by Meg Harding
He explained, haltingly and with embarrassment eating away at his insides, the disaster that had been the day before. Kevin listened with wide eyes and lips parted, and Zander didn’t miss the way his expression pinched and twitched when Zander conveyed parts of the conversation and the results. He exchanged Cole’s name with an unidentified “he.”
“He actually left,” was what Kevin said when Zander had caught him up.
“Yes.” He’d thought, despite asking Haley otherwise, Cole would return. But he hadn’t. Cole had sent Haley an apology via text, told her he’d pick up his bag from her house—he had his keys in his pocket—and he’d return Jasper to her eventually. His excuse? He suddenly wasn’t feeling well. Haley had pushed, asking if Zander had made him uncomfortable, and Cole had frankly replied yes.
Kevin took all that in. “Right.” He frowned. “So you’re hung up on this guy, and you want to sleep with him to fix that—which, by the way, never works. Haven’t you ever watched a chick flick? Anyway. So instead of flirting, you get into this deep personal discussion, and then blow it off and turn the convo on a 180. You blindsided this poor guy. In public. With like, whoa awkward personal details.”
Zander scrunched his nose.
Kevin waved his hand. “I’m borrowing some of my daughter’s phrases. Don’t give me that look. You don’t get to judge.” He took a deep breath. “My advice is to talk it out or let it go. Maria’s always stressing the importance of putting things out there. Is this the first time you’ve had to deal with an ex after the fact?”
This might be—Zander’s self aware enough to admit it—his problem. He’d slept with plenty of people. There’d never been a shortage when he wanted company in bed. But Cole had been the one and only time he’d allowed anyone to linger. From the moment he’d met him, he knew Cole was trouble, and he’d ignored the voice in the back of his mind yelling at him to run. He’d paid a hefty emotional toll for not listening. Cole had developed feelings, and so had Zander. They couldn’t have gone anywhere. One of them would inevitably leave. Zander did the safe thing, the smart thing.
And he didn’t repeat his mistakes.
He didn’t allow anyone else to get close. He didn’t want to get hurt any more.
So, to answer Kevin’s question, as far as “ex’s” went, Cole was alone. “He’s uh, the only person I’ve actually, you know… steadily with.”
Kevin blinked. “No way. You’re in your thirties. Barely, but in there. How’s that even possible?”
Zander shrugged and looked away. He wasn’t proud of it. “I come from a long line of military men. I grew up watching what that did to relationships. To the people in them. I was raised on the bases. It’s what I knew, and when I reached the age for it, I joined. I didn’t want someone else involved in that.” He didn’t want anyone to leave him. “I’ve hooked up. I’m not a monk. I just never saw a point in letting things get serious.”
“Damn.” Kevin rubbed the lower half of his face, nails scratching at his cheek. “You were deployed right?”
Zander made a sound of assent. “I was mostly in the field and on missions.”
Kevin nodded. “That’s tough. You’ve got a steady home now, though. Maybe try changing your mindset. It sounds like you’ve got feelings for this guy. Stop trying to make them disapear.”
Zander wondered if it could really be that easy.
The last person Cole wanted to see walking into his classroom at the end of the day was Zander. Hadn’t he dealt with him enough this past week? Hadn’t Sunday been enough for the rest of Cole’s lifetime? Where had Zander thought he was going with comments about Cole being his best lover? He wasn’t sure what freaked him out more, how out of character that was for Zander to admit or the possible meaning behind the words.
He’d fled, and he wasn’t a coward for doing so.
Between his morning and that, Cole had been done with Sunday. He didn’t want to wait around and see what else it had in store for him.
And now, Tuesday afternoon, the bane of Cole’s existence was standing in his doorway.
“Can I help you?” Cole asked, striving for a cool, controlled tone. Savanah was still at her desk, cleaning up pencil shavings, and everyone else had left.
Zander propped his shoulder against the door frame. The muscles in his thick, dark arms bulged. Cole forced his gaze up to Zander’s face, feeling his cheeks heat at Zander’s knowing smirk. “I’m sorry about Sunday. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” He huffed out a soft laugh. “You could have told me to shut up.”
