Giving chances, p.1
Giving Chances, page 1
Giving Chances
Copyright © 2017 by Tanya Chris (www.tanyachrs.com)
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1 Mitch
Chapter 2 Jackson
Chapter 3 Mitch
Chapter 4 Jackson
Chapter 5 Mitch
Chapter 6 Jackson
Chapter 7 Mitch
Chapter 8 Jackson
Chapter 9 Mitch
One year later - Jackson
Thank You!
Chapter 1
Mitch
Mitch touched it first. He’d swear on a stack of Bibles or the Klingon dictionary—whichever you happened to have handy—that his hand closed around the left edge of the garish pink-and-purple cardboard box minutes before, well seconds before, well micro-seconds before, but certainly before, that other hand closed in from the right.
Mitch lifted the box in combative coordination with the other hand, and there they were—Mitch and a stranger—face to face and toe to toe at Toymaker Toys. Mitch tightened his hand.
“I’m sorry,” he said, not because he meant it but because that was what civilized people said when their goals collided with someone else’s. The man he faced appeared to be civilized. He was Mitch’s age, a few inches shorter, and had the build of a runner beneath his unzipped North Face parka.
“Awkward,” the man said, a flash of white teeth making his blue eyes bluer.
Awkward was accurate. Their stance was starting to feel intimate, as though they were holding hands by way of the box. Under other circumstances, Mitch might not have minded holding hands with this guy who had a nice smile, great eyes, and dark brown hair peeping out from under his knit cap, but Mitch had his heart set on that toy.
A woman in a faux-fur coat bumped into him, aiming for the shelf he and the stranger had co-claimed their prize from. He glanced down and confirmed what he already knew: this was the last of the Bright-Light Beauty Shoppe kits.
“Looks like one of us is leaving without this,” he said as he stepped away from the shelf to give the milling crowd more room to see that it was empty. He waggled the box and the stranger’s hand waggled with it.
“Flip you for it?”
“I think I had it first,” he tried. He’d combed through three aisles of pink and purple colored toys and this was the only thing that had jumped out at him that his sister might like. Not that he had any idea about Sondra’s tastes these days, but his other sister Elizabeth had said Sondra was into beauty, and he’d obviously picked the right toy since everyone wanted it. He wasn’t going to give it up now.
“Hmm,” the man said in response to Mitch’s attempt at asserting prior claim. He didn’t seem like the kind of guy who might haul off and hit someone—which was a good thing because Mitch had never been in a physical fight in his life and because, although Mitch was taller, he was definitely lighter and substantially less fit—but the stranger didn’t seem like the kind of guy who backed down either. He accompanied his “hmm” with a good-humored smirk that brought out a dimple in his right cheek. Mitch wondered if there’d be a dimple in the other cheek if he smirked on the other side.
“Do you really need it?” Mitch asked. “I don’t want to get arrested for brawling over toys at Christmas …”
The guy laughed, which, yes, brought out dimples in both cheeks and also completely derailed Mitch’s train of thought. This guy was pretty fucking adorable. Was he worth losing the toy over though?
“Yeah, I’m down for not brawling,” the man agreed.
“It’s just … I’m shopping for my sister for Christmas and if I don’t get this, I’m totally out of ideas.”
“I was getting it for my niece. It’s on her ‘Santa Please, Please, Please’ list, but it won’t kill her if she doesn’t get it.” Despite his words, the man didn’t let go of the box. “There must be a big age gap between you and your sister,” he observed.
“Yeah, we’re a big family and I’m the oldest and she’s the youngest. She’s …” Mitch did some quick math. He was twenty-five and she was thirteen years younger so … “twelve.”
“Twelve, huh? Listen, I’m not just saying this so you’ll walk away and leave me the proud owner of the last Bright-Light Beauty Shoppe in all of Connecticut—” the man let go of the box and raised both hands, as if to show his honorable intentions “—but twelve is probably too old for that toy. My niece is five.”
