Someone to Bank on Read online

  The oppressive heat in his apartment, caused by a window air conditioner that chose that day of all days to stop working, was just one more annoyance in a string of bad luck he’d had that week. Not only had he just lost his job at the bank, but he had also broken his ankle, forcing him to stay home instead of going out and looking for work.

  The active 32-year-old man was not used to being at home this much. Having few options other than surfing the Internet, watching inane TV shows, and catching up on a stack of old mail, magazines, and newspapers had been driving him completely crazy. He was craving real human contact again – not to mention a decent meal.

  By the seventh day of his involuntary confinement, Grant had run out of groceries, except for half a jar of peanut butter, a tin of sardines, and a can of beer – hardly an appetizing combination – and he was already growing tired of delivered food like pizza. Not having had a real bath or shower in several days only added to his misery. With the cast encasing his foot and ankle, and the building superintendent out of town, he could see little chance of relief any time soon.

  Grant had moved into the city of Nashville only two months earlier, and he hardly knew a soul other than a handful of former work colleagues. He’d commuted to the bank from a distant suburb for a year and had finally decided to get a place closer to work, not knowing that “work” would fall into the past tense only 60 short days after his move.

  He’d made no close friends among the stuffy crew at the bank, nor had he had the time or the inclination yet to make any friends in his new neighborhood. All of his family members and long-time friends lived a state or two away and were busy with their own lives. Of course, there was always Marcus, but he was seldom even in the country, much less nearby – a long-term but long-distance relationship that had always seemed to require more of Grant than he had ever gotten in return.

  Grant could see only one slim ray of hope, and he decided after the kitchen cupboards had gone nearly bare that he had no choice but to throw himself on the mercy of the young trainee at the bank who had somehow managed to dodge the ax when the pink slips were being passed out. The starvation salary they were paying him was the only thing that had saved the young man from the fate that had befallen Grant and two of his more highly compensated colleagues a week earlier.

  The trainee, Bobby Rushton, had started at the bank only a month before Grant was laid off. Bobby was certainly a head turner, but Grant had paid scant attention to him, being 10 years older and not that much interested in younger men. But now – with no food in the apartment – it seemed like a good time to put all that aside and ask for the young man’s help. He simply didn’t know who else to turn to.

  Bobby Rushton’s name had finally been installed on the outside of his 30-square-foot cubicle at the bank – a spot usually reserved for the low man on the totem pole at the conservative downtown bank – and he looked on it with pride. After graduating from Browland College a few weeks ago, he was one of the lucky few in his class who had managed to find any respectable employment at all – if you could call the grunt work he was doing at the bank “respectable.”

  While it hardly paid enough to live on, he at least had found a guy, Rodney Lindstrom, to live with temporarily while he was looking for a place of his own. But Rodney – a community college dropout with perpetual bad breath and obnoxious homophobic friends who dropped by unannounced at all kinds of weird hours – was only tolerable for the small amount of money the guy could contribute to the rent and food. He knew it would only be a matter of time before the situation would implode, but Bobby had to wait it out until he could find a more workable one.

  From Bobby’s cubicle he could look directly into the vacant office across from him. That’s where the name “Grant Collins” had once appeared in the now-empty nameplate slot. He had just become slightly friendly with Grant, after a few weeks of a somewhat awkward business relationship, and found himself seriously attracted to the man.

  When the bank manager went into Grant’s office and closed the door one day last week, it was to deliver the news that Grant would be losing his job that very day, with the unintended consequence that Bobby would be losing daily contact with the only person on the bank staff who had seemed like a decent prospect as at least a congenial colleague, if not a good friend. Frankly, Bobby had entertained thoughts in his mind of even more, but Grant had seemed disinterested and unattainable.

  As Mr. Mulanski left Grant with his head in his hands at the desk across from Bobby, the young trainee knew right away what had happened. He didn’t know what to say as Grant, looking quite chagrined, left his office a short time later with a boxful of personal items. Grant just sadly shook Bobby’s hand and walked out with a curt “Good luck, kid – you’ll need it around here.”

