But Rick? Jimothy had believed that, despite a few confused feelings, he was straight. Man had he been wrong. The guy was gayer than Jimothy’s hair, and furthermore, he most likely was a bottom. Never assume, Jimothy, never assume.
He smiled. Sucking that big cock had been his best holiday present. What a mouthful, and it was hard to imagine a more appreciative receiver. Until it was over. Then all the insecurities came out.
Jimothy’s smile faded.
Falling for closeted guys was worse than falling for straight guys. At least with the straight ones, you knew you didn’t have a chance. The closeted men were like guys who cheated on their wives. They wanted you to be their dirty little secret. Fuck that.
“Mew.” Jyn snuggled her little body between Jimothy’s shoulder and his jaw.
He nuzzled her. “What if he came out, baby? What about then? Would we want him?”
From somewhere near his left thigh, Darth sounded off. “Rawr.”
Jimothy sighed. “Right. That’s like the women who say, ‘I just know he’ll leave his wife.’”
He snorted in disgust, closed his eyes, and willed himself to sleep.
Chapter Eleven
“Shit. Fuck. Crap.” Rick staggered down the hall, fastening his jeans while trying to tuck in his T-shirt at the same time.
The doorbell rang again.
“I’m coming.” He maneuvered around the pile of boxes and opened the front door, blinking against the morning light.
Fred stood there with Jose, both balancing Starbucks drinks holders crammed with cups and the paper bags that held breakfast goodies.
Fred’s mouth opened, and his eyes widened. “Holy shit.”
Rick wiped at his eyes. “I know, sorry. I overslept my alarm. Man does that coffee smell good. I—what’s wrong?”
Jose got this huge smile. “Yo, man, look at your hair.”
For a second, Rick couldn’t get past his brain fuzz, but then he passed a hand over his thick mop—but no longer mane—of hair. “Oh yeah. I forgot.”
Fred spoke like he was in church. “Forgot? Shit, man, you look like Jake Gyllenhaal.”
Rick snorted. “Come on in.” He grabbed the drink holder from Fred, skirted around the tower of boxes, and headed to the kitchen. The door closed behind him.
“Whoa, man, what you got here? Did IKEA go out of business?” Jose stared at the stack.
“Uh, sorry, but that’s what you volunteered for.”
“Volunteered?”
Rick grinned. “Yeah, volunteered, spelled v-o-l assignment.” He sipped the coffee, then stared at the cup. “Shit, that’s good.”
“Caramel macchiato.”
“Jesus.”
Fred smiled. “Actually, that one was mine. We got you plain black since you always say that’s what you drink.”
Rick held up the cup. “Thanks. And thanks for coming today.”
Both Fred and Jose opened one of the bags and started munching donuts. Rick searched through the bags, found a lemon pound cake and a scone. He’d save the scone for Jimothy. After taking a big bite of pound cake, he said, “So all this stuff needs assembling. My, uh, the guy who’s helping me will tell us where everything goes after we put it together.”
“Who’s the guy?” Fred munched his donut.
“Uh, you know, the one who came to the job to get me.”
He blinked. “Really?”
“Uh, yeah. You know how these design guys are. But he’s really good.”
Fred waved a hand at the stacks on the floor. “What about the rug and shit?”
“I’m not sure what he has in mind for it. Let’s start on the furniture.”
It took three grown men fifteen minutes to figure out the directions on the first piece—an entertainment cabinet—and to sort out the plastic bags of nuts, bolts, screws, and small weird tools designed to fit in the nuts, bolts, and screws. Once they got everything organized, however, their natural skill emerged; Fred and Jose took over assembly while Rick started on the next piece, and the first cabinet was done in under an hour. About halfway through the dining table, a couple thuds sounded on the front door. Rick hurried over and swung it open.
The dramatic voice filled the room. “Oh my God, who knew the home improvement store would be so crowded at this hour of the morning and that mixing a few simple cans of paint could be such a challenge. Clearly, we must raise the minimum wage in this country because right now, we certainly get what we pay for!” Jimothy stopped in the middle of the floor where he lowered to the ground four cans of paint he had balanced on both arms and two large bags that were squeezed under his armpits. As he rose, he looked over at Fred and Jose, who both stared at him openmouthed. “Hi there. I’m Jimothy.”
Without all the stuff in front of him, Jimothy’s choice of wardrobe became clear—a pair of ripped, faded, paint-spattered jeans made of some kind of elastic that had to have been mixed by the same department as the cans of paint, topped by a T-shirt he must have bought in the boy’s department. No. Actually more like the girl’s department. It was rose pink and had a unicorn barfing a rainbow on it.
Rick wanted to laugh almost as much as he wanted to join the unicorn in vomiting. He glanced at Fred and Jose, who did look stunned. Admittedly, Jimothy was a lot. But fuck, he was a good guy, and he was saving Rick’s behind.
Rick said, “Guys, this is my friend, Jimothy Castlemane. He cut my hair, and he’s got this gorgeous house, so I asked him to help me make this place look good enough for Alice and her fiancé to come over.”
Fred never stopped staring at Jimothy, but Jose said, “That’s a big test, man.”
“Yeah, you know me. I’d never do it for anything less.” He cleared his throat. “So, Jimothy, you want to paint the place?”
“Yes.” He spread his arms. “These rooms through into the kitchen. I got some semigloss for that.” He pranced over to the finished entertainment cabinet that stood against the wall under the TV. “This looks great.”
Rick picked up the little bag he’d set aside. “I saved you a scone.”
Jimothy pressed a hand to his chest. “For moi? La darling, don’t tempt me. I’ll start taping. You guys keep working on the furniture for now. Then we can tackle the walls with the rollers. I got odorless and low VOC paint, so there won’t be any smell.” Like the whirlwind again, he flew into the small kitchen.
Rick glanced at Fred and Jose who had switched their stare to him.
Jose said, “How’d you meet him, man?”
“Theodore, you know, our client, knew he cut hair and heard me promising Alice I’d get mine cut. He suggested him.”
“So, he cuts hair?” Fred still looked kind of shell-shocked.
Rick nodded.
“Jeez, man. Do you think he’d cut mine?”
For a second, Rick couldn’t answer. He wanted to kick himself in the ass for superimposing his own crappy insecurity on his friends. “I bet he’d be glad to. How about you two finish the table, and I’ll help tape?”
Fred nodded absently. “You should get him to cut yours. Jose. Hell, if he can do that for the Rickster, he can probably make you look like Mario Lopez.” They both laughed and went back to screwing furniture.