Marketing Beef Page 4

  Madeline blew into her cup, glancing over at the wall by my refrigerator. “Oh, Evan. I just love that picture.” She went over to it and looked back at me. “Is that from Pottery Barn too?”

  Dillon moved closer to me. “The man’s got taste.” He elbowed me slightly. “Who would have known our head accountant had such fabulous interior design skills?”

  I smiled nervously. “Senior, not head.”

  “Of course,” Dillon said. He pulled me into a side hug. “Dude, you got nothing to worry about.” He let me go. “They released you, free and clear.”

  I nodded and then said to Madeline, “I picked that up at an antique store in Essex a few years ago.”

  She touched the frame. “It’s just divine.”

  I walked over to her. Dillon followed. “The dealer told me it was Conant at the turn of the century, before it became a vacationer’s hot spot.” I put a hand in my pocket and took a sip of my coffee, trying to be casual.

  “Vacation hot spot?” Dillon asked. I hadn’t realized how close he was to me, and I flinched slightly when he spoke. “Sorry,” he said and touched the small of my back. I nearly melted.

  Barry came forward. “Oh, sure. All these cottages were for the wealthy who lived in Boston and would come here during the summer.” Barry was the oldest of all of us. He was probably in his mid-to-southern New Hampshirelate forties, and had been with Thoroughbred for fifteen years. I knew because Whitfield made a point of recognizing his service at our last all-employee meeting.

  Peter stepped in. “What you all looking at?”

  “Conant,” we said in unison and laughed.

  Someone once told me all good parties happen in the kitchen. I had never had a party, but under the circumstances the gathering seemed to be successful.

  We chatted for nearly an hour, until we went into my living area to switch on the television—which I hardly ever used—to see if any updates had come in on the scandal.

  It turned out Thoroughbred wasn’t the only firm involved. There were a few other small and mid-size businesses impacted, “From Beverly, Massachusetts, to southern New Hampshire,” said one of the newscasters.

  By lunchtime, my little impromptu get-together started to disperse. Dillon was the last to leave.

  After walking Madeline to the door, I busied myself with crushing the cardboard from Dunkin’ Donuts, to prepare it for recycling, and cleaning the kitchen counter.

  Dillon went back to the couch to get the coffee cup he had left on the coaster.

  “You don’t have to leave,” I said.

  With the cup in hand he stopped and looked back at me. “No?”

  I suddenly lost my confidence. “I mean if you have to…you have to…I just meant…” I swallowed and dropped the dishrag. “I wasn’t pushing you out.”

  He smiled and lifted his cup to me, as if in a toast. “Well, my coffee is still warm.”

  I walked around the island, technically into the dining area, and leaned up against the countertop.

  He sat back down on my couch. Its burnt sienna leather seemed to accentuate the golden brown in his hair. “It was awfully nice of you to offer up your home,” he said. He put his arm on the couch’s back and crossed his leg, ankle at the knee.

  “Oh, it was nothing.” I waved a hand dismissively.

  He started bouncing his leg. “So, what are you going to do?”

  I crossed my arms at my chest. “About Thoroughbred?” I sighed. “Don’t know.”

  He looked at the TV, which was turned off. “It was a surprise to us all. But like Peter said, we’ll get unemployment…you just don’t want to be on that too long.”

  I too trained my eyes on the blank TV. “I’ve got a little bit saved, enough to get by for a while…” I shrugged.

  He got up and pulled at the inseam of his dress pants and came over to the dining room table. “You ever think of going into business yourself?”

  I uncrossed my arms and pushed away from the countertop. “Me? What do I know about running a business?” I grabbed the cardboard I had folded for recycling.

  “You know more about the finances than any of us.”

  I turned. “What are you getting at?”

  He put a hand on one of the dining chairs. “Peter and I came to Thoroughbred…with an ulterior motive.”

  I raised an eyebrow and set the cardboard down again.

  He leaned into the chair, his butt sticking out. “We had only planned on staying a year before going out on our own. Maybe this just moves up the plan.” He looked at the floor. “We could use a good finance guy.”

