Page 57 of Something Like Hail

“Really?” Harold asked.“Show me why.”

God he was awesome! Noah squeezed his handin appreciation and led the way.

“We kind of got interruptedin there,” Harold said.

Noah mentally backtracked, trying to findwhere the conversation had left off. When he did, his cheeks grewred. “Oh. It’s not important.”

“It is to me,” Harold said.“If there’s anything that makes you uncomfortable about this job, Iwant to know.”

“Fine,” Noah said. “It’sthe bottoming thing.”

“Oh. Right. You said youprefer to top. So you don’t like to bottom at all?”

“I’ve never done it before.Maybe that’s a good thing? The GAC can advertise me as a virgin.That’s gotta be worth money.”

Harold seemed surprised. “You’ve never doneit before?”

“Not unless a fingercounts.”

“Did that feelgood?”

He had been tied up and thought he was beingmolested by a police officer, but the pleasure had been there. “Itdid, but most guys are bigger than a finger.”

“Yeah,” Harold said. “It’strickier, but if you know some basic techniques… I can give youpointers. Still, I get why it would make you nervous. Especiallywith a client. Ideally your first time should be with someone youtrust.”

Noah glanced over at him. “Was it that waywith you?”

Harold’s response seemed a little pensive.“With a guy I was dating, so yeah.”

“Oh.” This was the firstmention of any prior relationship. “Tell me about him.”

“Nah,” Harold said, lettinggo of his hand to scratch his nose and not reaching for him again.“There’s nothing interesting to tell. Just the usual rushing in andslowly growing apart. We’ve all been there.”

True enough, but Noah still felt hungry fordetails. What did this former boyfriend look like? Would Noah beable to compete? What had this guy done wrong? At least then hecould avoid making the same mistakes.

“Is this thepark?”

Noah took in their surroundings. They hadarrived. Past a cast-iron fence that only went up to his waist wasa park that didn’t appear any different from most. The usual signslectured about picking up after dogs and listed what hours the parkwas open to the public. A concrete path wound past trash cans,benches, and a small playground. Noah led Harold beyond this to asmall manmade pond surrounded by dense foliage. The idea, accordingto a nearby sign, was to support wildlife in the middle of thecity. The pond was for frogs to live in and smaller critters todrink from. Flowers supported bees and other insects, and the tallreeds on the far side created cover for anything that needed it.Including himself.

“This is it,” Noah saidwhen they reached the reeds. “I usually push my way through to themiddle, where the ground is higher and dry. Once you’re in there,it’s pretty cozy and you can’t really be seen. My sleeping bag ispadded. That helps. Oh, and over there is the angel.”

He pointed to a small statue rising from thewater, its base a cylinder of submerged concrete. In truth thesculpture was of a fairy with butterfly wings, but to him it hadalways felt protective, like it kept watch over him while he slept.That’s why he tended to think of her as an angel. He turned toHarold, knowing he would need to explain, but the other man wasstill staring at the reeds, a frown on his face.

“We can go,” Noah said. “Ifyou want. I guess it’s kind of boring here.”

Harold’s attention shifted to him. He tookNoah’s hand again, expression determined. “You’re sleeping in areal bed tonight,” he said, “in a real house. Not just tonight, butfor as long as you want. I’ll take the couch. I don’t care. You’renot sleeping out here ever again.”

Noah already had a real bed, and a roof overhis head, but not someone to share either with. He still needed togive the offer thought, but the evening was a definite yes. Therewas only one little detail he took issue with. “I don’t want eitherof us to sleep on the couch. Not tonight. Is that okay?”

Harold’s hand tightened over his own. Thenhe nodded. “Let’s go home.”

* * * * *

Noah wasintoxicated. The two beers made his head feel light, but theshortness of breath, the pounding pulse, and the urge togiggle—these side effects weren’t caused by alcohol but rather theguy he was trailing behind. If each person had their own energysignature, then Harold’s was something special. Just being near himfelt good. His vibe was positive, his smile contagious. Ridiculousas it sounded, Noah felt more alive around him. They had justwalked up the driveway and were standing at the front door. Haroldwas digging through his pockets when the keys fell out and hit theconcrete with a metallic crash.

“This is why I never lockit,” Harold grumbled, “but you made me paranoid.”

Before they left, Noah had told him a storyof how he and Ryan had once gone door to door, pretending to beJehovah’s Witnesses, when really they were checking to see ifanybody was home. If no one answered, Ryan would try the knob, butthey never had any luck, to Noah’s relief. The scheme had made himuncomfortable, but so did a lot of things at the tail end of theirrelationship.