Arcanum (Tales from the Tarot)

9. Chris

Chapter nine

Chris

I t was finally midnight, which meant it was my allotted time for “lunch.”

I’d just pulled into my driveway when my cell phone buzzed with the tenth message in the past three minutes. All from fucking Monica. For some reason, she’d gotten a bug up her ass to start texting me out of the blue. We’d had zero communication for the past five months and now all of a sudden she was trying to make nice? Fuck her.

Monica: Hi

Monica: Can we talk?

Monica: Are you working?

Monica: You didn’t block me, did you?

Monica: I hope you didn’t block me. Anyway, I’m sorry. I want to talk to you. Please?

Monica: I don’t want to do this over text messages. Will you please call me?

Monica: I still have a copy of your schedule. I know you’re working so I know you’re awake. Call me when you’re not busy.

Monica: Ok, I just tried calling you and it went to voicemail. Please stop ignoring me.

Monica: I get it. You’re still mad. I fucked up. I know that. But please PLEASE don’t give me the silent treatment. I miss you so much and I just want to hear your voice.

Monica: I still love you.

I didn’t even bother pulling my phone out of my vest after that last one. She had one thing right though—I was one more text away from blocking her ass, which I should have done months ago, right after I changed the locks. I don’t know why I didn’t. Maybe because for those five months there wasn’t a need to block her. I thought she’d moved on.

Trudging in the garage door, I yanked at the velcro straps on my vest carrier and exhaled the moment I felt sweet relief, able to take a full, unrestricted breath for the first time in over six hours. I peeled it off and carried it with me to the kitchen, tossing it over the back of a chair to air out for the next thirty minutes.

Nitro had bolted to his food dish the second he was in the house, so by the time I got there, he was already staring at me expectantly, making low grumbling sounds.

“I’m coming.” I rolled my eyes. “Damn dog.”

He huffed loudly.

“You won’t starve!” I dumped a scoop of kibble into his bowl and got out of the way before I lost a hand.

“Now what am I going to eat?” I muttered, opening the fridge and staring at the same uninspiring ingredients as usual. At that moment, I could have gone for another steak and cheese panini. Or cake. Or even the French onion soup Greyson made.

Greyson… As soon as I thought his name, bells jangled outside, faintly.

Frowning, I walked to the kitchen sink and peered out the window, trying to see what had made the noise. I certainly didn’t have any wind chimes or anything to that effect, so it had to have come from the neighbor. The “neighbor” being Greyson.

The screen door on the back of Greyson’s house was still swinging shut when I caught a glimpse of his bare torso. Was he shirtless?! It’s, like, thirty degrees out. Unfortunately, the window frame blocked my view before I could confirm what I thought I’d seen.

I leaned forward, bracing my hands on the edge of the sink, and changed my angle to try and locate him in the yard. There! I could see him, vaguely, through the bottom branches of the maple tree but I couldn’t see what he was doing or whether or not clothes were involved.

It had been over a week since I fixed the garbage disposal and fled from what had been a pleasant conversation before I turned into a total nutcase. To no one’s surprise, I hadn’t heard another peep out of him after that. I only knew he was alive because the lights on the house turned off and on at different times, just like the lights at Arcanum—which I still hadn’t gone into.

I put it on my to-do list as I ducked out of the kitchen, making my way upstairs and going straight to my bedroom window. The curtains were already parted, so I sidled up next to one and looked down into the yard next door.

Holding a white candle between his palms, Greyson stood stark naked in the moonlight. His face was tipped toward the silver disk in the sky and his lips moved like he was in prayer, though he was too far away to make out the words.

I exhaled sharply, equal parts surprised and confused by the discovery. I should have turned around immediately and given him his privacy for whatever the hell he was doing.

Should have.

Didn’t.

As wrong as it was, I couldn’t look away.

Greyson set the candle down and made some sort of quick motion with his hand, like he was pouring something, before dropping whatever it was next to the candle. Using the tip of one finger, he drew something on his skin, starting at his forehead and working down the center of his body. His smooth, toned, naked body… as perfect as I could have imagined underneath his tailored clothes.

What in the actual fuck?! Where did that thought come from?!