  I bit my lower lip. “Really?”

  He stood up and came closer to me. I backed up and put my hands on the counter behind me.

  We stared at each other for a beat. I couldn’t look away.

  He smiled. “It’s just something to consider.”

  My heart beat faster. “I’ll consider you. Ah, it!” I felt my face flush. “I’ll consider it.” I wanted to jump him. He looked so hot with a few shirt buttons undone and those dress slacks, which hugged all the right places.

  He chuckled. “Give me some thought.”

  A strange hot and cold sensation boiled up inside me. It took all I had to pull back from kissing him. I broke my gaze and looked out at the lake through the screened porch. “You want to go for a walk?” I turned to find he had moved closer to me.

  “Sure,” he said. I could smell the coffee on his breath, but I didn’t care. “Oh, sorry,” he said and stepped back. “It’s just…” He looked down and shook his head. “Never mind.”

  ****

  Halfway around the lake, Dillon took off his dress shirt and continued the rest of the way in a tank top. I tried not to look but found it almost impossible. The ribbed cotton shirt embraced what seemed to be a ripped-looking torso. His upper arms had nice definition, but not too much. I licked my lips. Miraculously, I was able to keep my arousal from sprouting.

  “What do you like about camping?” Dillon asked me.

  I clipped a dead branch from a mulberry bush. “Well, I like being outdoors.” I threw the twig into the woods. “I grew up in the city…Detroit. My grandmother owned a cottage on Lake Michigan.”

  Dillon stepped behind me. We had been walking side by side, but along the eastern side of the lake the path narrowed. “Your mother died when you were a teen and your grandmother when you were how old?” he asked, inferring from an earlier conversation.

  “Eighteen.”

  He didn’t say anything at first. I just heard his footsteps behind me. “My mom was a single parent. My dad left us when I was a baby and later died.”

  I stopped and turned around. He had his dress shirt wrapped around his waist. “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “Don’t be.” Dillon grinned, then pulled off his tank top and started to undo his pants.

  My look must’ve been one of wonder, for he stopped when he started to unzip. “Just thought I’d go for a swim.” He wiped his underarms with his tank, and we walked to the end of a little dock, nestled in a crop of tall grass. “Aren’t you hot?”

  I swallowed. I didn’t want to take off my shirt. “I’m okay.” I looked into his soft brown eyes and down to the ground. He was kicking off his shoes. “I’ve got an extra bathing suit, you can use, back at the house.”

  He was back to undoing his pants. “I’m fine.” He kicked them off revealing a light blue pair of boxers. He folded his clothes and placed them on the edge of the dock. He snapped his underwear’s waistband and said, “These will do.”

  His body was amazing—a nice, soft patch of hair on his chest that travelled down the middle of his abs. His stomach was solid. I could see the outline of his abs. A soft patch of brown went down into his blue boxers. I began to get stiff in my pants. Evan, you’ve been so good. Control yourself. I put my hand in my pocket and adjusted.

  Dillon walked out onto the small wooden pier. Even his feet looked strong and sexy. He was careful to step over the missing slats i
n the middle. “You should come in,” he said, looking back at me.

  “Maybe later.” I walked out after him. I had never seen anyone use this dock. From here I could see my cottage on the opposite side.

  “Later?” He knelt down and felt the water. “Oh, man, that’s cold.”

  I sat down and took off my shoes.

  He looked back at me. “Toe dipper?”

  I smirked. “Someone’s got to stay back and watch for the lake monster. We wouldn’t want it to eat you up.”

  He rubbed his chest. “Stop.” He looked out at the water and back at me. “There ain’t no lake monster.”

  I put my foot in the water. It was cold. “Legend has it,” I chided.

  “Well, I’ve never been one to let something stand in the way of what I want.” He balanced himself while he stood and dipped a foot into the water. “Jesus! You wouldn’t think it’s ninety degrees out. How does this water stay so cold?”

  “Must be the monster. He churns out ice.”

  He shrugged and then dove in.

  I chuckled and watched the water ripple where he went under. Suddenly, he popped up.

