Twice Shy Read online

  Troy had been sent home and the rest of them were shivering. Kids, huh? Such a joy.

  “Okay!” Joel yelled over the excited chatter. “Rory, Mateo, Shabana—you’re up next. Grab the hose. Mr. Snow, Ellie and Jess—step back or get wet.”

  Ollie dumped his sponge in the bucket of soapy water and shepherded his two charges out of the line of fire. He’d ditched his sodden hoodie—another victim of Troy Miller—and his wet t-shirt clung to his lean body.

  Not that Joel was looking. At least, he shouldn’t be looking.

  Aware that he was getting distracted—again—he fixed his attention back on the kids. “Okay,” he called. “Ready? Three, two… Hold the hose Rory. No, further up. That’s it. Okay, three, two, one and…go!”

  He turned the tap. Water blasted out all over the soapy car, all three kids holding the hose like miniature firefighters and squealing gleefully as they washed the suds away.

  “Get the wheels,” Ollie called out. “That’s it. Great job!”

  All in all, it had been an enjoyable morning. Everyone had donated generously and, aside from having fun with the kids, they’d made a respectable amount of money for the school. But he couldn’t deny that part of the enjoyment for him had been the buzz he felt every time he caught sight of Ollie Snow. It had been so long since he’d felt anything like attraction to another person that the novelty was…not entirely unpleasant. Less terrifying than he’d expected. The fact that there was zero chance of anything happening between them helped. A harmless crush, that was all. Fun, if nobody knew about it but himself.

  And nobody would.

  His stomach growled and he pressed a hand to it, embarrassed. During the first year after Helen left, when he was really struggling, he’d found sticking to a firm daily routine had helped him manage his mental health. He usually ate lunch at one o’clock sharp, and his body had gotten used to it. He guessed it had become something of a habit. Or a plaster cast, his inner Amy suggested. A crutch you no longer need.

  Maybe a donut would do? He glanced at the refreshment stand and saw Ollie buckling Luis into the stroller, digging out a plastic tub and handing him a breadstick. The kid looked happy, snuggling back contentedly as he gnawed on his snack. Feeling the old, familiar pang of longing, Joel looked away—but not fast enough to avoid catching Ollie’s eye. Again.

  After a moment, Ollie came over, struggling to pull the stroller behind him over the gravel. “Tell me that’s the last car,” he said, jamming on the stroller’s break with his foot.

  Despite the late September sunshine, it wasn’t warm enough to be standing around in wet clothes and Ollie’s lips had taken on a bluish tinge. “You look cold,” Joel said.

  “I’m fine.”

  On cue, a sharp onshore breeze rattled the branches, sending a few early-turned leaves fluttering down. Ollie shivered and Joel raised an eyebrow. “You were saying?”

  Grinning ruefully, Ollie chafed his arms. “Yeah, yeah. I’m freezing my ass”—a glance at Luis—“assets off, you’re right.”

  Something about that bashful smile provoked a strong impulse to noogie the guy, or shoulder bump him. Or something. Hastily, Joel turned his attention back to the kids hosing down the car.

  “Okay, I think we’re done, guys.” To a chorus of protest, Joel turned the water off. “Any more for anymore?” he called, looking around for any lingering customers and hoping there were none.

  Everyone was getting cold now and parents were already retrieving their soggy kids, herding them toward their cars. The party was over. But before Joel could reel in the hose, a shrill voice behind them called out.

  “Just one more, Mr. Morgan!” Jackie headed toward him along the porch, towing a reluctant-looking Theo Wishart along with her. “Theo’s made a very generous donation to the PTA.” Jackie beamed, fluttering her eyelashes. “The least we can do is wash his car.”

  Theo shook his head, disengaging his arm. “Oh no, I only wanted to contribute to the fund-raising effort. I don’t even—”

  “Of course we’ll wash it!” Jackie trilled.

  And by ‘we’ she meant Joel and Ollie. He glanced sideways, caught Ollie’s eye-roll, and smothered a smile.

  “Now,” Jackie was saying, “which one is yours, Theo? That cute blue coupe? It’s adorable.”

  “Uh, no. I was trying to explain—I don’t own a car.”

  “What? Why ever not?”

  Theo frowned, scratching his ear self-consciously. “Well. Because I can’t drive.”

