1.
Andy repeats the old runner’s mantra before he begins: The first mile is a liar. If you can get beyond that, anything’s possible. It’s necessary for the early hour and the effort ahead. He’s up daily at 3:40 AM. By 3:55, he’s outside his home in running shorts, protein bar clamped in his teeth, laces tied in a perfect runner’s knot, playlist selected, and earbuds in place. He’s ready to go when his right foot strikes the street at precisely 4 a.m.
It’s early, he knows. But these few precious hours before the world wakes are a sanctuary. Nothing has ruined the day yet. By sunup, other people will be at it with their well-intended complications and conundrums, peeling away the possibilities of the day until evening leaves the only remaining conclusion. But now, in the solitude of his early morning, it’s all pure potential.
The pre-dawn streets in Andy’s urban residential neighborhood used to be his turf, all smooth black stretches like runways, silent but for his rhythmic footfalls. That changed one morning when a none-too-sober driver whipped around a corner too fast and nearly turned Andy’s lanky frame into a hood ornament, like a mangled Mercury.
That sent him seeking safer ground, his runner’s mind methodically scanning for alternate routes.
Living near the zoo has its downsides. Finding street parking on summer weekends, for example, is impossible. But it has perks too, like hearing the lions roar during their dinner time and in the wee hours during mating season. Also, the zoo parking lot system: an interconnected chain of lots ringing the 92-acre zoo, filled with cars during business hours. But at 4:00 AM, Andy thinks of it as his private track.
The lots are paved smooth. Reasonably well lit. No traffic. Unchanging. Predictable. Everything a runner could want.
His only company is the occasional police cruiser or ambulance on break, cooling their heels between calls. When Andy passes them—police in particular—he gives a wave on his first lap, as if to say, “I see you, I’m not a vagrant. Not trying to steal penguins.” His wave is polite, but not cowering, which might provoke suspicion. He’s there to run, that’s all. Not a problem for anyone.
Except, that is, for his nemesis: Zoo Security. It loops through the circuit of lots like a ghost, a stark white SUV with peering headlights. The unseen security guard is always on the watch for intruders. He sometimes stops to pan a lot with a blinding flashlight, a clear signal that Andy’s not supposed to be there. On the occasion Andy is seen, Security lets out a warning: BWOOP BWOOP! Two short bursts of the siren.
Zoo Security is the Wile E. Coyote to Andy’s Roadrunner. When he sees the white security SUV, he darts through the trees to the surrounding sidewalks, where Zoo jurisdiction ends. “Meep meep, motherfucker,” Andy says under his breath every time he gets away, smirking.
Could you just not be an asshole? Andy wants to ask. Even the cops don’t give a fuck that he’s there. Can’t he just be left alone?
The morning after a full night’s rain and windstorm, even the mostly asphalt-surfaced zoo lot’s terrain is changed, making the predictable lot an obstacle course. There are massive puddles and tree branches—some fallen, some hanging treacherously low. With the trees so altered, even the light from the street and lot lamps shines through at new and different angles, hiding some parts of Andy’s path and revealing others.
There’s a short strip that’s now particularly dark, and as Andy approaches, he can just make out multiple low-hanging branches he’ll need to dart around and duck under to avoid.
On his first pass—THWACK—something hits his crown. A stupid branch he didn’t see. As he passes through the loop a second time—THWACK!—it happens again, but harder. He’s sure he didn’t see a branch, but it really is dark. On his third lap, determined not to be hit again, he scans intently as he approaches.
As he reaches the tree, he sees his own shadow cast by a parking lot light, and above it, the shadow of wings spreading wide, diving like a fighter pilot for Andy’s head.
"Pearl Harbor!" he yelps as the crow talons crack down on his head like a punch. THWACK! “We’re under attack!” But instead of TORA! TORA! TORA!, the only battle call is the sound of wings sweeping the air.
Andy ducks to avoid another strike when he sees the flash of headlights turning into the lot. The one thing he thought he’d never say: Thank God, it’s the police. But then he hears the worst possible sound at that moment: BWOOP! BWOOP! The damn Zoo Security SUV, just as the crow plummets for his head again.
THWACK!
What is this, a coordinated attack?
