Buzz (The Riley Brothers Book 1) (7 page)

“Wow,” Noah breathed out, his voice a little shaky as his hands slipped from Cameron's shoulders. “Um, that was a good night kiss for the ages.”

Cameron burst out laughing, his cheeks burning with heat. “We might have gotten carried away...”

“Good,” Noah murmured. Even though they weren't touching, he still stood just inches away, his breath warm against Cameron's chin.

“So, we'll see each other... soon?” Cameron asked. “When are you free?”

“Wednesday?” Noah suggested.

Cameron grinned.
He's feeling just the same, I bet.
That was the night of
the
game, but... “Wednesday's great,” he murmured, his eyes flickering between Noah's. He took both of Noah's hands, swaying closer for a proper good night kiss.

This one was slower and sweeter, but there was a sensual tinge to it, too. Parted lips rubbed across each other's for a few moments before he pulled back. The brush of warm breath, the tingle of firm, kiss-swollen lips together... “Good night,” Cameron murmured.

“Good night,” Noah answered, letting go of Cameron's hands with a smile and a wink. He trotted up the wooden steps to his door, fumbling for his keys. Cameron waited until Noah had them before walking off.

This time, Cameron glanced back at the same moment as Noah. They shared a smile just for a moment, and then Cameron crossed the street again through the early evening.

Cameron's whole body still tingled. He was certain he was going to be glowing even when he got back to Jackson's place.

Fuck, I can't wait for a house of my own. More than that... Fuck, I'm crushing on Noah.

It wasn't the closely-guarded affair he'd expected. It wasn't secrecy and trying to tiptoe around to keep this potential new guy in his life happy. It was... light, fun, and sexy.

A date the same day we'll hear back about the house.

What a day that was going to be.

That was the best first date Noah had ever been on.

At first, he hardly remembered why he was rolling out of bed with a smile on a Tuesday morning when it was raining outside. It took just seconds to remember: the guy who had listened so well to him, walked him to his door, kissed him like a fucking
rock star
...

“Oh, man,” Noah groaned as he rolled out of bed for the shower. Even thinking of Cameron made his body tingle, and then there was their good night texts. Only a couple, back and forth:

I had a great time. Thank you for coming out with me. Safe walk home,
Noah had sent.

Minutes later, Cameron had answered,
So did I. You're cute. Can't wait for Wednesday. Good night xx.

Were those hugs or kisses? Noah had fallen asleep last night trying to decide.

He scrubbed his body, well aware that he craved the attention he hadn't gotten last night.

Oh, fine. What could it hurt? He had a spare few minutes to spend thinking about Cameron holding him firmly, kneading into Noah's back to drag him closer...

Even if it was just friends with benefits, Cameron was fucking hot and Noah would agree to it. He just... hoped for more. Cameron's words had been so promising.

Instead, Noah turned his attention to the memory of Cam's “gonna fuck you” eyes.

***

Noah hunched into his raincoat for the walk to work and grimaced when his cellphone rang. The number was the director of the hockey arena hosting his art exhibit.

It's gonna be one of those days. Everyone's going to ask things of me.
He shoved his phone under his hood to keep it dry and hunched forward a little. “Hello?”

“Hi, Noah. It's Jason. Miserable morning out there, isn't it?”

Out here,
Noah thought but didn't comment. Some people still thought he was a bit weird for walking to work even though he only lived ten minutes' walk away. “Yeah, it is. April showers, right?”

“Bring May flowers? I hope you're right. So, about this little exhibition...”

Little exhibition?
Noah bit back his annoyance. “Right?”

“The board is thinking of giving you half the space for the exhibition and reserving the other half for our permanent awards display.”

No way.
Jason had always been pretty straight-up with him, but there were bullshitters behind the scenes. “Why?”

Jason hummed. There was a story behind this. “Well, let's just say... someone with a particular attachment to the place thinks it's more important.”

An ex-hockey player, then. Noah groaned. “I've commissioned stuff already – I've done a lot of work. Giving me half the space at the last moment? That wasn't our agreement..”

“I know,” Jason said. “I'm sorry. I can understand that frustration.”

No, you can't.
“I'd politely disagree with this person,” Noah continued. He straightened up despite the mist of rain that blew into his face. His speech was precise and crisp now. He'd practiced the non-accent to be taken seriously in his grad school classes. “Awards can be shown anytime, and they have been for years. I want to do something new.”

