at the previous guy’s can.” Mark pointed towards the house whose trash we’d just emptied. “It’s fucking rolling down the sidewalk and is almost in the street. While” —he stopped to point at Connor’s waste bin— “Pretty boy’s container, you’ve all but put it away for him.”
I figured that if Connor saw Mark waving his hands, he would assume Mark was yelling at me about something. I was relieved that he wouldn’t hear what was being said over the truck and his lawn mower.
I didn’t look back at Connor’s cans because I knew they were where they were supposed to be. “It’s not my fault they,” I waved my hand in the direction of the fallen container, “bought cheap trash cans that can’t stay upright and roll easy,” I said, as I hopped up onto the truck where Mark was already waiting. The truck took off, and it was conveniently too noisy to talk easily.
Unfortunately, at the next stop, Mark started the conversation back up right where he left off. “You should talk to him. Ask him out.” He said it encouragingly, and not for the first time.
Yeah, like it was that easy. He was always telling me to at least wave or nod if I wouldn’t say anything. Sometimes he’d even try coaching me in what to say: “Tell him you like his primed rosebuds .” He winked at me. Ever since he heard rosebud was a synonym for asshole, he liked to say it as lewdly and as often as possible.
“I don’t even know if he is gay,” I muttered.
“He’s gay.” Mark sounded certain.
“How do you know?” I asked skeptically.
“I have excellent gaydar.” Mark smiled smugly.
“You’re not even gay,” I pointed out.
“You don’t have to be gay to have a solidly functioning gaydar detection system.” Mark carelessly slung the can he was finished dumping back onto the sidewalk. “I’ve seen him looking at you too, the same way you look at him,” Mark said, as we jumped back on the truck heading to the next house.
Jumping off the truck at the next stop, I asked Mark, “What look is that?”
“You know, the I-want-you-so-so-bad-but-I’m-too-chicken-shit-to-even-say-hi look.”
That was the first time Mark had said that he’d seen Connor looking at me. I felt my heart falter as I allowed myself to feel that maybe Connor was attracted to me too, if only for a brief moment. Doubtful , I thought. Mark must have been reading Connor wrong. I forced myself to finish the job at hand, returning the bin I’d just emptied to the sidewalk and jumping up on the truck. I knew Mark was right about me acting scared. I wasn’t convinced Connor was giving me the same look, though. Either way, I didn’t have anything else to say to Mark about it.
I pretended I didn’t hear him when he again yelled across the truck. “Seriously, if you won’t talk to him, I’m going to do it for you.”
****
The next Saturday…
Connor wasn’t wearing a shirt today, just a pair of loose and really dirty jeans with a sleek black belt keeping them up on his waist. He was using a hedge trimmer that showed off his muscular arms as he held it up to the shrubs. He had a full pack of ab muscles and well-defined pecs with perfect small brown nipples. His light brown hair was a short buzz-cut that looked really good on him. Not for the first time, I imagined how our bodies would feel against each other. I was a little taller and a little wider than he was. My body was in good shape. I had strong arms and shoulders, but my stomach wasn’t quite as ripped as Connor’s killer six-pack.
I emptied Connor’s can and returned it to the curb as slowly and quietly as I could, trying not to draw attention to my actions. I wanted all the time I could get to admire Connor’s perfect body, but didn’t want to be caught doing it. Connor in action was something I would never forget. When I finally turned around to hop back on the truck, I came face to face with Mark.
Rubbing his shoulder and neck, Mark said, “Switch sides with me.”
I figured that if Connor saw Mark waving his hands, he would assume Mark was yelling at me about something. I was relieved that he wouldn’t hear what was being said over the truck and his lawn mower.
I didn’t look back at Connor’s cans because I knew they were where they were supposed to be. “It’s not my fault they,” I waved my hand in the direction of the fallen container, “bought cheap trash cans that can’t stay upright and roll easy,” I said, as I hopped up onto the truck where Mark was already waiting. The truck took off, and it was conveniently too noisy to talk easily.
Unfortunately, at the next stop, Mark started the conversation back up right where he left off. “You should talk to him. Ask him out.” He said it encouragingly, and not for the first time.
Yeah, like it was that easy. He was always telling me to at least wave or nod if I wouldn’t say anything. Sometimes he’d even try coaching me in what to say: “Tell him you like his primed rosebuds .” He winked at me. Ever since he heard rosebud was a synonym for asshole, he liked to say it as lewdly and as often as possible.
“I don’t even know if he is gay,” I muttered.
“He’s gay.” Mark sounded certain.
“How do you know?” I asked skeptically.
“I have excellent gaydar.” Mark smiled smugly.
“You’re not even gay,” I pointed out.
“You don’t have to be gay to have a solidly functioning gaydar detection system.” Mark carelessly slung the can he was finished dumping back onto the sidewalk. “I’ve seen him looking at you too, the same way you look at him,” Mark said, as we jumped back on the truck heading to the next house.
Jumping off the truck at the next stop, I asked Mark, “What look is that?”
“You know, the I-want-you-so-so-bad-but-I’m-too-chicken-shit-to-even-say-hi look.”
That was the first time Mark had said that he’d seen Connor looking at me. I felt my heart falter as I allowed myself to feel that maybe Connor was attracted to me too, if only for a brief moment. Doubtful , I thought. Mark must have been reading Connor wrong. I forced myself to finish the job at hand, returning the bin I’d just emptied to the sidewalk and jumping up on the truck. I knew Mark was right about me acting scared. I wasn’t convinced Connor was giving me the same look, though. Either way, I didn’t have anything else to say to Mark about it.
I pretended I didn’t hear him when he again yelled across the truck. “Seriously, if you won’t talk to him, I’m going to do it for you.”
****
The next Saturday…
Connor wasn’t wearing a shirt today, just a pair of loose and really dirty jeans with a sleek black belt keeping them up on his waist. He was using a hedge trimmer that showed off his muscular arms as he held it up to the shrubs. He had a full pack of ab muscles and well-defined pecs with perfect small brown nipples. His light brown hair was a short buzz-cut that looked really good on him. Not for the first time, I imagined how our bodies would feel against each other. I was a little taller and a little wider than he was. My body was in good shape. I had strong arms and shoulders, but my stomach wasn’t quite as ripped as Connor’s killer six-pack.
I emptied Connor’s can and returned it to the curb as slowly and quietly as I could, trying not to draw attention to my actions. I wanted all the time I could get to admire Connor’s perfect body, but didn’t want to be caught doing it. Connor in action was something I would never forget. When I finally turned around to hop back on the truck, I came face to face with Mark.
Rubbing his shoulder and neck, Mark said, “Switch sides with me.”
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