“Five?” Mitch looked down at the age suggestion on the box, which sure enough was ages four to seven. He started to put the box back on the shelf dispiritedly, then realized that if he set it down one of the dozens of shoppers crowding around them would grab it as fast as he released it. He handed it over to his former rival.
“You sure?” the guy asked.
Mitch nodded. The last time he’d seen Sondra, she’d been ten. Had she already been too old for a Bright-Light Beauty Shoppe even then? He hadn’t paid her much attention back then if he was honest with himself about it. He’d been a young man and she’d been an annoying little girl, the last and most-babied in a long line of younger siblings. If he’d known then that he and Sondra were about to disappear from each other’s lives, he’d have guarded their time together more carefully.
“You don’t look sure,” the guy said. “You look really unhappy, even unhappier than you did when we were arm-wrestling over this.”
“I’m just lost.” He ducked his head and peered up through his eyelashes, considering whether he could invite the man out for a cup of coffee or otherwise entice him into spending more time together. He’d lost the toy, but he didn’t have to lose the guy. “I don’t suppose you know anything about what twelve-year-old girls like, since you’re so up on age appropriateness and all.” He put a little extra something into the words “age appropriateness” in his best attempt at being flirtatious without being obvious.
The guy eyed him for a moment, and Mitch definitely got an impression of interested consideration, but then he shook his head.
“Maybe try Dilly’s up on the second floor instead of a toy store. Twelve is more teenager than child these days. I wish I could help, but I’m late as it is. I work here in the mall and I just stopped in to grab this before my shift started. I’m sorry.”
“No, don’t be sorry,” Mitch said, even though he was. “Go on, go get that rung up.”
“Yeah, OK. I guess I’d better. I’m Jackson, by the way.” Jackson shifted the box into his left hand and reached out his right. Mitch shook it, enjoying the warm, firm grip. Jackson must have worn gloves on his way to the mall because Mitch’s fingers were like icicles.
“Nice to meet you, Jackson. I’m Mitch.”
“Nice to meet you, Mitch.” Jackson released Mitch’s hand, making Mitch realize he’d held it longer than he should have, but there wasn’t much point in relishing the apparent flirtation, not when Jackson was tucking the Beauty Shoppe more securely under his arm and turning to leave. He took a few steps away before shooting a quick glance back at Mitch over his shoulder. Mitch almost chased after him to ask for his number, but before he could break through his inertia, Jackson was even further away, striding briskly towards the front of the store, his ass bunching rhythmically beneath his dark trousers.
As Mitch watched him go, his thoughts settled back into the gloomy quagmire he’d been enmeshed in before Jackson’s dimples had distracted him.
Christmas.
His mom had called only a week ago, her voice tentative but hopeful, with an invitation for Christmas dinner. His brothers and sisters would like to see him, she’d said.
“And you and Dad?” he’d asked, not sure how large an olive branch she was extending.
“Everyone’s missed you, and we’re sorry—Dad and I are sorry—about closing the door the way we did. We may not agree with everything you do, but you’ll always be our son.”
Mitch had accepted the invitation because he missed them too—his mother and father and his sister Sondra and his youngest brothers, Abel and Lucas, who all still lived at home. He hadn’t asked if Joseph, the brother he’d been closest to growing up, would be there because he’d had a bad feeling about the answer. Joseph was old enough to make his own decisions, but the last Mitch knew, he’d chosen to side with their parents.
Some of Mitch’s friends thought his parents’ gesture was too little, too late, which was why every time Mitch thought about Christmas he felt more sick than excited. Was he betraying his people if he accepted this partial peace? Was he required to hold out for complete enthusiasm?
“We don’t like what’s been happening this last year,” his mother had said. “The things some people have said.”
Mitch knew who she meant by “some people.” He’d bet his whole salary on his parents not being much different than the “some people” who’d said “things” but if they’d been made uncomfortable by those “things” … wasn’t that a start?
