Three weeks had passed and the only communication between Brandon and Anthony was a perfunctory exchange of texts a few days after Anthony’s visit to the loft in which he ascertained that Brandon was feeling “much better, thanks.” Were it not for their unfinished business with the matter of Anthony’s living room furniture order, Brandon would have been convinced that he had seen the last of him.

Lydia knew better than to pursue specifics on what happened that night. Brandon had evasively told her that things had not ended well and left her to draw her own conclusions. Whatever those conclusions were, she partially blamed herself for them, having orchestrated the get together in the first place, and so she had been somewhat subdued at work. Helpful in a sweet way, rather than in a busybody one.

And so it was a welcome distraction that Brandon pulled into the parking lot at home in his new RAV-4 hybrid and discovered an unattended moving truck parked by the stairwell door. The third floor studio must have rented, he thought as he walked up the front lobby steps, mailbox key in hand. Brandon couldn’t see the moving truck from any of his loft windows, its location being intercepted by the other leg of the L-shaped building, and so he had almost completely forgot about it when he then spotted a pick-up truck that had parked next to his suv in the lot.

Two men were talking at the tailgate, one with his foot up on the bumper. Brandon could make out the telltale swoop of a Nike from across the lot. They were white and black, and looked like mids. When a woman approached, hands on her hips, the man with the Nikes removed his foot and lowered the tailgate, and both men started to unload items from the back. Brandon decided to give it an hour, then introduce himself.

Grabbing an unopened bottle of wine from the fridge, he went to the rear of the loft and entered the back stairwell, which connected his to the other half of the building. As he climbed to the third floor, the hubbub of a move in progress became obvious. The apartment door was propped open, music and voices drifting out, and the boxes and rolled up rugs spilled onto the top landing. Brandon scooted around a stack and wrapped a knuckle on the doorframe.

“Hello?” he called into the din, his voice reverberating off of he bare floor and walls. The woman he recognized from the parking lot poked her head around a corner and approached.

“Oh, hey!” She suddenly looked at Brandon’s with concern. “I’m sorry—are we being loud?”

Brandon chuckled. “Not at all. You’re fine—I just wanted to introduce myself since I’m just downstairs. I’m Brandon. Welcome to the building.” He extended his hand.

The woman looked a bit surprised, but took his hand in hers. “That’s so sweet of you. I’m Heidi. But this isn’t my place. It’s my brother’s.” She turned back toward the out of sight source of the noise. “Dell! There’s somewhere here to meet you!”

“Oh, yeah?” Dell came around the corner. The man with the Nikes. They were 77 Blazers. Spotlessly white, even on moving day. He strode to the door and stood next to Heidi, head slightly cocked and hand extended. “Hey, I’m Dell…you are?”

Brandon took the hand. It was broad and hard. A working hand. “Brandon. I live downstairs.”

“Oh, yeah,” he said smiling. “You’re the other resident. The rest in the building are all businesses, right?”

“That’s right. Graphic design and web design, actually. I guess Peter gave you a bit of a rundown on the building, huh?” Peter was the owner, and while he had been good to Brandon, he tended to be a bit of an absent-minded professor.

“Yeah—well and actually I’m getting a deal to help out with this place,” Dell explained.

“Oh, is that right? Like a property manager?”

As Dell launched into an explanation of the arrangement and how he came to arrive at it with Peter, Heidi retreated back to the box fort they were dismantling in the kitchen and Brandon began to discreetly let his eyes wander over Dell’s black jeans, olive t-shirt, and caramel skin. His hair was thick and dark, in a short cut that spiked in soft waves that bent back over his head. He was certainly not unattractive. Brandon was snapped back to attention when he heard Dell mention his job.

“Masonry?” Brandon asked. “Like, concrete work?”

“Yeah, exactly. Laying block, pouring slabs, that kind of thing. Not the glamorous life, but I find it satisfying.” Brandon’s mind wandered to Dell standing ankle deep in wet cement, dusty rubber boots rising to his knees. Very satisfying, he silently agreed.

“Well I don’t want to hold you up…uhh” Brandon searched for the name, having been lost in his thoughts.

“Dell,” Dell repeated. “Short for Wendell. And actually Wendell’s my middle name. First name is Gavin.”

Brandon smiled. “Okay then, Dell short for Gavin Wendell. It was really nice to meet you. I’ll see you around.” Brandon extended the bottle of wine, which Dell gratefully took, then he turned to descend the stairs. In a normal situation, a door would have been closed behind him, punctuating his leave, but as the hall was choked with boxes, the visit would have to end awkwardly. But it was not without its benefits, Brandon thought as he eyed a milk crate stuffed with sneakers on his way down the steps.

