Page 50 of Candy Hearts, Vol. 2

CHAPTER 4

FORD

I poked at my herbed chicken, sighing before gazing around at the underwhelming cafeteria-style restaurant at the Mountain Station. The views from the rotating aerial tram on the way up the slope had been amazing, and the building itself was round, which had promised interesting décor, since Palm Springs was famous for its Mid-Century architecture and aesthetic.

But no. We exited the tram, and the inside of the building was... utilitarian. To be fair, the real draw was outside the windows, not inside. I couldn’t complain about the view.

If I’d had the right shoes, I could’ve gone hiking for a bit before returning down the mountain, but I’d only had my leather lace-ups, Zachary’s dress shoes, and a pair of his flip-flops. Since the tramway took us to an elevation of 8100 feet, and there was snow on the ground up here, I’d dressed in yesterday’s wool slacks, a sweater I’d worn in Philadelphia, and my own shoes. But when I got back to the hotel, I’d sweat for the rest of the day if I didn’t change clothes. I’d have to find the guts to wear something of Zachary’s, which all looked a little tighter and more colorful than I was used to.

My phone pinged, and I opened my Discord app with relief. The guys had given me a gentle ribbing over my luggage mishap, but they’d made me feel better by recounting their own travel blunders.

We’d started the server after several of us met at a conference about two years ago. Most veterinarians were acutely conscious of the mental health toll our profession took. Forming a community, particularly with other queer veterinarians, was a good way to make sure no one fell by the wayside.

Don’tMesswithVets

@DocPink, did you decide to wear the other guy’s clothes, or are you running naked through Palm Springs?

DocPink

Neither. Today I went up the mountain, so I’m wearing my clothes from Philly.

LizardMan399

You HAVE to send us pics of the lacy underwear. Not with you in them though!

DocPink

I don’t know. That seems like a violation of Zachary’s privacy.

Dr.DoyleLittle

What if you googled similar underwear and sent us the link?

Just then a text came through, so I switched apps.

Zachary: Lookin’ good at the pool!

Zachary: [photo]

I gasped. He was gorgeous, even in my uninspired board shorts. He was about my size and build, but he had actual muscles like he went to the gym. His chest was lightly covered in hair, and it thickened just below his belly button before the waistband of my swimsuit blocked any further view. He had medium-brown hair, and his pointy chin was covered in scruff, like he hadn’t shaved this morning. I couldn’t see his eyes since he was wearing sunglasses, but his grin was brilliant. He'd posed with one foot on the ground and the other on a blue lounge chair, his hands in fists on his hips.

If I had to guess I’d have said he was in his late twenties. Way too young for me.

Not what I should be even considering, I chided myself.

Though that didn’t stop me from trying to imagine Zachary in snug lacy panties instead of my baggy swim trunks. Fuck. I’d seen the lace underwear when I’d dug through his bag last night, but they’d been rolled up and I hadn’t touched them.

Me: You look a lot better in those than I do!

Zachary: Are you wearing something of mine? Send a pic!

Me: Not yet. I went up the mountain so I wore my cold-weather clothes. Later though.

Zachary: I’m holding you to that!

Well, fuck. Now I had to send him a photo of myself. I’m okay-looking, but the almost twenty additional years I had on Zachary didn’t help things.

I wandered along the street near downtown, killing time until dinner. Afterward, I promised myself, I’d do it. I’d pick up a guy and have random sex. That was why I’d come here, after all. So far the guys I’d seen who hadn’t been coupled up had seemed to lean toward being more my age than Zachary’s. I preferred that, frankly. No feeling like I was robbing the cradle.

The stores here were geared mostly toward home décor or flamboyant fashion I couldn’t pull off if I tried. I’d finally looked at Zachary’s underwear, and, well, I couldn’t see myself wearing it. He’d had some boxer briefs in there as well, but I still felt weird about wearing his underwear. I’d wash my boxers tonight and maybe buy some new ones tomorrow for the rest of the week.

I hadn’t yet tried on the close-fitting short-sleeve shirts, or the shimmery t-shirt that I guessed was designed to glow under club lights. I had put on a pair of his shorts, though. They were royal blue, which was innocuous enough, especially when I’d added one of my white button-downs and Zachary’s flip-flops.

A few minutes ago, he’d texted me a photo of him wearing my maroon polo and relaxed fit jeans. Like the swimsuit, those clothes looked a hell of a lot sexier on him than on me. It was Zachary who was sexy. What he wore didn’t matter. Me? I was a different story completely. Maybe Zachary’s club clothes would have magic powers and draw all the age-appropriate boys to my yard.

I looked up when the faint strains of Orville Peck came from somewhere ahead. As I drew closer, I almost wept with relief at the familiarity of the type of bar it was. Pacific Pete’s could’ve been lifted from downtown Austin, all rustic wood with cowboy hats on the wall, as well as tropical accents like fake palm trees and hula girl and boy figurines here and there. I went in, and the bartender called out that he’d be right with me. I sat down with a smiling sigh.

There were only three other patrons, a guy alone at the far end of the bar, and two men huddled together at a table by the wall.

“What’ll it be?” The bartender was in his early twenties. He wore tight shorts and a Pacific Pete’s t-shirt, through which I could see the outline of the barbells in his nipples. He didn’t have any Shiner Bock, so I settled for a Corona.

I was working on my second beer when the music changed from Brandi Carlile to Jimmy Buffett. As the lyrics hit my ears, the song’s message resonated in my soul. Fuck, I was being such a coward. Jimmy Buffett would not approve. “Last Mango in Paris” wasn’t my favorite of his songs, but it was definitely what I’d needed to hear tonight.

The bartender came over, probably to ask me if I wanted another beer.

“Do you know this song?” I waved a finger in the air.

He scrunched up his face. “I guess? It plays on rotation about once a day.”

I’d had enough beer not to care whether he was interested or not. “It’s about seizing the opportunity for adventure when you find it, about not missing out on the good stuff.” I raised my almost-empty bottle to him. “About wearing the lacy underwear when you have the opportunity.”

He looked thunderstruck. “Damn. I better pay more attention to the words.” He rapped his knuckles on the bar. “I’ll bring you another Corona.”

I saluted him again.

“I’d like to hear about this lacy underwear.”

I looked up in surprise. The guy who’d earlier been at the other end of the bar was now sitting right next to me. When had that happened?

“Oh! Uh....” I felt myself turn red. “It’s not mine... exactly.”

His eyebrows went up, and he gave me an easy grin. “Do tell.” His eyes swept my body from my bare toes to the top of my head. “ Mmmm .”

He was attractive, with a nicely muscled body and a few gray flecks in his black hair. Probably around forty years old. He held out his hand. “I’m Rob.”

We shook. “Ford. Nice to meet you. Hey, would you do me a favor?” I handed him my phone. “Would you take a picture of me? I need to send it to the guy whose clothes I’m wearing.”

Rob’s smile dimmed. “Uh, sure.”