Page 12 of A Handsome Devil

I felt fresh as a frosty morning in autumn as I stepped downstairs. Tiny windowpanes of sun from Truman’s skylight slithered over my skin. Already, I started to regain some of my former arrogant confidence. And that was saying something. Sure, my hip stabbed me a little, but it wasn’t pushing me to use. Yet.

In the black and white checkered kitchen, it sure looked like Truman was frying up something. The sun told me it was before noon, so maybe bacon and eggs—I couldn’t smell properly yet. I leaned against a corner wall and watched him going avidly at it. Such a kind, loving man. Wasn’t he saying something about his dead wife being an addict right before I vomited one of those times?

And what a round, trim ass. My prick lengthened and hardened unbidden. I had to get out of there before I got myself into more trouble.

Stepping forward, I made my presence known. “Mr. Oakley,” I said formally, despite the fact I’d had my naked thigh slung over that very ass the night before. He whipped upright, spatula in hand, eyes plainly surprised. “I want to thank you for all the hard work you’ve done. All the risks you’ve taken for me, some worthless addict you don’t even know.”

He spun the spatula onto the counter and took a few steps toward me. “No, not at all, Alessio! You’re far from a worthless fucking addict. You’re the very sort of man I always aim to help.”

He said man, not person . . . “Nah, nah, that’s okay. You’ve done way more than enough for me. All I need is my backpack from your club—”

He pointed a stiff finger to the dining room. “We got it right here. Gunning and Erin brought it yesterday. Hey, just sit down and have some coffee.”

“I only like decaf. Don’t need to be any antsier than I normally am.”

Splaying his hand on his chest like we’d just discovered we were twins, Truman cried, “Me too.pain go That’s actually all I’ve got brewed. Here, sit at the counter.”

Sighing, I sat while Truman sloshed coffee into a cup. The longer I lingered, the more I postponed putting my plans into action, getting ahold of my cohorts, telling them what I needed. But you know, in a way I yearned to know more about this handsome, sincere widower. “Don’t you need to go into the office?”

“Nah,” Truman spat, overly casual. “I’ve got a million vacation days saved up. Wasn’t about to leave a potential corpse in my bed, anyway. Doctor Hawk can cover for me.”

“And Erin and Gunning,” I reminded him, accepting the hot mug. “When they’re not both bringing you my pack.”

Did he redden a bit? He sipped his coffee to cover it up. “No big deal. They both live here, anyway. Downstairs,” he quickly added, as if I’d be afraid they had overheard our cuddling.

“Hm,” I observed. “You really do take care of everyone.” He remained calm and suave until I added, “Like your wife.”

He jolted. Then began to talk. “Yeah. Ashley spiraled after her fourth miscarriage. Had some physical pain, so they gave her oxy. Instead of getting a baby she was treated like a drug addict demanding the only thing that’d make the pain go away. You know how that is.”

I nodded.

“She was quickly labeled a ‘drug seeker,’ so she figured she might as well become one. It moved quickly to fentanyl and ketamine, bought on the streets in downtown Oakland. She kept googling to see if she was dying of some disease she saw on Little House on the Prairie.”

“We evolved with a deep need to bond. It’s essential for living.”

“Yeah. Addiction is a disease of loneliness. I think that’s why I strive so hard to make lives better for other addicts. I feel like I failed her. I kept yelling at her to just stop taking drugs. But it’s not that easy. I kept wondering why she didn’t just stop.”

“Not that easy,” I agreed. Still, I didn’t want to ask him how Ashley ultimately died. It was enough he’d admitted to me her drug story. So I switched on my stage microphone when I said, “I shivved a guard. Just so you know.”

Truman seemed to already know. He just nodded and sipped.

“He was raping me. Raping everyone, but me in particular. One of those assholes hetero on the outside, assaulting every guy he sees inside. And now I want you to know, so you can make a better-informed decision about helping me. My road dog Denmark took the rap for me. So I’m going to break him out.”

He did seem genuinely surprised by that. Coffee cup suspended in midair, lower lip hanging slack. Luscious lower lip. Yeah, I wanted to kiss him. Just grab his skull in my palms like they did in romcoms and plant a solid one on him. He’d be shocked, falling back against the kitchen counter, slapping one hand on the granite, but the other hand would reach up my lower back . . .

“I didn’t even know people did that anymore. Don’t they make it pretty impossible?”

I tightened my face with superiority. “We’ve got a good plan. Denmark’s going to the infirmary where they take him through a few hallways with minimal security, no tower guards. I can just . . . “ I didn’t want to go into detail with the poor guy. Why make him guilty if forced to lie to anyone else? “Convince the guards to let him go.”

All shades of emotion passed through the thoughtful guy’s face. Skepticism, wonder, anger, and fear for me. Yes, fear for me! Did that mean he gave an actual shit about me? He didn’t let just any addict sleep in his bed. With him. With his hot breath against my neck . . . “Listen, Alessio. You know I’d prefer if you didn’t do that. I understand if you feel you owe Denmark a solid. He took the fall for you and allowed you parole. That’s enormous. That’s huge. And you know . . . I don’t blame you for offing that guard. I really fucking don’t. That sort of shit goes on way too frequently in prisons.” Truman tossed his head then as if to blow it off. “Happened to me.”

I set down my empty mug. “You . . . were raped?”

“Oh no, I didn’t mean that. Nothing near what you underwent. My mother’s boyfriend, or john rather. He’d punch her around, throw her to the ground, and rape her in front of me.”

I was seriously appalled.

“That’s how I sort of became . . . skeptical of straight sex. When I fucked women, all I could think of was . . . that.”