“Well...” Jason drawled. He sounded like he wanted to agree. “I know, but there's some resistance to change. If you can appease them on the board, I'm sure I could try to have a chat with them.”

Noah wracked his brain. “Why do they want the awards? Because of the local connection?”

“Yeah, they're all for local players.”

Noah pressed a crosswalk button, gazing ahead to his art gallery. “Um, how about something custom? I already have two commissioned pieces, but I could possibly add more. I have enough room in my budget for a few more works.”

“A contingency fund. Well done. I think that might do it. Email me with specifics and I can approach the people who make decisions over here,” Jason promised. “No guarantees, but I'll do my best.”

What about some original drawings or paintings? I have the painted pucks and the steel sculpture, but not traditional pieces yet...
Noah was already thinking about local artists. “I'll get back to you as soon as I can. Thanks, Jason.”

“Thanks. Talk to you later.”

Noah shoved his phone back into his pocket. Fuck, this town was sometimes so resistant to anything new. People wanted to be recognized, and saw anything new as an attack on them. It wasn't like he was demanding the awards be taken down. He'd planned carefully to work the artwork around them.

Time to check in on my commissions.
He unlocked the side door with his pass card and shook off his coat like a dog as he walked into the building. The unpleasant day had ruined his hair and dampened his trousers already. He was going to have to sit in front of the heater in his office for a while as he made these calls.

While his computer booted up, Noah leaned back in his chair and wheeled closer to the heater, the phone against his ear ringing.

“Hello?” the gruff voice on the other end answered.

“Hey, Jackson, it's Noah. Just wondering how things are coming along.”

“I'll be ready in good time, don't worry. I built in a week of wiggle room, just in case.”

Noah loved Jackson. “Oh, God. Thank you,” he groaned.

Jackson laughed. “That bad, huh?”

“Oh, you don't want to know. Things are changing on me,” Noah admitted. “But don't worry – there
will
be room for everything, especially your piece and the other commission. I'll arrange the loans around that.”

“Good,” Jackson approved. “Good on you for doing all this. It's not easy to get people to agree to new things around here.”

“I enjoy it,” Noah fibbed. He
did
, just not this particular second. “And it'll be great.”

“I know it will. I should get back to it, then. I'm about ready to have you come by and check on it... maybe this weekend?”

“That'll be great,” Noah agreed, settling on a date and time. “Thanks a bunch, Jackson.”

“Thank you,” Jackson answered, polite as always. “See you.”

At least someone around here kept his promises. Well, two someones... Cameron hadn't stood him up last night. And that had been an incredible date. Noah smiled to himself until he realized his name was being repeated from the doorway.

***

Noah was about ready to call it quits that day when another light knock sounded on his office door. He'd had to lead Sarah's guided tours since she was off sick that day. Then, a coworker and his boss had both checked in about that damn hockey exhibition. He'd assured them both it was all under control. Then, he'd gotten in touch with local artists about painting and sketch commissions.

And now it was the manager of the restaurant just down the street. Jay was a sweetie, about twenty years old and in their first managerial role ever. They were a bit of an anomaly here, even more so than Noah. Noah had liked them from the moment he first met them.

“Hey, Noah.” From the way they said it, Noah knew they had a request.

“Hey. Join the line of requests,” Noah teased, sitting up straight and gesturing for them to sit down.

“Actually, wanna come to the restaurant? I'll treat you to a drink and supper while I proposition you,” Jay teased.

Noah laughed. The restaurant sometimes displayed art that the gallery had to sell after local exhibitions. It was a friendly working relationship, and he liked the sound of food and drink. “Sounds fair.” It didn't take long for him to shut down his computer and close up his office.

“How's that hockey... league... going, then?”

“Oh, Jesus, I thought you were gonna ask about the hockey exhibit,” Noah admitted in an undertone. Jay laughed. “The league's good, I think. Haven't had much time to think about it lately.”

“I won't ask about the exhibit,” Jay teased. “I saw both the ads in the paper. Nicely done.”

Noah raised his eyebrow. “Did they run them next to each other?”

“You didn't buy a copy of the paper?”

“Oh, I was a bit jaded,” Noah admitted. “I figured they'd make it sound boring.”

