by Jay Hogan
He looked fucking delicious. Dark-wash denim jeans hugged his slim legs down to a pair of fashionable black sneakers, and a fitted white button-down stretched across his shoulders. A couple of thin black leather and silver-threaded bracelets tied around one wrist completed the outfit. He’d swished his sleek black hair back off his face with some attention to style, looking too damn good to have not made any effort, and I couldn’t help but hope it was all for me. The thought did funny things to my stomach.
I quickly checked my breath. It would pass, since I doubted kissing was gonna be on any conceivable agenda anyway, more was the pity. Combing my fingers through my messy hair in a vain attempt to force it into submission, I belatedly wished I’d stopped by the men’s room to spruce up a bit, but too late now. Besides, the guy had been a jerk last time we met. I shouldn’t give a shit, shouldn’t give him the time of day, actually. But, yeah, about that. I pushed through the door and into the foyer, surprised at the brief surge of butterflies in my chest.
When Drake immediately looked up and met my gaze, my mouth dried to dust and I grinned like a fucking loon. Yeah, I was so down with that cool-and-detached, not-giving-him-the-time-of-day shit, right? What the hell was it about this guy? One look and I was putty in his hands.
His mouth quirked up in a nervous smile as he got to his feet and wiped his hands down the front of his jeans. From behind the front desk, my sergeant watched in open amusement. I gave him my back and flipped him off discreetly, catching a snort of laughter in reply. Fucker. Between him and Leanne, it would be all over the lunchroom by the time I got back.
Drake took a step forward and held out his hand. “Um, hi.”
I wrapped mine around his and… crap, there it was again, that little zing of interest with an added tightening in the nether regions just for good measure. It’s just a handshake, you moron. Yeah, I was in so much trouble.
“Hey.” I did my best to sound casual. “Nice surprise.” Never said I wasn’t suave.
His eyes widened in surprise. “Is it? I was kind of a dick to you last week. If you’d told your sergeant to get rid of me and thrown my note away, I wouldn’t have blamed you.”
I grinned. “Yeah, you were a dick. But I figure that just makes us even, right?”
His chocolate-brown eyes held my gaze steadily as if trying to read the intent behind my words. It was a little like staring down a skittish horse who had a dangerous kick. One wrong move and he’d disappear in a cloud of dust and disappointment, and I’d be left with the imprint of his shoe for days. I said nothing, and after a few seconds, he relaxed.
“Okay then,” he said. “Let’s go with that. A fresh slate?”
I nodded. “A fresh slate.” I took a step back, cleared my throat, then stepped forward again. “Hi, my name is Caleb.”
He snorted. “Hi, Caleb. I’m Drake. Can I buy you a coffee?”
He smelled like a fresh spring morning with a back note of fresh-mown grass and something like cloves. I couldn’t keep the smile from my face. “What a novel idea. Wish I’d thought of it.”
He rolled those chocolate eyes and grinned, and I realised it might have been the first smile I’d seen on him, and goddamn, didn’t it add a whole new level of beautiful interest to that face. Gone was the sour snark machine and in walked approachable and fun. Holy fuck.
“Idiot,” he said. “Are you free now?”
I nodded and his expression brightened further, sending me freefalling down that rabbit hole with abandon.
“Great,” he said, then bit his lip, staring pointedly at where our hands hung still clasped.
Oops. I gave one last squeeze and reluctantly let go.
He shook his head and made for the door. “Follow me.”
He didn’t have to ask a second time. It wasn’t as if watching that cute patootie was ever gonna be a hardship. We exchanged meaningless pleasantries as he walked me to a small coffee shop a couple of blocks away, far enough to not be frequented by my colleagues. Smart man. But for all that he’d turned up and asked me on this… whatever it was, he still seemed pretty conflicted and not at all sure about being there. Well snap, cutie.
