Love By Number Page 2

  “Good boy,” Gramps said, clapping him on the shoulder.

  Chapter Two

  By the time Aidan got the car towed and caught a ride home with Jesse and Gramps, he was fit to be tied. He was a creature of habit, and everything about the night’s end was all wrong. His skin felt tight and itchy, sort of like when he inadvertently put on a shirt without cutting out the tag or that one year his grandmother had given him a wool sweater. Shudder.

  If he wanted to wear scratchy, irritating fabric he’d take a time machine to the Middle Ages, thank you very much.

  His mother was in her favorite recliner in front of the television when he walked in. It was threadbare on the arms, but at least it was no longer covered in cat hair. As soon as Lemon died, he’d firmly suggested they get no more pets.

  She kicked down the footrest and stood. Dressed in fuzzy pajamas, she gave him a fluffy hug. “I was getting worried. You’re late.”

  Aidan let her hug him, raising a hand to pat her twice before stepping back. It was too warm to be swaddled in fluff, but he wasn’t surprised his mother had bundled up. She’d always run cold, and now that she was getting older, her circulation had gotten worse.

  “I should have texted. I’m supposed to text when something happens.”

  Disappointment rose, slicing at his insides. Why couldn’t he remember something so simple? He knew his mother worried.

  “Did something happen?”

  Aidan began to pace. “A guy hit my car.”

  “Oh no!”

  “It bent the wheel well. I can’t drive it to St. Louis!”

  “Shh, honey. It’ll be all right. You want some milk?”

  He nodded, feeling some tension ease. This was familiar. His mother and her soft voice and the familiar surroundings of the house he shared with her. Aidan had thought of moving out more than once, but his mother couldn’t afford or maintain the place on her own. His father remarried when Aidan was five, and she’d gotten by with crappy waitressing jobs and child support. Her only asset was this dated house her parents had helped her buy. Now that he was grown, she couldn’t fall back on additional assistance, and her back couldn’t take waitressing anymore.

  She might qualify for disability, but Aidan told her not to bother. He was her son; it was his job to take care of her. He had no significant debt. He even drove an older model Saab — or at least he had — so he had no car payment.

  He’d have to call the insurance company and file a claim. It was enough to make him fidget again. He drummed out a rhythm on the table. Tap-tap-tap, tap-tap. Repeat.

  His mother placed a mug of milk in front of him and clasped his hand. “Tell me about it.”

  He filled her in on the fender bender and Jesse’s offer — well, his grandfather’s offer — for Jesse to drive Aidan to the games in St. Louis.

  “Are you sure that’s wise?” she asked in a careful tone.

  He hated that tone. That was her tone when she wanted him to be aware that he might not be making good choices.

  “It’s not a bad choice,” he said, his hackles rising. “I hate the bus. Going with Jesse would be better.”

  “That’s true, but you could watch the games on television. Right?”

  He shook his head hard. “I always go to games within driving distance.”

  “That was when you had a working car,” she said.

  “Mom.”

  She lifted her hands in surrender. “I’m not telling you what to do. You’re a grown man.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “You can handle staying in a hotel? You don’t like unfamiliar places. Remember that trip when you were in high school?”

  “I’m not sixteen anymore.”

  “Yes, which means you need to look after your own needs. Make sure you get the sleep you need. Maybe take that sleep supplement with you. And your favorite pillow?”

  He sighed. “Okay.”

  He knew he was a bag of quirks. They’d nearly diagnosed him autistic as a child. He was right on the bordering edge of the spectrum, whatever that meant. Mostly, it meant he didn’t understand people and they didn’t understand him. He felt awkward and uncomfortable around new people, like a pair of shoes not yet broken in and pinching in the toes. And he was particular about his clothing, obviously.

  Jesse would feel like soft, comfy cotton. Or maybe slick, slippery silk. Best not to think in that direction. He had no reason to believe Jesse would ever want to share those sorts of sensations with him.

  “You like this Jesse?” his mother asked.

  “Yeah.”

