by A J Lange
PAST, PRESENT
PAST, PRESENT
AJ Lange
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2019 by AJ Lange
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Chapter 1
Zane Nolan had never believed in second chances. His life so far had been a (not terribly interesting) mishmash of bad choices, rotten luck, and youthful indiscretions. But Zane was no longer youthful, his luck was about to change, and when it mattered, when it really mattered, Zane would discover that sometimes you have to make your own second chance.
◆◆◆
Zane was a first class, grade-A bartender. He mixed a mean margarita with the perfect proportion of lime to Jose, his bar top was always polished to a mirror sheen, and he had a manner of listening to the patrons who fill his barstools that was magnetic: instinctively understanding when to nod in sympathy and when to offer sage advice.
Most of the time, he loved his work. He had been fortunate enough, if you were the glass half-full type, to inherit Joe's from his father after the old man passed away, his big gruff heart finally giving out a few ticks shy of his sixtieth birthday. Zane had spent his twenties wandering in and out of life as a day laborer, taking the odd construction job, working on a fishing vessel for a time when he ventured too close to the ocean on an errant spring break week, and for a brief, truly happy period when he was twenty-five, as a mechanic in a shop that specialized in exotic restorations.
Then William Nolan died, and Zane’s younger brother Tanner was in the last, brutal throes of law school, and there was no one else. The choice may have been Zane’s to make, but Zane had never actually had a choice; let the old man's pub die with him, or continue the legacy and finally settle down in one place.
Zane settled.
He couldn't have been more proud the day he watched Tanner graduate from KU Law, unless you counted the day they had hung the freshly painted Nolan Law Firm sign under the awning in front of Tanner's tiny office in downtown Lawrence, Kansas. That Tanner could have taken his gargantuan brain to any corner of the country and found success, but chose instead to dig his roots deeper in the town they grew up in, well, it was humbling. Zane was also happy to have a pair of extra hands on busy weekends at the pub, and until Tanner's practice took off, Tanner was only too happy to have the extra income.
Zane had Tanner, and Tanner had Zane, and even though they would have families of their own some day and live separate, full lives, there was something to be said for remembering your beginnings and keeping perspective.
Right now, all six feet of that perspective was swatting Zane’s ass with a thin white dishcloth, breaking into his sentimental reverie.
"Ow, punk," Zane grumbled, rubbing the stinging patch of skin over his left cheek.
"Take a picture, it would last longer, you big creeper." Tanner rolled his eyes, but frowned too, nodding his head in the direction of the barstool at the end of the bar—the barstool currently occupied by a man wearing a bemused expression, having watched the exchange with interest.
Zane flushed, wondering how long he had been staring at the stranger, without really seeing him. He slung his own dishtowel over his shoulder and let his most cheeky, dimpled grin alight his face. This was the smile good tips were made of; it had been rumored that when Zane Nolan fully turned on the charm there was not a living, breathing body on the planet –male or female– who could resist him.
He settled one elbow on the bar and got his first really good look at his new customer in the dim overhead lights. Astonishingly blue eyes gazed solemnly back and Zane’s grin faltered, momentarily dazed by the bright blaze of color in an almost too handsome face. He recovered quickly, and slapped the bar. "What can I get for you tonight?"
The man cocked one dark brow, distracting Zane again when his elegant fingertips drummed against the shining surface under his fist.
Zane had always been a sucker for nice hands. He dragged his eyes upward and mentally shook himself. He should probably get some quality time with his mattress tonight; he was officially losing it.
"Whatever's on tap, thank you." The deep tenor of the man's voice carried easily over the pub noise, a surprising contrast to his almost pretty appearance. He was a strange mix, those striking eyes and long, dark lashes paired with a sharp, masculine jaw line and expensive haircut.
Zane realized that he was staring again when the man's fingers faltered in their staccato rhythm. He slapped the bar once more, causing the man seated in the next stool over to jump. He turned and hastily grabbed a frosty mug from the cooler and strode purposefully down the bar to the tap on the far end. Technically, sure, he had to pass two perfectly good taps to do so, but he could frankly use the extra breathing room.
"What is with you tonight?" Tanner hissed as he squeezed behind him to grab a handful of maraschino cherries.
Zane grunted in reply and carried the mug back to its intended target. He slid a paper napkin under it and waved his hand at the bills held up in exchange. "On the house," he said, grinning again, this one genuine and friendly. "Welcome to Joe's."
The man hesitated but pocketed the money, nodding his dark head once in Zane’s direction, then taking his beer and sliding off the stool. Before he disappeared into the crowd, Zane was treated to a too-quick view of trim hips and a pale, fitted button down. It was a good look, Zane mused. But not really Joe's normal clientele. He briefly wondered what had brought the man here, before losing the fledgling spark of interest to the raucous catcalls of a group of bridesmaids, who begged him for a song and a round of jello shots.
Zane obliged the girls their shots, even allowing one or two off his abs (tailored trousers and button-downs quickly forgotten, and besides, Tanner's pinched expression of disgust gave him life). He drew the line at a song, though, his guitar tucked safely away in the back. Another night, he promised, lying.