  “Woo! Talk about refreshing.”

  I took off my dress shirt. I had a T-shirt underneath.

  “C’mon in, chickenshit.”

  I stood up and moved to the edge he had dove off. My wet feet left footprints on the wood. “No. You enjoy. Remember, the monster. Someone’s got to look after you.”

  He started to swim toward me. He had a devilish grin on his face.

  I stepped back.

  He stopped swimming. “Hey, watch out for those missing slats.”

  I turned just as I was about to step through a hole. “Oh, wow. Thanks.”

  He put his hands on the pier and pulled himself up. The water slid off his body. I could see the outline of his penis in his underwear, and maybe he saw me looking at it, for he pulled away the cotton from clinging to him as he sat and chuckled. “Damn water’ll make it shrivel up. I’m not that small, normally.”

  I laughed nervously and put my hand in my pocket to stop anything from sprouting.

  He leaned back on his elbows, closed his eyes, and pointed his face to the sun. “Oh, that feels nice. I love the warm sun on my body.”

  I sat down next to him. My attempt at thwarting a rise was failing. “You’ve got a nice body.” Evan Capri McCormick! Control your—

  He turned to me, eyes wide and mouth agape. A grin came over his face. “The lake monster did it to me.”

  I furrowed my brow.

  “The lake monster made my body…Oh, I don’t know.” He blushed and looked the other way.

  Smitten, I edged closer to him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you nervous.”

  “That’s not it.” He turned, and his head jerked back ever so slightly, seemingly surprised that I was closer still.

  I felt stupid for being so forward and leaned back.

  He sat up. “You know, Evan.” He kicked at the water. “I really think you’re…You say I have a nice body.” He was looking toward my house. “You look pretty rock hard yourself.”

  I cleared my throat and adjusted my crotch.

  He chuckled. “Not like that. Oh, God, Dillon, you couldn’t speak if they taught you how.” He looked at me. “What I meant was, I can tell you work out. You’ve got good tone, from what I can see.” His foot splashed in the water. He leaned forward, put his hand in and washed off some dirt on his knee. “But you’re always covered up in dress shirts and whatnot, so it’s hard to see.”

  My cuticle was stinging from picking it so much. I was still wearing my dress slacks, meant for the office, yet rolled up to the knee.

  He touched my calf with his foot. “Look at those calves.” He started to kick playfully at my leg. “Damn, those muscles will break my toe if I kick any harder.”

  I laughed. I loved the attention. I hadn’t had this in so long. But then something happened. It wasn’t about sexual attraction. In fact, I probably still had an erection, but it didn’t matter. I didn’t notice. It was as if a switch had flipped on, a warm flow filled me and a soft buzz took over. Something tugged at me inside. I kicked back at his calves. “Ouch,” I said. “Damn, you’re just as hard.”

  We held each other’s gaze for a moment and then burst into laughter at the same time.

  “I think you need to get wet,” he said. “You’re looking pretty hot.”

  I could feel my face turning red and looked away. A clump of lake grass swayed in the ripples our feet were making. Suddenly, I felt a couple of droplets on my neck. I turned.

  Dillon had his wet hand above me. He reached down and got some more.

  “Hey, hey!”

  “Oh, yeah? Too much for you?” He reached and got more water and splashed me.

  I felt my dimples nearly crack. The grin on my face must’ve been so big. “Dillon!”

  Then, he soaked me.

  I got up on my knees, reached down into the water, and splashed him back. “Ah, it is cold!” I yelled.

  He was laughing. He jumped off the pier and, in midair, pulled himself into a cannonball. He landed in front of me and I got completely drenched.

  “You son of a…” The grin hadn’t left my face, and I found myself taking my pants off, kicking them to the side and stripping off my…I stopped. Another splash of water came my way and I pulled off my shirt, threw it behind me and jumped in.

  ****

  On the walk back, I covered up in my dry dress shirt. Dillon just strutted bare-chested. We were both in our wet underwear. The woods were so thick and overgrown, I doubted my neighbors could see. Besides, I didn’t care.