Cole glanced at Savanah, but she appeared oblivious to them. He stepped closer to Zander anyway. This wasn’t a conversation she needed to be privy to. Hell, he didn’t want to be privy to it. “If I had, would you have?” He doubted it.
The upward twitch to Zander’s lips confirmed Cole’s belief. “I’d have tried.”
Cole stuffed his hands in the pockets of his slacks not knowing what to do with them. He felt adrift in the moment, perplexed as to what exactly was going on. “Were you…. Was it a game?” Had Zander been trying to use their history to get a reaction from him? Cole’s stomach did a nauseating roll at the thought.
“A game?” Zander frowned fiercely. He scratched his chin. “No.” His expression shifted to something soft, mildly embarrassed and sheepish. “It was flirting.”
“Flirting?” repeated Cole, dumbstruck. Why on Earth would Zander be flirting with him? Unless… but no, it couldn’t be.
Zander huffed. “Obviously it was bad flirting. I never did really know how to be charming when it came to you.” He ran a hand through his short hair, and Cole watched as the curls sprung back into place. “Feel free to tell me I’m wrong at anytime, but it’d be cool if you’d hear me out. This has been… things have been weird since I walked in here months ago. Maybe it’s all in my head, and maybe it’s just me, but we’ve got tension. Our chemistry… it’s still there. I was, in my own roundabout way, trying to tell you that I don’t think we’re in the past. I don’t know that I can pretend we don’t have a history.”
If this were a soap opera, Cole would have stumbled backward clutching his chest or his pearls. But this was real life and he did neither. He absorbed the shock and settled for standing and staring blankly like an idiot. It was, frankly, a lot to take in.
“Cole?”
“I need a minute.” He closed his eyes. Looking at Zander with his earnest face and his stupid dimples and flexing arm muscles was not helping him process. Zander thought they still had chemistry. He claimed there was tension. Cole couldn’t dispute that, and his heart beat traitorously fast at the knowledge Zander felt the same. But Cole couldn’t help but hear what hadn’t been said. They had tension and chemistry, but Zander said nothing of feelings. If Cole were optimistic, he’d assume they were included in the package. Optimism, however, in regards to Zander had been squashed many years ago. He licked his dry lips and opened his eyes. Zander still stood there, arms crossed and one bent leg nervously jiggling. “I don’t know what you want me to say,” said Cole, raw. When he looked at Zander he saw the past, and he saw opportunity. Cole could easily give this man everything again, even knowing that the end might still be the same.
Zander’s chest heaved with his heavy exhale. His shirt pulled taut, strained. “Say you’ll go out with me.”
How could Cole want something so wrong for him so much? He shook his head, his fingers curling in his pockets. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“What do you have to lose?”
Cole laughed. It bent him at the waist for a moment. “Oh my god,” he said between giggles. “Really? You’re really asking me that?”
Zander had the good grace to grimace. “Not my best wording.” He sighed, but his shoulders didn’t slump. He was seeing this through, trying to out stubborn Cole. “Cole, just go out with me once. Maybe when put to the test, everything will be in the past. This could be closure. And if it’s not in the past, if it lives up to whatever we have going on in our hea
ds, then we go with it. Either way, we take this last step.”
And if one of them reached a separate conclusion from the other? Cole crossed his arms protectively over his chest. He’d just broken up with Patrick. It was fresh. But he’d done so because of lingering feelings for the great big lug of assholery in front of him. The angel on his right urged him to run, and the devil on his left urged him to jump in with both feet.
Whatever he chose, he had the suspicion it would leave a lasting impact on his life.
“What kind of date did you have in mind?”
Chapter 11
“Don’t look at me like that.”
Cheshire continued to glare judgmentally at Cole as he shuffled through his closet in search of an acceptable outfit.
“I know what I’m doing.”
Cheshire flicked his tail dismissively, turning to give Cole his back.
Cole’s shoulders slumped. “I’m arguing with my cat about my date,” he muttered. Clearly he was insane. He definitely wasn’t in his right mind to be making such important decisions.
