Maybe This Time Page 2
Dressed in last night’s jeans, a clean T-shirt, and hoodie, Ryan was presentable at least, if still a little rough looking.
The short trip down the stairs to the ground floor made him feel queasy all over again, and he wasn’t paying all that much attention as he shoved the door to the building hard. He needed that fresh air right the fuck now. Bursting out into the sunlight, the refreshing spring morning washed over him, cooling the sheen of sweat on his forehead.
His relief was short-lived.
“Jesus Christ! Watch where you’re fucking going.”
Ryan’s head shot to the side where a guy stood scowling at him, patting at his wet T-shirt. Judging by the takeaway coffee cup in his hand and the spreading brown stain on his white top, Ryan assumed that cup was now empty. He met the guy’s eyes, which he’d probably have described as stunning if they weren’t currently trying to set him on fire. “Sorry?” he offered, not exactly sure how this was his fault. Granted he hadn’t been looking where he was going, but he didn’t think he’d run into him.
On closer inspection, that hair looked familiar—almost totally silver-grey, shaved at the sides, and artfully tousled on top. Ryan did a quick sweep of the rest of him as it clicked into place. The words fell out of his mouth as soon as he thought them. “You’re that runner from yesterday.”
The guy stopped pulling at his T-shirt. “What?”
“Yesterday, when I was moving in, we saw you jogging.”
His eyes narrowed as he studied Ryan more closely. “I did go out for a run in the morning.”
“But you don’t recognise me?” For some reason, Ryan found this fact oddly disappointing. Why should he care if one of his miserable neighbours hadn’t noticed him? Because he’s hot, that’s why. And I look like shit. Awesome. To his horror, he found himself starting to babble. “It’s understandable, though, I mean I’m not looking my best this morning. I just moved in yesterday and it was my birthday too, so I threw a housewarming/birthday party last night. I turned thirty, and you only do that once, right? So had to celebrate.” He gestured to himself even as he begged his mouth to clamp shut. “Not feeling so good now, as you can see. Sorry if I somehow spilt your coffee. I’m Ryan, by the way. Ryan Blackwell. I’m in 2B.”
The guy stared at him for a good few seconds, saying nothing. More than likely trying to wade through the crap that Ryan had just come out with. The corners of his mouth ticked up slightly, amusement clear in his eyes. “Well, Ryan, from 2B, Happy Birthday, for yesterday. But next time you decide to celebrate so enthusiastically, maybe sleep it off a bit longer before subjecting the rest of us to your presence.” He plucked at his T-shirt once more, sighed, and then neatly sidestepped Ryan and disappeared inside.
“Who was that?” Dave walked up to him, smirking. Obviously he’d watched the whole thing. “Oh wait, he didn’t tell you his name, did he? Even after that stellar introduction of yours.”
“Fuck off.” He gave Dave a half-hearted shove. But shit, he was right. Definitely not interested then. “You wanted to go shopping, so let’s go.” He started off down the path, with Dave behind him, his laughter echoing in the quiet street.
Chapter Two
Matt took the stairs two at a time until he got to the top floor, slipping out of his jacket as he went. His T-shirt clung to him uncomfortably, the smell of coffee not nearly as appealing now it was no longer in his cup. One glance at his watch told him he still had plenty of time to get over to Harry’s, but Matt had said he’d be there before eleven, and he hadn’t meant only five minutes before. Harry was his oldest friend, other than Sam, and Matt had offered to help him replace his kitchen. If they wanted to get most of the cabinets in today, they needed to start as soon as possible. As soon as he was through the door to his flat, he dumped the empty cup in the bin and pulled his wet T-shirt up over his head, while trying to keep it off his face.
It hit the sink with a dull thud, and he quickly turned on the tap to soak it. At least it was an old one and not anything expensive. Then he might have been more pissed off than he was. It had nothing to do with the fact that the new guy, Ryan, was hot—even when he was so obviously hungover and smelling like a brewery. Contrary to what Ryan had said, Matt had noticed him yesterday. He’d noticed all of them.