He never gave the stranger another thought. He missed the hot blue gaze that followed him as he worked the bar, serious eyes trained on the black t-shirt as it was pushed high under Zane’s armpits to allow room for shot glasses and eager lips. He never saw how the man excused himself not long afterward, abandoning the pouting females seated with him, or how he disappeared into the dark night, alone.
◆◆◆
The second time Zane found the handsome stranger on his barstool, he was paying full attention. The guy's hair was still dark and perfectly styled, his eyes still just as blue, and tonight he had the distracting addition of a dark stubble shadowing his jaw. But just as before, the rest of him was neat as a pin, right down to the crisp starch in his shirt, as though it had been freshly plucked from a dry cleaner's bag.
Zane raised his eyebrows, gesturing to the tap.
The man nodded, and seemed surprised that Zane remembered.
Zane felt a little thrill at exactly how much he remembered as he filled the mug, watching the amber liquid as it rolled out of the spout and into the glass, focusing carefully on the angle to prevent too much foam. And maybe to prevent Zane’s gaze from wandering back to his patron unnecessarily.
He remembered, for example, how appealing he had found the incongruousness of the man’s conservative dress in conjunction with the raucousness of the regular crowd, and how his shirt had had a slight sheen. He carefully set the mug in front of his new customer and took a breath, leaning down on an elbow.
"So."
An eyebrow quirked u
p, this time accompanied by an inquisitive head tilt. The man's long fingers toyed with the handle on the mug. "So."
Zane grinned. "You're not from around here, are you?"
The man chuckled softly at the extremely lame opener and the tension instantly bled away. Zane allowed himself to enjoy, briefly, the way the man's eyes crinkled at the edge when he smiled.
"No, I'm not. I'm in town to catalog an archaeological dig not far from here." He took a sip of his beer, gaze steady on Zane’s face.
Zane tried not to squirm under the scrutiny. He vaguely remembered reading something about an important Native American find outside of Lawrence, in the tall grass prairies. He should really pay more attention to the local news. He wiped his hands on the apron tied at his waist and held one out in welcome. "Zane Nolan."
"Grayson Sloan. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Nolan. "
The man’s grasp was firm and warm in his hand, Zane mused, before realizing he had yet to let go. He pulled away abruptly, and felt his neck burn. He glanced up but thankfully his discomfit seemed to have gone unnoticed. “Zane is fine,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck and willing the telltale blush away.
"Gray.” Grayson nodded his head in the direction of the neon sign hanging over the bar. “So, you're not Joe,"
"Ahh, no," Zane shrugged. "To be perfectly honest, I don't even know who Joe is, or if there ever was a Joe." He gestured wide, encompassing the room with a sweep of his hands. "My dad left me the bar, and he owned it his whole life. As far as I know, it was always just…Joe's."
Zane looked wistful at the end of his declaration and Gray bowed his head once in deference. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, understanding there was loss there, without needing to be told.
Zane nodded his acceptance, and found his throat strangely tight. "So," he said again, maybe a bit too loudly. "How goes the archaeology business?" He dug a white rag from his back pocket and began polishing the already shining bar top just for something to do with his hands. The fact was he had plenty to do behind the scenes: jot down last night's deposit in his accounting logbook, open and sort the fruits before tonight's rush. It was ladies night, so there would be plenty of fruity drinks with umbrellas to prepare.
Instead he found himself leaning on the bar, wiping lazy circles a few inches from where Gray's forearm now rested.
Gray grimaced in reply. "Dirty."
Zane laughed. "Yeah, I suppose it is. Still, that's pretty cool. I've never seen a real archaeology site before, outside of the History Channel, I mean."
"Would you like to?" Gray asked, surprising them both if his expression was any indication.
Zane’s hands stilled. "Yeah," he said enthusiastically, before he had time to think. "I mean," he hesitated, shifting his weight self-consciously. "I have to work tonight," he trailed off. "Obviously."
Gray took another sip. "Obviously," he inclined his head, and Zane had the sneaking suspicion he was trying to hide a smile in his beer. "What are you doing tomorrow morning?"
Zane groaned inwardly. He would be lucky if he left the bar before three a.m., and then he would turn around and come right back by two or three in the afternoon to work on inventory before opening for the five o'clock crowd. But he heard himself saying, "Not a damn thing," instead.
"Pick you up here? About ten?" Gray slid a five-dollar bill under his empty mug before standing to go.
"Sure," Zane exhaled, and laid a steadying hand against the bar. What the hell just happened?
He was stuck in his head, still staring after Gray's retreating form when Lily appeared at his elbow and prodded him sharp in the ribs and he jumped.
"Jesus, Lil, you scared the crap outta me," he growled, barely catching himself before he clutched a hand to his chest.
"What was Professor Sloan doing in here?" she asked gesturing toward the door.
He stared dumbly at her until she rolled her eyes. "Earth to Zane, have you been sampling the merchandise again? What's the matter with you?" She snapped her fingers in front of his face and he swatted her hand away before stalking behind her to pick up the tub of clean mugs that needed restocking.