In high school, I’d seen plenty of guys naked after football games and had never given it a second thought. But Greyson? An inexplicable tingling spread through me the longer I studied him, I mean really looked at him. The moonlight made his pale skin glow, except for a larger spot of black on his left pec. A tattoo? It had to have been, even though I couldn’t make out what it was. Either way, I assumed he would be chill to the touch, like marble. He didn’t seem to mind, though, since I didn’t see him shiver. Even with clothes, I knew his body was trim, graced with a natural leanness, but I doubted he spent much, if any, time in the gym.

Looking back, I suppose I had always picked up a feminine sort of vibe. Maybe feminine wasn’t the right word. Soft? Pretty? That was better. He had a pretty vibe that I associated with models and preppy trust-fund babies, certainly not the guys I was used to interacting with on a daily basis.

But in case some part of my brain even questioned his masculinity, his cock was right there in full view, impressive in its relaxed state despite the distance; even more impressive given the cold night air. It made me wonder what it would look like hard. If I was right next to him, right then, and I touched it, would it be as cold as the rest of him? Or would it be hot and heavy, pulsing in my palm with each heartbeat?

A shudder rippled through me, as if my body could expel the ridiculous thought. What the fuck was wrong with me?! I’d never been interested in anyone’s dick but my own. I didn’t know what it was about Greyson that suddenly piqued a hidden curiosity but it didn’t matter. It was one of those utterly insane thoughts that could stay in my head, behind the society-approved filter, where other absurd and terrifying questions resided, like wondering if you could survive a plane crash right as you’re taking off or what you would do if the government granted you a hall pass for one major crime in your life? Like most people who worked in public service, I had a hit list a mile long of people I’d take out, Purge-style, if I knew I could get away with it.

Intrusive thoughts —that was the phrase the therapists used at work. That’s what Greyson was, one giant intrusive thought. Intrusive, kind of like spying on your neighbor in the middle of the night.

Just as I was chiding myself for being a creeper, Greyson pivoted down below. It looked like he was turning to go back to the house until he paused abruptly and lifted his face toward my window, looking right at me. Even with the distance and elevation between us, I could feel his gaze lock onto mine. There would be no casually blending backward into the shadows, or slowly moving the drapes in front of me. No, he fucking saw me thanks to the moonlight pouring in through the glass. And now he knew that I had seen him, too.

Instead of panicking, like I was on the verge of doing, the corner of his mouth lifted into a faint smile. I was still ensnared in his gaze as he brought the candle upward, toward his face. While blowing out the flame, his lips formed a perfect O—a quick, mundane gesture I’d seen a hundred times from different people, and yet, when he did it I was suddenly worried my legs would give out. It wasn’t right that something so simple could be so fucking sexy, like the other night when he’d sucked chocolate frosting off his thumb, maintaining eye contact the whole time.

It wasn’t right that he’d caught me staring at him, either. I mean… he was the one who walked naked into his backyard where, in theory, anyone could see him. So it’s not like he should have expected privacy for his indecent—not to mention illegal —moonlit stroll. But when I confirmed he was naked, I should have turned around. I shouldn’t have stayed… and watched. Or started wondering things I had no business wondering about.

Finished with whatever it was he was doing, Greyson turned toward his house for real and slipped inside, leaving me pressed against my window like a kid drooling over a display case at the bakery.

My radio crackled on my hip, forcing me back into reality.

“K91 from Control.”

Grabbing the mic like a life preserver, I cleared my throat before answering. “Control, go ahead.”

“When you’re clear, can you check on an abandoned vehicle? I sent the call to your computer.”

“10-4, Control. I’m clear now.”

Exhaling a breath, I headed downstairs. There was no way I could eat anyway, not while my stomach was doing loop-de-loops and all I could think about was Greyson.

Grabbing Nitro, we went straight back to my squad. Short of holding a hand up to shield my eyes, I did my best to avoid looking at the house next door as I backed out of the driveway.

I seriously hoped the abandoned vehicle turned into something far more involved than a flat tire or someone who ran out of gas. Otherwise, I knew I’d have a naked Greyson on repeat in my brain all night and I didn’t quite know how to feel about that.

By the time I woke the following afternoon, a sense of guilt had entirely taken over any cheap thrill I got at spying on my neighbor. To try and make things less awkward down the road, like when we both took out the garbage at the same time, or simply saw each other in passing, I decided to make life hella awkward at the moment and go apologize.

