Only with You (Only Colorado Book 1)

by JD Chambers

  “Thanks, Mrs. Hill, but I think I’m just going to crash for now.”

  She pats my cheek with bony crooked fingers, and it fills me with a warmth like downing hot cocoa and warm cookies. “I made your favorite ginger cake. Rest up, and then come down for a slice and a beating at rummy.” Her eyes twinkle at our inside joke. I might practically be a professional gamer, but when it comes to cards, the old lady smokes me every time.

  “You know how to tempt a man, Mrs. Hill.”

  She giggles like a teenager as she shuts the door behind her, and I stop at the mailboxes for what are only ever bills. My fingers still on a crisp, heavy envelope embossed with a Front Range Community College logo. I have no idea how long I stand staring into my now-empty mailbox, letter in hand, before a horn out on the street jump-starts my brain again. It takes every ounce of willpower not to put the letter right back and pretend I never saw it, but I carry it with me to my second-floor apartment.

  The letter gets a special place all alone on the coffee table, while I ignore its existence and heat up some frozen burritos for dinner. I sink into my comfy secondhand couch and flip on the TV, holding the hot plate of burritos in my lap. Not even Game of Thrones can distract me from the envelope and its potential contents, and I soon give up any pretense of watching the show. My stomach gurgles, but my dinners consist of frozen burritos often enough to know that it isn’t the food that is making me nauseous.

  I mentally berate myself because, come on, it’s a community college. I remember kids back in high school getting this worked up over college acceptance letters when they were to real, impressive, actual colleges. That I’m this nervous over a community college is just pathetic. Except I’m not a high schooler anymore. Back then, a rejection would have been expected and accepted because, let’s face it, I was way more concerned about my next piercing and keeping out of the crosshairs of whatever boyfriend my mom brought home at the time. Now, though, I’ve got work experience and life experience, and actually studied for the SAT required for admission. If I didn’t get accepted, I’ll be gutted.

  Maybe ginger cake does sound good.

  “Gin!” Mrs. Hill calls triumphantly and lays down her cards. “Would you like another slice of cake?”

  “Yes, please,” I say while collecting the cards and shuffling.

  Mrs. Hill slides the plate in front of me before taking the cards from my hands and dealing. “You know, I haven’t seen that boy around in a while. Are you still seeing him?”

  “That boy” was named Michael, which Mrs. Hill conveniently forgets because she never liked him. Not that I blame her. He was the overbearing kind of guy who orders for you at a restaurant. That should have been the end of it right there, but he had a perky ass and an Alienware Area 51 system, and I stayed just a little too long. Story of my life – I always stay too long with the wrong people.

  “No, Michael and I broke up months ago.”

  “No one new?” she asks while slyly taking the card I just laid down. Crap, I can see that gleam in her eye already, and it isn’t about my dating life. It’s the gleam that says this is going to be a very short game. Unfortunately, Mrs. Hill refuses to play poker. I might actually have a shot against her there.

  “Nope,” I say, but the image of Ben’s friend/boyfriend/roommate/whatever comes unbidden into my head.

  He’s the first guy to catch my interest in a long, long time, and it sucks that he’s already taken. Or at least already otherwise smitten. That whole Ben thing is confusing, because he said they were just friends and roommates, but Blushy, as I’ve mentally nicknamed him, certainly acted otherwise.

  And then there was the other blond guy who came into the store Monday afternoon at the end of Ben’s shift. That guy was all drama, suggestive looks and movements, practically giving hand jobs to the PS wands. I had to hold my tongue to keep from telling Ben that Helix Studios was looking for their missing twink when I went to the back office to let him know that his friend was out front. Seriously, the guy gets more action at the store in three days working there than I have during my entire five years of employment.

  The very next turn and Mrs. Hill once again lays down her cards to win the game.

  “I’m out,” I say, getting up to wash off my plate. She may be my substitute mother, but I never want to make any extra work for her. “I know when I’m beat. Thanks for everything tonight.”