He runs in blind zigzags, hands over his head, until one foot catches on a fallen branch, his legs tangle, and he tumbles, skin scraping against asphalt until he comes to rest.
Dazed, the black canopy of trees still spinning above him, Andy slowly sits up. He retrieves his phone from the liner of his shorts. It still works, but the screen is cracked. Only one earbud is still in place, but he can see the other on the black asphalt and reaches to pick it up. One knee is bloodied, and though he can’t see them all, he feels the stings of brush burns. It could be worse.
There are rapid footsteps approaching—THUD THUD THUD. His nemesis...
“Go away,” he says in a gravelly voice, waving off the crow, the flashlight beam flashing on and off Andy’s face, blinding him.
The figure is tall, the uniform stark in the glare—khaki shorts exposing thick calves, boots, and a short-sleeved khaki shirt stretched across broad shoulders.
He crouches, and the flashlight beam dips. Andy prepares to spring up and bolt away.
"You okay?" the guard asks.
His red hair and ruddy cheeks are warm in the cool night air, and suddenly Andy can’t find his breath. He rests his weight on the asphalt.
Roadrunner down.
2.
“‘M’fine,” Andy manages, withholding the torrent of curse words he’d like to use.
The guard scans him for signs of real damage—broken bones?—and, finding none, offers an encouraging smile. “We’d better get you patched up.”
Andy rises to his feet to brush off the whole incident and be on his way, but when the bloodied knee nearly buckles under him, he accepts that’s not happening. Not immediately.
“Whoa, buddy,” the guard says, wrapping an arm around Andy’s waist, steadying him. “I got you.”
Together they hobble to the security vehicle, the same ghost-white SUV Andy’s evaded so many times. The guard opens the back doors and helps Andy slide up into the lowered rear, his legs dangling.
“It’s like an ambulance back here,” Andy says, spying a gurney and a defibrillator, tapping at the valve of an oxygen tank.
“Don’t touch that.” The guard swats his hand away lightly. “It's just some basic stuff.” He pulls a small blanket and a jump bag marked with a red cross from their secured spots. He turns to Andy and smiles. “Sean. Sean Maguire.”
When he wraps the blanket around the battered runner’s shoulders like a shawl, Andy glances down to see a green shamrock tattoo on the guard’s inner forearm that seems to move as the muscles around it flex.
Fitting.
As the guard sorts through his supplies, Andy assesses his damage. A bloody streak runs from his knee down his shin, an abrasion the size of a clothes iron burn marks one shoulder, and another marks his tricep. He can see another on his side through the opening of his shirt, and there are random scratches on his knees and elbows. Both palms are embedded with dirt and needles.
Every runner takes a fall eventually, he reminds himself. This was just his day. The knee would be a problem, but he'd run through worse.
He winces at his reflection in the cracked screen of his phone. His mouth was one of his better features, he thought, the arch of the upper and the subtle pout of the lower. But the abrasion has exaggerated them, his upper lip swelling.
"I look like a cartoon fish," he says, turning his head side to side, puckering his lips to enhance the effect for a photo. When Sean notices the flash, Andy adds, “For Instagram.”
"I'd say it's more of a… ruggedly handsome look," Sean replies, with a friendly grin and jutting jaw.
Andy could say something sarcastic, but even that temptation melts under the comforting warmth of the blanket. What do you know, maybe Sean Maguire knows what he’s doing.
“Look, thanks, but I can just go home. I only live a few blocks away,” Andy offers.
“That’s why I see you here all the time,” replies Sean. “But I ought to check you out first.” He closes his eyes and repeats a hushed mantra. “A B C D E, A B C D E. Airway, Breathing, Circul—”
ABC, Andy thinks, Assault and Battery Crow.
Instead, he interrupts, “Is this a liability issue? I’m not going to sue.”
“EMT student.” Sean grins proudly. “This is your lucky day.”
Andy’s nearly as dumbfounded as he was to see a bird dive-bombing his head. He and the guard have very different ideas about what constitutes luck.
“This could be like an unofficial practical exam. If you don’t mind.”
If the guard wasn’t half so good-looking, with his burnt orange hair and boyish, dimpled grin, Andy would put up more of a fight. “Fine. Go ahead.”
"Alright, patient," Sean says, pulling a little memo pad from the rear pocket of his shorts which he fills out so admirably. "Let's start with the basics. Name?"