  Grant never looked back, and Bobby assumed he’d seen the last of his intriguing former workmate.

  Sweaty, smelly, and hungry, Grant Collins was no longer too proud to ask for help. His back was up against the wall, and he knew he needed to reach out to someone. Bobby Rushton was the one he had decided to turn to. Oh, sure, the nosy broad across the hall would’ve been glad to help him out, but he wasn’t that desperate. Whenever they met in the hallway or at the mailbox, Doris started asking questions that Grant didn’t care to answer. Bobby was a better choice – and even kind of cute, if Grant had been aware of it on a conscious level.

  He picked up his phone and dialed the bank’s main number, getting that chirpy annoying receptionist Betty Jo on the line. If he’d been able to direct-dial to Bobby’s cubicle, he certainly would have preferred that route, but he didn’t know his number.

  “Oh, uh, hi, Betty Jo – this is Grant Collins. Could you…”

  “Oh, hi, Mr. Collins, how are you? We miss you so much around here. I was just saying to Margaret yesterday that things just aren’t the same with you gone…”

  Grimacing, Grant decided to cut off the unwanted chit-chat and cut to the chase.

  “I’m fine, Betty Jo. I was just wanting to speak to Bobby Rushton for a moment, if you’d put me through please.”

  “Oh, sure, Mr. Collins, but Bobby’s not at his desk right now. Would you like his voicemail?”

  “Yes, please, Betty Jo. Thanks.”

  “Well, okay, you take care now, hear? And stop in and see us sometime.”

  Not in your lifetime, Grant wanted to say, but he bit his tongue.

  Hearing Bobby’s voicemail greeting elicited an odd feeling in Grant. The young man certainly did have a pleasing way of talking. Hearing the beep, Grant left a brief message for Bobby to call him back as soon as possible. He tried not to sound as desperate as he felt, but he really did need the young man’s help – more than he cared to admit.

  When Bobby returned to his desk a few minutes later, he was surprised to see the blinking light on his phone. Being so new at the bank, he wasn’t used to getting messages. His eyebrows rose when he heard Grant’s familiar masculine voice on the other end.

  “Hi there, Bobby. This is Grant Collins. I, uh, could use some help, and I was wondering if you could call me back when you get a chance.” Surprised, curious, and more than a bit excited, Bobby wrote down the number Grant gave him and called it right back.

  “Hi, Grant. This is Bobby at the bank. I got your message. What can I do for you?”

  “Oh, thanks for calling back so soon, Bobby. I know this will sound a bit strange, but I was wondering if you could pick up a few groceries for me and drop them off. I broke my ankle the day after I, uh, saw you last, and I can’t get out real easily on these crutches. Being new in the city, I don’t really know anyone else I can ask. Would that be okay with you? I’ll make it worth your while.”

  “Broke your ankle? Bummer, Grant. I had no idea. Sure, I’d be glad to do whatever you need. Just tell me what you want and I’ll be there by 6 or so with it.”

  Grant thanked the young man profusely and rattled off a list of things he wanted, as well as his address. Bobby wrote it all down and hun
g up. Feeling a sudden rush of excitement in his chest, he was genuinely happy that Grant had thought to call him and was only too eager to be of help. He had hoped to see Grant again sometime anyway, and this gave him the perfect excuse.

  With nervous anticipation, Bobby arrived at Grant’s building at 6:15 that Friday evening, carrying a heavy bag of groceries and a 12-pack of cold beer. He pushed the button next to Grant’s name and was wordlessly buzzed through a few seconds later. He found the door to apartment 2-D, which had been left open a crack.

  “Grant?”

  “Door’s open, Bobby. Come on in.”

  It must have been 85 degrees or more in the apartment as Bobby made his way in, which was compounded by the smell of dirty clothes and a body that seemed to be in need of hygienic attention. The shirtless man on the couch had on only a pair of faded cutoffs. It was an unexpected vision that Bobby could have appreciated more if he didn’t think too much about the odor that emanated from it.

  “Wow – it’s hot in here. Why don’t you have the air on?”