He might have been focusing on his run and listening to music, but a group of attractive-looking guys outside his building wasn’t going to escape his attention. Especially as one or more of them were obviously moving in. He’d wondered which of them it was, and now he knew. Judging by the look Ryan had given him, he liked what he saw. But hot or not, Matt wasn’t so sure he wanted to mess around with someone who literally lived on his doorstep.
Wandering into the bathroom for a towel, he thought about Ryan some more. Did he always talk that much, or was that a product of something else? When Matt was that hungover he tended to be a monosyllabic, grumpy bastard. After wiping off the dampness from his chest and stomach, he grabbed another T-shirt from his bedroom and this time remembered to pick up his phone from the bedside table—that was what he’d come back for in the first place.
It rang as he slipped it into his jeans pocket, startling him. Harry’s name flashed up on the screen, and Matt frowned as he answered the call. “Hello?”
“Oh good, you’ve not left yet.” Harry sounded out of breath, and Matt heard the jingle of car keys in the background. “Was hoping I’d catch you.”
“What’s wrong?”
A car door slammed shut, and the engine started. Matt got the feeling there would be no kitchen cabinets going in today.
“One of the cats got run over. She’s fine,” he added before Matt could say anything. “At least I think so. She’s a little shaken up—took us four attempts to coax her out from the garage. It looked to be a glancing blow as the stupid thing ran across the road, but the kids saw it and are understandably upset, so it’s chaos here, as you can imagine. I’m taking her to the vets to get checked out, so the kitchen will have to wait.” He paused for breath, and Matt took a second to parse all the information he’d just thrown at him.
Matt loved cats. They were aloof and judgemental and awesome. His mum had one that he’d steal if he was home more, so he immediately felt bad for Harry. “Fuck, sorry. Hope she’s okay.”
“Me too. The kids will be inconsolable otherwise. I don’t suppose there’s any chance you could pop round tomorrow night? I’ve done some work this morning, but I need to get it finished before the family revolt.”
Mondays were usually a boring night in front of the TV, so Matt automatically nodded before rolling his eyes at himself. “Yeah, that’s fine.”
“You’re a lifesaver.”
“It’s no problem.”
“Okay, got to get to the emergency vet. See you tomorrow.”
“Yeah, good luck.”
Harry hung up, and Matt stood there holding his phone. He’d pretty much planned on spending all Sunday at Harry’s house, including stopping for Sunday lunch. So now what did he do? Going for a run was an option, but he ached a bit from yesterday. Also, he wasn’t especially in the mood for that kind of exercise. He’d been looking forward to working with Harry and getting a home-cooked dinner. The answer was obvious.
A quick text to his mum confirmed that he was indeed welcome for lunch, and he never had to ask because they always cooked plenty, which was true. She added that she had a few things for him to put on Gumtree while he was there if he wouldn’t mind. Matt smiled at the message. His parents were both in their late seventies. They could manage to order a myriad of things from Amazon or the local wine shop, but the thought of putting anything up for sale was suddenly “far too complicated for people our age.”
Since he’d been expecting to get hot and sweaty, he’d not bothered showering that morning, but he wasn’t about to turn up to his mum and dad’s wearing old, ripped jeans—no matter how comfy and worn in they were—and smelling faintly of last night’s curry. Undressing as he went, Matt made his way back into
the bathroom and turned on the shower. Looking in the mirror over the sink, he ran a hand through his hair—almost totally silver now except for a few dark strands here and there.
When it had started turning silver—not grey because that made him sound old—in his late teens, he’d hated it. Thankfully he’d already left school so the piss-taking wasn’t nearly as bad as it could have been. It had been a gradual thing, and he’d got used to it after a few years, especially after some of his friends started to thin on top. And it was an okay colour if he was honest.
Now, at thirty-eight years of age, he embraced it. He might be a little young to be classed as a silver-fox, but guys seemed to like it, and he kept himself reasonably fit, so everyone was happy. What hair he had on his chest remained dark, although Matt had noticed more than the odd grey hair in amongst it recently. Not that he cared either way anymore.
