*****The following story is fiction and all characters within the story are over the age of 18*****
Chapter 10: House Sitting
My arms rested on the counter at work as I bent over, minding my business, when Blake, my coworker, approached me. "Hey there, Ryan!"
Blake and I worked at this Cafe shop in Downtown LA. He had been working at the coffee shop for about five years, while I only worked for it for two. Blake was tall with a muscular, thin build; he had short brown hair and a trimmed beard. I, on the other hand, was on the slimmer side. I worked out but mostly did cardio at the gym to keep my slender figure.
"What's going on, Blake?"
"It's starting to die down," he said. The two of us looked around. There were only two people in the coffee shop. It was 2 in the afternoon, after all, on a Thursday.
"Yeah, that's good. I get to chill." An online order popped up on the tablet next to me. I turned to Blake, "Rock, Paper, Scissors?"
Blake put his right hand out with his other hand over it, forming a fist; I did the same. We both shook our fisted hands three times. I had paper, but Blake had scissors. "I spoke too, soon."
I went over to the coffee-making area and began making the order. Blake came over to me and leaned against the counter next to me. His butt rested on the edge of the counter, "So, I wanted to ask a favor?"
"It better not be another shift cover," I hit the switch to grind the coffee.
"No. But thanks for that; I needed that day off. I wanted to know if you could house-sit for me for a few days. I'll pay you."
"House sit?"
"Yeah, I'm going to an event in San Diego for the weekend, and I don't like leaving my cat, Oliver, alone. Normally, I ask my sister, but she's out of town."
"Oh, yeah. I forgot you're a cat dad. I'm surprised you haven't picked up a woman with that," I said sarcastically.
"With that sarcasm, I'm surprised you haven't picked up a man."
"Wow! Low blow!" I said.
Blake knew I was gay; we shared a lot amongst ourselves. The only thing I never shared with him was my crush on him. How could I? It would make the friendship awkward. Besides, I liked checking him out when I could. It was like window shopping. The other great thing was that we had a lot in common. If he were gay, we'd probably be a couple.
Blake laughed, "And trust me, I've tried. It will only be for two days. Friday evening and all of Saturday, and part of Sunday."
I didn't want to do it, but could use some extra cash. It sounded like free money. Just sit there and watch someone's house and feed their cat. "Sure, I'll do it," I said.
Blake put his hands together, "Thank you so much! I'll Zelle you the money."
After work on Friday, I arrived at Blake's house. It was up on a hill--a lovely single-story home with one bedroom. Blake answered the door. He was dressed in white pants and a black dress shirt. I wondered what he was doing to be so dressed in San Diego. Perhaps he was meeting a girl. LA to San Diego was quite the distance for a girl. He had never mentioned seeing anyone, so I found it strange. Usually, he tells me about the girls he's dating or interested in.
Blake gave me a quick tour and told me when to feed the cat and when to let him outside. The living room was quite spacious; it led into the kitchen. To the right of the kitchen was his bedroom. The room next to the bedroom was the bathroom, and outside was a room that was the laundry room. His yard was relatively small; it had a small patio, and the rest was all grass.
"So, I'll send you the money right now. I have plenty of food in the fridge if you're interested. There is soda and beer in there as well. If anything happens, feel free to call or text me. Do you have any questions?"
I looked around, "None come to mind."
"Great! Thanks once again!" Blake hugged me, grabbed his luggage, and then left. From the porch, I watched him drive away. I walked back into the house and immediately felt something around my legs. Oliver, the orange cat, was down there. He looked up at me and meowed. I was surprised at how friendly the cat was. Most cats I ran into would just run away from me.
It wasn't time to feed the cat, so I picked him up and carried him to the sofa. I turned on the TV and watched a show while petting the cat.
After 30 minutes of watching TV, I was bored. Maybe house-sitting wasn't all that fun. It felt like you were under house arrest. I got up and went to the bathroom, where I began to take out my toiletries. I had brought the essentials: toothbrush, toothpaste, floss, mouthwash, soap, shampoo, and conditioner. I took out a clean towel and hung it on the rack in the bathroom. I looked around his bathroom and noticed it was a bit dusty.
When I was done in the bathroom, I looked around the rest of the house. I couldn't believe it, but the house was quite dusty. A good cleaning was in order. Which made sense; Blake never cleaned up after making a coffee at work. I usually cleaned up after him so he wouldn't get in trouble. I am such a great coworker.
I went into the kitchen and opened a tall cabinet. Inside, I found a dustpan, broom, and fuzzy duster. I put on some music and began to clean.
The first thing I did was to clean the bathroom. It was more or less clean but needed some attention behind the toilet. I dusted the walls and then swept the floor. Next, I disinfected the toilet and sink and mopped the floor. With the bathroom drying, I moved over to the living room. The carpet didn't look bad, so I dusted the furniture and vacuumed the rug.
The final place was the kitchen. I dusted the cabinets, disinfected the counters, and mopped the floor. Several hours had passed, and I was tired. Cleaning the house made the time go by.
I was covered in sweat; a shower was needed. I ordered food and went to take a shower.
I was just in my robe when I came out of the shower and heard the doorbell ring. I went to the door and answered it. My food was on the chair next to the door. The door dash guy was already back in his car. I grabbed my food and set it in the kitchen. It was close to 6 pm when Oliver would go outside for a bit. I opened the glass sliding door to the backyard, and the orange cat sprinted past me.