  “I would if I could, but it went off this morning, and the building super isn’t around this week. Thanks for coming, man – I really appreciate it. The kitchen’s over there – there’s plenty of room in the fridge. It’s been empty for a day or two.”

  Bobby flipped on the overhead light in the kitchen, and was happy to find that the refrigerator was still working.

  “I think your air conditioner may have just tripped a circuit breaker. Where’s the box and I’ll check it out.”

  “Beats me, buddy. I’m not very handy.”

  “My dad’s an electrician, so I know a thing or two. Let me just look around a bit.”

  Bobby found the box in Grant’s bedroom closet. Trying to ignore the clutter of unwashed clothing on the floor, he found that one of the circuits was indeed off. A simple click restored the air conditioner, and both men breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Wow, kid – you’re an angel of mercy. Thanks. I thought I’d have to wait till Monday when the super gets back.”

  “No problem. Glad to be of help. Let me put these groceries away. Can I fix you something to eat? I bought some frozen dinners, like you asked for.”

  “Sure. Sounds yummy after the junk I’ve been eating lately. If you don’t have to rush away, you could put a couple of them in the microwave in a few minutes. But why don’t you pop open a couple of beers for us first, if you bought any cold ones? I could sure use some company.”

  “I can stay for a while. Sorry to be blunt, but frankly I kinda think you could use a bath, my friend. When’s the last time you had one?”

  Bobby wondered suddenly if he’d gone too far. He’d certainly been raised to be more polite than that. Grant reddened a bit but didn’t seem to take offense.

  “No can do with this cast on. They told me not to put any weight on that foot for a while – it was a bad break. Best I’ve been able to do is take a sponge bath at the sink, but with the air off the one I took yesterday morning didn’t last too long. Sorry about that – I guess my nose is just used to it.”

  “How did you break it?” Bobby asked, pointing to the cast-enveloped ankle.

  “I was taking the apartment stairs two at a time like some gangly impatient teenager, and I missed one. It wasn’t a pretty sight. I really did a number on it.”

  “Ouch!”

  “That wasn’t the word that escaped my lips at the time, but it did have four letters, I can assure you. A string of similar words followed.”

  “I’ll bet the neighbors heard, didn’t they?”

  “Yeah – even the ones across the street.”

  Bobby put the groceries away as best he could in the tiny cluttered kitchen. Still wearing his work clothes, he took off his tie and popped open a couple more buttons on his shirt, already damp with perspiration in the Southern summer heat. The air conditioner had a long way to go to overcome the stifling heat that had built up in the apartment. A couple of ceiling fans were running, but they only served to push the hot air around.

  Bobby provided the wanted cold brew and sat down next to Grant on the small couch – the only place to sit in the room. Although the beer had lost much of its chill en route to Grant’s apartment, they both gulped it down gratefully.

  “What do I owe you for the provisions, man? You’re a lifesaver.” Grant squeezed the young man’s knee, eliciting a sudden surge of pleasure in Bobby that he tried not to show. Except for a handshake when they had first met – and another one when Grant left the bank last week – it was the first time Grant had ever touched him, and he was surprised at how good it felt. He resisted the urge to squeeze Grant’s bare thigh in return. Right now it was enough just to sit next to the scantily dressed man he had admired from his cubicle.

  “Here’s the receipt. I think I got everything you asked for.” Bobby hoped his nervousness didn’t show in his voice.

  Fishing some twenties out of his wallet – more than enough to cover the cost of the groceries – Grant passed them over to his young visitor. He was more than grateful for the company, as he hadn’t seen anyone but the snoopy Doris in days. He had to admit to himself that Bobby was easy on the eyes, which surprised him since he was usually attracted only to men his age or older – like the handsome but peripatetic Marcus. The kid even smelled good, but then anyone would’ve smelled better than Grant did that day.

  An idea was creeping into his mind, and he wondered how his young visitor would feel about helping him take a real bath – as well as helping him out with some other necessities.

  “Your shirt is soaked, Bobby. Why don’t you take it off?”

  “Well, okay…you sure?”

