Short Stories [Man on Man]

Snowed In [3]

“Ooh,” Sutton said, his eyes practically glowing. “What's that? It smells good.”

Amos smiled and picked up the bottle. “Got some bourbon, honey, spices, and barbecue sauce all mixed up in here. Only way I eat my steak.”

“So if you're, like, at a restaurant or something, do you have this with you?”

“Don't be stupid.” He smacked the man's arm and laughed. “I take the steak home and then eat it.”

Sutton just grinned to him before turning to all the fixings for the steak rub. They had three thick slabs of the venison out, already thawed, the bottle with his homemade concoction, some butter, and an onion that still needed to be chopped.

“You any good with a knife?” he asked.

Sutton looked back at his police belt lying on the back of the chair. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Then you can cut the onions.”

“Ah,” he whined. “But what if I wanted to rub the meat.”

“You can do that when you have a little privacy.” Amos laughed, trying not to show just how much those words got to him. Trying not to show just how much his body responded to that little whine. “But right now, we're focusing on dinner. It's not every day I have police officers barging into my house.”

The other man's face had turned a ruddy shade of red, and he looked away quickly. “Gotchya. Onions. I can chop onions. How small does it gotta be?”

“Just decent-sized slices. Don't need to be too tiny.”

“Okay.”

Sutton took one of the big knives from the drawer, an onion from the bag, and got to work. Meanwhile, Amos focused all his attention on rubbing in the steaks, making sure they were nice and moist, getting all the flavor in. After making sure the man was doing okay with chopping, he slipped into the garage and started the propane grill.

It ignited, and he set the steaks down, flipping them as needed. Sutton had told him he liked steak medium-rare. Amos had wrinkled his nose at that. He didn't like it when all the blood mixed in with the watery and doused his plate. But hey, at least the guy liked steak.

He poured some of his mix onto the meat again and piled the three onto the plate, accordingly. Sutton's came first, the extra one that was right in between, and then his own. He turned the grill off, basked in the smell of fresh grill, and brought the food back inside, stopping short when he saw Sutton leaning against the counter, a wet rag against his eye.

He set the plate down. “You okay?”

Sutton nodded, smiled a little, but didn't take the rag off. “I think I got a piece of onion in my eye.”

“Is it still in there?”

“Yeah. But if I open my eye, it stings. You see my problem?”

Amos waved him away from the sink and ran the tap, getting a hand wet. “Come over here.”

He heard Sutton mumble something under his breath, but the man came to him eventually, still holding that rag over his face. He wiped at his runny nose and looked at Amos, a little bit apprehensively.

Amos held out his hand. “Here. But keep your eye closed, okay?”

Sutton did as he was told and dropped his hand to his side. He stepped forward, until they were only inches apart, toe to toe, face to face. Amos got even closer, holding the wet rag to the man's face and slowly moving it to the side.

“You gotta open it, ya know.”

“Fine.”

The man's eye more twitched than opened, but Amos was quick, and held the eyelid open. He heard as Amos hissed in a breath and tried not to smile at this big, tough man's moment of weakness. It seemed kinda funny, for an officer of the law to be taken down by a vegetable.