  “You can’t—?”

  “To be honest,” Ollie cut in, “I think we’re done. Sorry, Jackie, but it’s getting cold and the kids are soaked. They should get home and dry off. Right, Mr. Morgan?”

  “Right. We really appreciate you helping us out, though, Theo. It’s been great here—much better than at the school.”

  “My pleasure.” Theo smiled, his gaze flitting awkwardly between Joel and Ollie. “We have an empty guest room that you’d be welcome to use if anyone needs to change or dry off before they go home?” He nodded toward the refreshment stand, and all the half-empty buckets of water. “Looks like it might take a while to pack everything up, and you don’t want to be doing that while you’re wet through.”

  Joel jumped at the offer. His own damp clothes aside, Ollie and Rory definitely needed to change. “That would be great, thanks.”

  “Er…” Ollie looked embarrassed, glancing warily at the hotel. “I don’t know. I— Actually, I didn’t even bring a change of clothes for the boys. Stupid. I should have thought.”

  “I bet Alyssa will have something you can borrow for Rory,” Joel said.

  “No, it’s fine. I—”

  “Rory’s soaked. Unless you guys want to head straight home…?”

  Ollie dithered, clearly his instinct to help at war with his instinct to get Rory warm and dry. Before he could answer, Joel added, “How about I ask Alyssa if she has anything you can borrow?”

  After a final, uncertain glance at Theo, Ollie gave in. “Sure, okay. Thanks. I did promise to help clear up.”

  While Jackie made sure all the kids went home with the right person, Joel asked Alyssa if she had some dry clothes for Rory—which, naturally, she did—and fetched his own bag from the porch where he’d left it. He didn’t examine too closely why he was so determined to keep Ollie around for as long as possible today…

  But Rory was drenched, and his little shoes made squelching noises when they all followed Theo through the Majestic’s grand foyer and down a short corridor to a ground floor bedroom. Theo opened the door onto a beautiful suite with views out over the gardens toward the ocean. No surprise the hotel was doing a roaring trade in weddings—who wouldn’t want to get married here with views like that? “Feel free to use any of the guest towels, or the shower if you like,” Theo said.

  “Thanks.” Joel held the door as Ollie pushed the stroller into the room, Rory trailing soggily behind. “This is very generous of you.”

  Theo just gave a slight nod and left, closing the door behind him.

  “Wow, huh?” Ollie said, looking around the room. “This is beautiful.”

  “No kidding. Imagine waking up to that view.”

  “You’d be able to watch the sun rise and— Rory, no! Off the bed, you’re all wet!” Ollie grabbed him before he could crawl up onto the pristine comforter. “Now take your sneakers off. Come on. And your socks...”

  While Ollie set about getting Rory out of his wet clothes, Joel slipped into the bathroom to change. As a veteran of the charity car wash, he’d brought a complete change of clothes, but it was only really his shorts and t-shirt that needed changing. Peeling them off, he stuffed them into his gym bag and pulled on a pair of jeans and another t-shirt. He felt a lot better for being in dry clothes. From the other side of the bathroom door, he could hear Ollie talking to Rory—or, rather, Rory talking to Ollie. Something about grandma and grandpa and an upcoming visit. Joel tried not to eavesdrop.

  Emerging from the b
athroom, he found Luis asleep in the stroller and Rory looking pink-cheeked and warmer in borrowed purple sweat pants and a sparkly unicorn shirt. Ollie, by contrast, was still shivering in his wet shorts and shirt.

  “Here.” Joel held out his sweatshirt. “Put this on. I’ve got a spare.”

  Ollie hesitated, as if he had to think twice about borrowing a sweatshirt. As if it was a test. “Thanks, but I’m fine.”

  “Your lips are blue. And it’s getting colder out there. You’ll catch your death.”

  Ollie laughed, and it must have broken the tension because he took the sweatshirt. “You sound like my mom.” Joel winced and Ollie’s smile faded. “Not that you’re— I didn’t mean to imply you were, you know”—he flushed—“old. Or anything.”

  “Well. I am old compared with you.” A point he’d do well to remember.

  Ollie dropped the sweatshirt on the bed. “Oh, come on,” he protested, pulling his damp t-shirt up over his head. “You’re what? Thirty-something?”