  “Baking for you is never a hardship,” Mrs. Hill says, though she knows I’m not only talking about her food. She shoves a foil-covered paper plate into my hands on the way out the door, and I know what my breakfast will be tomorrow. I shuffle upstairs to my own apartment, which has a lingering burrito odor happening that isn’t pleasant. Hopefully the ginger cake will counteract it.

  I can’t put it off any longer, so I take the envelope with me to bed. I turn it over in my hands, wondering for the millionth time what I was thinking, applying to college at my age. It’s not like I have some big career end-goal to work toward. But after witnessing the endless cycle of guys working at the store while they put themselves through college, or working until they get their “real” post-graduation job, I felt like maybe it was something I needed to do. But Game Over is my real job. I like working there, and I don’t really see that changing. Maybe I won’t get in and then I won’t have to make a decision.

  I rip off the end and pull out the letter. There are several sheets, one pink and one green, in addition to a letter on the school letterhead. My eyes don’t get farther than “Congratulations.”

  Well, shit.

  3

  Zach

  “He’s not even going to be there,” Ben says for the third time this evening.

  Ben’s new coworkers have invited him out for drinks tonight, and he has been trying to convince me to come along all afternoon. He might have been successful had he not spent all week teasing me about Craig. With that humiliating scene playing on repeat in my head for the past four days, now I’m guaranteed to go full-spaz the next time I see him. Yes, I’m awkward as fuck in social situations, but typically it is manageable, especially if Ben is there to deflect attention.

  “It will be fun. You haven’t been out in forever,” Ben says as he bends down to see his reflection and attempts to tousle his hair. It’s too thick and just curls back at a weird angle around his ears.

  “We went out for your graduation,” I remind him. “Three weeks is not forever. Besides, you’ve had your hands full with Jay.”

  Ben reaches around me to turn up the volume on his phone, which pumps Broadway tunes through a Bluetooth speaker in his bedroom. Ben plays different genres for different situations, and musicals are his go-to for getting ready. It hasn’t escaped my notice that Ben hasn’t spoken to or about Jay since their dinner on Monday. But I won’t push, unlike some people.

  “Grr.” He tosses the gel onto the dresser in a snit. I stop the hand that reaches for the scissors.

  “Calm down, Gigantor,” I say, and move the scissors away before grabbing a comb. “You’re just going to make it worse.” I fuss over his hair until I’m satisfied. “It doesn’t matter if he’s there or not. I’m sure everyone you work with has heard the story by now.”

  Ben pulls out of my reach and raises his eyebrows. “Really? Self-important much? I have much better things to talk about with these guys than my socially inept roommate.”

  “Gah!” I cover my face, because he’s right. I’m being weird and paranoid. “I don’t mean to be so self-obsessed.”

  Ben pulls my hands down and gives them a squeeze. “I tease because I love. But I don’t talk bad about you to others. No one else is allowed to say shit and you know it. Only me.”

  “I know, I’m sorry.”

  Ben studies his hair once more, satisfied with my help. “You can make it up to me by coming out. I promise, I’ll make sure you have a good time.”

  “What are you, my pimp now?” I say in response to his vaguely suggestive remark. It’s Ben, so I’m certain he meant
it that way. I wonder if he’s going to make me change as I look down at my old jeans and faded grey t-shirt that proudly proclaims data is the new bacon. If only.

  “You look fine,” he says, as if he knows what I’m thinking. “It’s just beers with friends. Besides, everyone loves bacon references.”

  “With my luck, they’ll all be vegan.” I squint my eyes at the sleek button-down he’s wearing and the hair we worked so meticulously to fix. “And if that’s true, why are you trying so hard?”

  Ben fakes a gasp and clutches his chest. “I said you look fine, but that’s how you always look. I have standards.”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  Half an hour later, Ben is coiffed to perfection, we’ve found a decent parking spot, and there is no Craig in sight among the group of guys waiting outside the Old Town bar. They even laugh at my shirt. Luck must be with me tonight.