  Aidan didn’t hedge. He was incapable of telling a lie, so his mother knew he had dated men and women both. Neither particularly well. He’d given up on a lasting relationship after his last girlfriend had told him he was the most self-centered person she’d ever met. She was angry after he’d refused a dinner with her parents to go to a baseball game. She didn’t understand what baseball meant to him, but she wasn’t wrong.

  Aidan was selfish. His needs came before anyone else’s. He was wired that way, and maybe that was an excuse, but it was also true.

  Before Leah, he’d dated Josh. He’d thought he’d finally cracked the relationship equation with him. Josh had been his longest-lasting relationship. All Josh really cared about was sharing a few orgasms. He didn’t want to go on dates or do couple stuff like meet each other’s family. Aidan had been relieved. He could do sex, even if he felt compelled to clean up immediately afterward. But he hadn’t realized Josh wanted only sex. In the end, Josh explained that they’d never been dating at all. It was just casual sex, and not even exclusive. Aidan didn’t like the idea of being used for his body only, even if it was less complicated than doing all the couple stuff.

  “Tell me about him?” his mother asked.

  Right, Jesse. He was meant to be thinking about his chauffeur to St. Louis, not his failed relationships.

  “He smiles right, and his voice is nice. He has color in his hair, and tattoos and piercings. I think he’s an artist of some kind.” She frowned, but before she could object, Aidan hit her with the good stuff. “He takes his grandpa to every home game.”

  “Well, that’s sweet, I suppose.” She paused. “What do you mean, smiles right?”

  Aidan took a swig of milk, relaxing further into the chair. His mother sounded more curious than worried now. He was a grown man and could do what he wanted, but he liked it better when she didn’t fret.

  He put down the glass and wiped his mouth with a napkin before answering. “With his eyes and his mouth both. Like he means it. Or … am I wrong about that?”

  His mother smiled right too. She reached out and patted his arm. “No, you’re exactly right.”

  Aidan finished his milk, stood up and took it to the sink. He rinsed it out and placed it in the dishwasher. When he turned, his mother watched pensively from the doorway.

  “Is Jesse gay?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. Why?”

  “You said you liked him.”

  Aidan sighed. “I didn’t say I wanted to sleep with him.”

  She looked skeptical. “You don’t want to sleep with him?”

  “I didn’t say that either,” he mumbled.

  “I’m not trying to be a pain,” his mother said. She stepped forward and pecked a kiss on his cheek. “I’m headed to bed. If you do go to St. Louis with this Jesse, I’d like his contact information. Just as a precaution.”

  “Fine.”

  He didn’t have the energy to fight her mothering. She was overprotective, and their living together didn’t help. She kept a close eye on him. But sometimes he needed someone to rein him in and restore reason when he was upset. He already felt better about his car and going to St. Louis. His mother’s prying questions had made him realize he really did like Jesse. He was determined to prove he could take a trip with a friend, like a normal grown-up, without losing his shit.

  Also, he didn’t have much choice. He always went to games within driving dis
tance. It was so much easier to record the players’ stats that way. He could do it from television and statistical reporting in the newspaper, but it wasn’t as fun as doing it in person and there was always a chance someone else would make an error. Besides, he was dying to see his predictions play out in living color before him. There was a rush to watching a player step up to bat and knowing the most likely outcome of the play based on his batting average and the pitcher’s WHIP stats (walks and hits per inning pitched).

  Every time his math was right, he got a little zing of excitement. Math was all around, and most people didn’t appreciate it. But numbers had always been Aidan’s friends. He could count on them, pun intended. He laughed a little as he thought it.

  ***

  “Your move, Gramps.”

  “Hmm?” Gramps blinked and looked at the spread of playing cards in his hand. “Oh yes, let me see here.”

  Gramps would take his time considering strategies. He’d raised Jesse on a steady diet of Rummy, Hearts, Pinochle and poker. Jesse pulled out his phone and checked his texts. He had one from his mom.

  She’d raised him with the help of Gramps when she was a young, single mom. She got a great career opportunity in LA when he was 16. He’d had his first boyfriend and couldn’t bear the thought of leaving. He also couldn’t handle leaving Gramps, so she let him stay. He’d gone out there a few times for visits and found some crazy parties, but he belonged in KC. It felt like home.