"Andy Alvarez."
"Age?"
"Thirty-five. But I moisturize."
“Right on.” Sean’s head bobs as he nods and jots the number in his pad and then gestures to himself. “Twenty-nine. Occupation?"
"English teacher."
Sean winces visibly.
“Problem?” Andy asks.
“Sorry. ADHD.” Sean taps his pencil against his temple. “Not my best subject. Any allergies?"
"Crows and asphalt.” He watches Sean take notes. “That’s irony."
“Marital status?”
“Unmarried.”
“Seeing anyone?” Sean asks, a blond eyebrow raised.
“What kind of—give me that.” Andy reaches to snatch the notebook, but Sean twists to hold it out of his grasp.
Andy yields. “Very single. Don’t write that down.”
And staying that way, he might add, thinking of relationships that spoiled faster than milk.
Sean grins and returns to scribbling notes. "Follow my finger with your eyes only." He moves his finger slowly, then stops to take more notes, which he describes as he prints. "Chest-nut eyes with am-ber flecks.” He looks up at Andy. “Noted for medical observation purposes."
“Brown,” Andy says. “And that’s not medical.”
Sean’s eyes are a soft, mossy green, he notices.
“Now: can you name the president?"
"You're going to need a blood pressure cuff if I get started."
"We're going to say the patient is men-tal-ly a-lert." Sean’s tongue catches between his teeth as he writes in tiny, cramped print.
That prompts Sean to take Andy’s pulse. “My resting heart rate's pretty low from running. Just FYI.”
“Humble brag,” Sean notes, his fingers on the runner’s wrist. “I like it.”
Being caught like that gives an unexpected surge to his dick.
Sean checks Andy’s pupils with a penlight and probes Andy's scalp and then his spine, sliding his broad hands through the arm openings of Andy’s sleeveless shirt, making the runner’s shorts contort. Holding hands for the grip test, he asks, "Any pain? Any numbness or tingling?"
Only when you smile, Andy wants to say, but shakes his head.
When his exam concludes, Sean turns to Andy’s abrasions. He cleans each out with stinging antiseptic before covering them with bandages. He extracts the tree needles and bits of gravel out of Andy’s palm with tweezers, the tip of his tongue again flirting between his lips in concentration.
“You’re good at this,” Andy says, earning a glance and a flash of a smile from the otherwise focused guard.
“Thanks. We’re just about done here.”
Seeing the inevitable end approaching, Andy shifts his shoulders and legs, readying himself to limp home. “I know I need to stay awake in case of concussion.”
“That’s kind of a myth, to be honest,” Sean replies. “But I ought to keep an eye on you for a little bit. Just in case.”
Just in case? Andy thinks. He’s already recovered enough to see what an adorable boy-man the security guard is. How good he makes even his dumb security getup look. In a different scenario, he wouldn’t mind having something more substantial than Sean’s eye on him.
“Don’t you have something you should be doing, Sean Maguire?”
“This is the job, driving around, looking for trouble.”
He reaches out and gently plucks a tiny branch from Andy’s usually silky black hair, grinning.
Well, if he’s going to insist.
“Here?” Andy asks.
"Unless you have a better idea," Sean answers with a smile that gives Andy at least a dozen better ideas, and a pronounced shift in his running shorts.
3.
The two sit cross-legged inside the rear of the Zoo Security SUV.
“How often do you run?” Sean rests against the SUV wall. “I feel like I see you all the time.”
“Nice try, but I’m not giving you my schedule so you can chase me out.” Andy’s lips curl up in a smirk, the soreness reminding him of his injury.
“No, really.”
Sean is so disarming the CIA should hire him to get foreign spies to spill state secrets.
“Mmm, every day. Nine miles.”
“Dude, that’s a lot. What are you running from?”
Ouch.
“Human imperfection,” Andy quips. “Disappointment.”
He immediately regrets sounding so cynical. “It’s my favorite time of the day,” Andy says, softening his tone. “No one has screwed anything up yet. Everything is still so pure and unspoiled."
“Well, I want you to take tomorrow off,” Sean says assertively.
Twenty percent of Andy is ready to tell him off, but the other eighty percent sighs at the redhead’s concern.
