Mr. Right Now Read online

  He took off his thin, black-rimmed glasses and rubbed his eyes. It had been a long day. A strand of his dark hair fell into his face and he swept it back. The flight attendant walked by just as Deacon looked back up. Deacon watched him. Not only did he have a well-built upper body, his thighs also looked large and muscular hidden beneath the tight, black slacks. Deacon imagined the man a rugby player (that being the only Australian sport he could think of). The man looked at Deacon and gave him a quick nod, making Deacon quickly look away. The acknowledgment terrified him.

  “He looked at you. Right at you!” Carol said a little louder than he would have wished. “Why did you look away?” “I don’t know! It’s what I do. My stomach goes into knots and I freak out.” He sighed. “I’m going to die alone.” He turned back to the window.

  “Oh, the dramatics!” she said. “Besides, are you already planning a future with this guy? What do you have going on in that pretty head of yours? He probably just wants a fuck. You can find a boyfriend when we land.”

  Deacon shook his head and smiled. But the idea of “just a fuck” with the flight attendant was hot. He did have those huge, strong thighs, after all. Deacon felt some fledgling desire begin to stir in him; some new restlessness.

  The plane began to taxi down the runway. In the air, all Deacon could think of were ways to atone for his lack of contact with the man. He chided himself mildly, making promises to do better. The same promises he had made on numerous other similar occasions at fraternity parties, bars, dinners. Nothing ever came of those situations, either. He did go to the restroom once, hoping to bump into the flight attendant along the way, but had no such luck. Every time the man passed by his seat, it was too quick to get a proper nod, though Deacon was caught looking plenty of times. The flight attendant eventually smiled at the attention. It wasn’t as overt as a proper smile, but it contained a hint of possibilities. Deacon forced himself to smile in return. It took energy. His heart pounded as the grin stretched across his face. There was a sense of victory with that smile.

  After that, it was easier, as if they were friends or at least casually acquainted. The flight attendant came by more often, once with a couple of gift bags from business class, handing one to Deacon with inquiring eyes. “Here you go,” he said, though there was a wealth of innuendo beneath that harmless statement.

  “Oh my God,” Carol kidded. “He loves you!” She jabbed him with her elbow. It was about midway through the flight when Carol left her seat to use the restroom and stretch. There was a line, so it would be a while before she returned. They were gliding through night clouds, darkness the only thing visible from the window. Deacon was paging through one of the various airline magazines selling oddities he was certain he could never possibly need when the flight attendant sat down beside him in Carol’s seat.

  “My name’s Joel,” he said in a deep, accented voice. Deacon almost shattered into a million pieces at the suddenness of the situation. He collected himself, though, and shook Joel’s outstretched hand. It was strong and firm.

  “Deacon,” he introduced himself. His heart pounded fiercely and he swallowed hard.

  “You headed to Australia for uni?” Joel asked.

  “Uh, yeah,” Deacon stumbled out. “University of Sydney. Are you from Australia?”

  “No. Auckland,” Joel replied. “You should hop over there some time. You’d love it. There’s a lot to see.” “Do you play rugby?” Deacon asked. His conversation skills were usually much better, but they evaporated when faced with someone he found so attractive.

  “A little bit,” Joel said. “What about you? You’re a big guy.” He made a flexing motion with his arm. “You work out?” “Yeah. When I can.” In fact, that was a lie. Deacon made sure to work out six days a week, but he didn’t want to seem obsessive about it.

  “Well,” Joel said as he rose. “You’re very cute.” And there it was. A phrase Deacon had never heard another man ever say to him, certainly not in the States, not in the small town in which he had spent his childhood.

  “Th-thanks,” was all his stunned self could muster. He was already beating himself up before Joel walked away. He wanted to shout “No! Wait! Come back!”, but that would have been desperate and silly. And yet maybe that was what he needed to be. Maybe sheer lunacy was his only hope. But the moment had passed. The awkward conversation, if it could be referred to as such, was over, and there was no getting it back.

  He replayed it in his mind like a humiliating reality program, inserting what he should have said here or what might have been better there. And why, for Christ’s sake, when Joel complimented his looks, didn’t he return the compliment? Anything! Even “Hey man, I think you’re hot as balls, too!”