  Mothership: Hi, hon! Haven’t heard from you in a while. Sell any new art? Love that painting you showed me!

  He frowned, considering how to answer. The painting he’d texted a picture of was six months old. He’d mainly sent it to appease his mother, who constantly asked about his art career. He wanted to say, what career? but then it would spiral into a discussion about how he wasn’t living up to his potential.

  He sold the odd painting, but it would never be enough to make a living so he only worked on his art when his muse demanded it. Lately, his muse had been lethargic.

  Part of the reason he’d agreed to drive Aidan to St. Louis was that road trips always gave his muse a jolt of energy. Seeing new places and experiencing new things were key to bringing out the artistic side of him. Lately, life had grown stale. Routine. He visited Gramps, ran errands for him — all well and good, but not exactly exciting. And he tended bar at Inky Tendrils, a gay bar with — wait for it — an octopus theme. It was actually pretty cool and Jesse could easily find a hookup any day of the week, but even that had grown boring. The guys were all a version of the same: gelled hair, tight pants, gleaming muscles.

  Last shift, a seriously cute guy had approached the bar with enough heat in his eyes to burn down the place. He’d had a slim but muscled build, like that of a runner, and having shed his T-shirt while dancing, a lot of that form was on display.

  Jesse’s reaction? Meh.

  He tapped out a reply while Gramps deliberated on his next card play.

  Jesse: No sales lately, but you know me. Haven’t tried too hard

  Mothership: Well, it’s beautiful. I posted it on FB and told all my friends they should buy your work

  Jesse: Subtle, Mom

  Mothership: I have to run. Use your talent, hon! TTYL

  Jesse wasn’t surprised she’d tossed that last nugget in there. No one in his family fully understood Jesse’s tendency to float along. He loved art, but he couldn’t see turning it into a livelihood. The pressure to pay the bills was sure to kill his creative drive. Ultimately, he would become a sellout and do boring commission portraits or some shit just to get by. That wasn’t any better than tending bar. At least working the bar left his creative tank full for when his muse did strike.

  Besides, Jesse had tried to pursue an art career. He’d applied to two art schools, and he hadn’t rated a scholarship. If he couldn’t even win a scholarship, how could he ever take the art world by storm? Answer: He couldn’t. His talent was average. He was average. Jesse would rather accept that and enjoy his art on a personal level than feel like a failure.

  “There,” Gramps announced as he finally played his hand. “Let’s see you do better than that.”

  He sounded smug. Gramps wasn’t the most gracious winner. Jesse glanced over the table, taking in the ace-high pair Gramps had added to the mix.

  He scanned his own cards, searching in vain for a good play. “Damn it.”

  The phone rang. Jesse started to lay down his cards so he could grab it, but Gramps waved him off. “I'll get it. You think. And hurry up, you have a shift at the bar soon.”

  Jesse studied his cards, his mind only half-engaged. Gramps had him beat, and he was due at work. He liked tending bar. It was a social job. He got to flirt all night and get paid nicely for it, and they were flexible with his schedule. He’d have to remember to ask for the next couple of days off for the trip with Aidan.

  “Hello?” Gramps said. “Oh, Jesse? He’s my grandson.”

  Jesse looked over, his attention perking at his name.

  “Ah yes, we sure are sorry about your son’s car. Mm-hmm.”

  This must be about Aidan. But his mother was calling? That was a bit strange. If Jesse remembered the birth date on Aidan’s license, the guy was a year older than him.

  “I see. We’re all God’s unique creations. My Jesse understands that. I want to assure you, he’s a good driver. I distracted him with my excitement about the Royals’ win. An I-70 World Series doesn’t happen every day. Okay. Okay. Yes. Bye-bye now.”

  Gramps hung up, and Jesse waited for some revelation. None came.

  “Well?”

  Gramps looked at the table. “Are you giving up?”

  Jesse tossed his hand down. “I got nothing. Was that Aidan’s mother?”

  Gramps sat down across the table and met Jesse’s gaze.

  “You never went to college. You paint sporadically and don’t really have a typical life of career, family, house.”

  Jesse jerked back. “So?”