  Joel’s answer got tangled in his throat, his gaze locked on Ollie’s startlingly bare torso—lithe, sparely muscled, a dusting of freckles across his shoulders and an arc of hipbone visible over his low-slung board shorts. A young man’s body. Blood pounded in Joel’s ears, his face heating. And not only his face; he could feel a hot rush of blood everywhere. Jesus. He turned away, only to find Rory watching him with dark, serious eyes.

  “I’m six,” Rory said. “But Luis is only two.”

  “Is that right?” He smiled, grateful for the distraction. “Well, I’m thirty-two.”

  “And I’m nearly twenty-five,” Ollie said. “See? Not so much younger.” His hair was all over the place after dragging his shirt off and he met Joel’s eyes with a smiling look. Smiling and just a little…what? Speculative? God help him, knowing?

  Joel swallowed and turned to look out the window. A bank of gray clouds drew menacingly close. “Rain soon, I think. We should get that stuff packed away ASAP.”

  Out the corner of his eye, he watched Ollie pull the sweatshirt over his head and wriggle his arms into the sleeves. “Let’s do it,” he said, pushing a hand through his disheveled curls—as if anything could tame them. “And, uh, thanks for the loan. I feel warmer already.”

  “No problem.” Joel turned around with what he hoped was nonchalance. The sweatshirt hung a little broad on Ollie’s shoulders and gaped at the neck, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of freckled clavicle. He lifted his gaze to Ollie’s eyes—the dark brown was flecked with amber, he noticed helplessly, like warm honey—and one corner of Ollie’s mouth lifted in a quizzical smile. Joel realized he’d been staring. Or, they’d been staring. At each other.

  Shit.

  He looked away, flustered. Get a grip. Get a freakin’ grip, Joel Morgan. You do not need this level of complication in your life. He cleared his throat. “You, ah, need a hand with anything or—?”

  “I’m fine.” Ollie had turned away too and was shoving Rory’s wet clothes into the bottom of the stroller.

  Joel kept his eyes away from the sight of the shorts stretching tight over Ollie’s backside and smiled at Rory instead. He hoped it didn’t look like a rictus. “You gonna help us pack everything up, Rory?”

  He shrugged and said, “I’m hungry. Can I have a donut?”

  “No, I’ve got a sandwich,” Ollie said from where he was rummaging around under the stroller.

  “I don’t want a sandwich. I want a—”

  “Not even peanut butter and jelly?” Ollie said, producing another plastic tub.

  Rory’s face lit with a sudden grin—“Yay!”—and he held out both hands.

  “Only because it’s the weekend,” Ollie explained to Joel as he handed over half the sandwich. “Normally he has something healthier. Like cheese or ham with—”

  “Ham’s gross,” Rory said, taking a huge mouthful of sandwich, jelly oozing out between the slices of bread.

  “It’s not gross,” Ollie sighed. “And be careful you don’t— Sh…oot!” He got a hand under the sandwich a moment before a dollop of jelly escaped. It landed with a gooey splat in his palm. “Okay, you know what? This was a mistake. Let’s get you outside before we end up having to pay to have the carpets cleaned.” He licked the jelly off his hand with one swipe of his tongue and—God help him—Joel felt a low thrum of interest below the belt. What the hell?

  “I’ll get the stroller,” he said roughly, suddenly desperate to put some distance between them. “Let’s go.”

  “I can manage—”

  “I’ve got it!” The guy did not like accepting a helping hand. “You get the jelly monster out of here, I’ll bring Luis.”

  Rory giggled and started capering around. “Jelly monster! Roaaar!”

  “Rory!” Laughing and exasperated, Ollie grabbed his wrist, keeping his sticky little fingers under control as he shepherded him and his oozing sandwich out of the room. He threw a frazzled smile over his shoulder, “Thanks, Mr. Morgan.”

  Hear that?

  Mr. Morgan, the teacher. That’s who you are, and don’t you damn well forget it.

  Chapter Seven

  PTA Committee meeting, Thursday October 10th

  “Hey Mr. Snow.” Nia smiled when Ollie opened his apartment door. Alyssa’s daughter was a tall, confident sixteen-year-old with a short sassy haircut and a sweet smile. Rory had taken to her immediately, which was great—and meant Ollie had no reason not to use her as a babysitter on PTA nights. And no excuse to avoid today’s meeting.