  “Damn, that felt good,” Dillon said.

  I was barefoot and stepped gingerly to avoid the rocks. “The water was refreshing, after all.”

  The path was wider on this side. He walked beside me and clasped his pants under one arm while he adjusted his shoes in his other hand. “That’s not what I meant.”

  I raised an eyebrow at him.

  He snickered and looked back at the lake. “Never mind.”

  We walked further. My boathouse was approaching on our right and my house just to the left of it, around the bend.

  “What’s this?” he asked, pointing his shoes at the two-story structure.

  “That’s my boathouse. I use it for storage.”

  He looked at me. “No boat?”

  I pointed with my chin up to the hill in front, next to my parked Explorer. “My kayak. I stand it up in there in the winter.”

  “Ah. I see.”

  “I don’t really use it much.” I turned in the direction of Mrs. Johnson’s place behind us. “Some of my neighbors have converted theirs into little studios. Mrs. Johnson, up the road, has a watercolor studio in hers. And my neighbors on the other side,” I said, pointing my thumb behind me, “actually rent theirs out as a studio apartment.”

  He started around the front and climbed up the small dirt step, steadying himself with shoes and pants out to his sides for balance. “This is pretty cute.” He looked up at the second story. “And tall.”

  I stepped up behind him, noticing his little butt jiggle in the dampness of his shorts. “I like it.”

  “It’s nice. You could convert this into a great little place and probably get a nice rent check.”

  I nodded. “I could. It’s just the initial investment. There’s no electricity, and I’d have to put in plumbing.”

  “Hmm.” He opened the door and went inside.

  I went in after him. It was pretty empty, save my mountain bike, some yard tools, and a box of Christmas ornaments.

  He put his shoes and clothes down on the ledge by the window.

  I brushed away a cobweb from the rafter.

  Dillon started to climb the ladder that went to the second floor loft.

  “Careful. You’re barefoot…splinters.”

  “Meh.”

  I got a peek up his shorts but quickly looked away. I felt a littl
e perverted having peeked.

  He hoisted himself up and sat with his legs dangling over the side. “Hot up here.”

  I looked out the window. “Heat does rise.”

  “Nice view,” he said.

  I looked up at him.

  He switched from staring at me to looking out the window. “That too.”

  I chuckled and went over to where he had placed his clothes, to put mine down as well, and was about to climb up with him, but he had started back down.

  “It is hot up there.” He was looking over his shoulder while he descended. “Mr. McCormick says I should look out for splinters.”

  “He does, does he?”

  He jumped off the third rung. “Well.” He put out his hands and then clapped his thighs, which made a wet slapping sound.

  “You want to get out of those wet clothes?” I asked. I cleared my throat. “I mean…”

  He laughed. “Sure.”

  I went to the door. “I’ve got some you can borrow. You’re probably my size. Medium? Thirty or thirty-two inch waist, if I were to—” I turned around.

  His back was to me. He was pulling up his tan dress pants over his naked butt. His wet boxers were on the floor. He turned around and put his arms out by his sides. “Ta da.”

  I could see the weight of his penis flap in the looseness of his pants. I licked my dry, lower lip and bit it.

  “No bother. I don’t mind freeballing it once in a while.”

  I felt myself get hard, almost instantly. Dressed only in boxers, with an airy fly opening, it wasn’t easy to conceal. I turned around. “I should get dressed.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter Six

  “Holy shit,” I said. There was a little spit that had come out of my mouth where I had been biting the pillow. “What the fuck? Is someone slipping me Viagra or something?” I rolled onto my back and edged away from the stain I had made on my sheets. I sat up to catch my breath and leaned against the headboard.

  I had wanted to call Dillon—it had been two days since our swim in the lake—but I was so wound up, I didn’t think I could have an intelligent conversation without wanting to leap through the phone and jump him.

  “Okay,” I exhaled. “Now you can call and be a little more levelheaded.” I took my cell phone off the nightstand and pressed his name to call him. It rang four times. I was expecting it to go to voice mail just as he answered.