Arriving at Grounds Hog Daze, Drake sent me to grab a table while he ordered, his treat he said. I started to argue but it only took one of those “get over it, dickhead” looks that he seemed to have down to a fine art, and I threw up my hands and did as I was told. Something told me that if this “thing” between us went anywhere, it wouldn’t be the last time I’d be doing as I was told. And why that in itself didn’t send me running for the hills screaming was another one of those nerve-jangling conundrums that I was choosing to ignore.
The café was a hipster’s wet dream with impossibly trendy graffiti art on the walls, groomed beards aplenty, a whole food cabinet devoted to vegan and gluten free and paleo shit, and some random music selection of an indie band I doubt more than a few people in the entire place had ever heard of and even fewer cared about. But damn, the seats were comfortable, a detail that rated highly on my personal café ratings list, and from a table at the window, I watched as Drake placed our order.
The pretty cashier batted her eyes and said something that made him laugh and chat back, drawing the attention of the hot-as-fuck barista alongside. The man cast Drake a sideways look of undisguised interest that curled like a jealous snake through my gut. Whoa. Jesus Christ, I hadn’t shared more than a dozen sentences with the guy, and he was already screwing with my head. I didn’t do jealous. Mind you, most of the guys I’d “dated” I couldn’t give much more than a passing fuck about, so, yeah… there was that.
I twirled the salt shaker around the table, letting that awkward realisation wander my mind for a minute, and when I looked back up, Drake was nowhere to be seen. For a ridiculous second, I wondered if he’d done a runner on me. Got me all the way here just to stand me up and humiliate me. Then I caught sight of him coming out of the men’s room and my belly settled. I should’ve thought of that.
He made his way to our table, and I couldn’t help but admire his lean form and the slight swing of his hips in those low-riding inky jeans. Of course, the barista had also clocked the man’s many attributes, though his expression turned openly calculating when Drake sat down across from me. I caught the barista’s eye and smiled blandly. Yeah, taken, hotshot. Ugh. Just when had I started to think of Drake as mine? Back the truck the fuck up, idiot.
Shifting my focus to Drake, I caught his puzzled frown. “You’ve got an admirer,” I explained, indicating the barista, who then sent him a wide smile. Fucker. “More than one, actually.” His gaze followed mine to the female cashier.
“Oh, come on,” Drake said, turning back. “That guy’s way too hot to be interested in me.”
Wow. I studied him for a minute, trying to gauge whether he was joking or if this was some kind of false modesty, but Drake just looked genuinely perplexed. He really had no idea how attractive he was. Not in the slick cover-model way like the smarmy barista, but in the cute, smart-mouthed-boy-next-door-with-a-wicked-smile-and-a-naughty-promise-in-his-eyes way. So, so much sexier.
“For the record.” I pinned him with a level stare. “That guy would consider himself lucky to even catch your eye. And by the look he gave when you sat down with me, I’m guessing I’m currently number one on his shit list. If he doesn’t manage to slip you his number before we leave, I’ll eat the contents of this damn salt shaker.” I studied the offending dispenser that had somehow wormed its way into my white-knuckled grip. Sigh.
Drake gaped and shook his head. “You’re fucking crazy.” He looked around the café. “And what the hell is this music they’ve got playing?”
I laughed. “I know, right? Damn hipsters. And by the way,” I teased. “Should I be offended? I mean, I am definitely interested in you, and yet by your logic, that would mean I was less hot than ratface over there.”
Drake’s gaze slid from mine to the table. “Shit. I didn’t mean… I wasn’t implying… ah, fuck.”
&n
bsp; God, he was adorable. “Forget it. I’m having you on. I know I’m hotter than him.” I waited for him to look up before I laughed. “Just kidding.”
He snorted. “Idiot. Although I won’t deny there might be some truth in that.”
Fuck, he was flirting with me. I bit back a smile. Jesus, this guy would be the death of me. “From you, I’ll take that as a gushing compliment.”
“You do that.” He held my gaze for a long moment till the spell was broken by the appearance of the barista with our drinks, a coffee for me and some warm orange-coloured odd-smelling brew for Drake.
