Wheels and Heels Read online

  Ira had noticed him: bearded—which should be a turnoff but wasn’t—tatty, well-worn jeans, Birkenstocks—unless he was on his bike—and always with a button-down over a T-shirt. Basically, he had next-to-no fashion sense, but was so unconsciously open and relaxed, with a body that didn’t quit, that Ira couldn’t help paying attention. Too bad Jed had never seemed to notice Ira in return.

  When Jed turned his head at a red light and asked for directions to Ira’s place, Ira’s heart sank. Nope. Not even a blip on Jed’s radar. He was probably straight.

  Irritated, Ira pointed to the park.

  “Other side,” he said.

  Jed frowned, tilted his head, but followed Ira’s pointing finger and nodded. So he probably hadn’t heard Ira’s words. No surprise there. Ira cleared his throat and leaned closer.

  His heart rate did not tick up a few notches at the feel of beard against his cheek.

  “I live on the other side of the park,” he said. “The place with the pink cinderblocks?”

  Jed nodded and gave him a thumbs-up. The light changed and they moved forward.

  Well. That was interesting. Not only was this guy going in his direction, he was going directly to Jed’s building. He couldn’t have lived there long if Jed hadn’t seen him around before now. This was a guy Jed definitely would have noticed. But maybe that was down to the number of hours he’d been working at the pub. As short-staffed as they were, it felt like he’d lived there the last few months.

  Likely, he was a student at one of the nearby colleges or universities. Jed’s building might look cheesy and sketchy from the outside, but it had decent apartments and affordable rent that made it popular for students. The housing complex that had begun construction across from the park was supposed to ease the student-housing shortage, but progress had slowed to a crawl, making the neighbourhood a little bit scarier than it once had been.

  “Here you go,” he said as he pulled up in front of the building, though most likely, the words were lost under the rumble of engine. He tried not to be disappointed at how quickly his rider disembarked, covering it by doffing his helmet and wedging it between the handlebars. Hopefully, his hair didn’t look completely dorky. He swept it up into a thick, short ponytail as quickly as possible to minimize the helmet-head effect. Man bun might also be dorky, but was infinitely preferable to sweaty and stuck to his skull.

  “Thank—” The guy snarled as his books went sprawling across the pavement, quickly followed by the messenger bag, out of which spilled a froth of lace and netting. “Shit.”

  “Thank shit?” Jed chuckled, but shut the bike off and helped his passenger gather the books, while pretending he didn’t notice him frantically shoving the mounds of uncooperative silvery material back into his bag. Bits of it still stuck out once he had the flap closed, but Jed noticed the buckles were missing parts and could no longer be buckled.

  “Thank you,” the guy muttered, reaching for the books as he awkwardly stuffed the overfilled bag under his arm.

  “I can carry these.”

  The guy’s eyes widened. “No. It’s fine. I can—”

  “At least to the stairs?”

  The kohl-lined, dilated-pupil stare was his only reply.

  “I’m harmless. I promise.” Jed tucked the books under his arm and his bike key into his jeans pocket, then retrieved his apartment keys. “Come on. Can’t leave my bike here long.” He didn’t know what floor the guy was on, but there were only five of them, and only a dozen apartments on each floor to choose from. The building had a mix of long-time tenants like him, and short-term students. Jed knew which apartments had high turnovers, so that narrowed the choice even more.

  The guy hurried after him towards the front door of the building. “You live here.”

  Softly voiced, that wasn’t a question, which was weird, but Jed shrugged. “Yup.” He headed for the street door. “Eight years now. Found it when I was an undergrad at Ryerson. I’m on five at the far end of the hall. Parking lot side, thank God.” The other side of the building looked out onto the brick wall of the hotel next door. “Oh, for Pete’s sake!” He bent to pick up a small section of garden fencing that was leaning against the calf-high planter in front of the building. “Someone keeps pulling this out and setting it to the side. I swear it’s to let their dog piss in my garden.” He shoved the fencing back into the earth along the edge of the planter, and straightened. “Which floor?” He unlocked the door and held it expectantly.

  “Oh. Me . . .” The guy hurried inside. “I’m on four.”

  There was a wispy quality to the guy’s voice that made him hard to hear. Jed tried to minimize his movements, reduce the jingle of his boot chains and keys so he didn’t miss anything.