  When Carol finally returned from the restroom, she could tell he was distracted. He couldn’t bring himself to tell her why. Her criticisms, even in jest, stung.

  “It’s nothing,” he said wanting to scream under the selfrage that was growing stronger by the second. He kept his eyes on Joel, hoping for another second chance. He couldn’t help hoping that the flight attendant would glance his way again. But it didn’t happen. Joel didn’t pass by as often as before.

  “Where’s your lover?” Carol asked offhandedly. “We’ve split,” Deacon joked, trying to keep the desperation from gushing out. He kept quiet and still in his seat, dozing off occasionally, but he was awakened each time with a fresh sense of self-contempt for the way he handled the situation with Joel. He was all too aware of his true self and the desire and yearning of his bruised and battered conscience. He shifted in his seat as if some physical form was fighting its way out of him. Finally, Deacon could take the self-abuse no longer. He looked around nervously, standing up to get a better view of who surrounded him on the plane.

  “What’s wrong?” Carol asked, waking from her own nap. “What are you doing?” Deacon didn’t respond. His eyes were following a glimpse of tight black slacks and strong shoulders that was disappearing into the restroom.

  This was his final chance. Without really thinking, Deacon decided to take it.

  “I’ll be right back,” Deacon told Carol as he made his way to the restroom. There was no one else in line. Fortunately, everyone was safely in their seats, asleep and still. If there had been others, Deacon might have given up the idea, scared off by a religiousfiend mother or a teddy-bear-hugging little girl.

  Deacon’s heart felt as if it might explode as he heard the latch click and the lavatory door slide open. Joel stood looking at Deacon, an expression of slight surprise on his face.

  “What are you doing?” he asked. His eyes moved over Deacon, making him feel dirty and sordid. It was more enjoyable than Deacon expected.

  “Being desperate and silly,” he replied as he pushed Joel backward into the lavatory and shut the door behind them.

  Eric Arvin Eric Arvin resides in the same sleepy Indiana river town where he grew up. After graduating from Hanover College with a Bachelors in History, he has lived, for brief periods, in Italy and Australia. He’s survived brain surgery and his own loud-mouthed personal demons. His other fiction includes The Rest is Illusion (Nominated for Lambda Literary Award: Best Gay Debut Fiction, 2006), SubSurdity: Vignettes from Jasper Lane, and Slight Details & Random Events, his first anthology of short stories.

  Visit Eric’s Website at http://www.ericarvin.net/

  A Screw and a Stud

  By Sonja Spencer

  WHISTLING as he walked down the aisle of the hardware store, Mark set down the box of product and pulled out a box cutter, deftly opening the cardboard and starting to hang up packages of screws and nails.

  Tommy stepped into the air-cooled, brightly lit store, glancing around at the various items that hung on metal pegs in every direction. He walked slowly down each aisle, squinting as he looked around. Not paying attention to where he was going, he bumped into a slightly malleable surface and tripped headlong down the aisle.

  Glancing up as he saw a customer trip over one of the rubb
er floor mats, Mark lumbered to his feet and hurried over to help him up. “Are you all right?” he asked, crouching down next to the other man.

  Tommy glanced up, meeting kind, dirt brown eyes. “Pride’s the only thing’s hurt,” he mumbled, rubbing at his knees as he prepared to rise. “Didn’t let my eyes adjust well enough.”

  Smiling in sympathy, Mark offered his hand to help the other man up. “I know how that can be. I’m just glad you’re not injured.”

  Blushing as he was helped to his feet, Tommy made a show of dusting off his clothes, more to hide his face than anything. “I should watch out for those mats. They’re out to get me. Just last week, I almost tripped over one at the Circle Mart.”

  Mouth edging into a grin, Mark slowly let go of the man’s arm. “Yeah, you’ve got to watch out for them, they can be vicious,” he joked along.

  Tommy missed the heat of the contact immediately, but he didn’t let it show. “I’m searching for lube.” He blushed, realizing how it sounded. “I mean, the hinges on the screen door are creaking… and I… yeah…”

  “Sure, we’ve got some WD-40 over here, good for all sorts of hinges, stuff like that,” Mark said, not even noticing the wordplay, looking quite earnest and helpful.