“I’m fine.”
“No, really, because—”
“Sean, I appreciate the persistence. But I know my limits. Runners get hurt all the time.”
He’s heard all the reasons before. There’s no need to have the guard repeat them, earnest as he is.
Sean shrugs, opens his thermos, and pours some steaming coffee into the cup that doubles as a lid. Beads of perspiration form on his cheeks as he passes it to Andy, who takes a sip. The coffee is good—surprisingly good—and warm.
“That’s like a hundred times better than my coffee,” Andy offers.
Sean looks pleased, a flush rising on his cheeks.
“You’ll make a good EMT,” Andy adds.
“Thanks,” Sean responds. “Took a while to figure out what I wanted to do, but, like, I really like helping people, y’know?”
Andy passes him the cup, and Sean takes a drink, finishing what’s left in the cup before refilling it from the thermos.
“I can see that,” Andy says.
He can also see the downy golden hair on the guard’s tan forearms and legs, the inviting V of his shirt collar. The way his shirt hugs his chest. His chunky size 13 boots. And what may be a hint of softness to his midsection, which only adds to his cuddly appeal.
“It’s not surprising,” Andy adds. “A lot of my ADHD kids are brilliant; it’s just that systems aren’t set up for them. But when they find their place, they blossom.”
Sean nods, and there’s a moment of silence, but it feels comfortable.
“Hey, did you know crows have really good memories?” Sean asks, refilling the cup with coffee and passing it back to Andy. “They remember faces. That one will probably hold a grudge until you make things right with it.”
Andy arches an eyebrow. “Make it right? Make it right? I am not going to spend my days trying to make things right with that emo-chicken. What am I supposed to do? Send it a fruit basket? ‘To Crow, Care of the Zoo?’”
Sean snorts and shakes his head. “I thought more like leaving some peanuts whenever you run through or something.”
“Peanuts? Peanuts. For the crow.”
Sean shrugs. “Crows aren’t so bad. It was probably just on edge from the storm is all.”
Andy has to admire the guard’s way of seeing through the bird’s prickly exterior, ridiculous as it is.
“I thought you were just an asshole.” The words fall awkwardly in an attempt to compliment the guard as Andy passes back the thermos cup. “But you’re not.”
“Well, thanks for that, I guess,” Sean replies, chuckling.
“Come on,” Andy says. “Seriously. I was just running, and you were always chasing me out, with your flashlight and that siren. BWOOP BWOOP.”
Sean giggles, a little and then a lot.
“What’s so funny?”
“You thought I was chasing you out. I was looking for you. Between school and work, I’m usually pretty beat and driving around looking at the same lots all the time in the dark is mind-numbing. Looking for you was something to look forward to during long nights. Like a game. ‘Hey, there’s my running guy!’ You helped me stay alert more than the caffeine did.”
Sean knocks back some coffee, and it’s Andy’s turn to be confused.
“You were looking for me?” Sean’s cheeks and ears flush.
“Well. Let’s say you wear your shorts well.”
Andy blinks.
“So BWOOP BWOOP means… what, nice assets?”
“He gets it!” Sean guffaws. “The runner gets it!”
“You communicated by siren?”
“Flirted, to be technical.”
“Why didn’t you just say something?”
“Well, there was this thing where you’d run away before I could get to you. Like you didn’t want to talk.”
Meep meep.
As Andy takes this in, Sean adds, “You won’t have to worry about me for long. It’s my last day on the job.”
“What?” Andy asks, startled. “Why?”
“Graduating, and giving up these wheels for my real EMT rig. And maybe some better hours.”
"Oh." The news hits Andy harder than the asphalt did. He sips his coffee, suddenly seeing that Sean has been his one constant companion during the whole time he’s run the zoo lots. When he thought he was alone. "That's... soon."
"Better make the most of it then, twinkletoes." The ruddy flush of Sean’s cheeks deepens.
Sean leans in, checking Andy's reaction, giving him every chance to pull away.
When they lean in close and their lips meet, Andy aches. But when he thinks about Sean leaving, the hurt feels right.
4.
The Zoo Security SUV rocks with the jerking of shirts being pulled off, hips and legs twisting to strip shorts. Andy winces as his shoulder scrapes the seat. Sean's uniform resists his clumsy, eager fingers—buttons ping throughout the cabin as he yanks it open, revealing the flushed skin and golden chest hair beneath.