  Not that he wanted to avoid the meeting.

  It was just that Mr. Morgan would be there and… Well, Ollie’s crush had escalated. It was dumb. He knew it was dumb, but Morgan had been so damned kind to him at the car wash. There was something about being noticed, about having a guy say ‘Hey, you look cold. Borrow my sweatshirt’ that made his heart skip. Kindness was a virtue he valued highly, perhaps because he hadn’t encountered much of it recently.

  And then there’d been the look.

  No way was Joel Morgan one hundred percent straight. No way. Whether he was comfortable with his sexuality, Ollie wasn’t certain, but there’d been a moment in that hotel room when Morgan’s gaze had lingered. No other word for it. His gaze had lingered, and Ollie’s had lingered right back until Morgan had jolted away and started talking about the weather.

  Over the past couple of weeks, he’d given that look some thought. Okay, a lot of thought. He’d dissected it minutely after the boys were in bed, wondering what it meant. Which was stupid and adolescent and reminded him of the hopeless crush he’d had on Mr. Howey in tenth grade. Besides, he had more important things to be dealing with—like how he needed a better job, and whether it would ever be possible to finish his master’s and complete the internship he’d had to give up. And whether he’d ever convince Luca Moretti to let him into his life.

  All these things were more important than figuring out what one look from a hot school teacher might mean. And yet…

  “Come on in, Nia. Thanks for coming.” Stepping back, he let her into his tiny apartment. Like her mom, Nia was good-natured and hard working. She’d arrived with a backpack of school books this evening and, anticipating that, Ollie had made room on the dining table for her to work, and put a couple of sodas in the fridge.

  “Hey Rory,” she said, offering him a little fist bump.

  “Hi Nia.” He was already bathed and wearing his PJs, so all Nia had to do was read him a bedtime story and get him some milk before tucking him in. Luis was already down for the night.

  Crouching, Ollie gave Rory a big hug. “You be a good boy, okay, and do what Nia says.”

  “I will.”

  “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Promise?”

  His heart gave a familiar twist and he hugged Rory close again, feeling his little arms tight around his neck. “I promise, Rory.”

  “Hundred percent?”

  “Hundred percent.”

  He squeezed his eyes shut un
til the swell of emotion subsided, then let go and gave a breezy smile. “Hey, how about you show Nia the gold star you got for your spelling test?”

  While Rory ran off to find his piece of work, Ollie pushed back to his feet. “I’ll be back by eight-thirty,” he said. “You’ve got my number if— If Rory seems unsettled, or anything, just call, okay?”

  “Okay Mr. Snow.” Nia crouched down as Rory came back with his school book. “Hey, let me see that. Wow—ten out of ten, Rory. That’s awesome!”

  Ollie slipped out while they were still talking, snagging the bags he’d left by the front door on the way. Inside one was the clothes he’d borrowed from Alyssa for Rory, washed and dried. Inside the other was Mr. Morgan’s sweatshirt. And the idea of returning it to him shouldn’t make Ollie’s pulse race, but there it went tap-tap-tapping away and making his fingers tingle in anticipation.

  Stupid crush.

  The Rock House was the kind of bar Ollie would have avoided like herpes before he moved to New Milton. But things had changed—he had changed—and although he felt self-conscious in a place that looked so much like a sports bar, he didn’t let it stop him. Besides, Finn Callaghan and his husband occasionally played there so the Rock House couldn’t be quite as straight as it looked.

  And, talking of not being quite as straight as you looked, Mr. Morgan was locking up his bicycle when Ollie pulled into the Rock House’s parking lot. He wore jeans and a dark jacket and had obviously changed after work. Ollie tried not to read anything into that. He always changed after work too. Didn’t most people?

  Feeling stupidly self-conscious, he waited for Morgan to go into the bar before he got out of his car. The last thing he wanted was for anyone to figure out he was nursing a crush.

  Grabbing his bags from the passenger seat, Ollie locked the car and took his time strolling across the parking lot. When he pushed open the door, music spilled out along with quiet chatter and the delicious scent of the Rock House’s famous burgers. Ollie was glad he’d eaten, or he’d have been tempted. And his bank account couldn’t take the hit after budgeting $20 for babysitting.