  Tommy smiled, relieved that his blunder went unnoticed. “WD-40, you say? How do I use it?” He hated to sound so ignorant, but truth be told, he was.

  “It’s a spray can, real easy,” Mark said, turning and leading the way around the corner and up the next aisle. He picked up a metal can. “This red straw goes in the slot here, then you just shake and spray.”

  A wide smile spread across Tommy’s face. “Spray-on lube. Novel idea, that.”

  Mark blinked, tilting his head. “Oh, yeah. Not like you can get a squeeze tube of grease in some of those tight places,” he said. Tommy tried. Really, he did. But at the mention of squeeze tubes in tight places, he simply cracked up. Mark looked utterly lost as the man in front of him laughed so openly. He glanced again at the metal can and held it up. “Um, one can or two?” he asked cluelessly.

  “I think one can will do it, Mr. …” Tommy cast a quizzical gaze at the other man. “I didn’t catch your name.”

  “Mark Baker,” the clerk said as he held his hand out to shake.

  Tommy took the large hand, barely able to wrap his fingers around it. “Tommy Griggs, Mr. Baker.” Mark shook his hand, smiling. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Griggs. And, sorry again about the mat. Is there anything else I can help you with today?”

  Tommy looked around the store, searching for any excuse to stay in the coolness and Mr. Baker’s company a bit longer. “Um, I need a screw?” He blushed again. “To hang a painting I bought last week.”

  “Sure. How big is the painting?” Mark asked, turning to walk back to where he left the box of stock.

  Eyeing Mark’s behind as he walked away, Tommy said, “A big screw. I need a big screw…” he mumbled. Already thinking of what he might have in stock, Mark stopped and perused the rows of boxes hanging on pegs. “Will you be hanging it on a stud?” he asked absently.

  “A stud would be nice.” Tommy nearly drooled, but then snapped to attention. He laughed long and hard. “Listen at us… we might as well just proposition each other.”

  Mark blinked, eyes widening as he looked at the customer, his cheeks flaming with color. “Ah…” he said, “I…” his jaw dropped. He was at a loss.

  Tommy laid a hand on Mark’s forearm, giving it a light squeeze. “Don’t faint. I was just kidding.” Relaxing a little, Mark smiled again, his face still a little flushed. “Um. I’m flattered, actually,” he murmured, shifting his feet a little, looking at his sneakers. It looked hilarious on a man topping six-foot-six and 250 pounds.

  Deciding to chance it, Tommy asked, “Should I proposition you? Ask you to come to my place, and… hang my painting?” Eyes widening again, Mark looked up at Tommy. “Um. I can hang your painting, yeah,” he said, voice hesitant. “I’m… I wouldn’t know what else to do… unless you helped me.” Then the other jokes made sense, and he glanced at the can in Tommy’s hand and blushed pink.

  That blush was absolutely charming, Tommy thought. “How about just dinner and maybe a movie to start with?” Tommy asked, hiding the can behind his back.

  Mark relaxed and smiled. “Yeah. I’d like that,” he said rather bashfully.

  “Shall I pick you up here?” Tommy asked, picking at the wrapper on the WD-40 can. Nodding, Mark glanced at his watch. “I get off at five.” Then he blushed again. “Um. I mean… I’m off the clock at five.” The taller man shuffled his feet again, and one hand lifted to scrub at the back of his neck.

  Tommy bit his lip, trying to hide the grin. “I’ll make a note of that. Mark gets off at five. Okay. I hope you have a quick recovery time.” He grinned.

  Mark winced and covered his eyes with that large hand for a moment before peeking at Tommy. “Yeah, well, I’m usually tired after work,” he muttered. “C’mon, I’ll check you out at the register,” he said, turning to walk down the aisle, obviously not catching what Tommy had said.

  Tommy followed closely behind Mark. “Hope you don’t mind if I check you out right here.” Mark froze, stopping dead in place as he flushed even brighter red. Tommy forced an innocent smile onto his face. “Or would you rather I check you out in the nuts and bolts aisle?”

