“We’re not together anymore,” he said quickly.
“Oh.” Avery’s eyes turned sympathetic. “I’m sorry. That’s too bad.”
“Thanks.” Oliver said it more because you were supposed to. In the end, Cooper had shown exactly who he was, and the only real shame was how long Oliver took to realize it.
Avery hopped out of his chair like he’d been bitten and then pulled his phone out of his pocket. “It’s my uncle. I have to get back to work. I was supposed to go buy us some coffees and come right back.” He smiled sheepishly.
“I’m sorry to keep you.”
“No!” Avery waved his hands. “You were a big help! I would have bought a bunch more from you today, and based on what you’ve said, I would’ve regretted it later.”
Oliver couldn’t comment on Avery’s specific digestive system, but he shuddered to think about it. “Happy to help, then! I’ll see you on Monday!”
“You bet!” Avery beamed at him and rushed out of the store. He nearly knocked over the postwoman who came through the front door.
Mail today included a few bills, a lot of junk, and one envelope with a return address from the Seacroft Farmer’s Market Board of Directors. Oliver opened it.
Mr. Stevenson,
On behalf of the board of directors, it has come to our attention that your business,Pulpability, does not meet the requirements under the by-laws of our organization. We work very hard to protect the integrity of the Seacroft Historic Farmer’s Market brand, and trust that you can understand the need to ensure it is represented by local producers—
Oliver paused, not fully understanding what he was reading. He started at the top again.
Mr. Stevenson,
On behalf of—
The letter was horrifically written. If anyone in his office—his old office—had written something like that, they’d have been fired on the spot. While there seemed to be a problem with his position at the market, what the by-law in question was and the reasons his business might violate it was unclear. The writer finished with an obtusely worded invitation to attend the next board meeting, which happened to be the following week.
Well, that was convenient. They sent him a vague letter, invited him to a meeting with almost no time to prepare, and gave him no idea what he should be preparing for anyway. A phone number was listed at the top of the page. He dialed it, but the call went to voicemail.
By the time he got home again, Oliver was restless and frustrated. He made dinner—curried okra and brown rice that turned out to be slimier than he’d expected—and tried to keep his mind off work and the letter, but in no time he was in his office, going through his files on the market. He found the by-laws and read through them carefully. Nothing raised any red flags.
He went to the market home page online next, but it only showed pictures of happy shoppers on sunny days, and farmers proudly displaying truckloads of corn and their bushels of apples.
Weirdly, as he continued to wander the vastness of the internet, he found himself on Damian Marshall’s social media feed. Just like Avery had said, Damian was ripped and Hollywood perfect, smiling his movie-star smile into the camera with something green in a glass at the bottom of the frame.
Best #allnatural energy boost there is. #juice #juicing #coldpressed #bestlife #greengod
Oliver rolled his eyes. Sure, Damian looked all cool and perfect with his nutritionally balanced and carefully calibrated juice blend. But were there any warnings for the Averys of the world about the inevitable intestinal distress when you drank three of those in eight hours?
The juice was the same color as Damian’s eyes.
Oliver tended to notice a guy’s body and his smile before he noticed his eyes, but he might be developing a thing for Nick’s eyes, black-brown and bottomless. And his hands. Strong and rough. Who needed a celebrity when Oliver had Nick’s hands on his body and his cock?
Next time, though, they’d find their way to Oliver’s bed. The rug had been fine, but the raw spot above the base of his spine had only gotten redder and angrier over the course of the day. He wasn’t a kid anymore. He had dignity to maintain.
Somewhere along his internet tour, he must have nodded off, because he woke up in a small puddle of drool on his desk. So much for dignity. Also, he was at half-mast in his pants, because he’d been dreaming of a man with dark eyes and a hard body who pushed him down and did nasty things to him.
His computer screen was dark. His shoulders ached, and his house was too quiet.
He stumbled down the hall, brushed his teeth, and stripped out of his clothes. He fell into bed, still agitated and restless, and waited for sleep to find him so he could go back to his dream.
* * *
Quiet nights at the station were infrequent but predictable. Nick would arrive and get installed at his terminal. Even a small town like Seacroft had a few calls every night, but on the quiet nights, most were usually false alarms, or a minor first responder call if the fire department was in a position to reach the incident before the paramedics could. These nights were good; they gave Nick a chance to catch up on his reporting and clear his head from the noise and stress at home.
But as it got later and later, and then quieter and quieter, his mind wandered to Oliver. It had been a few days, and while they hadn’t said anything about how frequently their little get-togethers might be, or who could contact who, Nick was hesitant to take the lead. For one, he couldn’t very well invite Oliver over to his house while Anya and Hayden were there. And even if they weren’t, the house was small and cluttered. They’d have to clear out the coffee table and a couple of the chairs from the living room before anyone could roll around on the carpet.