Steam began to fill the bathroom, and after easing out of his jeans, he stepped into the shower. The spray hit the tight muscles in his shoulders and he let out a sigh as the warmth seeped into them, relaxing him. With his hands on the shower wall, Matt let his head fall forward and stood there, enjoying the water rushing over him for a minute or so before reaching for the shower gel.
His mind wandered as he soaped himself up. Long, languid strokes over his thighs and arse had his cock stirring with interest. Slipping his soapy fingers around the shaft, he gave it a couple of tugs, contemplating whether to take it any further. At this point he could go either way, but now there was no rush to be anywhere, why the fuck not? He could take his time, draw it out, maybe. Continuing the lazy up and down of his hand, Matt let his thoughts drift, searching for a good mental image to get off to.
Unsurprisingly, dark hair and brown eyes filled his head as his thoughts landed on Ryan. He’d had that rumpled, just got out of bed look that morning, which was probably because it was true, and Matt found that incredibly appealing. The scruffy stubble was more than a five o’clock shadow, as though he’d not shaved for a couple of days, and Matt imagined the scrape of it against the top of his thighs and his balls.
Ryan had enough hair to grab hold of, and Matt closed his eyes, picturing him on his knees, mouth open, as he waited for Matt to push his cock inside. He’d take it slow at first, guiding the head past his lips, maybe tease him a little and rub it against the tip of his tongue before easing his hips forward so Ryan had to take more of him.
He wrapped his fingers tight around his length, moaned and stroked himself quicker. Being blown by Ryan would feel so good; he had the mouth for it—full and inviting. With one hand fisted in Ryan’s hair to anchor himself, he’d slide his cock in and out, watching as Ryan sucked him deep then slowly eased back off.
Matt’s toes curled and his balls tightened as the familiar feeling swept over him. He tipped his head back as he came, water ran over his face and his cock pulsed in his fist, and he quickly put a hand back on the wall to brace himself. Fuck. A vivid imagination was a wonderful thing.
Feeling more relaxed than he had all weekend, Matt dressed in more suitable attire and left for his parents’. With any luck, he could get whatever they wanted to sell sorted out before lunch and then enjoy the rest of the afternoon.
By Wednesday evening, Matt felt as though he’d done a week’s work already. Unexpected issues popped up all the time, and truth be told, he liked that about his job, it kept things interesting, but this week seemed to have uncovered more than usual. And he was sure his code fix wasn’t the problem. Complaining about the people he worked with wasn’t his style, but there was this one guy in the test team who seemed to call him up every five minutes. Matt must have repeated himself at least three times that morning.
He pulled into the car park behind his flat, turned the engine off, and sat there.
Home. Fucking finally.
Eight o’clock already and he was bloody starving. Thank God for leftovers. As he got out and locked up, his phone rang. Half tempted to ignore it in case it was work, he let it ring four times before giving in and pulling it out of his pocket.
A quick glance at the screen had him both relieved and rolling his eyes. His mum’s number flashed on the screen, except she wasn't calling, she was FaceTiming him. Getting them that iPad for Christmas was perhaps one of his lesser thought-out decisions. Neither one of them had quite mastered the art of texting, but FT was a whole different ball game. He answered with a swipe of his thumb, and his mum’s smiling face filled the screen.
“Hello, Matt.” She frowned as she took in his surroundings. “Where are you? I haven’t caught you on your way out, have I?”
Matt sighed and leant back against his car, phone in hand. “No, I’ve just got home from work. I’m still in the car park.”
“Oh. It’s gone eight o’clock.”
“I’m aware.”
She paused, probably debating whether to question him further, but then seemed to abandon that idea. “So, I had a call about the washing machine.”
Ahh. He’d forgotten all about that. After putting that, the lawnmower, and the trailer on Gumtree, he’d also offered to be there when anyone came around to look at them. Please don’t let anyone be coming round tonight. “And? What did they say?”
