Rainbow Hill (8 page)

“Look,” he began, “I’m not going to say that it’ll be easy but I can’t have sex with Quinn. My life is complicated enough and doing that with him would definitely be a complication.”

“Listen, I don’t mean to pry—”

“You?” Ethan teased. “Of course you don’t.”

“I’ll ignore that last comment,” she returned, continuing. “And no matter how much you profess, I know something is not right with you. Normally by now, you would’ve mentioned Randall, good, bad, or otherwise, but you haven’t said boo.”

“I haven’t had the time, so don’t read too much into it. Plus we haven’t had any one-on-one time.”

“That sounds like an excuse to me, and a bad one at that.”

Ethan shifted, resting the phone between his shoulder and chin. He examined his cuticles, stalling. “Remember that I was only coming for a brief visit, and now I’m planning to stay for a yet undetermined amount of time. When I was ambushed with—” He waved his hands in frustration. “—this, Randall was not my primary concern.”

“Point made,” Nikki mumbled. “But all I have to say is, you certainly have more willpower than me because Quinn looks good. Real good.” She hummed her approval, the sound bordering indecent. “He was always a cutie, but he is one hunk of a man now. Did you check out those shoulders? And that chest! I could trace those pecs with my tongue.” Nikki made that noise again, which was beginning to annoy the crap out of Ethan.

“You have a husband,” Ethan reminded. “You can’t do that to him.”

“I love Ryan, but he has bigger boobs than I do. And for some reason, I don’t think doing that to my husband would have the same desired effect as doing it to Quinn.”

Ethan chuckled, forcing thoughts of Ryan’s moobs out of his head. “Let’s not discuss your husband’s or your chest size, okay? Or even Quinn’s, for that matter.”

“You’re the one who brought it up.” Nikki paused.

Ethan prepared for another round of questioning.

“Where is the man in question now? Sleeping in the buff a few doors down? Or is he showering, all those manly parts—soapy, slick, and wet?”

“You really haven’t matured much since high school, have you?”

“It’s better than being a dried up, old, humorless prude. Where’s that boy I love so much? Did you leave him in the city?”

“That boy grew up.”

“That boy is full of himself,” Nikki teased.

“So when are we getting together so you can do this friendly banter face to face?”

“I was hoping you’d ask that.”

Ethan was beginning to regret that he did.

“I thought I could wrangle up a few old classmates and we could do karaoke at Rascals.”

“That redneck truck stop place?” Ethan groaned. “Won’t I be lynched in a place like that?”

“Don’t judge a book by its cover, or a bar by its clientele. Rascals is loads of fun. And FYI, the owner’s daughter is a lesbian. She came out last Christmas, and the place has never been the same.”

“The more time I spend here, the more I’m surprised…and a little confused.”

“Ethan, you’re always judging people. Do you realize that? And ironically, you are always fearful that you’re the one being judged because you’re gay. Times have changed, even in Jefferson. Granted, we still have prejudiced pricks, but their hate is not exclusive to gays only. Those people hate everyone except whites. And sometimes they’re not even safe.”

Nikki was right. Ethan did judge people. But it was a protective mechanism, Ethan had been so used to doing it when growing up, and now he didn’t know how to stop doing it. “I’ll try my best to stop.”

“And I’ll keep bringing it to your attention if you don’t.”

“What are friends for?” Ethan responded under his breath.

“Can I count you and Quinn in for the reunion sing-along?”

“I can’t speak for him, but against my better judgment, I’ll start practicing my best rendition of ‘Total Eclipse of the Heart’.” Ethan started to hum a few bars of the eighties hit.

“Haven’t you tortured me enough with that song?” Nikki spat. “It wasn’t even popular when we were growing up. Can’t you stick to songs people our age remember?”

“I love that song,” Ethan admitted, feeling a little offended. “It’s soulful.”

“It’s awful.”

“Coming from the girl who knows every word to every Britney Spears song penned.”