  “Last on the left too.” The guy pointed toward the stairs and rearranged his bag again.

  “So you’re right under me.” Jed inwardly winced as soon as the words were out.

  The guy’s face flushed a delicious pink. “No! I—”

  “Come on. I’ll drop these off, then I have to move my bike.”

  “Where do you park it?”

  “Got a deal with the landlord. He lets me park it inside the fenced area as long as I keep it locked and keep people out. I’m on call for minor maintenance stuff too. Leaky pipes and burnt bulbs, I’m your guy.”

  “You’re the super?”

  “Yeah, I guess I am. I can handle most basic stuff. Grew up on a farm, so.” He shrugged. “I got skills.”

  His companion smiled at last. He had a dimple on his left cheek, and in the light inside the foyer, his eyes were a little less stormy and a bit more sparkly. Or that could have been the glitter of eyeshadow. Jed wasn’t sure. But the effect made his heart skip a few times, just the same. It didn’t help one bit when the guy began to nibble on the lip gloss coating his lower lip.

  Ira tasted cherry and realized he was nibbling on his lower lip. Hastily, he stopped, licked the tender spot, then huffed out a breath when he realized Jed was watching his mouth very closely.

  Unnerved, he glanced around the time-worn lobby of the building. The glittering chandelier and two ancient, brocade-and-carved-wood sofas gave the deserted lobby the sense that it had dropped out of its own time and been forgotten in this one. They were a dust-pale reminder of the grandeur hinted at by the two sweeping branches of the staircase that led, one left, one right, up to the first floor.

  Ira motioned to the set that branched up to the left. “After you.” His voice was smaller inside, even, than it had been out on the street, and he lowered his chin. He’d never unlearned the habit of keeping his voice down, staying small, being unobtrusive. It was the best way he knew to stay safe, but common sense also said keep the bigger man where he could see him. Not that he thought Jed would pull anything.

  Or that he wanted to watch how Jed’s jeans clung to his ass and thick thighs as he walked.

  On the first floor, Jed held open the door to the rest of the stairwell leading to the upper floors, and they continued the climb to the accompanying shushing of their feet on the worn carpet. Ira said nothing when Jed held the fourth-floor door for him, as well, and followed him down the corridor to the far end.

  They had just passed Ruby’s door and Ira was fiddling with his keys, when her door opened.

  She poked her head out. “Hey, Ira? Oh!” She smiled wide. “Hey, Jed.”

  Jed acknowledged her, and she turned back to Ira. “Baby, your phone has been ringing off the hook all night. Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah, Ruby. I’m sorry. My cell battery gave up the ghost. It’s probably my mother. She worries. I’ll tell her to stop, okay? I hope she didn’t wake Tess and Danny.” It was a lie. Probably the last person who would call him was his mother. He’d figure out who was blowing up his phone later.

  Ruby waved a hand at him. “I wish. They won’t settle anyway. Their daddy’s picking them up this weekend, and they are so excited.” She blew her corkscrew bangs off her forehead and sighed. “Just wish h
e hadn’t told them on Wednesday. Now I have two more days of ‘How much longer?’ and ‘Do you think daddy will . . .’ fill in the blank with everything from ‘take us to the park’ to ‘buy us ponies.’ So.” She huffed out a breath, sending the curl up again. “Fun times.”

  “You can do it,” Ira encouraged.

  “You need me to get them on the bus in the morning?” Jed asked as Ira at last found his key and slid it into the slot.

  “I’ll be okay for that, but could you get them off at three? I can’t get home until six or so. I know it’s longer than normal, but . . .”

  Jed’s face fell.

  “No, don’t worry,” she said quickly. “I’ll think of something.”

  “Just that I don’t get off the lunch shift until four, or you know I would. We just lost another server. The turnover is getting ridiculous.”

  “I can,” Ira blurted and his voice squeaked. I can? I don’t know the first thing about kids. He glanced wildly at Jed, who tilted his head. “I mean. They know me.” He glanced at his toes, then peered up at Ruby. “They can hang here until he gets home, right?” He flailed a possibly hysterical wave in Jed’s direction.

  Ruby lifted an eyebrow and looked at Jed.

  “Sure,” Jed said slowly.