“Come prepared to discuss symbolism at seven-thirty?” Jay grinned. “Yeah, that does sound a bit boring. Nah, both the write-ups were pretty good.”

Noah ordered his usual without even thinking about it as they reached the restaurant bar. “So,” Noah said, straightening up and turning on his stool once he had his cherry cocktail. “Hit me with it.”

“We're planning this... charity event.”

A smile tugged at Noah's lips. “Uh huh?”

“We've already got someone running it, don't worry. One of my good friends is the manager. But we need someone to help us source art and liaise with local artists. Since I took over, I haven't been in touch with a lot of the older painters. I only know the hip young zine-makers...”

Noah nodded. “Are we talking donations?”

“Maybe. We have a small budget. We're splitting the proceeds – a token artist's fee for each painting sold, with most of the proceeds to charity.”

“They'll donate all the profits,” Noah told Jay with a shake of his head, sipping his drink. “That's not a problem. If the charity's good.”

“A new local homelessness initiative. We're fundraising over the summer, hoping to get a fund accumulated before the winter. Last winter was...”

“Nasty,” Noah agreed, the corners of his lips falling. That
had
been a rough winter. “That's a good idea. It's a proper charity? Registered?”

“Yes.”

“Then that shouldn't be a problem. We can do tax rebates, but even without that, they'll do it for good exposure. It has to be good, though. A brochure with links to everyone's website and portfolio is a start.”

“Does that help a lot?”

“Oh, yeah. Our statistics tell us sixty percent of art buyers we track end up buying more artwork in that style. Twenty percent look for that artist again.”

Jay blinked a few times. “Oh. That's – that's precise.”

Noah grinned as his food arrived. “It's my job.” As he ate, he delved into the details, making sure Jay had a good idea what to expect from the exhibition.

By the time he was on his way home, Noah's heart was light. In the five months since moving here, he hadn't felt like he'd made many friends who appreciated who he was. The hockey guys were great, but so straight. Jay had always been friendly, though. With the possibility of dating Cameron, things were looking up.

Even the light misty rain couldn't dampen Noah's spirits. He threw back his hood to let it cool his face as he strode home to cook supper for himself.

“Hello? Is this Cameron Riley?”

From the moment Cameron answered his cellphone, he was suspicious. The man's voice sounded even and crisp, just like a reporter or a telemarketer. There was something not quite right. “It is,” Cam agreed.

“This is Lyle Newman from the...”

Oh, no. The journalists have a hold of me. How the fuck did he get my number?

“...I have a few questions. First of all--”

It's a pressure tactic. You don't have to say yes.
Cameron went over his media training again. “What's the question?”

“Your absence is noticeable on the ice. Everyone's wondering: are you joining another team instead of Toronto?”

“You should talk to Coach Walker about this. I'm not sure how you got my number, but I won't have much insight for you.” Coach Walker was great at stonewalling. Cam's announcement would happen once the team's season officially ended.

“We're more interested in getting the whole story from you.”

“Sorry, I can't help you with your story.”

“What do you think of your team's chance of success on Thursday given your absence? We all know you're the star--”

“Call Coach Walker. He'll let me know if he wants me to set up an interview.” Cameron hung up on him.

“Journalists?” Jackson asked from the kitchen and Cameron sighed.

“Yeah.”

“That was quick. Do they usually bug you?”

“No. I don't know how they found me or why they're calling,” Cameron admitted. “Coach Walker will shut them down though. What are your plans today? It's the big day... they have to get back to us by five,” he added.

“Yeah. I'm thinking they'll wait as long as they can. I'm going to the workshop until lunch and then I'll head back here and wait around with you. Poor Thomas, having to go to work,” Jackson laughed.

Cameron shook his head. “At least he should be off by the time we find out. Well, what is it, three-thirty?”

“Yeah, he took the early shift today to be home by four. And he's discussing the transfer today, too...”

“Man, I hope that goes well.” Cameron was full of restless energy. He wanted to be out moving, pumping his legs, lifting weights... doing
something
to fill his day.

“We should hear about it on his lunch break. At least, if it doesn't go well, we'll know. I'm assuming it'll take some time to set up if they accept it.”

Cameron nodded. “You'd better get to work,” he told Jackson. “I'll keep you company.” He liked hanging around the metalworking shop. The atmosphere was intense: sparks flying, the forge roaring, his brother focusing on drawing out the right bits and hammering down the others.