“It was a very nice young man. He wanted to come and see it tomorrow night at six. I said that was fine. But….” She paused again, and Matt felt a stab of guilt for making her second guess herself. She’d not been quite the same ever since his dad had been in hospital for his operation. It had shaken her badly.
“No, that’s absolutely fine, Mum. I’ll leave work about half five and come straight to you. Okay?”
She beamed at him. “Yes, thank you. Will you be staying for tea? I’ve got a nice big lasagne in the freezer that I can get out?”
He’d had takeaway food for the past two nights and would be eating left-over pizza tonight. The thought of a home-cooked meal made his mouth water. “Yeah, that’d be lovely. Thank you.”
“Right, well, that’s all I wanted you for. You go inside and get something to eat. And you do look tired, Matt. Make sure you get a good night’s sleep.”
“Will do. See you tomorrow.”
“Bye.” She hung up and Matt sighed.
He’d long since given up protesting that he was a grown man and didn’t need her to fuss over him. She’d told him in no uncertain terms that he was her son, would always be her son, so he should accept that she was going to worry about him and stop complaining. His sister, Liz, got the same treatment, except she now lived down in Barnstaple, so consequently got a FT call every day to see how she was doing. He grinned, remembering how she’d cursed at him for almost a full minute after that first week, and walked towards the doors to his building feeling considerably lighter.
Thankfully work was far less stressful on Thursday, and Matt managed to get away by five-thirty with no trouble at all. His mum and dad lived relatively close by, on the other side of the M5, and even with the beginnings of rush hour traffic, it only took him twenty minutes to get there. After pulling up into their long driveway, he parked next to the black Audi A4 already there.
Their sprawling three-bedroom bungalow sat on the outskirts of a relatively small village. Being an older build, it came with a fair-sized garden surrounding it, and after much persuasion, his mum had finally let him pay someone to help her with outside maintenance. The result was lush grass and well-tended flowers and shrubs. Living in a flat, Matt always appreciated the peace and beauty of it when he came here.
Walking around to the back of the house, he wasn’t at all surprised to find his mum out in the garden. She might have help now with all the heavy stuff but still enjoyed getting out there.
She stood up as she saw him, smiled, and took off her gloves. “Is it that time already?”
He met her half way and gave her a kiss and a hug. “It’s about ten to six.”
“Right, well, I better go inside and wash my hands. Your dad’ll probably want another coffee by now too.”
“Oh, you know. Grumbling about all the exercises the physio gave him to do.” She glanced back and rolled her eyes. “I just tune him out when he starts. Or pretend I’m asleep.”
“Good plan.” He grinned at her and leant against the kitchen worktop as she washed her hands, then put the kettle on to boil. Lowering his voice, he asked, “How’s his walking coming along?”
His dad had undergone an operation on his spine six weeks ago. About three months before that, he’d had increasingly bad backache and eventually lost the use of his legs. An MRI revealed he had stenosis of the spine, and they’d wanted to operate. The operation had been a success, but the recovery was going to be a slow process. His dad wasn’t known for his patience, and at his age, these things took a lot longer.
His mum turned and glanced towards the living room. “You don't need to whisper. He went for a lie down just before you arrived.” She sighed. “I think he was expecting to have the operation and be up and walking as soon as he got home.”
“But the doctors told him it’d take time to get the strength back in his legs.”
She sighed again, her smile rueful. “I know that. And you know that. I’ve tried telling him again, but you know what he’s like.”
Yeah, stubborn and pig-headed. Matt loved his dad, but he could be a grumpy old bastard at times. “Has Liz called?”
“Yes.” His mum’s smile widened, and she turned to point to something on the wall behind her. “And she sent this in the post.”
Matt laughed as he realised what it was. Liz was married to a physiotherapist. She’d come up and stayed for the two weeks their dad was in hospital and had only gone back after making sure he was okay and had everything he needed to recuperate. Leaning closer to get a better look, he read the list of ten exercises she’d written out for him. Underlined and in big bold letters were the words “REPEAT EVERY DAY.” He glanced at his mum. “And has he done it?”