  “Are you sure, Ira?” Ruby sounded sceptical. “They can be a real handful.”

  “Nah.” He flapped a hand. “It’ll be fine. We’ll be fine. We’ll . . . figure it out.” The kids were six years old. How bad could it be, hanging out with twins for an hour or two?

  “You’re a lifesaver, Ira. I swear. I owe you.” Ruby’s smile was so wide and relieved, he couldn’t help but smile back.

  What the hell did I just do? “Don’t worry. I have one teensy rehearsal at ten. It’s over by noon, and I’ll be home by one. Lots of time.” Not like he had a real job to worry about. The last one had ended when his manager hadn’t bothered to correct a belligerent customer who kept trying to cop a feel under Ira’s skirt. In fact, the manager had suggested Ira just let the asshole satisfy his curiosity and move on. Ira had been shown the door when he’d poured the asshole customer’s mojito over the asshole manager’s head and told them both to go fuck each other.

  He shivered at the memory. Confrontation wasn’t his thing, but neither was being treated like some kind of curiosity for other men’s amusement.

  “You okay?” Jed asked. A warmth, firm and huge, settled at the small of Ira’s back.

  “Fine,” he snapped, stepping away just as he realized the warmth was Jed’s hand, and that it was comforting. “Yeah.” He offered a limp smile as compensation. “I’m fine. Just a chill.” Not entirely a lie.

  Jed’s frown under his beard was sort of epic and sort of adorable at once.

  “Listen.” Ruby’s chipper voice broke the moment, and Ira glanced at her, almost having forgotten her presence. “I have got to turn in. I have a double tomorrow, and the kids—well. I have to get them into bed. I really appreciate you guys helping me out.” She winked and backed up to close her door.

  “No problem,” Jed told her.

  “Happy to,” Ira agreed, and she closed her door, leaving them alone in the hallway.

  “So.” Jed shifted from one foot to the other. “I’ll—”

  Ira pushed open his apartment door. “Can you put those on the table?” Now he had Jed here, he wasn’t going to waste the opportunity. “Don’t worry about the floors,” he added quickly when Jed glanced at his feet in their heavy boots, then at the pale linoleum between the door and the kitchen table.

  “Sure.” Jed strode through Ira’s apartment looking completely out of place. He was huge, dressed in dark jeans, black boots, and a thick, wool-lined hoodie in grizzly-bear brown. Ira’s place was, like him, pale, delicate, filled with whimsy, and completely impractical.

  “I like what you’ve done here,” Jed said, setting one stack of the text books down gently. The rest seemed forgotten under one arm as he took a thorough look around, gaze gravitating to the cloth covering Ira’s current clay sculpture. Other pieces in various stages of completion lined the shelf above his work space. He’d been going a bit overboard with a dark-fey forest theme the past few weeks, and twisted trees, gnarled flowers, and ethereally beautiful but sinister male near-nudes awaited his attention.

  Buckets of carefully labelled oven-bake clay were stacked on another shelf, along with his paints and brushes, all backed by a dazzlingly not-safe-for-kids display of the sketches he intended for the next series.

  Ira’s face heated. His space, his pride and joy, suddenly looked like a leftovers sale in the Value Village overflows section—the stuff they kept by the back door because it wasn’t good enough to put on the sale floor—crossed with an amateur porn shop. He dropped his messenger bag and kicked it under a kitchen chair, then wrapped both arms around his stomach. “Thanks.” The word came out a soft rasp of sound, and he ducked his head, trying to clear his throat.

  “You okay?” Jed turned to him immediately, taking a few of those long, authoritative strides in his direction. “Ira?”

  “Fine,” Ira barked. Or tried to. Once again, his voice failed him, and the word came out more of a faint pop than speech.

  “Hey.” Jed was right there, in his space, his shadow looming, close enough Ira could hear his breathing. He was huge, really. Not paunchy, but broad and dark, and Ira curled tighter, hunching his shoulders. He shouldn’t be afraid of Jed. The man’s touch was tender as a teddy bear when he pried Ira’s chin up with one finger.

  “Look at me.” His deep, rumbly voice, quiet as Ira’s normally was, still resonated and spread a swath of warmth between them. That encouraged Ira to lift his gaze from the cracked edge of the welcome mat he’d found in a clearance bin in the Canadian Tire parking lot sale.