“Well, at least she’s not a sixty-year-old woman with a smoker’s voice and a bad frost job.”

Ethan couldn’t help but laugh at his friend’s description of the British songstress, Bonnie Tyler.

On hearing a gentle rap at his door, Ethan said his good-byes to Nikki. He tugged at his T-shirt to straighten it, and then smoothed his palms over his thighs to press out the wrinkles of his pajama bottoms.

“Come in,” he called out.

The door cracked, and Quinn appeared, his hair delightfully rumpled and his jaw covered in reddish-brown stubble. Ethan’s heart missed a few beats at his housemate’s rugged and sexy appearance. Ethan’s mind began to explore the possibilities of what his tongue could do to Quinn’s sculptured chest.

“Everything okay in here? I thought I heard you speaking to someone.”

Ethan lifted his phone and shook it. “Nikki saying goodnight.”

“She loves you, you know that?” A slight smile curved Quinn’s lips. “You’re lucky to have a friend like her.”

Ethan smiled too. “I am. I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

There was a moment Ethan thought that Quinn had wanted to say something, a look that had passed over his face. But it disappeared as quickly as it came. “I’ll let you get to sleep,” Quinn said, his voice low and gruff. “Good night.”

“Is there something you’d like to ask me?”

He shook his head. “Nah,” Quinn returned. “Get some rest. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

“Night.”

The door closed, and Ethan could hear the soft padding of Quinn’s bare feet walking down the hall. Thoughts of Quinn lingered well into the night. And when he finally fell asleep, he dreamed of Quinn—his smiles, those eyes that appeared to hold many secrets, the body Ethan imagined caressing.

The next day, Ethan awoke more exhausted than when he'd gone to sleep.

Chapter Six

After helping Frank and Tucker with the morning milking, Quinn had spent the rest of the morning clearing a shed that had once been used to store farm vehicles that refused to die and rusted out equipment that found their way there instead to the local landfill.

After taking on the project over two weeks earlier, the last of the remaining odds and ends were now gone, and the pine wood floor was successfully repaired and polished to a brilliance, the years of hard use and neglect now virtually undetectable.

With hands on hips, Quinn surveyed his handiwork, a sense of accomplishment filling him. A low whistle sounded behind him, pulling him from his thoughts. He turned to find Ethan standing in the open doorway, holding an array of paintbrushes in one hand and two cans of paint in the other.

“This place is nothing the way I remember it.” Ethan chuckled. “Do you know I used to hide in here and smoke cigarettes? Smart, huh? It’s a miracle I didn’t burn it to the ground.”

Quinn noticed dark blond chest hair curling from the V-neck of Ethan’s fitted white T-shirt. “Where did you manage to find the cigarettes?”

“I stole them from the workers when they weren’t looking. One guy always left a pack on the shelf in the dairy. I could always depend on him to fuel my addiction.”

“Well please choose another place to fuel your addiction, because I’d hate to see all my hard work go up in flames.”

Ethan walked into the barn and placed the paint cans on the floor where they would be safely out of the way until cracked open. “I don’t do that nasty habit anymore?”

“Do you still steal?” Quinn asked, teasing. “If you do, I’ll be the one keeping track of the finances of Oak Hill.”

“That’s not even funny,” Ethan returned, a petulant look on his face. “And I’m very good with money.”

“You must be.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I’ve never met anyone who wore such expensive shoes to paint in.” Quinn dropped his gaze to look at Ethan’s high-end running shoes, which never went on sale.

Ethan followed Quinn’s gaze. “The only other pair of shoes I have are Bruno Maglis, and I don’t intend on destroying those. If I knew that I was going to be ambushed and guilted into hard labor, I would’ve planned for a more appropriate choice of footwear.”

“I have a few old pairs of sneakers that don’t mind being covered in paint.” Quinn indicated with his chin toward the corner of the barn. “Size eleven. Over there.”

