Last week in No Way Out, as you'll recall, Shy closed the door on Wyatt, but then relented, and even agreed to meet Wyatt somewhere the next day. What does that portend? See what happens in this week's episode, and then see what the other Wednesday Briefers are up to!
No Way Out #8
Why did Wyatt feel as if he’d just gained a major concession of some sort? As though the words came with a price? But that was silly, wasn’t it? He pushed the thought aside, focused on Shy’s question instead.
Where to meet? He hadn’t honestly thought that far ahead. He’d blurted out the words as a reaction to Shy’s attempt to push him away, which he didn’t understand. But he wanted to understand. Very badly. There was a story there, one he wished to learn. He already suspected the answer involved Randy. His dislike for the pompous older man was only growing stronger.
“Where’s good for you?” Maybe if he let Shy choose the venue, he’d feel more comfortable about it.
He watched Shy closely as he considered his answer. He seemed calm but the rapid rise and fall of his chest belied his outward demeanor, as if he kept a tight rein on himself.
What in God’s name was he so afraid of? And why did he keep peering behind Wyatt, as if he expected the devil himself to appear at any moment.
Maybe he did.
Just as Wyatt was beginning to think Shy had no intention of making a reply, he ran his tongue over his lips, took a deep breath, and murmured, “Shop For Less. Ten o’clock.”
A grocery store? Confusion, tempered by disappointment, cascaded through Wyatt. Not exactly what he’d had in mind. Certainly not the place for intimate conversation of the getting-to-know-you variety. He looked into Shy’s eyes, opening his mouth to protest, but something in those big blue eyes stopped him cold and without thinking, he repeated Shy’s words, adding, “I’ll be there.”
The next moment he was staring at the door once more. He could take a hint.
Well, now that he’d gotten his way he could.
No sense in pushing his luck. As spooked as Shy seemed, he didn’t think it would take much to push him over the edge. As he turned away from the house, a small smile of satisfaction crept over his lips. He would have fist pumped in triumph but both hands were full. So much for his offer of ice cream. He could see Shy wanted it. So why didn’t he take one?
“The game is afoot!” he announced in his best imitation of the inestimable Sherlock Holmes. Tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough to suit Wyatt.
* * * *
Shy peeked through the front curtains until he saw Wyatt’s retreating figure disappear into the house across the street. Then he counted to ten quickly and hurried to remove any and all trace of the ice cream from the front step. Once he’d scrubbed it to his satisfaction, he hurried back inside and released a long breath of relief.
Okay, back to reality. What did he just agree to, and why? Did he really say he’d meet Wyatt tomorrow morning at the grocery store? What had he been thinking?
He hadn’t, that was the problem. At least not with his mind. He hadn’t thought with his dick in so long, it had taken him by surprise. Not since those long ago days when he’d been young and innocent, and he thought Randy Grant was the answer to everything.
A violent tremor crashed through his body. He reached out, clutched the arm of a wingback chair for support. He forced himself to breathe through the panic, until he felt secure enough to stand on his own.
What was done was done. He could hardly undo it—and he wasn’t sure he really wanted to. The most important thing was to make sure Randy never found out. He had to put on the most convincing act ever. The best way to do that would be to remove thoughts of Wyatt from his mind, focus on the house, and his chores.
Tomorrow had to remain his dirty little secret.
* * * *
Shy’s life was a regulated one. Randy had written a schedule for him that Shy copied onto the dry erase board that hung in the kitchen. Every day had been assigned both general chores and specific ones. On Thursdays, Shy did the shopping. The dietician emailed Randy the menus for the following week the night before. Then Randy made up the actual list and printed it out. Shy was forbidden to deviate from it even one iota. No spontaneous purchases, nothing special for himself. He had to account for every penny spent. Randy scrutinized each receipt with an eagle eye. Even though he made good money, he was as tightfisted as they came, especially when it came to Shy.
The car that he allowed Shylor to drive was second hand, an old Chevy compact, over fifteen years old. Nothing much to look at, but it was dependable, and it allowed Shy the freedom to run his errands. God forbid Randy allow him to use his car—that would never happen.
Shy could never park in the driveway, but was relegated to the back of the house, where the car couldn’t be seen from the street. Shy didn’t care. It was a mode of transportation, nothing more.
But today it was his ticket to paradise.
As he served breakfast, Shy was careful to maintain his carefully cultivated mask. He paid close attention to Randy’s instructions, along with the list. Nothing he’d not heard before. After five years, it was the same old litany. But he pretended to hang on his every word.
Randy took another sip of coffee and grunted his satisfaction. Not that he’d think to praise Shy for it, or anything else. To Shy’s dismay, he seemed in no hurry to leave. Why today?
But leave he did, at last, with last minute instructions to pick up his dry cleaning for some affair tomorrow night.
Once he’d gone, Shy checked his reflection in the mirror, retied his hair with a slender red ribbon and stared into his own eyes.
Was he really going to do this?
to be continued
Now join my fellow flashers in their merry revels:
Until next time, take care!