Boots are kicked off with heavy thuds; stubborn runner's knots are picked apart with desperate fingers.
Their lips lock again, tongues wrestling and teeth glancing.
“I don’t want to… hurt you,” Sean murmurs between smacking kisses, feeling Andy’s lips and teeth along his ear and neck.
“I told you—hnng—I know my—limits,” Andy gasps, feeling Sean’s teeth on his ear and neck. “And we have a long way—to go.”
He pushes Sean down to feast his eyes on the skin beneath his fingers, ruddy and warm. Fine, blond-red hairs spring under Andy’s touch. The hint of softness at Sean’s tummy begs to be bitten. And then lower—a beautiful thick cock, pink and pale, lolling against a bed of red hair. Delicious.
"You're so fucking hot," Andy murmurs, as his lips latch onto one of Sean's pink nipples, ringed with a halo of golden fur. He feels Sean’s hips buck involuntarily as he sucks.
Sean growls, his hands seizing Andy’s hips. With a sudden surge of strength, he twists his body, flipping them over in one fluid motion.
Sean pins Andy to the floor of the SUV, straddling his hips. He tucks the folded blanket under Andy's head, his green eyes darkening as he takes in the view.
His huge hand runs over Andy’s chest—pale against Andy’s olive skin. He doesn’t have Sean’s bulk, but his muscles are supple, defined. There are only a few glossy dark hairs, running down his flat stomach, abs shifting subtly as the guard’s hand trails down.
He grips Andy’s cock, stiff and dark, almost violet with arousal, testing the weight of it.
The windows are already fogging up, sealing them in a white cocoon.
"Assessing the patient," Sean whispers, his voice dropping an octave.
He lowers himself, his big, rough hands sliding down Andy’s ribs. "Does that hurt?" (No, though Andy arches into the touch.)
"Does this?" A gentle nip at Andy's nipple. (“Hnnn.. Not yet.”)
Sean continues his descent, mapping Andy’s body with his mouth. He traces the line of Andy’s hip bone, his tongue hot and wet, making Andy writhe.
He laps a long stripe along Andy’s cock from the base to the tip, then takes it into his mouth. It’s hot and wet, the suction is intense. Andy looks down to see his own dark fingers entwining in Sean’s burnt orange curls.
Sean pulls off, licking his lips, and flips Andy onto his belly with easy strength.
"There it is," he announces with a mischievous grin—the prize he’s been chasing. He cups Andy’s cheeks in his large hands.
BWOOP BWOOP!
Andy has to laugh. “You’re ridicul—aah, oh fuck.” His laughter melts into a broken sigh as Sean’s mouth hits his hole, the tongue pushing into him.
When Andy is slick and twitching, Sean moves up his back, kissing and nibbling. The sandpaper roughness of his coppery whiskers tease up Andy's spine.
Andy twists to get on his knees, wincing on one, but he grabs Sean's cock. It’s heavy in his hand, the skin taut. He bends to slather it with spit, stroking the length of it. Sean’s breath hitches as he drops back against the seat, a low, rumbling groan filling the small space.
He opens wide to take Sean into his mouth, corkscrewing to get his lips to the base and then back up, lubing him with spit before plunging back down.
He can hear Sean groan as he swallows him deeper. He wants to keep hearing that, to hear it increase as Sean cums—but he has something even more enticing in mind.
He pulls back with a wet pop, leaving Sean’s cock glistening and bereft. He wipes a trail of spit from his lip across his forearm, turning to the first aid kit.
"Something here—" Andy rummages through the kit, sifting through gauze and tape— Aha! Lotion.
He squirts the tube, the white cream hitting his palm, and wraps his hand around Sean's throbbing cock. The cold gives him a jolt, sending shivers through Sean, a visible tremor running through his frame.
"Get in me," Andy demands, rolling onto his back.
“Yes, sir,” grins the guard, the red of his face deepening.
Sean settles between Andy’s legs. He pulls the runner’s legs over his shoulders, takes aim and eases the head in. He pushes with a careful restraint that maddens Andy. With each inch of slow, deliberate progress, Andy breathes in, resisting the urge to push down with his hips, letting Sean take the lead.