“Everyone is so angry at each other these days,” his mother had continued. “We don’t want to be angry anymore, Mitchell. Come home for Christmas. Please?”
And that was why he was in the mall on December 23rd, pushing his way through crowds more impatient than joyous, overheated in a heavy down jacket with fingers that were still cold from driving without gloves on, trying to figure out what twelve-year-old girls wanted for Christmas. Because his mother didn’t want to be angry with him anymore, and becau
Jackson and the Bright-Light Beauty Shoppe had been a great diversion, but now Mitch supposed he’d better get back to his Christmas shopping. He left Toymaker Toys and the Chipmunks album that had repeated so many times while he’d been in the store that his mind automatically imposed high-pitched squirrelly voices onto the instrumental carols playing out in the center of the mall.
He skirted the line for Santa, heading towards the escalators. He’d go upstairs to the second floor, as Jackson had suggested. He had no idea what a “Dilly’s” was, but he could find it on the map. Along the way he stopped at Restoration Hardware. Half an hour of browsing netted him an over-priced piece of nostalgia for his father. At least the spacious bag gave him a place to stuff his coat, which was trying to drown him in sweat.
He raked his hand, which had finally reached room temperature, through his bangs, feeling the static charge that meant he probably had pieces of hair standing straight up on end. Maybe that was why Jackson had scurried off so quickly.
OK, Mitch. Focus.
He’d already bought presents for Mark and Elizabeth, his two adult non-homophobic siblings, because they’d planned to get together and exchange gifts in the week between Christmas and New Year’s anyway, but that still left him with five or six others to buy for, assuming Joseph showed up with his wife and baby.
He headed to Champs. It might have been a year and a half since he’d seen Joseph, but there was no way he wasn’t still a Patriot’s fan. He’d die a Patriot’s fan.
As Mitch browsed through Champs, dithering over what to buy for Lucas and Abel—he could only guess at their sizes from the pictures Elizabeth shared with him—his mind wavered between anger at his parents for putting him in the position of not knowing his own family and regret over letting Jackson get away. He should have gotten his number. If Jackson hadn’t gone to war over the last Bright-Light Beauty Shoppe, he probably wouldn’t have slugged Mitch for hitting on him, even if Mitch had mistaken the interest in his eyes or the lingering nature of their handshake.
Jackson could have been a nice gift for Mitch to give himself for the holidays. It’d been so long. Maybe it was the after-effects of his religious upbringing, but he wasn’t as comfortable with instant hookups as some men his age were.
He’d have been willing to make an exception for Jackson though. Too bad he’d blown his chance.
A few presents later, as he surveyed the mall directory looking for Dilly’s, he remembered that Jackson worked there. Somewhere. He couldn’t exactly poke his head into every shop in the mall searching for him, but if he just happened to end up where Jackson was? Well, that would be fate.
He tried to imagine what kind of store Jackson would work at. Eastern Mountain Sports? He had that runner’s build and the North Face parka. Maybe Sears in the do-it-yourself department? He looked like a man who could handle his, uh, tool.
But no, he’d had those black slacks on. Too dressy for either EMS or Sears. God, maybe he was one of those guys who spritzed you with cologne as you walked past them at Filene’s. Mitch didn’t want to be spritzed, at least not with cologne, and Jackson hadn’t been wafting citrusy scents through the aisles of Toymaker Toys, so hopefully it wasn’t that.
Giving up, he turned his attention back to the directory. Dilly’s was back the way he’d come in, and just past Dilly’s was a massage place where he could get a gift certificate for his mother. Massages made great gifts for anyone. He could use one himself.
~~~
The first thing he noticed when he walked into Massage Market was that there wasn’t anyone behind the register, but the second thing he noticed was Jackson’s ass in those black pants. Jackson stood in profile to the mall entrance in nothing but those slacks and a black t-shirt which exposed a pair of powerful forearms. His hips were canted so that his left ass cheek jutted out in a round, hard ball. Across from him, a tall woman chattered as she put on her coat. Then she reached into her purse and pulled out a folded-over green bill and pressed it into Jackson’s hand.