  “Hey,” he whispered.

  Jed’s smile curved wide and eased Ira’s nerves. “Hey there.”

  Ira blinked, watching as the hairs of Jed’s beard shifted and reformed with the smile. Fine lines appeared between his brows. Without thinking, Ira reached up to touch them, like he could smooth them away, as if easing an imperfection from soft clay.

  Jed’s eyes widened ever so slightly. Their moss-green depths lit, and Ira found himself swallowing his uncertainty. Mechanical, razor-winged butterflies whirred to life in his belly, and he licked his lips.

  He didn’t move a muscle as Jed leaned in, laid his lips over Ira’s, and kissed him with the same gentleness he’d lifted his chin. The tickle of Jed’s moustache surprised him, and he jolted. It was a tiny twitch, like he’d become one of those butterflies, trapped in Jed’s tender grip.

  The kiss ended abruptly as Jed straightened. “I—” A flush rushed up his cheeks from under the dark beard, and he stepped back. Not exactly roughly, he thrust the books he was still carrying into Ira’s hands and backed out the door. “I’m sorry!” He turned and practically fled, the door closing in his wake.

  For a heartbeat, Ira was frozen in place, shock, excitement, and disappointment all roiling inside, immobilizing him. Then he realized Jed had run, and he tossed the texts onto the dining table. They slewed across it, some tumbling to the floor, but Ira was already at the door, after Jed.

  By the time he got the door open and his head out into the hallway, Jed was abreast of Mrs. Stanfield’s apartment and moving fast. Just as Ira was about to call out, Mrs. Stanfield’s door swung open, and a tiny brown blur sped past Jed’s feet.

  Quick as lightning, Jed scooped the bundle up and turned as Mrs. Stanfield’s voice tinkled out of her apartment. “Scruffles!”

  “I got her, Mrs. S.,” Jed called, going back.

  “Oh. Jed.” The little old lady’s voice broke over Jed’s name, and she appeared in the door, dropping a bag of garbage to the floor at her feet. “Thank you, young man.” She shook a finger at her dog. “Bad dog!”

  Scruffles wiggled in Jed’s hands.

  “I was just bringing my trash to the chute and he bolted.”

  “Let
me.” Settling the pup in the crook of his elbow, Jed picked up the sack of trash and waited while Mrs. Stanfield shuffled out of her door with another, smaller sack in her hand.

  “Thank you, Jed. You’re a good boy.”

  Jed chuckled. “I try, Mrs. S. I try.”

  Ira loosened his death grip on his door handle, and it rattled. Jed glanced over at him, pulled in a breath, but Ira lifted one hand. He smiled, gave a little nod and a wave.

  Jed nodded back, staring for a moment, lips parted, gaze fixed on Ira’s lips. Mrs. Stanfield said something to him, and with a last, quick lick of his lips, Jed broke the connection to escort Mrs. Stanfield and Scruffles to the trash chute.

  Ira slipped inside, closed and locked his door, then focused on cleaning up the books and straightening out his clothes from his messenger bag.

  At least that answered the straight-not-straight question.

  Cherries. The thought filled Jed’s head as Mrs. Stanfield prattled on about Scruffles’s latest foray into her pantry, and his discovery of a long-forgotten package of mini marshmallows.

  Ira tastes like cherry pie filling. And he could draw. Really well. A flush of heat spanned Jed’s chest when he pictured the images on Ira’s wall.

  “Good God. He’d better take those down before the kids—”

  “Pardon?” Mrs. S. looked up at him as he pushed back the cover of the garbage chute.

  “Oh!” Jed smiled down at her. “Nothing. Sorry. I was preoccupied.”

  She tossed her sack into the dark square, then waved a hand at him. “You young people. Always with six things on your mind at once.”

  Not six. Just the one. And Jed’s imagination was off again, this time focused on the memory of Ira’s swaying hips as he’d hurried to cross the street in those towering heels. And why don’t those heels bother me one little bit? Because Ira rocked them, for one thing. Plus, attending high school in the small, theatre-oriented town of Stratford, he’d seen all kinds. The only surprise had been that he had mistaken Ira for a girl at all, not that Ira had been partly dressed like one.