I went into Blake's room, where my bag of clothes was, and grabbed the bag. I opened it on a rectangular-shaped ottoman next to his dresser. Three sets of clothes were inside; I pulled a pair of trunks and slipped them on. I opened the robe and then put on the rest of my clothes. As I turned away from my bag, I noticed the top drawer of Blake's cabinet was slightly open. When something caught my eye, I noticed a waistband that read Hanes between the gap in the drawer. It was his underwear drawer. Part of me wanted to peek inside and see his underwear. I had always been curious as to what style of underwear he wore. Like most straight guys, I always figured he was a boxer or boxer briefs guy. The other part of me said no; it was an invasion of privacy. I ended up siding with the latter and closed the underwear drawer.
I went into the kitchen and ate my dinner.
After dinner, I fell asleep on the couch watching a movie.
I woke up a few hours later and went to his bed. I removed my shorts and shirt and lay face down on the bed, quickly falling back into a slumber.
The following day, I woke up to a loud cry. It was repeating almost every second. At first, I didn't know what it was, but then it hit me. Oliver! I jumped out of bed and ran to the backdoor. The cat had been outside all night. I slid open the door, and the cat rushed in. My heart was pounding. I felt so bad for the cat. I had already messed up, and it was just one day.
I poured the cat some food into his dish and returned to the bedroom. There, I lay on the bed while going through my phone. A text message from Blake caught my attention. It read: "I made it!" along with a picture of him at the beach. There was a second text from this morning, "Good morning; I hope you slept well. How's the house sitting going? How's Oliver?"
I thought about telling him I left the cat outside all night, but fear of getting him upset or getting fired stopped me. "I slept well. I cleaned your house; it was a bit dusty. And Oliver is doing great." with a cat and happy face emoji.
I went to the bathroom and brushed my teeth. Blake texted back, "Great! Thanks for cleaning, but you didn't have to. I have got to go; the convention is going to start. I'll talk to you later."
I didn't bother to respond to the text. Instead, I went back into the kitchen and made some coffee.
As I sipped my coffee, I thought about peeking into his drawer again. Blake was such a sexy guy; I could only imagine what kind of underwear he wore. He's straight, so he would likely wear boxer briefs or trunks. I've never noticed a visible line when I checked him out to indicate that he wore that underwear style. I doubt he was a boxers guy; I hadn't seen anyone wear boxers in years. And I doubt he wore briefs. The other question that lingered in my mind was if I would take a pair. When I was younger, I'd steal pairs of underwear from hot friends and guys I've slept with. But I hadn't done it in so long. I hesitated to do this with Blake because I had been entrusted to watch his home. Going through his clothes would be an invasion of privacy.
I washed the empty mug and decided to go for a run. That could clear my mind on this underwear thievery idea. The cat had finished eating and would need to go outside soon, so it was a perfect time for a short jog. I slid open the glass door, and Oliver slowly walked to the door; the cat looked up at me and meowed. I urged him to go outside, but he sat there just meowing. What was wrong with him? This is why I didn't care for cats; they never listen. I lifted the cat and placed him outside. He turned around and meowed, then began to lick himself. The cat was outside, mission accomplished.
I spent about an hour jogging through the shady neighborhood. Blake lived in a nice, quiet neighborhood less than a mile away from the traffic of the busy Broadway. I reached a stop sign, where I ran into another jogger. He was tall and thin, about my age--late twenties. We greeted each other. He didn't hide the obvious of checking me out. I had done the same. He looked pretty good, but I didn't want to bring a stranger to Blake's house, so I left him.
When I got back to Blake's house, I took a shower.
I stood in Blake's bedroom with a towel wrapped around my waist, plagued with curiosity. It gnawed at me. I kept ignoring it while searching my bag for the day's clothing. However, my eyes kept turning to the top drawer as I stood next to it. I was getting anxious about it. I went to the drawer and grabbed the handles; in one swift motion, I opened and closed the drawer. I was hoping that the action would quench my desire to look inside.
It didn't.
Perhaps I was overthinking it. Looking into his underwear drawer shouldn't be a big deal. I know it's an invasion of privacy, but I wasn't looking for money or valuables. I was just looking. What harm could that do? Either way, I doubt he would even know. I mean, how could he? Would a guy like Blake have hidden cameras in his bedroom?
I was overthinking it again.
Finally, I mustered the courage to convince myself to look. Otherwise, it would be bothering me for the rest of the stay. I approached the drawer and grabbed the handles; slowly, I pulled on them. The drawer slowly opened before me. A scent of detergent came out. It smelled lovely. The drawer fully opened, and shock was on my face.
The drawer was divided into two separate spaces. Blake's socks and ties were neatly folded on the right side of the drawer, and his ties were rolled and tucked in the back. On the left side of the drawer was his underwear, four piles of neatly folded white underwear. All of his underwear was white. I couldn't believe it. I opened a pair from the top of one of the piles.
My mouth went agape. I held up Blake's underwear before me. They were white briefs. I couldn't believe that my crush wore tighty-whities. I searched through more pairs; all of them were briefs. There must've been about 30 pairs of pristine white briefs: various brands, Hanes, Fruit of the Loom, Calvin Klien. All with the classic fly. The style of underwear that my dad would wear.