Ethan walked to a jumble of shoes strewn in the corner. “I’m a ten, but I can suffer through. I just bought these and would hate to ruin them so soon.”

Ethan tossed the paintbrushes to Quinn one at a time, Quinn catching them. He slipped off his shoes and selected a pair, then put them on. He managed a few careful steps without tripping. “Just as long as I don’t have to do too much walking, these shoes should work out okay.”

“Can you climb a ladder?”

“You’re not the only one who grew up on a farm.”

Fighting the urge to laugh, Quinn watched as Ethan located the foldable ladder propped against the wall, his uneasy gait something out of a comedy sketch. He struggled for a minute before stabilizing the ladder.

“Piece of cake,” Ethan said without making eye contact. “I do this stuff for a living, remember?”

“I thought you drew up the plans in the cool comfort of your home office and hired out the real work?”

Through narrowed eyes the color of a churning sea, Ethan finally met Quinn’s gaze. “Designing interiors for people with a sense of entitlement and overinflated egos is hard work.” He raised his chin. “And if you keep up with the barbed comments, I’ll leave you to do this by yourself.”

Quinn enjoyed teasing Ethan. He liked it when Ethan’s nostrils flared and his left brow rose to the middle of his forehead. For some reason, giving him a hard time was starting to rank high on Quinn’s new favorite pastime list. He winked, causing Ethan’s already pink cheeks to turn to a deep crimson.

“I need you, buddy,” Quinn admitted in his best seductive growl. “Plus you probably wouldn’t get too far wearing those shoes.”

Ethan whispered something under his breath before reaching out, his hand open. “Give me a paintbrush and open a can of paint. Do you think you can do that without talking?”

Quinn answered with a curt nod, doing what he was told.

Ethan squared his shoulders, scanning the barn. “I thought I would paint the interior a distressed white allowing some of the texture and color of the wood to come through. It gives it a more charming and authentic look while brightening this dark space. I placed an order for twenty gallons of weather-resistant Barn Red for the exteriors. And before you ask, that is the name of the color of the paint, and I intend to paint all the exteriors that color. Continuity in color will make a more pleasing landscape, making it less confusing for the clients too.”

“Am I allowed to talk now?”

Ethan answered with a twist of his lips and a raised brow, Quinn assuming that meant yes.

“That sounds great because I wanted to paint these walls a deep forest green.” Quinn shrugged, looking around.

“What?” Ethan spat. “Did you want this place to look like a black hole that swallows people, leaving them in redneck hell forever?” Quinn shook his head. “Leave the aesthetics to me and hand over that can of paint. I want to test this color out.”

“If I’m stepping into the role of assistant, you better learn how to use the word please.”

Ethan huffed, but acquiesced. “Please,” he returned, his tone bordering on sarcastic.

Quinn lifted the can of paint in front of him. “That’s better.”

Taking the supplies, Ethan set about his task, focused and efficient, as Quinn admired the view, truly impressed. After a brief period of time, Quinn asked, “What do you think? Does it meet your standards?”

“Since this was the best I could do with such a tight schedule, it will have to.”

“Great. Where do we go from here?”

Ethan pointed to a nearby space on the wall. “Over there would be a good place. When I work, I like to finish a wall before moving on. It’s not so overwhelming.”

“Are you overwhelmed?” Quinn genuinely wanted to know.

“I wouldn’t say that, exactly.”

“Then what would you say….exactly?”

“Maybe nervous?” Ethan continued to paint. “So much is riding on this venture.”

“You could say that about everything we do in life.”

“True, but when it comes to my dad, it’s different. I want to prove to him that I’m successful, that I’m…” Ethan’s words faded.

“Do you feel that you’re a disappointment to him because you’re gay?”

“Do you with Frank?”

“Sometimes,” Quinn honestly admitted. “Why else would I have gotten married?”

Ethan turned and looked at Quinn. “Is that why you did…get married?”

“My first sexual experience was from a man, my first kiss from a man. Does it make sense that I’d marry a woman?”