  Stifling a chuckle, Mark shook his head, finally catching on. “You’re gonna be a wild ride, aren’t you?” he asked. Tommy laughed and shrugged. “Possibly. I hope so, anyway.” He followed Mark on to the register before holding out his arms and turning around. “Okay, we’re here. Check me out, baby.”

  Grinning madly, Mark just shook his head, reaching to swipe the can of WD-40 out of Tommy’s hand. “I, uh, had more hands-on of a check out in mind. More along the line of frisking,” Mark flirted weakly, cheeks still pink.

  Pretending to growl, Tommy teased, “I like a frisky man. And I’m a definite subscriber to the old adage ‘learn by doing’. I want to learn all about you, Mark Baker.”

  Sobering a little, Mark looked – really looked – at Tommy, and slowly nodded. “I agree, Tommy Griggs,” he said, a bit quieter.

  Tommy offered him a genuine smile. “Guess I should go by the grocery, get some food that’s edible…” He felt reluctant to leave Mark’s presence.

  Mark glanced at his watch. Four o’clock. “It’s only an hour,” he said, albeit hesitantly. Then he looked dismissive. “I’m not such a prize that you won’t be able to get along that long before seeing me again.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Tommy murmured. “But I do need to get food, unless all you need is soda and popcorn.” Holding his palm to his stomach, Mark looked doubtful. Tommy pretended to be offended. “Well, since you won’t eat my popcorn and soda, how about wine and pasta?” Mark grinned. “That’s a pretty good offer. Throw in some cheesecake, I might even… frisk you after,” he said. His face was still flushed, and he looked half-mortified at the words that came out of his mouth.

  “In that case, I’ll buy two cheesecakes,” Tommy promised, leaning closer over the counter. Flirting like this was so much fun. He just hoped he didn’t blow it. At least not the date.

  Pausing in ringing up Tommy’s purchases, Mark looked at him evenly. “You find turtle cheesecake, and you can frisk me,” he said slowly, dead serious although he thought it must sound really funny, coming from him, a naïve gay man people usually mistook for a football star. And out of the blue someone… Tommy Griggs… notices him.

  Tommy’s eyes flashed at the thought. “I’d make turtle cheesecake for that opportunity, but I think we were discussing edible food.”

  Humor sprang back into Mark’s eyes, and he chuckled. “Yes, it must be edible,” he agreed, sliding the can into a bag. “Your total is $3.59.”

  Tommy held out a five, pressing it into Mark’s accepting hand. A wash of arousal spread through his system, making his cheeks redden and his eyes darken. “Keep the change.”

>   Swallowing hard as he felt sparks zing along his hand, Mark nodded slowly, indicating the nearby donation box for cancer research. “See you at five?” he asked quietly.

  Tommy checked his watch again. “Fifty-five minutes from now.” He stepped toward the door, turning back one last time. “I can’t wait.”

  Mark watched him leave and even stood there the next ten minutes, just thinking about him, before the phone rang and scared him. Shaking his head, he answered the call and glanced at the clock. Forty-five minutes and counting…

  NERVOUS, Mark pulled off his apron and tucked it under the counter, checking his pockets for his wallet. It was too late to run home and change clothes. He wished he had thought of that when he told Tommy what time to come back. Pressing a hand against his belly, he willed down the nervous butterflies while trying to not be negative about what might happen.

  Tommy pushed back through the door to the hardware store a mere half-hour later, finding Mark closing things down. He grinned nervously at the other man, lifting his bag of groceries. “Dinner might take a while.”

  Blinking in happy surprise, Mark just smiled and shrugged. “I’m just glad you showed up,” he said, grabbing a paper sack on the counter.

  Tommy held the door open for Mark, waiting patiently but nervously as the other man locked the door. He nodded toward his Jeep. “Want a ride? Or do you want to follow me?”

  One hand in his pocket, Mark looked over the Jeep. “I’ll have to ride along, I don’t drive. I just live a couple blocks down,” he said, stepping to the passenger door.

  Tommy grinned, escorting Mark to the vehicle. “Climb in and buckle up. I love driving this thing!” Chuckling, Mark dropped the paper sack at his feet and sat down, pulling the door shut and putting on his seatbelt. “I’m glad you’ve got the top off,” he said ruefully, eyeing how close his head would have been to the roof. Probably through the roof.