---

Thus, the mystique of Dell filled in for the absence of Anthony.

Brandon observed his new neighbor with great interest over the next several weeks. His truck was often still in the lot when Brandon left in the morning. He would try to peer into the bed on his way to his car, hoping to spy a yellow rubber boot, which—disappointingly—he never did. Occasionally, Brandon would catch Dell’s truck as it pulled into the lot in the evenings, and he would stand carefully along a window and watch him emerge to see what kind of work boots he had on for the day: usually Timberlands.

Once Brandon was crossing the lot to leave for a dinner date when Dell’s Tacoma pulled up next to him. Not wanting to be unneighborly, he hung around for a few minutes and greeted him, asking about how he was settling in while taking a keen interest in Dell’s dusty work jeans and soft suede moccasins. It was an odd pairing, and as Brandon wished him a good evening and climbed into his own car, he excitedly decided that Dell had been at a cement pour and, once removing his boots, slipped into the moccasins for the drive home.

In another encounter, Dell was in the basement doing laundry when Brandon was returning a leftover box of Christmas decorations to his storage shelves. Dell was in his Nike Blazers, black socks peeking out beneath soft gray joggers. He turned from the towel he was folding on the dryer and smiled at Brandon. “Howdy, neighbor!”

“Hey, Dell. How have you been?” Brandon was nonchalant as he slid the box onto the shelf, but he was actually excited to be sharing the same space with Dell after weeks of spying from afar.

“Can’t complain,” he said to his towel. Brandon ventured closer. The Nikes were loose, as though Dell had just stepped into them to come down to the basement.

“You all set up up there?” Brandon nodded upstairs. Dell bobbed his head.

“More or less. I don’t have a lot of stuff. This is actually my first place on my own.”

“Really? Roommates before?”

“Yeah. It just financially made sense. I was saving up for a house, you know? But the market is crazy. I just wanted to be on my own but not pay a fortune. Glad I got this gig. Peter is being good to me.”

Brandon nodded with interest, his eyes following the towel that he dropped into the basket right next to his loose high top. “It’s nice to know there’s someone in the building who’s handy.” Dell smiled.

They walked together up to Brandon’s landing, said goodnight, and then Dell continued up to his. Brandon watched the Nikes disappear around then corner, then heard the sound of them clomp to the floor as they were kicked off outside Dell’s studio door, which clicked shut. Brandon smiled to himself, then went inside his loft.

It was an excited Brandon that arrived home early from work the next Friday afternoon. He had made his excuses to Lydia and raced home, hoping for an empty parking lot. He wasn’t disappointed. Dell’s Tacoma was not there, and neither were any of the office tenants’. He flung his laptop case of the sofa and dropped his keys on on the stainless kitchen island as he headed for the back stairwell door. By the time he rounded the landing halfway up to Dell’s, he was already hard.

As he suspected, Dell had several pairs of shoes piled by the back door, and they were his to explore. His heart hammered as he spotted the Nike Blazers were there, but he decided to save them for last. He started with a pair of blue Adidas Racers. They were pretty hot. He rubbed his fingers inside the collar. God, Adidas always had the most satisfyingly squishy sneakers. He bet these felt great on Dell’s feet.

The moccasins were also there. They were clearly worn, the sides having been broken down by Dell’s feet constantly pushing into them. The suede was worn smooth in spots. Brandon brought one to his nose, and it was filled with a tangy musk. Dell had definitely worn these after working all day on more than one occasion. Brandon pictured him peeling off a cement caked rubber boot and plunging a sweaty black sock into this waiting moccasin, then driving home, his foot sliding around in the formless soft suede envelope.

By now, Brandon was getting wet. He could feel droplet of pleasure sliding in his shorts. He couldn’t wait. He bypassed the tangle of other shoes and reached for the Nikes. They were surpassingly stiff, but the foam in the tongue felt great between his fingers. He was just reaching inside when he heard that stairwell door slam down below.

Shit, he thought as he put the shoe down and stood up, peering over the rail. He could make out Dell’s black curly head two flights down. There was no time to make it down to his own landing, and no earthly reason for Brandon to be up here. The sound of Dell’s work boots on the steps came closer. Brandon’s cock retreated into itself, giving him the mental space to act. He loudly rapped on Dell’s door.

Dell’s footsteps paused below. “Hello?” he called up. Brandon came to the railing again and was met with Dell’s upturned face.

“Oh, hey! I guess you were’t home after all. I was just knocking on your door.”

