Scott dipped his head and pressed a kiss against Joe’s arm, just in case he wouldn’t get the chance to do it again. Opening his eyes, he looked down at the envelope Joe had given him to fill.
You have far more balls than you give yourself credit for…
There was just a small chance that Joe had been right when he wrote that. Scott took a deep breath. As crazy as the possibility sounded to him, maybe he did have it in him to be brave and take a risk. Maybe this really wouldn’t be the last time he’d share a bed with Joe.
Part Fifteen: Dear Sir
Dear Sir…
It was the obvious way to start a letter, especially when addressing a man that Scott was growing ever more attached to calling sir.
For several seconds, Scott stared down at the piece of paper. If only the rest of the letter would come to him as naturally as those first two words had. He closed his eyes, but there was no hiding from what he needed to say. There was no way he could be careful and consider each word either. He’d drive himself mad if he tried to make the letter as perfect as the one Joe deserved to receive.
When Scott opened his eyes, the blank page glared back at him, as if daring him to place his pen on the surface. The dark wooden top of the old fashioned dresser in the corner of Scott’s bedroom surrounded the white paper.
There was a mirror was attached to the back of the dresser. Scott really wished he’d been able to move that as easily as he’d pushed aside all the junk that lived on the dresser’s surface. When Scott looked up from the paper, it was impossible for him to avoid his reflection.
As he met his own gaze, every taunt that small-minded bullies had thrown at him over the years hit its target all over again.
What the hell did he think he had to offer a man like Joe?
Maybe Joe had proved that Scott could find a guy in a sauna who wouldn’t kick him out of bed for eating crackers, but that didn’t mean he was good enough for Joe. He was scrawny and stupid, ugly and clumsy; a stuttering little fool who no one like Joe would ever want to touch, let alone love.
“No.” Scott said the word so loudly, he shocked himself into looking away from his reflection. He looked down at the paper once more.
This time, he didn’t even allow himself time to take a deep breath. He started writing. The pen moved over the notepaper more rapidly than it had in any exam he’d sat while he was in school.
Barely permitting himself to think with the conscious part of his brain, Scott just wrote as quickly as he could move his pen. The letters that appeared on the page weren’t neatly formed, the sentences weren’t properly structured; but none of that mattered. Scott doubted Joe would give a damn if he wrote in Shakespearian verse or text-speak.
Joe just wanted to know what was in his head—honest and unedited. That was what he’d asked for, and that was what he was going to get.
Scott kept writing. Turning over the page, he kept going. His fingers cramped. His knuckles turned white as he tightened his grip on his pen, but Scott didn’t falter.
Finally, he lifted his hand away from the second double-sided page. Grabbing the envelope, Scott pushed the letter inside before he could change his mind or lose his courage. He licked the envelope, sealed it, and turned it over.
Smoothing out the pale surface, Scott did his best to ensure it would look as immaculate as possible when it arrived in Joe’s hands. He didn’t look up or glance in the mirror; that would have been far too big a risk to take.
Staring down at the envelope, Scott finally gave himself a moment to pull himself together. His lungs moved breaths into and out of his body as if nothing momentous had just happened. Even though Scott wasn’t entirely sure what he’d babbled out in total, he had no doubt it had the power to make or break the rest of his life.
There was no way he could deliver it in person. The alternative was obvious. Picking up his pen once more, Scott wrote a little more calmly this time. Taking intense care with each letter, he wrote out Joe’s address, applied a stamp to the top corner of the envelope, and walked to the door leading out of his rented room.
Not stopping to pick up a coat, or even his wallet, he left the building with nothing more than his room key and his letter. The nearest post box he knew of was over half a mile away. Scott marched himself to it without allowing any time for doubts to creep in. He soon stood alongside the bright red pillar-box.
He pressed a hasty kiss to the letter and pushed it through the slot.
Letting out a deep breath, Scott smiled slightly as he turned to walk back to his room. The wind was bitter. He was damn near freezing. He also knew that, even if Joe tore up the letter and disappeared off the face of the earth without ever saying another word to him, he’d always carry something of Joe inside him.
If nothing else, Scott was well aware that the man he’d been when he first met Joe would never have had the courage to post that letter.
* * * * *
Joe stopped in the main hallway of the block of flats where he lived and unlocked the little mailbox marked with his flat number. He was running late, again. That was probably what came from not being able to sleep for more than twenty minutes at a time.
Scott was driving him insane. Worse of all, he was managing to do it long distance. Joe didn’t even have the opportunity to enjoy the sight of him, let alone touch him, or kiss him, or pin him down, or…
Joe growled irritably under his breath as he stuffed his mail into his leather jacket for safekeeping and marched out to his bike. He didn’t spare a thought for his post until he took off his jacket when he reached the club, three minutes after his shift should have started.
The place was practically empty. Even though it was open, there wouldn’t be many customers for at least another twenty minutes. Hanging up his jacket, Joe dropped his mail on the rickety table in the staff room at the back of the club.
