Curiosity Killed Shaney(8)

Mr. Anderson nodded, relaxing again, seemingly satisfied with Shaney’s agreement. Shaney allowed the oxygen back into his lungs.

“I’ve found you one last assignment for your remaining two hundred hours.”

Oh, thank God. Shaney practically melted into a gooey puddle of relief.

Mr. Anderson snapped upright in his chair again. Did the man have that much trouble relaxing, or was Shaney the cause of his uptight tics?

“However, this time will be different. First, you will save all of your…experiments,” he scrunched his face as if tasting something foul, “for after hours. Second, you will report here to me two times a week instead of one. I’ll also be doing random checks at the job site. Lastly—”

A rap on the door interrupted the list conditions. Shaney didn’t care what they entailed. He’d dance naked, downtown, during rush hour, on a ninety-five degree day, without sunblock, to avoid jail time. He’d definitely burn, maybe even blister. Blister his dangly bits. Maybe naked wasn’t such a good idea.

Mr. Anderson rose and straightened his tie. “I believe my last stipulation has just arrived.”

Shaney’s attention stayed focused on the major complications of a blistered penis. Ouch! Clothing below the waist would be out. Probably look like some weird STD—

“Shaney!”

Mr. Anderson’s shout popped Shaney out of his chair and he spun around, clutching at his chest as his heart beat against his ribs. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped. Mr. Tall, Dark, and Hunky stood next to Mr. Anderson. Shaney retreated until the backs of his thighs hit the desk. Mr. Anderson’s derisive chuckle put Shaney on high alert.

“Shaney Mills. Meet Hudson Turner. Your new community service assignment.”

If there was ever time to die from an overdose of terror and mortification, this was it.





Chapter Four

Shaney pulled his knees to his chest to rest his chin. He sat on his favorite rock, which jutted out over Gull Pond. The rock was flat, big enough to stretch out on, and warmed by the sun. The air was unseasonably warm for September and sun heated his arms and face. A slight breeze moved the water, sending shimmering sparkles across the surface. Water lapped lazily at the bottom of the rock and melded with the quiet song of leaves rustling, tall reeds rubbing in the breeze, and the buzzing, croaking, and chirping of wildlife. The wind smelled of firs and cedars and earth and sunshine.

Shaney had always been drawn to nature and loved being outside. Something called to him, and calmed and soothed his internal chaos. Nothing bad ever happened when he was out in the woods or near the pond. It was the perfect reprieve from his normally messed up life.

Twirling a pine needle between his fingers, Shaney ran the current situation over in his mind. Hudson was his new community service gig. Only an evil, malevolent force would drop him in such close proximity to the man he daydreamed about licking from head to toe. Even his terror and humiliation hadn’t put a damper on his dick. Gotta hand it to male hormones, those suckers could override just about anything.

All of Shaney’s misconceptions about the incident at The Morgue had been cleared up in Mr. Anderson’s office. Hudson hadn’t intended to pummel Shaney into the ground because Shaney had eye groped him. No, Hudson had just wanted to ask Shaney something. Shaney being Shaney had grilled Hudson about what he could possibly have wanted to talk to him about. The man frowned and replied, “You work at the thrift store. I had a question.”

Without hesitating long enough for his brain to catch up, Shaney narrowed his eyes. “And how did you know I worked there?”

Clever, he thought, until Hudson narrowed his eyes, too (definitely more effective than Shaney’s attempt). “Because you had a name tag on that said. ‘I’m Shaney. Ask me for help’.” Well, if that hadn’t made him feel all kinds of stupid.

And now, Shaney was chained to the hot man for the rest of his sentence—two hundred hours of his life. Shaney had to focus on finishing those hours quickly. He wasn’t working right now. Two weeks ago, he’d been fired from Carl’s Happy Burger. Nothing close to happy about that place. And Shaney didn’t agree with the reasons he’d gotten the ax—this time. He’d lost other jobs and had deserved to be fired, like when he’d spilled secret sauce all over his boss (the limit for balancing vats with one hand is exactly seven), or when he’d rigged the pressure hose at the car wash to propel a skateboard (eventually you either had to stop or rip the hose out). No. This time his supervisor had canned him for stalking his co-worker’s trips to the bathroom. His unsolicited attention of her marathon bathroom sessions had confirmed what he’d suspected. She wasn’t washing her hands. The secret sauce may stain skin, but even soap would get the dried bits off. Taking action, Shaney had taped a sign to the front of her register that said, ‘Caution: I don’t wash my hands after using the bathroom.’ Shaney figured customers would have wanted to know something like that—he certainly would. Management didn’t see it that way. Bam! Fired.