  “So, your life is as you need it. You don’t fit the typical mold, but you make your own. That’s okay. Your mother and I wish you’d embrace your talent more fully, but that’s for you to do in your own time and in your own way.”

  “Um, yeah. Thanks, Gramps.”

  Maybe Gramps was getting senile. Jesse couldn’t see how a commentary on Jesse’s life could have anything to do with Aidan or his mother.

  “Aidan is a unique man too. His mother wanted to make sure that you wouldn’t have a problem with that.”

  “Unique how?”

  Gramps smiled enigmatically. “He is who he is. So are you. As long as you accept that we’re all different, does it really matter what quirks the man has?”

  “Guess not. As long as he’s not a serial killer.”

  Gramps started clearing up the cards, and Jesse took that as his sign to get ready for work. He stood up and reached for his jacket.

  “I can’t make any promises,” Gramps said, pulling him up short. “How well do we really know anyone?”

  He gave a loud guffaw, tickled with his own sense of humor.

  “Thanks, Gramps,” Jesse said dryly. “I feel great about this trip now. If they find my body, make sure I get cremated. I can’t stomach the idea of rotting underground.”

  Gramps harrumphed, waving a hand. “Don’t be morbid. Aidan is more interested in baseball than murder, I expect. Besides, you can handle yourself.”

  Jesse gathered up his keys and headed for the door. “Right. I’m badass.”

  “Unless he’s like that Dexter fella. Too smart to rely on brute force.”

  Jesse pointed a finger at him. “You’re evil.”

  Gramps was still chuckling when the door closed behind Jesse.

  Chapter Three

  A little past 1 p.m., Jesse pulled into the driveway of a little Cape Cod style home with immaculate landscaping, still neat and tidy despite the blanket of colorful leaves adorning the neighbor’s yard. The home was well-maintained, its pale blue p
aint job failing to show the wear of many others in this older neighborhood. He wasn’t surprised to see that Aidan ran a tight ship.

  Aidan’s mother followed him onto the porch and down to the sidewalk. She had the determined look of a woman intent on protecting her baby boy. First the phone call to Gramps and now this? Maybe Aidan was quirkier than his grandfather had let on. Or maybe his mother didn’t like her precious boy hanging with a hooligan with dyed hair and metal in his face.

  Jesse swallowed his nerves and opened the car door, stepping out with a smile. “Hi, Aidan,” he said with a nod. “This must be your mother?”

  Aidan opened the back door of the Lincoln, tossing in a suitcase. Jesse had expected something along the lines of a duffel, but he was quickly learning that Aidan would challenge his expectations.

  “Nice to meet you, Jesse.” Aidan’s mother extended a hand, and Jesse shook it nervously. He’d never been a hit with parents. He’d avoided them like the plague since he’d gotten caught with his pants down, quite literally, with his ex-boyfriend. Tyrel’s mother had tried to hit Jesse with a wooden spoon. That shit hurts. Tyrel had been promised the beating of a lifetime when his dad got home as Jesse had made his escape.

  A few days later Ty broke it off by text and Jesse didn’t fight it.

  Since then, he’d kept most of his relationships casual. No fucking in the parents’ house. No introductions to family members. He wasn’t entirely opposed to a more serious relationship. But if and when he faced a parental figure again — and he hadn’t counted on it being today — Jesse wanted it to be worth the fight.

  “That’s not his real smile,” Aidan said from the other side of the car.

  Jesse floundered. “Uh, sorry?”

  Aidan’s mother smiled. “Aidan’s bluntly honest. You’ll get used to it.” She shrugged. “Or maybe not. It sometimes surprises even me, and I raised him.”

  “Well, okay. Nice to meet you, Mrs. Heming.”

  He’d exchanged a few emails with Aidan to set up their meeting time and make plans for the trip, so he knew his last name. Aidan had been reluctant to share a hotel room, which was understandable since they were strangers, but he’d also insisted on staying at a Sheraton, which was too rich for Jesse’s blood. They’d haggled over the rooming situation until Aidan caved and said he’d reserved a room with two queen beds. The quality of bed linen and softness of the mattress had won out over Aidan’s discomfort at sharing his space.