Page 66 of Provoking the Punter

He hadn’t expected Chester to be a morning person, given that he worked late most nights. Garrett picked his boxer briefs up off the floor and pulled them on before padding downstairs.

“I’m getting up,” Chester grumbled as Garrett left, in the least convincing manner possible.

In the soft morning light, he walked through the house. He’d ignored most of it last night, too intent on getting his hands on Chester. This morning, he paid attention. The furniture was simple and stylish as though the various bits had been bought because he liked them, not because they all went together, but they had been positioned in such a way that it wasn’t jarring to see what appeared to be a vintage lamp next to a modern minimalist chair.

The art on the wall was no different. It was a collection of what seemed to be vintage photos in random frames, but there was a theme. They were all to do with distilling or gin. The equipment or the bottles, and a half-naked woman stirring something in a bathtub. The photo of a man with a long beard next to a still made him pause. There was something in the man's gaze. Or maybe it was because his clothes were too modern.

“I don’t smell coffee,” Chester muttered. His hair was askew with half of it standing up on end and the other half plastered down. He still looked half asleep. That he was wearing pajama pants aided with the look.

“I got sidetracked by your art. Is that your father?” Garrett pointed at the photo.

Chester gave a nod. “You’re the only one who’s noticed that.”

“Is that because I’m the only one who knows what he does?”

A smile flickered on Chester’s lips. “Maybe.”

Chester walked into the kitchen and turned on the coffee machine, pulling two mugs out of the cupboard.

Garrett followed him. “I don’t drink coffee in the mornings.”

“Are you an alien?” Chester glared at him.

“I’m about to do a two-hour weight session. I need food and water. I’ll have coffee before I sit down for the game review.”

Chester filled the mug up with water and handed it to him. “You don’t play football all day?”

“No. Weights, conditioning, meetings, whole team meetings, special teams meetings, game review, watching video of our next opposition. I do get out on the field every day, just kick some balls, keep myself limber.”

Chester opened the fridge and stared at the contents. “Usually, I just have a piece of toast, but there is stuff in here.” He shut the fridge door. “I can’t assemble food at this time of the morning.”

“Why don’t you sit at the breakfast bar, and I’ll assemble the food? Can you eat this early in the morning?”

“I can always eat if somebody’s doing the cooking.”

Garrett inspected the contents of the fridge and the cupboard and started pulling things out, while Chester finished putting together his coffee and then sat on the other side of the kitchen island.

“So how does the son of a moonshiner end up running a business empire?”

Chester took a sip of coffee. “That is a very big question.”

“I’m making a very big breakfast.” Garrett wanted to learn anything and everything about his boyfriend. He’d talked plenty about his upbringing and his family, but he didn’t know much about Chester’s, aside from the fact that his mother had taken off when he was about five. Which he felt was a hell of a lot harder than losing his mother at sixteen.

“I was about ten when my best friend at school volunteered me to show his dad how to do math and how to use a spreadsheet because I was good at that kind of stuff. He was the local mechanic, good with cars, not so good with numbers, and Mark had heard him complaining. I went over to his shop after school one day instead of hanging out with Mark and playing computer games and helped him set up a program on his computer.”

Garrett chopped the ham he’d found in the fridge. He had missed cooking so much. “That does not lead to here.”

“I told you it was a long story. It became a once a week thing, and then he started paying me. I couldn’t take the money home because Dad would’ve used it, and I didn’t have a bank account. I didn’t even know what a bank account was because my father didn’t trust the banks. Mark’s dad had to explain banking to me and then he helped me request copies of the documents I needed to open a bank account. I got to see how his business ran, which was so different to my Dad’s, and I also saw how to save it. Mark and I fell out because I was spending more time with his dad working on the business. I used his computer in my downtime to learn more, and I borrowed books from the library. My bank account grew, and I learned about college and scholarships. I saw a way out.”

Garrett broke and whisked the eggs, enjoying the simple motions. “Did you want out before then?”

“Yes, but not in those words. I wanted to find my mother. I wanted more. Dad always said she wanted more like it was a bad thing, but he didn’t tell me what it was she wanted. When I was in high school, Mark thanked me for saving his dad’s business. He hadn’t realized how bad the situation was. We made it through high school, pushing each other to do better because we both needed a scholarship to go to college. We vowed it was college or the military because neither of us were staying.”

“You never considered a sports scholarship?”

Chester laughed, but it was dark. “The town I grew up in wasn’t a feeder school. There wasn’t any money to put into sports. Kids with talent moved away, if they were lucky, otherwise they quit.”

“That’s shit.”

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