Thor wandered in and threw himself to the floor at Cole’s feet. His lips fluttered with his gusty sigh as he rested his head on his paws and stared.
Cole returned it. “Are you going to judge me too?”
Thor thumped his tail half-heartedly.
Raising his voice, Cole called, “Anyone else want to come in and critique me?”
Casper trotted in, followed by Buddy, Smaug, Franklin, and Loki, an all gray cat with bright green eyes and missing his right ear. An appearance from Loki was somewhat rare, as he preferred to spend his time hiding and only revealing himself to randomly trip Cole. Cole should have known better than to ask. “I see,” he said to the crowd. “It’s going to be a party, huh?”
He was lucky they couldn’t speak English.
Refocusing on the closet, he contemplated his options. Zander had provided him with a place and a time, 7:15 at Fresco’s Waterfront Bistro, and Cole had taken the liberty of looking it up. Fresco’s was located on St. Pete’s pier, and the majority of seating was outdoors along the waterfront. It wasn’t a fancy kind of place, nor was it a shorts and sandals establishment. He needed something casual but not too casual. Did he own anything that didn’t have glitter stuck to it or paint stains on the hems? Ugh.
“I should cancel.” He inspected a charcoal Henley he’d been given as a Christmas present and never worn. “Why did I say yes in the first place? Was I trying to see if I could take my stress levels to all new heights? That does sound like something I would do….”
Thor growled, deep in his throat and deceptively menacing.
Cole tossed the Henley to the bed. It would have to do. “Is that your way of telling me to quit the self-pity?” he asked Thor. He crouched to scratch behind his ears. “I know I’m being ridiculous.” The big baby rolled to his back, legs sprawled for his belly to be rubbed. Cole obligingly offered pats. He was stalling, and he knew it.
Scared was an understatement for how he felt.
Dinner dates, in his experience, tended to be awkward. There wasn’t much in the way of distraction and one or the other was expected to hold conversation the whole time. Not to mention being watched while eating. Cole had, on more than one occasion, dropped food down his front because he was too aware of someone’s gaze on him. Such dates were commonly a getting-to-know-you affair, and Cole suspected this would be no different. It had been an age since Zander and he had known one another. They knew the surface things—Zander was a firefighter and had a kid; Cole was a teacher—but the small details had changed.
And all the while, the past hung heavy over Cole’s head.
He needed to let it go. If he couldn’t accept it, couldn’t live in the moment, then this wouldn’t go anywhere good.
Thor nipped at his arm, and Cole realized he’d stopped petting him. He gave him a rub. “Sorry, babe.”
He found a nice pair of dark jeans, barely worn and a little stiff because of it. He did squats in front of his bed to try and loosen them, the fabric pulling taut around his ass and thighs. The Henley clung to him when he put it on, and he plucked at the material. He stared at his reflection in the mirror on the back of his door. Did he look like he was trying too hard? A twist to the side and he could see the swell of his butt in his jeans.
Does this make my butt look fat?
He laughed, perhaps a little hysterically, at the ridiculous and clichéd thought.
Deep breath in, two slow ones out.
This was only nerves.
Cole had put his foot down at allowing Zander to pick him up, so there was at least that. He hadn’t wanted to deal with awkward car rides and a driveway goodbye. The only thing happening tonight was dinner. Cole was taking a risk; he wasn’t giving away the package just yet.
Protect your heart at all costs.
His knee bounced on the drive—the left one, thankfully—and butterflies twisted Cole’s stomach into tight knots. He wondered if he’d be able to eat anything at this rate. When he got to the pier, he dallied. Was his hair laying properly? Had he remembered to put deodorant on before he left? Were his pants covered in cat fur? Oh, there was a spot of lint. He needed to get that.
Aware that he was allowing his neurosis to win, Cole forced himself from the parked car and walked the little way to the restaurant. Being a Friday night in downtown St Pete, it was fairly crowded. Couples strolled hand in hand and more than a few people had their dogs with them. The streetlights provided an old-city glow, and the trees were decorated with twinkling fairy lights. Between that and the steady swish-thump of the ocean hitting the concrete barrier along the walkway, it was decidedly romantic without any effort.
If they got spaghetti and split it, it would be a total Lady and the Tramp moment.
Cole’s fingers twitched. He wouldn’t be eating spaghetti tonight. Or anything with long noodles. Nothing shareable in general.
Zander’s lips would remain two feet away from Cole’s tonight. He was here to assess the situation and whether he should give Zander a true chance. He wouldn’t allow his traitorous body to throw a dick-shaped wrench in things.
Fresco’s was the kind of establishment with a menu in the front, and Zander was standing a little to the left of it. He was braced against the railing to the pier, his elbows on the wood and his legs crossed at the ankles as he leaned back. He wore a dark blue dress shirt, the sleeves rolled casually up his forearms in that sinfully sexy way so many men pulled off. His jeans hugged his big, thick thighs and showcased his mile-long legs.
Cole tried to swallow the lump that appeared in his throat. He shouldn’t be so continuously affected by the sight of Zander. It’s not like Zander changed every time. He was always well built and tall, and his eyes were always that particular dark-chocolate shade. His veins had always stood out a little on the back of his hands and his forearms, and his hands… god his hands. They’d always been that big, his fingers that slender.
Was Cole drooling?
He started to lift his hand to wipe at his mouth, just in case, when he realized what he was about to do. Abruptly he aborted the movement, turning it into a lame half-wave at Zander who he was, by now, right in front of.
“Uh. Hi.” Cole cleared his throat. “You look nice.” He rocked back onto his heels, unable to stand still.
Zander’s heated gaze took Cole in from the top of his head to his shoes. A shiver went down Cole’s spine, the look damn near a physical touch it was so intense. “Hey.” Zander smiled, slow and easy. His dimple peaked. “You’re looking nice, too. I like that shirt.”
Cole plucked at the front before he could think better. “Thanks. I think it was a gift from my mom.” The second the words left his mouth, he had to bite back a groan and the urge to beat his forehead into a hard surface. What was up with his brain to mouth filter tonight?
Zander chuckled, low. Cole wanted to reach out and shake him, to demand to know why Zander wasn’t the nervous wreck Cole was. “Want to go
in?” asked Zander, tilting his head toward the door. “We’ve got reservations.”
They didn’t touch as they entered. Hands remained to themselves and Cole kept a half-foot of distance between their shoulders. It was probably overkill, but Cole wasn’t taking any chances. They were led through the indoor portion of the bistro and outside, given a seat about five feet from the piers edge.
“Your server will be right with you, gentlemen.”
Facing one another, the table between them and silence in the air, Cole searched for words. “This is a, uh, nice place.”
Zander dragged his menu close and flipped it open. He didn’t look at Cole as he asked, “Is that to be the word of the evening?”
It took Cole a minute to get it, and then he grimaced. “Sorry. What made you choose here?”
Zander glanced up at that. “Some of the guys from my station recommended it. If you’ve been here and you didn’t like it—”
“No, no,” Cole rushed to assure him. “I like it. I’ve never been. Just curious is all.” He ducked his head and busied himself reading the menu. Opposite him, Zander did the same.
“So this is awkward,” said Zander, nearly ten minutes later when the only words that had been spoken were to the waitress for their drinks and food. “It’s like… we’ve forgotten how to talk to each other.”
“I think that’s it exactly,” admitted Cole, unaccountably relieved to know beneath Zander’s calm façade was someone just as anxious as himself. “We’re overthinking it.”
Zander hummed, chewing thoughtfully—and distractingly—on his bottom lip. “What if we pretend we’ve just met? I know I’d said before that we had to stop ignoring our history, but maybe just for an hour or two we should?” He was playing absently with his cutlery, turning the fork in his fingers.
Cole would give anything a go to make this less painful. “All right.”
It became clear after a long moment; Cole did not intend to start things off. Which left the ball in Zander’s court. He should have expected things to not go swimmingly right away. Where was his charm when he needed it? He sifted through the excess of data his coworkers had given him on things to ask about.