Now baristas rarely delivered your coffee themselves, too busy behind the machine, and while mine was roughly slid across, slopping a little of its contents on the table, Drake’s was placed very carefully right in front of him, the barista brushing his hand in the process. It was all I could do not to slug the dickhead where he stood, but when I caught Drake’s eye, the idiot was clearly laughing at me.
“You’re pretty damn cute.”
I ignored the ridiculous comment. In no universe was I ever cute. I side-eyed his drink instead with a raised brow.
“Kombucha,” he explained. “Caffeine plays havoc with my gut.”
Oh. “Oh.” Then I caught sight of a second serviette, separate from the one under his foul-smelling brew, and smirked in self-satisfaction.
His eyes widened. “Oh hell no.”
I indicated my own cup, which had no such additional accoutrement.
“I don’t fucking believe it,” he said, opening the napkin.
“Show and tell.” I tapped the table between us. “Show and tell.”
He spread the napkin out for me to read the name Brett and an accompanying phone number.
I smirked, licked my finger, and chalked up a score. “Thank Christ for that. Didn’t fancy having to follow through on the whole salt-eating thing.”
He scowled. “How the hell did you know he’d do that?”
“Because that’s exactly what I would have done. You leave an impression, Drake Park, only more so because you don’t realise it. And I did warn you he wasn’t your only admirer.”
He stared at me with a blank look.
“The cute cashier who thought you were straight?”
Drake snorted. “Yeah, right. Clearly left her glasses at home. What part of me doesn’t scream gay?”
“And then there’s me,” I added softly.
This time he didn’t laugh. Just caught my gaze and held it. “Is that right, Mr Ashton?”
“That’s right, Mr Park.”
He broke eye contact first, reaching for the sugar to add a large spoonful to his cup.
“Making whatever that crap is palatable?” I quipped.
He looked at me sideways. “Hey. For a man who doesn’t drink tea or coffee, I’m here, aren’t I?”
He was. I shut up. This was his show after all.
His gaze softened. “Sorry… again,” he said. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I don’t do the small-talk thing very well. A bit out of practice.”
I opened my hands. “No problem. Mr Jerk, remember?”
Those full lips creased in a smile. “I’ve noticed.” He winced. “Shit, I did it again, didn’t I?”
He looked so mortified, I couldn’t help but laugh. “Hey, I’m a big boy, I can take it.”
His eyes glinted mischievously, but he let the innuendo lie between us unacknowledged. It was a tantalising further glimpse of the fun guy behind all those prickly walls, and I itched to see more of him.
We sipped our drinks in comfortable silence for a minute. Determined not to be the first to talk, I bit my tongue, but Drake seemed happy enough to finish his brew—whose smell hadn’t improved any—and peruse the café patrons, determined to look anywhere but at me. So be it. In return, I made the most of the first opportunity I’d really had to quietly study him at close quarters.
There was the elegance of his cheekbones to admire, those fine features and barely there shadow along his jaw that I longed to feel against my own. Damn, he took my breath away. I doubted the man needed to shave more than once a week, and I loved the honeyed sheen to his skin. But it was the thick curtain of black hair on his head that really had me jonesing. My fingers itched to run through those strands of silk like you wouldn’t fucking believe. With the right side cut shorter, it left a tempting soft earlobe exposed and… yeah, that had my interest in seconds as well. Who knew that shit was sexy?
If he was aware I was studying him, he gave nothing away other than the occasional sideways flit of those wary expressive eyes and an odd quirk to those tantalising lips. He was so far from my usual “type,” which tended to hot and willing or sporty and muscled and a million other clichés, that I practically needed a guide book to know where to start. Beside him I felt rough and unsophisticated and for the first time ever… out of my depth. Fuck.
After a minute or so, he focussed that simmering attention back on me with the barest hint of a blush on those olive cheeks that gave everything away. Yeah, he knew exactly what I’d been up to. Cheeky little shit.
“I owe you an apology about last week,” he began. “You were only doing your job on the Saturday, and technically you’re right, you had nothing to apologise for. As for making a point to call in and see me on a personal level? Well, I could’ve been more… welcoming.”