When Sean is finally buried to the hilt, his flaming red pubes matted against Andy’s smooth ass, Andy lets out a long, ragged exhale. He feels stretched, filled completely by the thick width of him—and just as the intense pressure seems too much, like a runner’s high, it gives way to white-hot, blinding pleasure.
"Fuck me," he breathes.
Sean starts to thrust, withdrawing almost to the glistening pink head before plunging back in, hitting Andy’s spot with heavy, sure strokes.
They fall into a rhythm—the endurance runner and the powerhouse. Andy matches Sean’s strength, meeting every slam, as the SUV suspension creaks rhythmically with them.
Sean leans down, capturing Andy’s mouth in a devouring kiss, his tongue miming the relentless piston-motion of his hips. Andy’s legs drop, wrapping around Sean’s thick waist, digging his heels into the small of the guard’s back, urging him deeper.
“That’s it,” Andy groans, hips bucking up to meet Sean’s, “Jesus fuck!”
Suddenly Sean’s face goes scarlet. His rhythm breaks into frantic, rapid thrusts.
“Oh fuck, ohfuckOHFUCK!” Sean roars, burying his face in Andy's neck as his weight collapses forward, pumping his load deep inside.
Andy pulls him in, fingers in Sean’s sides. He's so close—so very close—that feeling Sean stiffen and shoot in him puts him over. His cock swells in his stroking fingers and cum shoots onto his chest and belly as Sean slams into him with all his strength.
They grind into each other until they can’t, and then drop, limbs tangled—a temporary runner’s knot of flesh and desire.
The silence of the zoo returns, broken only by their ragged breathing.
Their hands drift over one another’s bodies, mapping trails in their shared sweat, until Sean shifts. He spoons Andy from behind, pulling him close, chest to back, his body a comforting weight against Andy's aches.
It happened so quickly. Too fast.
All Andy wants is to do this again and again. But—these things are like lightning. They strike once.
They’ll part soon. But they’ll have this moment, when it’s all just pure potential, undiminished by the inevitable disappointments and betrayals. Let that be enough.
But not just yet.
He traces the shamrock tattooed onto Sean’s skin inside the forearm under him. "How long do you have?"
"Half hour, maybe.” Sean’s lips smack. He sounds drowsy. "Then some paperwork, and I'm out."
“Paperwork on Saturday?”
“Zoo’s open every day. Then a drive to my parents’ place. It’s a whole… thing.”
Half an hour? That's all?
Andy turns in Sean's embrace to face him, reaching down to stroke the guard’s semi, his own cock stirring in response. Sean’s eyes meet his, reviving. "We'd better—what did you say?—make the most of it?"
"You think you can?" Sean asks, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.
"Sean Maguire,” Andy responds, lips curling in mock offense. “I am an endurance athlete. I can go any distance you set.”
Sean hands Andy the tube of lotion. Then, without a word, he rolls onto his belly. He lifts his hips, his pale ass rising in invitation.
Andy rises up, resting on his heels, his erection already jutting out. He takes the pale, firm curves of Sean’s ass in his hands—twin rushes of both lust and tenderness coursing through him.
He tears himself away only long enough to coat his cock in the lotion, squirting more on his fingers.
He finds the tight coil between the creamy cheeks and pushes in, feeling the heat of Sean’s insides, going down to the knuckles. He draws in and out, finger fucking, opening Sean as he strokes himself.
Sean turns his head, ruddy cheek pressed against the blanket, looking back at Andy with that grin.
"Get in me," Sean rasps.
A small groan escapes Andy as he pushes forward. His bruised muscles protest, but he sinks into the tight, welcoming heat of the guard.
As their precious second lap begins, a nearby lion roars, and the windows fog up completely. A flurry of dark wings catches the air as they take flight.
5.
It’s nearing sunup. The interior of the SUV smells of coffee, sweat, and sex—a scent Andy wishes he could bottle. He pulls on his running shirt while Sean buttons his khaki uniform, or at least the buttons that survived the skirmish.
Good luck explaining that when you turn it in, Andy might joke, if his chest didn’t ache as much as it does.
“So about tomorrow—” Sean begins, his voice rough with sleep and satisfaction.