  We manage to find a bench big enough for all five of us in the back after snagging beers at the bar. Four guys who work at a video game store and me. When I’m asked what I do for a living, three pairs of eyes glaze over when I’m only four words into my job title.

  Two of the guys, Jason and Elijah, work part-time while they go to CSU. I’m not sure which is Jason and which is Elijah, because they both wear snapbacks and are attempting to sport the groomed beards that are so popular right now, except neither can grow enough facial hair to make it work.

  Dave is the only full-time Game Over employee in attendance, other than Ben. Apparently there are others, Craig and a girl named Laura, but they were busy tonight. Dave tells me that Craig had previous plans, just as Ben promised, and that Laura has a husband and kids and never comes out with them more than a couple times a year.

  Jelijah, as they have now become merged in my head, pound back beers and argue with Ben over whether Fallout 4 or Skyrim is the better game. I’m not sure who is advocating which game, and I have no opinion, since that would be like asking me if I prefer the Dallas Cowboys or the Detroit Red Wings. Come to think of it, I don’t even know if those are actual sports teams, but they sound vaguely familiar.

  “Do you come into the store often? I remember seeing Ben even before he was hired, but I can’t place you,” Dave says, and flinches when Ben starts shouting about magic and realism and dogs, or something that I’m not following. Dave obviously has opinions on the topic, but he’s being friendly and chatting with me so I’m not left out.

  “Just whenever Ben dragged me in. I’m not very good at video games.”

  “You like the My Little Pony game,” Ben says, pausing his argument to embarrass me, of course.

  “That game makes sense.” I shrug because I won’t be embarrassed over my game choices, of all things. Especially in front of a group of guys trying to decide if bows and arrows or machine guns are better weapons when trying to attack virtual enemies in stealth mode. “It’s all about developing the proper workload allocation in order to maximize profits. It’s like the fun parts of my job, but with colorful ponies. Who wouldn’t like that?”

  “If that’s your kind of thing, you might try Planet Calypso,” Dave says. “You get to create entire colonies, determine their economic systems and stuff. It can get really business-ey, which is why I’m not a big fan.”

  “Does it have colorful ponies?” I ask, but Dave shakes his head in serious apology. I guess I need to work on my sense of humor with gamers.

  After a couple of hours, Jelijah seems to be more interested in the girls at the bar than arguing over games with Ben. They’re off on a chase, and Dave has excused himself to the restroom, leaving me alone with Ben.

  “So,” he starts, with the kind of voice that makes me nervous, “I was hoping to hit up In Toto in a bit.”

  In Toto is Fort Collins’ only gay bar, after the other one burned down a couple of years ago. Electrical issues – nothing sketchy. As long as I’m there with Ben, then I can get drinks and have a decent time. When I’m alone, the bartenders look right through me. I’ve even managed a few hookups while there. No one notices if you’re blushing in the dark, and a tipsy guy pulling you into a bathroom stall only cares about your oral skills, not your social skills. Hard to fuck that up.

  “I knew you were getting all fixed up for a reason. Damn it!”

  “Please? I’ve had a long week. I really need this. And so do you. When was the last time you got laid?”

  That would also be the night of Ben’s graduation. Relationships aren’t really my thing, but you’d think by the way he acts that I’m a monk. Or a blushing virgin, well, virgin – I can’t help the whole blushing thing. Hell, anonymous hookup sex is probably the only thing you can do with a stranger that doesn’t turn me into a boiling bundle of nerves. It’s when I start to know and like the person that my brain makes sex suddenly awkward as fuck.

  “Fine, but you’re not ditching me until I’ve gotten served.”

  We loiter outside the bar while we say our goodbyes to Dave. Jelijah ditched us already, following those girls to another bar. Ben’s going to be unbearable now, since he was right and I had a good time. My gaze wanders around Old Town Square, where the bar and many other restaurants, stores, and clubs face. In between is a fountain where parents park their asses in order to let their kids run wild through the water.