  “It’s like an oven in here, and besides…look at me. I had even less on before you got here.”

  Bobby had been admiring Grant’s slender but muscular legs and his lightly haired chest and wondered how much less he’d been wearing before he arrived. All the man had on was a pair of well-worn cutoffs – far less than he’d ever thought he’d be seeing Grant wearing around him. Nervously he started unbuttoning his shirt, eventually throwing it over the same kitchen chair that held his recently doffed tie. He had to admit that it felt really good to strip off a bit.

  Grant felt a stir in his loins at the sight of the now-shirtless Bobby and found himself wondering about the young man’s sexuality. He would soon be putting it to the test, despite his apprehension about the complete nudity that it would require on his part. His crotch grew tighter as he thought about how the evening might unfold. He’d have to get his arousal under control before he could proceed with his plan.

  While they enjoyed their beers, they talked about Bobby’s job and how things were going for him at the bank. The thought of the bank and how he’d been unceremoniously booted from it just a week ago helped dispel his arousal. But when Bobby got up to get two more beers for them, Grant couldn’t ignore how good the young man’s half-bare form looked as he moved about. He noticed his pulse speeding up when the gray-eyed blond beauty sat down next to him again. It made him realize that he couldn’t stand the thought of another weekend alone.

  “Bobby, if you don’t have other plans for the weekend, I wonder if I could hire you to do some things for me around here. You can see there’s plenty I’m behind on, and it’s hard to keep up with it all on these crutches.”

  “Sure, but you don’t have to pay me. I might need to call on you sometime, when you’re back on your feet. Besides, you’re out of work right now.”

  “Nonsense – I’d feel better paying you something for your time, and I have enough savings to live on, along with my unemployment checks, for several months. But of course I’d always be willing to help you out if you, uh, ever needed anything.”

  What Bobby really needed – but couldn’t admit out loud – was a man like the hunk sitting next to him. Just in a cleaner condition.

  “What would you like for me to do? I’m free tomorrow – Sunday, too, for that matter.”

  “Great.
Obviously, I need a lot of laundry done, and the place could use a little sprucing up, as you can clearly see. I also need my mail picked up at my post office box – I haven’t done that in a week – and maybe you could stop at an ATM and get some cash for me to pay you.”

  “You’d trust me with your ATM card and PIN?” Bobby grinned.

  “You look trustworthy, my friend. I’m not worried about that at all.”

  Their eyes met, and both men felt a sudden surge of something for the other. Was it attraction? Affection? Grant was thrilled about the prospect of having such pleasing “eye candy” around for the weekend, and Bobby was happy to have the chance to be around Grant outside of the cold, sterile bank environment.

  “Maybe you could do us both a favor and take another sponge bath before I come back tomorrow,” Bobby teased, with a smile. Grant looked down, and Bobby wondered again if he’d gone too far about the deficient state of the older man’s personal hygiene.

  “I’m really sorry, Bobby. I’ve been trying to keep myself clean, but it’s been really difficult with this cast on and the air conditioner off. I guess I’ve gotten a little lazy about things this week.”

  Grant paused and took a big breath before continuing. He almost chickened out but decided to just go for it.

  “You know, you could really do me a big favor if you’d help me into the bathtub and help me keep my cast up out of the water.”

  Grant’s chest was now pounding with excitement at the thought of being naked in front of this young hottie. For his part, Bobby was simply speechless at the idea. He never saw it coming, but he was beyond intrigued at the possibility of helping Grant take a bath, never imagining when he had gone to his place that night that such a request might be made of him.

  “Umm, sure,” Bobby replied, trying to look more nonchalant than he felt. He hoped the growing bulge in his trousers wasn’t too obvious.

  “Well, good then, but I’m starved. Could you nuke some TV dinners for us first?”

  “Sure thing. Coming right up,” Bobby replied, with a catch in his voice that he hoped only he heard. He headed for the kitchen and tried to concentrate on the microwaving instructions on the boxes. Feeling a trickle running down his bare sides, he wondered if it was from the temperature in the apartment or his extreme apprehension about the post-dinner activity that Grant had just proposed.