"He was spacey last night too," Tanner said, bending over to tap a quick kiss to his wife's lips as he swung behind the bar. "If I didn't know better, I'd say he was smitten."
Zane snorted, tucking away thoughts of the handsome stranger for the time being. "And to think I told Dad I wanted a brother."
He may have been older, but he was still quick enough to dodge the headlock that swiftly loomed over him, at least until Tanner decided to cheat and use one leg to pin Zane against the bar. He and Tanner wrestled for control for a moment before Lily smacked both of them upside the head as she made her way to the storeroom. Just like that, Zane’s night was suddenly brighter.
And if he watched the crowded bar extra close that night for a glimpse of shining dark hair, he would never admit it.
◆◆◆
It was much later when it finally dawned on him what Lily had actually said. In fact, it was so late Zane was already on his way home, paused at a red light when he remembered her words and dragged his phone out of his hip pocket to tap out a text.
Professor Sloan? Professor of what? He huffed in frustration when the light turned green and he had to slide the phone back in his pocket. It vibrated shortly after, and he nudged the gas perhaps a little more than he normally would to get to his driveway. He was almost home.
He pulled the phone out again before turning off the key, and read her reply. Professor of Archaeology I guess? He's visiting adjunct at KU this semester.
Zane tapped out Oh but realized he had nothing further to add. He smirked, knowing how much his brother’s wife hated single word replies, and hit "send".
He didn't have long to wait. He had barely unlocked his front door before the phone was buzzing in his hand. How do you know Professor Sloan? Are you trying to get in his pants?
Zane stumbled as he crossed his threshold. Damn Tanner and his overzealous interest in Zane’s love life. No, Lil, I'm not trying to "get into his pants". Barely know the guy. He hit send but immediately typed out another text. Tell my brother he's an asshole. G'night.
He turned his phone off so he wouldn't hear Lily’s reply. Silly woman would keep him up all night if he let her. She could text like a demon while he could barely chicken peck out a few choice words. Although now that his phone autocorrected at will, he didn't look like such a moron anymore. His vocabulary might also be improving, although he'd never admit that to Lil.
He peeled off his black tee and dropped it in the laundry basket behind the bathroom door, then turned on the shower. As he soaped his hair and let the hot water sluice the smoke and bar from his body, he wondered what the hell kind of vocabulary he was going to have to make use of to converse with a professor.
He turned his face into the spray and swore under his breath. But even so, he couldn't tamp down the little thrill of excitement he felt about the next day.
Chapter 2
Zane swung into the pub parking lot with ten minutes to spare. Just enough time to get good and worked up over whether he was underdressed or overdressed, and what the hell was he going to talk to a stranger about all day, before Gray pulled in next to him. And when he climbed from his car he shattered all of Zane’s illusions about the state of the professor's staid closet.
Not that he'd spent a lot of time contemplating Gray’s wardrobe. At all.
He was at the window before Zane could pull his key from the ignition and he caught himself before his gaze dropped the length of Gray’s body, forcibly dragging his eyes to the man's smiling face. But not before he noticed he was dressed in jeans, worn thin and frayed in the thigh, and a John Deere green t-shirt with a hole at the hem, right over his fly. Okay, so maybe his eyes had dropped the length of his body; he hoped it had gone unnoticed.
When Gray leaned on his arms in the open window, his face was mere inches from Zane’s.
Zane thought he might like to count the
very faint freckles scattered across the bridge of of that very handsome nose. A part of him realized realized he was having an unusual reaction to the man's proximity, a buzz of electricity that he normally attributed to hot bridesmaids. Or strippers. He covered his discomfort the way he normally did: with deflection and humor.
"So nice to see you got dressed up for our first date, Mr. Sloan." He air quoted and then felt like an idiot, face heating. He placed a hand on the door handle, but Gray didn't move to let him out.
"Just taking my cue from you, Mr. Nolan," Gray replied, eyes twinkling as he noticeably raked his gaze over Zane’s t-shirt and jeans.
“Hey," Zane protested, feeling his face warm further. "I'll have you know, this is one of my best t-shirts." And it was. Vintage AC/DC at its finest.
Gray snorted, straightening into a stretch before he dropped his hands to his hips and winked. "I'll make sure to do all the dirty work for you today then."
Zane refused to acknowledge the way Gray’s inflection on dirty stoked something in all the right places in his gut, and instead made a show of patting his Jeep’s slightly weathered hood as he shut the door. He frowned at the passenger door of Gray’s small silver hybrid. Totally foreign, he thought, before turning back to the Jeep with a grimace. "Sorry, sweetheart. I'll make it up to you later, promise."
"Oh shut up, asshole," Gray said, chuckling, as he slid into the driver's seat.
They fell into a companionable silence as they pulled onto the highway, turning away from downtown.
"Do you have a preference?" Gray fiddled with the dials on the sound system.
Zane silently reminded himself to stop staring at the professor’s hands.
"Uh, no, not really." Zane blinked. Wait. Of course he had a preference. What the hell was the matter with his mouth?