Stepping into Arcanum, I was instantly struck with a familiar smell—Greyson. In reality, it was the smell of tea and baked goods that seemed to waft out of his house at all hours, but it made the atmosphere in the store relaxing and homey, someplace you wanted to linger and peruse instead of getting your shit and getting out again.

The overhead lighting was sparse, which I appreciated as a nightshifter. Overstuffed chairs and loveseats in varying jewel tones were scattered about with small tables and reading lamps on top. A couple of lit candles here and there (which had to be a fire code violation) added to the ambiance. It gave me the feeling that I was wandering through some crazy great-aunt’s house with too many cats and a shit ton of books instead of one of those impersonal bookstores in the mall that was only concerned with taking your money.

Karen Carlisle and the horde out front, chanting in protest, were undoubtedly the reason the store appeared empty, which was great for me, but bad for Greyson.

Before I could call out for him, Greyson appeared from the back, carrying a wicker basket of muffins. Judging by the small smile on his face, he didn’t seem surprised to see me. “Officer Brandt. How can I help you?”

“I just, um… You can call me Chris, you know.”

“Chris.” The smile widened and he set a muffin on the counter in front of me. From the looks of it, it was some kind of chocolate chip, like my mom used to make, except his were orange and hers were always a golden color. Maybe he was trying to embrace the Mapleton spirit and dyed the muffins to match the leaves.

“Thanks,” I murmured, even though I didn’t take the offering, no matter how desperately I wanted to. Why was this so hard? I wasn’t a proud guy. I could apologize when it was warranted and thinking about my neighbor’s naked body all night seemed like it warranted an apology.

“I know why you’re here,” Greyson said, loading the rest of the muffins onto a large platter with the skill of a Jenga master.

“I’m sorry,” I blurted out. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Didn’t you?” His question might have been cutting if not for the amusement in his gray eyes. Oh, he definitely enjoyed watching me squirm. I had zero doubts about that now. Maybe it was a power thing and he got off on maintaining the upper hand over someone like me, physically stronger and in an authoritative career. Or maybe I just made it too damn easy for him by losing half of my brain function whenever he was around.

“I mean, I heard your door,” I sputtered, trying to save myself. “And it was late. I’m a cop. So I was just…” Floundering. I was just fucking floundering.

“Keeping an eye on the neighborhood,” he concluded with a smirk, covering the muffin pyramid with a glass dome.

I wanted to crawl into a hole and die. Where was Luke and the goddamn farm machinery? Instead, I shoved my hands deeper into my jeans pockets and rocked back on my heels. “It won’t happen again. And I’m sorry. Again. But you should also know it’s illegal. Falls under disorderly conduct.”

“Disorderly conduct?” His smile was serene, still amused, and not at all threatened by the fact I brought up the penile code. Penal code! Damn it! Why did everything circle back to sex with him?

I nodded quickly, defaulting into cop mode because it was easier than having this kind of conversation any other way. “Yep. If anyone saw you, like Mrs. Perkins across the street, and they were alarmed or disturbed, that’s all it takes. You could be charged. It’s a misdemeanor, but… still.”

“As far as I’m aware, you’re the only one who saw me. So, were you alarmed or disturbed?” He raised his brows innocently.

“I—uh.” A nervous laugh/scoff thing slipped out while I looked for the right words to get me out of this mess. “I’m just— No , I wasn’t. Uh, I can’t be, anyway. Cops aren’t legally allowed to be alarmed, or disturbed, because of our jobs. We’re supposed to expect everything. I’m telling you so you know the law and the risk. For next time. If there is one. But there shouldn’t be, like I just explained.” Please, don’t let there be a next time.

“Does all nudity make you so uncomfortable,” he continued, arching one brow higher, the coy smirk back, “or just male nudity?”

Scoffing, I looked around the store for a second, trying to appear more relaxed in the face of his question. “No. Why should that matter?”

He shrugged. “My point exactly. Why should it matter? Why be uncomfortable with something completely natural?” I couldn’t help but notice he was well-dressed again—a dark green button-up shirt and charcoal pants, compared to my jeans and black Under Armour hoodie. Pretty odd for him to be dismissive of clothes when he was more fashion-conscious than I was.