Jackson slipped the bill into his pocket and called “Thank you!” after her retreating form. As he rotated to face the front of the store, he caught sight of Mitch and his smile changed from professionally polite to pleased surprise.
“Oh!”
“Hi,” Mitch said, feeling like that wasn’t a very good line, but Jackson said “Hi” back so neither of them won any points for smoothness. “I thought I’d buy my mother a gift certificate.”
“That’s a great idea, but I can’t … I mean, I don’t work the register. We have a … we usually have a receptionist. I don’t know where they are.” Jackson looked around the small waiting area as though a receptionist might be hiding behind one of the padded seats, but the reception area was empty except for the two of them. “We’re not very busy,” he admitted.
“I can wait,” Mitch said, thinking that if waiting meant he got to spend the time with Jackson, he could wait all day. “You’re the massage therapist here?” It explained the buff forearms. He had a bit of a thing for forearms. “I don’t mean to be insulting, but I’m not sure my mom would be OK with a guy giving her a massage. I’m sorry. You probably get that a lot.”
“I get it sometimes, with men especially. I’m not the only massage therapist who works here, but you can tell her I’m gay. Some women feel more comfortable knowing that. Doesn’t usually help the men though.”
Mitch laughed. “It helps me. I wanted to ask you out for a cup of coffee earlier but I wasn’t sure if I’d misread so I didn’t move fast enough. I’m not going to make that mistake again.”
“Yeah, I was kicking myself over the same thing.” Jackson ran his eyes over Mitch but when Mitch took a step forward, Jackson took a step back. “I get off at eight.”
“You want to get off at eight?”
Jackson laughed. “I was going to suggest helping you finish your Christmas shopping, but if you want to go straight to bed … It’s not really my MO, but—”
“Mine either,” Mitch said, both disappointed and relieved. “Let’s start with shopping then. I could definitely use the help. I stuck my nose into Dilly’s on the way here and got overwhelmed. They have eighteen thousand pairs of earrings and I don’t even know if Sondra has pierced ears.”
It seemed unlikely she would, given his parents’ conservative values.
“I’ll bet she does.”
“I’m trying to remember what age my sister Elizabeth got hers pierced at. Not twelve, I’m sure.”
“But Sondra is the youngest, right? Youngest children get away with all kinds of things. I’m the youngest myself, so I know how it goes.”
“You’re not even sorry, are you?”
“Nope.”
Mitch sighed. He’d only ever had to be perfect. That was all they’d asked from him.
A person with bright orange hair and a stunning variety of piercings walked into the store with a tall Starbucks cup and took up a position behind the register. “Can I help you?” they asked, very efficiently, as though they hadn’t been thoroughly absent for the last ten minutes.
“I was going to buy a gift certificate,” Mitch told them.
“And I should go get the massage room cleaned up,” Jackson said to no one specifically.
“I’ll meet you here at eight?” Mitch’s eyes connected with Jackson’s for a moment and they both nodded before Jackson turned and headed into the back.
Chapter 2
Jackson
Jackson washed his hands as he checked himself out in the mirror. He used his wet hands to tame his hair back into position and then grinned widely at himself to make sure none of the sandwich he’d wolfed down in the ten minutes between clients was lodged in his teeth. He yanked off his Massage Market t-shirt and took a clean one out of the cupboard, sniffing at his pits as he pulled it over his head. Massage was physical work, but his deodorant seemed to be holding up. He tugged his hoodie on over the t-shirt and found his jacket in the staff coat closet next to Harmony’s.
Taking a deep breath, willing himself not to be too disappointed if Mitch wasn’t out there because his habit of writing fairy tale endings to first dates had already kicked in big time with respect to Mitch, he pushed open the door to the reception area. And there he was.