  A mop of dark hair catches my eye, and my limbs freeze in place. The handsome face that has become the center of both my dreams and nightmares this week speaks animatedly to his dinner companion, a Latina woman with a smile as broad as his on her face. Oh god. Not only have I been flailing over the hot guy at Ben’s store to an embarrassing degree, but he’s straight.

  The world outside of Craig becomes a blur, and I can’t dislodge my gaze from him, kind of like being unable to look away from a train wreck, except that I’m the wreck in this scenario. Even when I realize that his eyes have found mine, that to my horror, I’ve been caught, I still can’t look away. Other parts of my body are working just fine, unfortunately, because I can feel heat flood north so immediately and intensely that I try to rub the prickling-hot discomfort out of my neck.

  It also fills my ears, and I can tell that Ben has noticed Craig now too, because he leans to say something to me about him, although the throbbing pulse in my head muffles his words.

  “Craig!”

  Ben’s shout bursts through the stupor I’ve found myself in, and I glare at him with all the ferocity I can muster. What the fuck is he thinking? He knows full well that I wanted to avoid this exact situation tonight. It’s like I’m not even here; my daggers bounce right off Ben as he waves and then makes his way across the square toward Craig. I have no choice but to follow along at his heels like a puppy. I swear, Ben had better sleep with one eye open tonight.

  “Well, if it isn’t Blushy McBlusherson and his Ben. How’s your night going, guys?”

  Oh no he fucking didn’t.

  “You are so dead,” I hiss at Ben, then storm off toward the car.

  There’s no way I’m going to the club now. All progress we made is now undone, and my evening is over. I haven’t checked to see if Ben is following me, but as soon as I arrive at his car, he’s already unlocking the passenger side for me, and slides into the driver’s seat without a word.

  4

  Craig

  The early morning, or probably midday at this point, sun brightens my eyelids as Victoria, now to be known as my former best friend, parts the curtains in my bedroom. I try to cover my head with a pillow, but she captures it and holds it ransom.

  “You promised me Sunshine Cafe, and you’d better deliver. There’s water and ibuprofen on the table, and that’s all the coddling you’re getting from me this morning. Now get up.”

  I don’t remember much about last night. I met up with Victoria, she immediately started harassing me about my love life, and I immediately started drinking. I’m either vaguely remembering a run-in with Blushy, Ben’s roommate, or all of Victoria’s talk about boys made me conjure him in my drunken haze. I could go fifty-fif
ty on either scenario at this point.

  Every month, Victoria and I catch up over dinner, alternating between Boulder, where she now lives, and Fort Collins. But after my exhausting week filled with angsty teenagers/wanna-be gamers, I begged her to drive to me this time, even though it’s her turn to host. Breakfast at Sunshine Cafe was the price tag.

  Victoria and I moved to Colorado together from California right after high school graduation. She needed to get away from her overbearing parents, who had a different future, complete with husband and two point five babies, mapped out for her. I needed a fresh start. We both started out in Fort Collins, but soon she got the attention of a Boulder gallery owner and left me stranded. I couldn’t be happier for her, although I’ll never tell her that. Now she gets her own studio for her art and she can create any time she wants. Of course, it also helps that Jamilla, the owner, looks at her like she hung the fucking moon.

  I’m glad we keep our standing monthly date, even if the drive is a pain in the ass most times. I’ve got a terrible track record at keeping friends. Sure, I’ve got lots of them– kayaking friends, gaming friends, work friends. I’m too damn charming not to. Ha. But they’re more superficial than my friendship with Victoria. Victoria knows me, and I know her.

  My shower did nothing to alleviate the pounding in my head, so the half-mile walk to the restaurant would probably do me some good. But no, Victoria insists on driving because I’ve made her wait long enough for her biscuit fix.

  “Really, Craig, what happened last night?” she says as we settle onto one of the cutesy benches out front and wait for a table. Everything about Sunshine Cafe screams quaint, from the painted Victorian exterior to the mishmash of chairs and tables and the cloth gingham napkins. Everything except the portion sizes, which I’m thankful for this morning. Hangover or no, I need bacon grease and coffee.