Stephen Osborne - Temporal Driftwood.pdf

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Temporal Driftwood * Stephen Osborne
2
Temporal Driftwood
T HE guy was just too good-looking.
David Lassen sighed and picked his magazine back up.
When, after the third attempt, the words of the paragraph
merely swam around in his head, making no sense
whatsoever, he set the magazine back down. The Gorgeous
Guy was still there, just two tables away, sipping a grande
non-fat misto with two pumps of mocha (David had listened
in while Gorgeous Guy had given the barista his order).
David tried not to stare, but it wasn’t easy. GG had a mop of
dark hair, dark-brown eyes that David knew he could stare
into for eternity, an adorably dimpled chin, and just enough
of a five o’clock shadow (it was just after noon) to give him
that dangerous, bad-boy look. GG was holding a Kindle in
one hand and seemed to be engrossed in whatever he was
reading. Which was a good thing, because David couldn’t
stop staring.
Who am I kidding , David asked himself. This guy is
totally out of your league, Lassen. Why don’t you try for the
skinny, slightly effeminate guy over in the corner, sitting with
a female friend and talking loudly about last night’s America’s
Got Talent ? At least with him you might have a chance.
David returned his attention to Gorgeous Guy. GG was
wearing tight jeans (okay, David couldn’t see them at the
moment, as the guy’s table obscured the delectable vision,
but he’d noticed the way the denim hugged the man’s thighs
while they’d been standing in line) and one of those MMA T-
shirts. The T-shirt didn’t hide the guy’s muscular chest and
arms. David couldn’t understand the attraction to Mixed
Martial Arts fights. Two guys get into a cage, wearing only
board shorts and skimpy gloves and beat the snot out of
each other. If David got GG into a cage, fighting wouldn’t be
the first thing on his mind. Getting those board shorts off
Temporal Driftwood * Stephen Osborne
3
him would, though.
David’s eyes began to glaze as he envisioned GG and
himself in a cage. In his daydream GG, wearing black MMA
gloves, quickly pounced, yanking a startled David right off
his feet. Before he could even scream, David was flat on his
back and GG was on top of him, grinding and writhing. The
daydream David moaned as GG grabbed his face, holding
him in place. The dream GG leaned forward and suddenly
they were kissing. The grinding of GG’s pelvis increased, and
David could feel the man’s erection against his lower
abdomen, straining to be released from the confines of the
board shorts.
A sudden movement shook David out of his reverie. GG
was getting up! The Kindle had been put away and the
grande non-fat misto with two pumps of mocha had been
finished while David had been happily visiting the part of his
brain reserved for erotic daydreams. Quickly David picked
his magazine back up. GG would have to walk past him to
exit the coffeehouse, and David didn’t want it to be obvious
he’d been ogling the guy.
There were words on the page. David knew there were,
because Time was known for well-written articles. However,
David could only see, through his peripheral vision, GG
walking by.
No, not walking by. Pausing. Pausing by David’s table.
“Excuse me, but are you reading the cover story?”
“Huh?” David looked up. GG was standing right next to
him, smiling. David found he couldn’t look into the chimeric
pools of GG’s eyes, so he quickly lowered his gaze. The MMA
T-shirt was so tight that David thought he could make out
the nipples on GG’s expansive chest. GG seemed to be
waiting for an answer. David swallowed and found his voice.
“Oh. Yeah. Good article.” Good article? Was that the best his
brain could muster? GGthis magnificent hunkwas
actually speaking to him, and all he could manage was “good
Temporal Driftwood * Stephen Osborne
4
article”?
“I thought it was a pretty good assessment of the
Republican candidates,” GG said. He indicated the woman
gracing Time ’s cover. “Although if she gets in, I’m emigrating
to Canada.”
“Yeah,” David agreed. He had to come up with
something pithy to say. Something that would keep GG from
continuing on toward the exit. “Cold,” he said.
“Pardon?”
“I meant, it’s cold up there. In Canada. At least, I
assume it is. Stands to reason, doesn’t it?” Oh, God, he
sounded like an imbecile. Stands to reason? Who talks like
that nowadays? It was a stupid phrase in any case. Why
couldn’t it sit down to reason? Why was standing conducive
to reasoning?
David could see GG was wavering. Well, why wouldn’t
he? The guy had merely stopped to engage in a little
conversation, and David had rewarded him by babbling like
an idiot. “Well, I guess I’ll see you around,” GG said. Had
there been a look of disappointment in his eyes? Nonsense.
The guy was just being friendly. There was no way a Muscle
Hunk like GG could be interested in a skinny, bespectacled
nerd like David.
“See you,” David said, his voice weak.
And Gorgeous Guy was gone, out of his life forever.
Sighing, David slid his chair back. He might as well go
home and watch whatever was on the classic movie channel
or listen, for the umpteenth time, to Angela Lansbury and
Len Cariou belting out Sweeney Todd.
As David began to rise, however, he suddenly realized
he was no longer alone at his table.
Sitting across from him was a strange-looking man,
with long white hair and a long, aquiline nose. Perched on
the nose were a pair of old-fashioned glasses that had no
Temporal Driftwood * Stephen Osborne
5
earpieces. What were those type of spectacles called? Pince-
nez? The stranger wore no tie, but sported a brown sports
jacket, complete with elbow patches.
The man was smiling at David with an indulgent air.
David blinked. The man seemed to have just
materialized out of thin air. David hadn’t seen him walk into
the coffee shop, and he certainly hadn’t been one of the
patrons David had spotted at the other tables.
“I suppose,” the man said, his voice soft and reassuring,
“that you’re wondering how I came to be sitting at your table,
when seconds before no one was sitting here?”
David, still stuck in his half-risen position, blinked his
eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, I was wondering that.”
The man waved his hand. “Unimportant. What’s
important is that you’ve just let the love of your life walk out
that door, and you’ve only got one more chance to live a
happy life with him. If you mess it up, you’re going to be
fairly miserable for the rest of your days. I say fairly
miserable because you’ll always have your dogs, but isn’t
Hunky Man plus dogs a better life than life with just dogs?
Here’s my card.”
Accepting the business card gingerly, David glanced
quickly around the coffee bar. No one seemed to have
noticed that a white-haired gentleman had apparently just
materialized out of the ether. People were chatting and
sipping coffee. The barista behind the counter was making
an espresso. The twink in the corner was gesturing wildly,
moaning about how some singer he’d seen on television
couldn’t hold a candle to Adele and shouldn’t try to mimic
the style of the British songstress. No, the rest of the world
seemed sane. The only insane part was sitting across from
David.
He looked at the card in his hand:
Chance Murdoch
Temporal And Dimensional Matchmaker

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