Hangin' with My Window Man
Author:© WebNovel
Chapter 1: Chapter 1
A strong breeze whipped up as the sound of a freight train roared through Century City—a town where there are no trains. Thirty stories above the ground, the gondola holding the men washing the Orion Building’s windows lurched and began to whip around. Boon Andrews grabbed the railing as the main cables at the corners of his co-worker’s end broke free. Instead of remaining taut, the backup safety cables stretched almost full length. The rectangular, cage-like platform supporting the two window washers dropped down at his co-worker’s end, then halted with a jerk as the safeties finally took hold.
“Jeezus H. Christ.” Fear was an alien thing to Boon, but it slammed into his chest now like the freight train he’d just heard. His heart threatened to break through his breastbone as he fought to hold on and ride out the gondola’s sway. He breathed again when he thought they weren’t going to take an immediate plunge to their deaths. Their personal safety harnesses and the main cables at his end had held. At least for now. Man, we really need help…and fast.
The other washer struggled to regain his footing on the swinging gondola.
“Don’t look down, Harold! Grab my hand. I’ll pull you to me.” Boon slid his safety harness along the top railing as far as he could and reached a hand out to the older man. Fright had made their hands sweaty, and they lost contact for a scary second when their grips slipped.
“Dry your hands,” he yelled as he rubbed his on his Levi’s.
Harold Johnston used his khakis. Their next attempt brought a firm hold, and he steadied Johnston as he walked uphill until he was beside him. Boon stepped in front of him so his body anchored the older washer in the corner. “Really gets the old ticker going, doesn’t it?”
Harold greeted him with a wan smile. “Thanks.”
The loose cables whipped in the breeze. They couldn’t take their eyes off them for fear they might slam into them.
If they were going to get help, Boon had to initiate it. Using his free hand, Boon dug into his pocket for his cell phone. The battery was dead, but there was supposed to be enough energy stored to make a nine-one-one call. When he tried to thumb in the numbers, the wind caused the gondola to lurch and swing again. The phone popped out of his hand. He watched in dismay as it slid out of reach to the other end and stopped. There was no way he could risk his weight on the weakened other end.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” he swore under his breath. “You got a cell?”
Harold shook his head.
Looking down, Boon screamed, “Somebody call 911!”
“Shit. No one’s gonna hear us thirty floors below,” Harold said.
The rectangular frame gained momentum and threatened to slam into the windows they’d been working on. They turned their faces away and knelt.
“If you’re a prayin’ man, now’s the time,” Harold said.
* * * *
A shadow crept down outside the south window of Ryan Halloran’s office. Memories of the terrorist attack on the World Trade Center slammed into his mind. He jumped up and whirled toward the window as his heart thudded and his mouth went dry.
Not sure whether to run into the hall or dive under his desk, Ryan stared transfixed as the shadow continued its steady ride down outside the wide panes. It had to be something being lowered from the roof four stories up.
With agonizing slowness, a rectangular framework of honeycomb metal suspended by thick wire cables on each corner came into view.
Two scuff-toed boots descended, and then gradually the khaki work pants of a middle-aged man showed above them. At the other end of the frame, Ryan saw black Doc Martens with white socks doubled over their tops, and strong, tanned legs covered with fine blond hair. The frayed edges of Levi’s ended just below this man’s knees. Ryan’s gaze settled on a crotch that must hide a great banger and balls, and a yearning swept through him unlike any he’d felt since Mason had walked out of his life eighteen months ago. As the platform continued to lower, he looked at the taut abdomen, covered with a tight T-shirt, of a man his age. Each time he lifted his arms to work, his shirt exposed his belly button and the line of golden hair disappearing into his pants. Of course that sent all the circulation in Ryan’s brain down to his crotch. Oh man
The framework protected the men only to waist level. This man’s arms, solid with bright tattoos, swept the glass with soapy water, rinsed with a natural sponge, and then used a squeegee with a skill that left only gleaming, spotless glass. It was killingly sensual.
Gifts
-- Gift
received Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone