Only with You (Only Colorado Book 1)

by JD Chambers

  I used to consider the parties to be the best part of my job, especially when the party is a bunch of college kids who know what they're doing and let you play too. Even the teenagers are usually entertaining, if for nothing more than the cursing that they come up with and usually fail miserably at. I have no idea what a douche ferret or a spack waffle is, but I'm fairly certain none of them do, either. Last night’s party was for a twelve-year-old kid and a bunch of his friends, led by an overindulgent mother. It didn’t go well.

  I shake my head. “He’s not here yet.” And my stomach is a bundle of nerves to prove it.

  “Hey, how come you get all snippy with me when I show concern, but with Laura you’re all,” Ben waves his hands in my direction, “mild and gentle and shit.”

  “Asking what crawled up my ass is not showing concern.”

  “It totally is.” Ben looks from me to Laura, who has the whole concerned mom face going, and back to me. “What am I missing? What happened?”

  “They were the worst-behaved group of kids I’ve ever seen and their mom should be ashamed, that’s what,” Laura says, nodding at me with barely contained fury in her eyes. “Let’s see, first they refused to let me help them, because I’m a girl and obviously couldn’t possibly know what I’m doing.”

  Ben’s mouth falls open, whereas mine gets so tight I can’t even feel my lips anymore. I really don’t want to replay last night, but I’m going to have to with Ted anyway, once he gets here.

  “But you’re the best techie we’ve got here,” he says.

  Laura rolls her eyes like, I know.

  “The whole time this kid is being a total dick to Laura,” I have to jump in because she should have never had to deal with that, “and the mom doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t pull him aside and tell him to stop being a misogynistic asshat.”

  “Probably wouldn’t know what that means,” Laura interrupts.

  “True. He kept trying to sound all scientific and talk about girls’ brains processing speeds or something.”

  “And then,” Laura interrupts again, her voice getting louder each time, “he refuses to work with Craig.”

  “Why?” Ben looks baffled.

  “Because he refused to treat me like an object and talk bad about me too.”

  I appreciate Laura’s attempt at discretion, but I wouldn’t hide this, even if Ben didn’t already know.

  “Because I’m gay.”

  Laura’s sympathetic look lasts only for a second, which I think is silly because she got it just as bad as I did, really. It’s replaced with fury just as fast. “Oh, but this, the mother did hear. And instead of smacking her son upside his ignorant head, she insisted that Craig be removed from the party. And threatened to call Ted and demand a refund.”

  “Dude.”

  It’s the only other thing Ben says, and it hangs in the air as we finish our lunch in shocked and sullen silence.

  Ted calls me into his office as soon as he arrives after lunch.

  “Close the door,” Ted says, already sitting behind his desk and the mass of paperwork that he never seems to be able to organize.

  The knots in my stomach tighten until there’s no way they’ll ever get loose. I linger by the door instead of taking the plastic chair in front of his desk. If I’m getting fired, I’d like to get away as quickly as possible.

  “Did you get our application in by the deadline yesterday?”

  My leg gives out just a little, and I catch myself on the wall. “What?”

  Ted looks up from his chaotic desk to study me. “Are you okay? Did you hurt your leg?”

  “No.” He motions to the chair, so I sit, and it scrapes metal on concrete in a grating noise. Better than collapsing in a heap onto the floor, I guess. “I’m okay.”

  His eyes narrow, but he continues, “So, the New West Fest application? Did you get it in on time?”

  “Yes, I put in the application, along with a cashier’s check for the fee and a copy of our insurance.” I guess he wants to make sure that everything has been completed before he gets rid of me, so I give him status updates on all of it. I’ve been recording everything in an app on my phone, so I pull it out. “Everything official for the vendor spot is done. The tent is ordered, and I emailed you a copy of the receipt. I’ll also send you a copy of the shipping info. It’s scheduled to arrive on July 24th. The buttons and stickers are scheduled to be picked up over at Smitty’s on August 7th, which doesn’t give us much time if anything goes wrong. But I guess it’s a busy time of year for this kind of stuff.”

  “Wow, you’ve really done a great job with this, Craig,” Ted says, and I look up from my app in shock. I try to search his face for a clue as to what’s coming, but other than a hint of what I think are nerves, Ted’s expression is as placid as Horsetooth Reservoir. “Have you decided about college yet?”

  I’d forgotten I’d even told him about that, but no, I haven’t decided. Zach has proven to be a nice distraction from the things I need to do, like make a decision about the rest of my life. I shake my head.

  Ted stands from his desk, but then paces from his corner filing cabinet back to his chair. “Here’s the thing.”

  My hands grip my thighs, and I’m glad he made me sit, because I’m feeling a little dizzy. I don’t want to lose this job. I like it here. I have no idea what I’d do instead.

  “I need a manager. Things have really picked up lately, and I’m starting to feel like I’m running myself ragged between the business side of things and the day-to-day management of things.” Ted fidgets with the back of the chair, then finally sits back down. “You’ve really proven yourself lately, and I’d like to offer you the job.”

  Wait, what? My mouth drops open, but before I can even collect my thoughts enough to speak, he rushes forward.

  “Only I don’t want to be the one to keep you from your goals, so if you want to go to school and get a degree, you should do it. But unfortunately, you can’t do both. I need someone full-time, and I know I said I’d be good with working around your schedule, and I definitely will be, but only if you’re at your current job. If you take the promotion, then I’ll need to dictate your hours a little more rigidly.”

  He looks so guilty at this, and I’m still really lost. “I’m not fired?”

  “Why would you be fired?” His voice changes from unsure to steady in a blink.

  “I just thought after last night …”

  “If you’re referring to Mrs. Acreback and her son, they have been informed their intolerance and business is not welcome here.”

  Another grating sound erupts from underneath my chair. I accidentally pushed it back when my limbs went limp with relief.

  “You and Laura conducted yourselves with more … control than I would have last night,” Ted continues, and the certainty radiates from him until I can’t help but believe him too. “If either of you were worried about that, you needn’t be. In fact, it’s one of the things that made up my mind about offering you the job.”

  “Right. The job.”

  My brain is spinning in too many directions at once, and Ted seems to sense it. “Take some time and think about it. The job is yours if you want it. But let me know before the end of summer, yeah? I was hoping to squeeze in a vacation at some point.”

  Ted laughs as if he’s told some funny joke, but I can only nod in return. I spend the rest of my work day on autopilot, while my brain hangs out in some other dimension, trying not to freak out about the future and the now much more complicated decisions I have to make.

  17

  Zach

  I’m halfway up the steps to Craig’s front door when I hear a high-pitched growl behind me.

  “What do you think, Toto? Attack mode alpha?”

  A tiny brown furball with Craig in tow approaches, and the growls turn into full-blown barks. Which are actually more like tiny yelps of terror, but it’s the thought that counts.

  I kneel down and hold out my hand to see if he’ll approach. “Toto, huh?�
�

  “Mrs. Hill is old school all the way,” Craig says and grins at Toto, who has decided to investigate my hand with his tongue.

  “Such a vicious guard dog,” I coo and Toto rolls over for belly rubs. “I’d give you a kiss hello, but my services are required elsewhere.”

  Craig squats to my level and runs his fingers behind my ears to my neck, holding me in place while his lips seek mine. His lips are dry but gentle, and I want to run my tongue along them, but we’re interrupted by yips complaining that my hand has stopped its petting.

  “Hi.”

  “Hi.”

  “We should probably go inside,” I say, looking around. We’re far enough away from Old Town that it isn’t like there’s a ton of foot traffic going by, but I’d still rather not be sprouting wood out in public. Craig stands and holds out a hand to help me to my feet. Toto whines at the loss and paws at my pants leg.

  “Smart dog,” Craig says, and I feel my cheeks heat in pleasure.

  Craig leads us inside, and a door to the side of the stairwell immediately opens, as if someone was watching for us.

  “You must be Zach. Come in, come in.” A white-haired lady takes my elbow and ushers me inside to a dining room table. It looks handcrafted and antique, and there are lace doilies at three of the four place settings. I pull out her seat and she insists I sit next to her.

  Craig is in the kitchen, unclipping Toto’s leash and feeding him a treat. Toto circles Craig’s heels until the treat is held down at his level, where he snaps it up and runs away with his treasure.

  “Craig, could you please bring the tray in with you?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Hill,” Craig calls as he washes Toto off his hands.

  “I’m thrilled to finally meet you,” Mrs. Hill says. “I was beginning to think that Craig was going to keep you all to himself and never share you with the rest of us.”

  I bite back a smile. We’ve been going out for maybe a week now, and she’s acting like we’d run off and eloped without telling her. I can see why Craig likes her.

  Craig sets a small tray that has an assortment of cookies neatly arranged in the middle of the table.

  “It’s nice to meet you too.” She nods as if that were an obvious fact. “And Toto, of course,” I say because I can feel something brushing around my ankles, hoping for more treats.

  “Do you play rummy?”

  Craig laughs and points a finger at her. “Don’t make me regret bringing him here to meet you. You are not allowed to hustle my … Zach.”

  I don’t think it would be possible for my smile to get any bigger. Ever. I think I deserve an amazing amount of credit for not teasing him on that slip the way he did when we first met, though. He’s the one blushing this time.

  Mrs. Hill’s eyes soften as she studies Craig, then blink in surprise when she looks to me, though I have no idea what I could have done to garner that reaction.

  “Oh, I like you,” she says, and pats my cheek. “Have a cookie, dear.”

  Mrs. Hill places a cookie in my hand, which I desperately try not to think about Toto licking earlier. She doesn’t allow me to take a single bite, peppering me with question after question, just like I’d imagine Craig’s actual grandmother doing.

  When I’m finally able to turn my attention to Craig, he’s got a dopey expression on his face. I nudge him under the table with a knee, and he nudges back.

  “Thanks for everything, Mrs. Hill, but if I’m going to feed this one, we’d better get going.” Craig smiles as if the thought of feeding me fills him with pleasure.

  “Of course. Feel free to come get me if you need anything. This one isn’t much of a cook,” she fake whispers, and Craig protests, throwing his hands up.

  “Don’t tell him that right before I cook for him. Traitor!”

  “You’re a good boy, Craig,” she says and pulls on his shirt until he’s bent low enough for her to buss a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you for walking Toto. You two have a lovely evening.”

  As we make our way upstairs, Craig tries to apologize for that unexpected detour.

  “Are you kidding? She’s great. And she clearly adores you. Not that I blame her.”

  “She’s like my family,” Craig says as he lets us into his apartment, and I think I might finally get to hear about his elusive family. Instead, he continues by saying, “But she wasn’t lying about my cooking skills.”

  Craig pulls out ingredients, all of which are packaged in plastic containers, boxes, or cans, and sets them onto his counter. “This is about as fancy as my cooking gets.”

  “Do you need help?” I ask because it’s the polite thing to do, even though what I really want to do is snoop around Craig’s living room.

  Craig laughs but it’s a cover, because his eyes are sheepish. “If you thought this was going to be one of those rom-com cooking montage moments, then you greatly overestimate me.”

  My nose wrinkles at the cuteness. “Good. More time for investigation.”

  “Investigating what?”

  “You,” I say as I peruse the bookshelf near his TV. “I know the important things about you, but I’m woefully lacking on historical info.” He doesn’t have nearly as many books as I do, and those that he has are paperback. The only pictures he has are of him with his friend Victoria. I was hoping for anything on his family, and the fact that there’s none is a seed that burrows deep, planting fears of why not.

  “Oh, and what are these important things?” he teases, but the uncertainty hasn’t left his eyes. If anything, it’s stronger than ever.

  “That you’re good. And you’re kind. And you’re a Malec shipper,” I say, holding up a framed pencil drawing of the couple. “That’s all I need to know, really.”

  “Victoria drew that for me. We were both obsessed with the books in high school,” he says, but his face is blank as he scans his own belongings himself. “So what happened this week that you needed stress relief?”

  I guess we aren’t there yet, I think with a heavy internal sigh, but I’m determined to get Craig to trust me with his past. It obviously weighs on him enough to avoid it at every turn, and I want to be there for him, but then maybe that’s selfish of me, if that isn’t what he needs. So I take the bait and spend the next ten minutes, during which time he skillfully dumps the contents of cans and jars and boxes into a casserole dish and pops it into his oven, complaining about Parker and Shelby and their stupid announcement party.

  “What about you?” I ask when I’ve run out of adjectives for Shelby. “How was your week?”

  “Eh, not great. But what can you do.”

  “You don’t like to complain, do you?”

  His eyebrows jump, and he quirks his head toward me. “What? I complain.”

  “Hmm.” I tap my lips, thinking back to our conversations. “Maybe about the crickets. But I can’t remember any other times that you totally let go and just bitched about something. Come on, it feels good.”

  “What am I going to bitch about?”

  I throw my hands up. “I don’t know. You said work wasn’t great.”

  “Right, but what’s complaining going to do?”

  Now that food’s in the oven and we have to wait, we’ve moved to his couch, and I get a little flustered remembering what we did on this couch last time. Refocus, Zach. “What’s it going to do? Make you feel better.”

  “Well, I had to deal with a homophobic kid and his mom at the gaming party.”

  “Fuckers,” I say.

  “He was twelve. I can’t say anything bad about a twelve-year-old.”

  “Sure you can. Kids can be assholes. And it’s just me here. I won’t judge.”

  “Fine. I had to deal with a homophobic, misogynistic shithead kid, whose mom tried to get me fired.”

  “What a bitch!”

  “Right?”

  “Right, so say it.”

  “What a bitch,” Craig says and laughs. I’m bouncing on my knees on the sofa in encouragement.

  “And then Ted
tells me that we’re doing the Fourth of July parade again this year. Do you have any idea how miserable that is?”

  I shake my head, but wave my fingers at him. “No idea. Tell me.”

  “Spending hours in ninety degree heat, in costumes thanks to your brilliant roommate. Last year, my sunburn was still peeling a week later. And of course Ted doesn’t care because he drives the truck. He gets air conditioning. And cushy seats. And no blisters. And-”

  Craig falls back against the couch and laughs. “Okay, you win. I feel better.”

  He leans over and kisses the smug smile off my face. Before it can go any further, the oven beeps.

  Craig looks sheepish again as he dishes out his baked pasta creation. I take my first bite as expectant eyes watch the movement of my fork. It’s really … not good. The pasta is still tough in places, and the sauce is watery. Each bite is either this, or a crusted glob of cheese that doesn’t seem to have melted right. So of course, I scarf down two full helpings.

  This Craig is someone I don’t think many people get to see. He has this tough, funny exterior, but really he’s a mess of insecurities on the inside, just like me. And I find that knowledge incredibly attractive.

  I carry dishes to the sink and start to rinse off plates. “You can leave that. I’ll take care of it later,” Craig says, uncertainty still bleeding through his voice.

  “I’ve never had anyone cook for me before. So thank you.”

  “It wasn’t-”

  I put a finger to his lips, revelling a little in my courage and in Craig’s surprise.

  “It was everything.”

  Craig’s lips descend on mine with a hunger that feels new. He pulls my hair until I gasp into the kiss, and takes advantage of my open mouth to swirl his tongue inside. With his other hand, he’s already delving inside my jeans to grab my ass. My lower lip throbs from his sharp bites, and I pant with each new bite across my jaw.