“I wasn’t there to apologise—”
“I know,” he interrupted, for the first time looking a bit flustered. “And that was… unexpected.”
I frowned. “Really? I hadn’t made my interest clear, asking you out at the station that first day?”
He winced. “As you’ve probably guessed from my appalling social skills, I don’t date much, for obvious reasons. And I was still pretty pissed at you if I’m being honest. Doing your job or not, you left me perilously close to humiliating myself that day, something I spend a fucking lifetime avoiding. It was, after all, the reason you ran into me in the first place at the council.
“The whole arrest thing sent me crashing into a physical downer that I was still recovering from the day you turned up at the clinic, and I’m sorry, but you caught the brunt of that, warranted or not. So, enjoy your coffee.” He indicated my cup. “I, too, am not in the habit of eating humble pie, as you put it, something we have in common. But I wanted to make sure we didn’t part on bad terms.”
Part? So I’d read this all wrong. He still wasn’t interested. I felt gutted and scrambled for a response. “So, this,” I said indicating the two of us, “isn’t a get-to-know-you coffee, with an option on a second date?”
“This,” he answered, indicating the same way, “isn’t a date at all.”
Fuck. I leaned back in my chair and steepled my fingers over my chest as I eyeballed the gorgeous man. “Well, I have to say, that’s just all kinds of disappointing.”
His gaze flicked away but not before I caught the hint of a smile on those lips. Maybe not all was lost. “So, tell me about this condition of yours. You said it’s Crohn’s, right?” I mentally ducked knowing this was sensitive ground, but I wanted to understand.
A deep-edged frown chased any hint of that earlier smile from his face and he looked… frankly, pissed. Good.
“Why?” He glared, all those prickly defences locking into position, and I could almost feel the chill settle between us.
I shrugged. “If I’m gonna be shafted because of some disease, I think I at least deserve to know what I’m up against.”
He laughed derisively. “No, you really don’t want to know, and I mean really don’t.”
It was my turn to get pissy. “Why? Think I can’t handle it?”
He snorted and pushed his chair back, eyes black with annoyance.
Oops. Too far.
He side-eyed me with annoyance. “I knew this was a bad idea. Not everything is about you, Caleb. It’s not about what you can handle or not. To be honest, what you can or can’t handle means fuck all to me, and there’s nothing between us that
says I have to hang out all my private health shit for you to peruse and pass judgement on, thank you very much.” He made a grab for his jacket.
Shit, shit, shit. Way to screw that up completely. “Whoa. Hey, I’m sorry.” I stood and almost placed a hand on his arm before an icy glare warned me off. I raised both hands instead. “Just don’t storm off, okay. I wasn’t thinking.”
“No kidding.”
“Okay, I deserved that, but we’ve already established I’m an arsehole, right? So maybe a little leeway while I learn to not be such a fucking tool? Please?”
He didn’t immediately leave, but standing there staring at me with a “Why should I even fucking bother with you?” look in his eye wasn’t precisely a win in my books either. But exactly how much I cared about what his answer was gonna be was an eye-opener. Carmen’s smirk made an unwelcome appearance in my thoughts, and yeah, I wasn’t going to be in a hurry to share this little nugget with her.
Having drawn enough curious looks from café patrons, twitching their beards in curiosity, I chose to sit and wait Drake out, pushing his chair toward him with my foot in some kind of silent offering. He stared at it for a minute, huffed, and then dropped back down with a little more force than I felt was strictly warranted. Not that I was gonna say anything. I’m stupid, not suicidal.
“It was a dick thing to say,” I said.
Drake raised a brow. “Which part?”
I grinned. “All of it, I’m guessing?”
He snorted and shifted his gaze out the window. “It’s a sensitive subject, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
No kidding. “I can see that. In my defence, I wasn’t just being nosey.”
He glanced back, clearly unconvinced, but took his kombucha in hand once again, which I hoped meant I had a minute or two at least to convince him.
“I wasn’t. Look, it’s no secret that I like you. And I think maybe, just maybe, you like me too.”
His expression remained impassive. “And you think this, why?”
