Never Too Late by Chris Quinton

Author:Chris Quinton [Quinton, Chris]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: bought, to format
Publisher: Koouros Books
Published: 2013-07-31T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Four

Not since Harry’s death had the house seemed so empty. Stuart shut the door on the outside world and dropped his jacket on the nearest chair. He turned on the TV, needing to hear a human voice. A man in a gray suit was talking about Impressionist art, imparting the information in a calm, quiet English accent without any theatricals. He spoke with the certainty that his audience had a couple of brain cells to rub together, and an attention span of more than ten minutes. Even so, he failed to draw Stuart into the program.

Tom Szabo was right there in the forefront of his thoughts, and Stuart could not dislodge him. What did the boy—man—want from him? A convenient diversion for the short time he’d be around? If so, why make a point of saying he was considering relocating to Rochester? If he was. It could have been a tactic, of course, but why bother? Maybe he should have taken Tom up on his blatant offer, enjoyed him while he was available. But that seemed just as wrong as having sex with a man so much younger. Tom deserved better than that.

“God, Harry, what do I do?” he whispered. “He’s not a bit like you, except for the way he cares about people. But he makes me feel…” What? Alive?

The sound of the doorbell forced him out of his introspection, and he opened the door to an unexpected visitor. Tom leaned against the outer doorpost, ostensibly relaxed, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. “Can we talk?” he asked.

“Depends,” Stuart replied cautiously. “If it’s about persuading Deanna to slow down and stay off her ankle, you’re on your own. She doesn’t listen to me. I’m not a health professional.”

“Uh, no, it’s about us.”

“What?” Stuart stared at him, mind temporarily blank. “There is no us.”

“Exactly. I think there could be.”

Stuart’s heart lurched and he scrabbled desperately for something to say. Then inspiration struck. “How old is your father?” he asked quietly.

Tom blinked, startled but apparently not surprised. His expression took on a strange mixture of innocence and shiftiness. “Forty-six, I think. Why? What has—”

“I’m forty-seven. That’s why there’s no us.”

“There could be,” Tom repeated, stubborn to the end. “Age isn’t just about years. We’ve been practically living in each other’s pockets, looking out for Dee, so we’ve gotten to know each other pretty well this last week. And we’re friends, right?”

“If a week is long enough to form a friendship, yes. But—”

“So it’s okay to be friends regardless of the age difference, but not anything more?”

“Yes. That just about covers it.” Stuart hesitated, needing to drive his point home. “I don’t fool around with that friends-with-benefits bull,” he continued. “When I need it, I prefer anonymous sex. So I say again, there is no us.”

“I hear you.” Tom frowned into the distance. “I’ve been there, too. It’s safer, emotionally, isn’t it? No commitments, no expectations. Not even a name sometimes. Just a warm willing body who knows the score.

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