“Oh, no. Nah, it's boring. Just boring work today. You take it easy today.”

Maybe Jackson was on edge with nerves like Cam and didn't want to show it. He'd let him keep his dignity. It would be a long day, but he'd find some way to fill it. Make a to-do list of utilities to contact, stuff to pack and sell, maybe get a quote from U-Haul.

As Jackson left, Cameron's skin crawled with energy. He'd been off the ice and out of the gym for long enough that it was starting to get to him. This was going to be the worst part of his new phase of life: learning how
not
to push himself to his limits every day.

Considering the scale of the news he was waiting for via Jackson, today was going to be the hardest easy day he'd ever had.

***

“Dude, you're not gonna believe this.”

As Jackson burst through the door, Cameron spilled the bag of chips that had been under his arm. They crunched underfoot as he scrambled to his feet from Jackson's couch, his heart pounding.

There was a bit of dizziness, but he tried to breathe deeply and not let his anxiety rise. “We've got an answer? Why didn't you text me?” The disbelieving laugh that echoed from Jackson and the openness of his face told Cameron. “A yes from the realtor?”

Jackson strode forward to crush him in a hug. “Thomas called five minutes before her. The transfer's approved. Before I hung up with Mom and Dad, the realtor called...”

“
And
?” They'd gone in a few thousand lower than the listed price, sensing a lack of competition. If it paid off, it would cover their closing costs. If not... they could have lost the houses. But not with the way Jackson was grinning. “Spit it out!”

“The offer's been approved.”

Cameron's chest was tight, but he took a few more deep breaths and sank down to sit on the couch again. “No way.”

“Yeah.” Jackson sat next to him, making a face at the floor and spilled chips. He shifted his feet to avoid further crushing them into the carpet. “As soon as we sign the papers, the houses are all ours. One month closing like we asked for.”

“Thomas is taking tomorrow off and driving out tonight to get the papers signed first thing and meet his new branch. The realtor's fine with that. The offer's been accepted, they can't back out now.”

The room shifted around him and his fingers twitched. “Holy shit.”

It was impossible to process the simultaneously crushing and thrilling reality of this change. He'd have the weight of a mortgage but freedom from his rent payments, the joys of seeing his family every week, maybe every day...

“Stay calm,” Jackson added after a moment, realization flashing over his face. “Shit. I forgot. Sorry.”

“I'm okay.” He could still talk and breathe, after all.

“I forgot...”

Cameron was sharper than he meant as he answered, “I know.” Then, he felt bad.
I can't become a cranky dick about this.
After a moment, he let out his breath and offered his brother a smile instead, then rose to his feet and hauled Jackson up to hug him.

Jackson laughed his surprise, then clapped Cameron's back and hugged him hard. “Let's call Thomas.” He pulled back, his arm still around Cam's shoulders, and dialed Thomas's number. When Thomas picked up, he held his phone out at arms-length.

Several rings later, a grainy video feed popped into view: Thomas in the car, pulled over on the side of the road. “Hey, guys! Did you tell him?”

“Yeah!” Jackson exclaimed. “He nearly fainted.”

“But I'm fine,” Cameron added, shoving Jackson. “No thanks to you, asshole.”

“Holy shit.” Thomas laughed, disbelief and relief flooding his expression. “Careful, man. I told you not to stress him out.”

“I forgot!” Jackson defended himself. “But holy shit, can you believe it?”

“Are you on your way here?”

“I'm stopping by home first,” Thomas told him. “Then I'll drive straight out. I'll get there...” He rubbed his face and glanced off-screen. “Around ten? Depends where I stop for food.”

“Too late for our celebration dinner with Mom and Dad. They'll stay up, but restaurants will be closed by then...” Cameron frowned, counting the hours on his fingers. “If you made it by nine-thirty...”

“No, don't worry about it,” Thomas waved a hand. The camera wobbled as he shifted the phone. “Go celebrate and I'll join in tomorrow, huh?”

The atmosphere around the dinner table that evening was bittersweet, though. It was ironic that they were making the move to be closer, yet Thomas couldn't celebrate it because he was too far away.

Cameron shook himself back to focusing on his dad's stories.
Soon, it'll all change.