“I’m not, like, homophobic or anything. If that’s what you’re getting at,” I said quickly, desperate to bail water out of my sinking ship. The sooner we got the conversation over with, the sooner I could bail for real. “If that’s the issue. Not an issue issue. But you give off a vibe sometimes, like maybe you’re… gay?” I might have shrugged, but the wince that darted across my face completely undermined my attempt at casual, so I barreled on with more damage control. “Which is not what this is about. I just meant—I don’t care if you are or not.”

“I know you don’t.” His gray gaze fell from my face, sliding downward along my chest, all the way down to where my dick probably was. Or where the counter blocked my body from the waist down. It was hard to tell. His eyes lifted again and his lips twitched, threatening another smirk.

“Ok. Cool.” I cleared my throat, trying to get my shit together since the worst of it was over. “So… we’re good?”

“That depends on you.”

“I’m good.”

“Are you?” I furrowed my brow at him, prompting him to go on, even if he was looking at me like a cat getting ready to pounce. “I can see you’re curious. Are you sure you don’t have any questions lurking in the back of your mind? Any concerns? I’d rather address it now than let things get… uncomfortable between us.”

Fuck! Was I that transparent? I hadn’t looked at his crotch once since I came into the store. Except, now that I thought of it, I caught my gaze dipping downward before I yanked it back to his face.

“What were you doing out there? Last night?” It seemed like a much safer question than asking anything else.

A soft smile replaced the predatory look, making me question if it had ever been there in the first place. “Cleansing myself. Recharging in the full moon.”

“Uh-huh…” I think asking about his dick would have been the better option since I had no idea what he was talking about. “So, you do that every full moon?”

He nodded. “Pretty much.”

“Ok, then. Good to know. I’ll make sure to avoid my windows during that time.”

“You can always join me.”

My heart leapt to my throat. “Excuse me?”

“You can always join me,” he repeated, slower, but it was still hard to hear over the rush of blood in my ears. “In your line of work, it wouldn’t hurt to get rid of all that negative energy you carry around.”

“Um, thanks. I’ll… think about it.” Boy, if that wasn’t the truth. I had a feeling I’d be thinking about our conversation a lot in the coming days, dissecting every word I sputtered out like a dumbass.

Turning on the ball of my foot, I took a step toward the door when his voice called me back.

“Don’t forget your muffin.”

“Oh. Right.” I circled back to the counter and reached for it at the same time he picked it up and held it out to me. Our fingers brushed around the baked good and I nearly dropped it, only saving it with quick reflexes that inadvertently trapped his fingers between both of my hands as I fumbled to keep hold of it.

“Got it?” Greyson asked, his voice low, like he was concerned about my ability to operate a moving vehicle in the next sixty seconds.

“Yeah.” With the muffin officially stabilized, I retracted both of my hands from his, with his parting gift, and offered him my mumbled thanks. Hard to believe I’d been a champion tight end back in high school. I couldn’t even hold on to a damn muffin.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, neighbor,” Greyson said, barely even suppressing a chuckle. When I looked up, he was biting his lower lip to keep the laugh at bay.

Face on fire and sweating buckets all of a sudden, I practically sprinted out of his store, almost crashing into the damn protestors and eliciting an exaggerated gasp from Karen Carlisle. Another football skill surged out of my muscle memories and saved the day for the second time. A quick spin move sent me in the opposite direction of a woman holding a poster board, while the rest of Karen’s cohorts squawked like startled chickens.

Making a beeline for my Blazer, I hopped in and drove away as fast as I could before I made myself look any more stupid in front of Greyson—or half of the Meddling Maries of Mapleton, all of whom would be more than happy to call the mayor and bitch if they weren’t shown the deference they thought they deserved.

At a red light, two blocks away, I exhaled a deep, steadying breath and relaxed my grip on the steering wheel. Eyeing the muffin next to me, it sat there shedding a few orange crumbs on my leather seat, daring me to eat it.

After confirming that Greyson wasn’t a monster, that the black blobs in the muffin were chocolate chips and not raisins, I took a bite. I let out a little moan and melted into the driver’s seat, savoring all of the warm, comforting flavors. I may as well have been holding autumn itself in my hand. It was a perfect representation of the seasonal palate without being overdone.

“Fuck me,” I said after the third bite. Had I ever had a muffin that good? No, probably not. I didn’t know how he did it, but every single thing Greyson made was next level. Maybe he was a witch after all.