Alone now in the apartment with Lance, he felt the need to explain his lack of foresight.
“Thank you again for bringing the desk over and for calling Martin. I should have planned this better, but—” he shrugged, looking down at the arm strapped to his chest and sighed. “I’m not used to being limited like this.”
“Recent injury?” Lance guessed, apparently not in any kind of hurry to leave as he casually glanced around the condo.
Tanner wondered what the guy was looking at. There wasn’t much to his living room besides the two couches that took up most of the floor space.
“Yeah—during deployment. I’ve been stateside for about a month.” It was far more information than he normally would have shared, and he wasn’t sure why he was opening up to Lance, but it felt good—right, even. Everywhere he went, people stared at him. He looked like a guy who rode motorcycles a little too fast. And yeah—he could confess that he used to—but in this case, a bike accident wasn’t the culprit. Sure, he was tattooed and—grunge looking, but he hadn’t deserved these injuries. His hothead tendencies had nothing to do with his current predicament.
“Shit, you got injured while overseas? I’m sorry, that’s terrible—” Lance expressed genuine sympathy. Most people did, but Lance’s comment hit him differently, making him feel an unusual warmth in his chest.
“No worries. I’m the asshole who made you come all the way here without a single clue how we’d get that desk into my condo. How about I get you a cold beer for your trouble?” he proposed, already limping his way to the kitchen.
To his relief, Lance gave a quick nod of agreement.
*****
It was a little early in the day for Lance to have a beer, but curiosity won out, so he accepted Tanner’s offer. The thing was, Lance had met his fair share of bros, jocks, and nerds, so he was surprised that he couldn’t get a read on this guy. Tanner looked like the quintessential bad-boy-all-grown-up who should have lived in a cushy bachelor pad and rode a tricked-out motorcycle. He reminded Lance of the skater boys who had used the parking lot behind the football stadium as a skatepark while he’d been in high school. Tanner had an unruly mop of dark brown hair, light hazel eyes, and lots of colorful tattoos showing around the edges of his black muscle shirt that he wore over a pair of loose sweatpants. His face looked a little grey—as if he wasn’t feeling well. Perhaps even nursing a hangover. Yet, despite his disreputable appearance, he lived in an ordinary condominium complex that housed families. His place was perfectly clean, and noticeably lacking in furnishings, but did have a nice balcony facing an empty parcel of land. Not a bad view, all things considered, but there wasn’t any patio furniture. Not even an old broken chair to indicate that he sometimes enjoyed having a beer in the sun. The living room had two identical couches, brand new, based on the distinct lack of give as he sat down, but there were no lamps or decorative pillows or even a coffee table. Just two big couches facing an empty wall. There was no television or stereo either. Like the guy just sat there, staring at the wall. It screamed monk more than it did available bachelor.
“Did you just move in?” Lance asked Tanner when he returned with two beers in his right hand. He accepted his carefully, enjoying how the cold bottle felt against his overheated skin.
“Yeah. Couple of weeks ago,” he said, taking a sip from his beer and sitting on the other couch. “I don’t have all that much furniture yet. Had to start from ground zero.”
“Are you planning on getting anything else?” Lance asked, looking around the mostly empty room. Hell, even the kitchen looked empty. No table, no chairs. How in the hell did Tanner live this way?
“Everything?” Both laughed as they raised their bottles in unison. “I’m a bit behind when it comes to home decor, but—the past several of years have been—well, let’s just say furniture shopping wasn’t too high on my list.”
Lance wanted to know why things had been that way, but he felt it wasn’t his place to ask.
“You should come by my house. My last girlfriend moved out a couple of weeks ago and left a shitload of stuff she doesn’t want. That’s where the desk came from.”
Tanner frowned, not looking too eager to take him up on the invitation. Lance figured it was time to sweeten the deal.
“I’ll give you a great price on whatever you want. Anything to avoid dealing with all those freaks and weirdos answering my ads on Marketplace.” He really wanted Tanner to think he’d be doing him a solid. Which was actually true.
“Freaks and weirdos?” he asked with a slight smile.
“I’m not exaggerating! Dude, I put this one big dresser up for sale last week. Guy messaged me, asking if my dirty underwear came with it. At first, I thought he was kidding, but he wasn’t. Guy offered me an extra $50 if I promised to put a couple of pairs in it.”
Tanner choked on his sip of beer, burst out laughing, and shook his head. “Freaks and weirdos, alright,” he agreed.
“Exactly! So, help me out here. I don’t even need the money. I just want the shit out of my house. When I listed the stuff for free, people thought I was pulling some kind of scam or something.”
Tanner thought about that for a moment, shaking his head like he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing before hegave a shrug and a nod. “Alright, then. I’d be a dumbass not to accept. Clearly, I need all the help I can get,” he said, looking a little embarrassed.
With a pleased smile, Lance toasted him on his decision.
As they polished off their beers, they chatted about meeting up again in a day or two. Lance shook his hand and thanked him for being such a good sport about accepting his old, rejected pieces of furniture. Tanner was still laughing as Lance walked out the door.
Chapter 3
In all honesty, Tanner didn’t expect to ever hear from Lance again. After all, if someone had predicted that someday he’d end up sitting in his living room talking about buying furniture from the one and only Lance Kingsley, he’d have said they were batshit crazy.
But, surprisingly enough, the very next morning, as Tanner laid stretched out on his couch, thinking about heading into work a little early, a text came in from Lance:
Lance Kingsley
Are you up for a tour of junk room central tonight?