“I appreciate the persistence,” Andy cuts him off. “But injuries are par for the course for runners.”
The look in Sean’s eyes melts his heart. He can’t let the soon-to-be EMT feel he flubbed his first rescue, even if nothing about it was regulation. What kind of parting gift would that be?
“Okay,” Andy concedes. “Tomorrow is off. It’s an official rest day.”
“Promise me,” Sean asks, running his fingers over Andy’s back.
“I’m not in the habit of making promises to strange men,” Andy grins, trying to play it cool.
Sean takes Andy's face in his mitt-like hands, careful around the angry bruise blooming on Andy's lip. The kiss that follows is so tender it barely hurts. In fact, Andy wishes it would hurt more, to ground the moment.
"What about guys who save you from killer crows?" Sean’s voice is a low murmur against Andy’s lips.
Andy melts into another kiss, mumbling, "Sure. I promise.” A deep sigh. “Happy now?"
That kiss lingers, a drawn-out ending.
Andy opens the rear doors and slides out of the SUV into the cool morning air. He drops his weight to test the leg. It’s wobbly, but he’s run on worse. He’ll cope.
He scans the trees and light posts of the parking lot for any vengeful birds, and seeing none, makes his way through the lot, masking his slight limp for Sean. See? Totally fine. Definitely not falling apart.
At the edge of the lot, the boundary of Sean's territory, Andy turns back. The first full rays of the morning sun catch Sean's copper curls like a match strike as he waves.
Andy gives a wave and turns away quickly, to face the short trek home. This is gonna hurt worse than the leg.
For as many miles as he’s run, this short distance leading away from Sean feels like the most daunting he’s ever faced.
“The first three blocks are a liar,” Andy whispers. The runner’s mantra against emotional weakness. “Go.”
He walks down the quiet street, hobbling at first, but his legs find their rhythm with every step, like they always do. At two blocks it’s not his limb that falters—it’s his heart. He stops, feeling a powerful urge to turn back, to hobble-hop if needed, to see if Sean’s still there.
Before he can act, a flutter of wings overhead prompts him to throw his hands overhead, bracing for an attack.
WHEEE WHEEE!
It isn’t a crow—it’s an entirely different bird. Andy knows this one, sort of. He dubbed it “the wheee wheee bird” in his mental catalog of neighborhood wildlife.
“Hi,” he says, looking up. It’s just them.
WHEEE WHEEE! it responds.
Then, cutting through the morning air: BWOOP! BWOOP!
Andy turns to see the Zoo Security SUV idling, just behind him, like a concerned parent. Sean's behind the wheel wearing mirrored sunglasses. His thick forearm rests on the car door through the open window.
"Just ensuring civilian safety, sir," Sean's voice crackles through the speaker. "Keep it moving."
"People are sleeping!" Andy whisper-shouts through embarrassed delight.
"Not with that strut they're not," Sean teases.
Then—BWOOP!
"Oh my God! Stop! I can make it home without an escort," Andy protests feebly.
Sean clicks off the speaker, leaning out the window to say in a hush, "Then how will I know where to bring coffee tomorrow?"
Oh.
Oh.
A warmth spreads through Andy. He resumes his long, slow walk, his bad leg pulled along by the beating in his chest. The SUV crawls just behind him. Watchful. Patient. Faithful.
At his bungalow, Andy climbs the steps and makes an exaggerated production of pointing back and forth between his house number and himself.
This is me. Got it?
Sean nods with mock disinterest, a playful twitch at the corner of his lips. Then a full-on smile spreads across his handsome mug as he accelerates and drives away, leaving a swirl of dust in his trail.
Standing on his porch, Andy watches his coyote depart for now. A grin spreads across Andy's face, mirroring Sean's. "Meep meep."
He turns to go in and stops, his fingertips resting on the doorknob. Tomorrow may be a rest day, but it’s technically still today. Early. And his leg feels a little better already.
There’s a little grocery store that can’t be more than a mile away, maybe two.
Down in the street, Andy crouches down to tighten his laces—the runner’s knot secure. He stands, bounces on the balls of his feet, testing his leg.
The store must be just opening. He can manage that far. He does need to get peanuts.
It’s a good day for a peace offering. Or a thank you, at least.
His foot strikes the road, and he runs into the sunrise.
END
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