Dell rounded the landing, his work outfit coming into view. Brown heavy twill Carhartt coat, dusty jeans, and Timberlands. Very sexy. “Howdy, neighbor. Whatcha knockin’ on my door for?”

Brandon hadn’t gotten quite this far. In a split second, he flipped through his options. Cup of sugar? Too obvious. A roll of paper towels? Random. Is your internet working? Not quite. “I was just wondering if maybe you could check out my kitchen sink. It’s been leaking and I know absolutely nothing about plumbing.” And as a bonus, both happened to be true.

Dell stood on the top step and looked at Brandon. “Of course. You could have sent me a text, though.”

Brandon felt sheepish. “Yeah, I know. I just felt weird is all, never having asked you to fix anything before.”

Dell grinned. “Well it’s very nice of you to ask in person. Maybe next time check out the window to see if my truck is here first.”

“Right, I’ll do that. Anyway, no need to come down now. You just got home. Take your time.” Brandon started down the stairs past him. He smelled like outdoors and concrete dust.

“Can it wait until after I eat?” Dell called after him.

“You bet!”

---

Brandon couldn’t believe his fortune when Dell, smelling freshly showered, entered the back of the loft in his loose, untied Nike Blazers and another pair of joggers. He let out a customary string of exclamations over Brandon’s beautifully appointed loft before he looked at him. “So you’re gay, then?”

Brandon laughed at the abruptness. “I’m sorry?”

Dell shrugged. “I’m not judging or anything. My sister’s brother-in-law is gay. Great guy. If I hadn’t been sure from the way you talked, your apartment did the trick.”

Brandon raised his eyebrows. “The way I talk?”

Dell smiled. “Yeah. You guys have a sound. It’s kinda nice, though. Don’t worry. So. Sink?”

Brandon shook off the bizarre exchange and stood by as Dell squatted before the cabinet and peered inside. Even the soles of his Nikes were sexy.

“It’s not the drains or the strainers,” he said, turning around and backing into the cabinet, peering up at the pipes under the faucet. Dell’s knees were bent, his joggers pulled up, fully putting his Nike Blazers on display at Brandon’s feet. They crunched softly as his bent legs pushed against the heel of the sneakers. “I see it,” Dell was saying. He bent forward, lifting his heels off the floor, and grabbed a set of channel locks from the bag beside him. When he leaned back again, the heels returned Brandon’s Persian runner.

After Brandon’s near moment with the Nikes earlier on the landing, and with the short time it would take Dell to tighten the fitting and stop the leak under his sink, he felt the urge to somehow interact with them, put his mark on them. He thought about the time he slid his fingers in Anthony’s Supra. Very sexy, but he wouldn’t get away with that twice. Then he remembered the evening in front of the fire pit. The kernel of corn that teased him in the fold of Anthony’s jeans before tumbling into his croc. Brandon suddenly know that he wanted to drop something into the Dell’s sneaker. The thought made him flush with excitement. His cock stirred, as though trying to look for a substitute for a corn kernel.

Brandon searched the countertop in the kitchen. This would have to be fast. Dell would not be much longer now—maybe only seconds. Brandon’s eyes fell to the sink strainer basket, where a pea had escaped his notice, having been rinsed from his bowl of soup. He smiled. Perfect. He plucked the little green ball from the sink. This would have to be timed and aimed to perfection.

Not wanting to risk a miss, he knelt down onto the floor next to the high tops, pretending to peer into the cabinet where Dell worked. “How does it look?” he asked, deftly dropping the pea just behind Dell’s left ankle. He shuttered with satisfaction as it rested there, laying in the valley where Dell’s black sock met the white wall of the Nike Blazer.

“I think it’s just about…there.” Dell gave the channel locks a final twist, then dropped his hands, giving the fitting a final inspection. “I think we got it!” He pulled himself out of the cabinet, and dropped the channel locks into the bag. “You should be good now, but maybe keep the bucket under there a day or two longer just in case.”

Brandon had stood quickly so that he could afford a nice view into Dell’s shoe. Now as Dell gathered his tools from the floor and stood himself, Brandon smiled as the little green ball dropped from sight, the gap between Dell’s sock and collar widened from standing. “Thanks so much, Dell. You make it look easy.”

“No problem at all. This time, anyway.” He chucked as he stepped out trough the back stairwell door. “Have a good night!”

“You, too,” Brandon called, clicking the door shut. He listened as Dell progressed up to his landing, hoping that with each step, his little green pea was getting smashed against the bottom of Dell’s sock, and that he would find it when he kicked his Nike Blazer off outside his back door.