Imago (Imago #1)
N.R. Walker
Dedication
To the folks who watch butterflies, and wonder…
CHAPTER ONE
Jack Brighton
The flight from Melbourne to Launceston was usually uneventful. A quick hour across the Tasman Sea, away from the rat race of city life, back to my home state of Tasmania where the air was clean and the people still said hello.
I’d attended a week-long national meeting for regional managers of the Parks and Wildlife Services. I had the best job in the world, and meetings like that―while good to keep up to date on news and trends―reminded me that my place was in wide open spaces and the great outdoors.
I didn’t go much on Melbourne. The nightlife was better for a man such as myself than it was in my hometown, though this trip had been uneventful on that front too. I had to say, being a twenty-eight-year-old gay man in a small country town in the northeast corner of Tasmania, my options were limited. And when I said limited, I meant zero.
I went out every night I was visiting Melbourne, and there were guys interested in one-nighters, but I was done with that. The instant gratification was all good and well, but I would leave with a hollow, detached feeling that never quite went away. I’d hoped to find someone I could connect with, hook up with when we could, talk on the phone, video chat during the week type of thing. But there was not one guy who sparked my interest. I wasn’t too happy to have come up empty handed either.
Empty handed was the only thing my sex life wasn’t.
I snorted at my lame joke, and only then I realised the guy taking his seat across the aisle from me thought I was snorting at him. He gave me a rather dirty look and quickly turned his head and sniffed. I contemplated telling him I wasn’t laughing at him, but then he was busy telling the flight attendant to be careful with his carry-on. He was late boarding the plane and he looked flustered enough without me adding to his troubles.
I was soon enjoying the feeling of taking off and heading home, and the guy across from me quickly had his laptop out and was typing away furiously, so I let my head fall back against the headrest and closed my eyes.
After we’d landed in Launceston, I stood up and went to collect my bag from the overhead cabin and accidentally backed into the person behind me. I’m six foot two and kinda broad shouldered, not exactly built for confined spaces.
“Oh, sorry,” I quickly apologised, and upon turning around, saw it was the flustered guy from before who thought I’d laughed at him. I offered him a smile. “Not much room for guys my size.”
He looked up at me like a rabbit in a spotlight, blinked several times, blushed a deep scarlet from his cheeks right down his neck, and desperately set about shoving his laptop away, all while muttering what sounded like an apology with his head down.
Well, that was an interesting reaction. One that had my attention, that’s for sure.
I took a moment to look him over. He was maybe five ten, thin build, with short brown hair parted on the side and combed to perfection. He had pale skin, the pinkest lips I’d ever seen on a guy, without lip gloss anyway. Which I wasn’t exactly opposed to, just so you know. But this guy was wearing a chambray business-style shirt with a navy bow tie.
A goddamn bow tie.
If I were to look up Hottest Fucking Nerd On The Planet, this guy’s photo would be it.
Like seriously. He made my insides do stupid things.
He looked back up at me, and I couldn’t even be embarrassed that he’d caught me ogling. He didn’t seem too happy about it, frowning as he slid his blue blazer on. He put his head back down, trying to make himself smaller, tucked his laptop bag under his arm, and bustled past the people trying to disembark.
And I stood there with my mouth hanging open like a Neanderthal.
With a shake of my head, I got my gear together and waited my turn to deplane.
Man, why couldn’t I have met a guy like that in Melbourne?
Putting it down to shitty luck, I got off the plane and collected my suitcase from the Arrivals carousel. But as I was walking toward the exit, I saw bow tie guy at the car rental kiosk and he seemed to be flustered. Again. Maybe flustered was how he got through his day, but he really didn’t seem to be having a good one at all.
“I’m sorry, Mr Gale,” I heard the car rental lady say. “There seems to be some mistake. We don’t have a booking and all vehicles are taken.”
Bow tie guy, whose name appeared to be Mr Gale, had both elbows on the counter and let his head fall forward. With a deep breath, he looked up. “Well, what am I supposed to do? I have an appointment at the museum in forty minutes. I need the vehicle because I can’t very well take my suitcase to an appointment with a professor, can I? And I’m supposed to be staying out of town, which I obviously will need to drive to. Surely there has to be another vehicle?”
She made a face. “Sorry. But we don’t have a booking. Can I suggest a taxi?”
I almost laughed, because good luck getting a cab from the airport to a hotel to the museum in forty minutes. The poor guy looked defeated and on the verge of tears.
“It’s a very important meeting,” he said weakly.
Before I knew what I was doing, I stopped beside him. “Sorry for intruding. I couldn’t help but overhear. I’m headed your way if you need a lift?”
CHAPTER TWO
Lawson Gale
“I beg your pardon?” To say I was surprised by the interruption was an understatement. Not so much the offer, but who it was from.
It was the man from the plane. The one who’d laughed at me when I was taking my seat, the same man who’d almost knocked me over when the giant decided to stand in the aisle at the same time as me. It wasn’t my fault he was absurdly tall and built like a mountain. And of course he had to be gorgeously handsome with his perfect scruffy brown hair and perfect twinkling brown eyes. And a dimple. Of course he had a dimple. It completed his perfect face.
He was wearing a shirt with a Parks and Wildlife emblem over the right breast, dark jeans, and work boots. The outdoor type that worked with his hands was not a look that would normally catch my attention, but it somehow made him even more… perfect. One side of his mouth cranked upwards. “I couldn’t help but overhear you, and I’m going your way if you need a lift.”
I stared up at him and his stupidly perfect face.
His brow furrowed. “To the museum?”
“Oh.” Right. He’d asked me a question. Or offered me a lift, more to the point. “Well…” I composed myself. “I’m not in the habit of taking rides from strangers.”