to work his magic and spread a little love out in the world. I’m about to pump him for the gory details. You want to join us?”

Russ watched as the open expression on Ian’s face disappeared. He couldn’t help but cringe at the realization he had made Ian’s engaging smile fade away. He could now officially add dimple killer to the list of his sins.

“Oh, uh, no. You guys go ahead.”