Even as Brendon looked him over, trying to memorize every detail, one thought pounded in his head like a drum: it’d worked. He could hardly believe it. His plan had worked. For once in his life, he’d decided to do something, followed through, and he’d gotten what he wanted. Here Matt was, in the oh-so-sexy flesh. Now all Brendon had to do was meet him.
As if cued by his thoughts, Matt opened the door and made as if to leave.
Wait, what? Brendon took a step toward him on instinct. A second later, he spotted it: a to-go cup in Matt’s hands with Jitters’s logo on it.
Oh fuck. The truth washed over Brendon like a cold dawn. Matt hadn’t ducked in the door just now. He was on his way out. That was why he’d been looking at the sky. He’d been judging how bad the rain was.
That meant he’d been here for at least the past five minutes. Had he heard Brendon’s outburst? He must have.
Jesus. Brendon jerked his head toward the college kids he’d harangued and then back at Matt. As soon as he looked over, Matt was turning his head away. Had he been looking at him? Plenty of people in the shop were still sneaking glances at him, probably wondering if he was going to shout again.
Brendon went rigid. This was not the first meeting he’d imagined between him and his future husband. There was no soft lighting, no music swelling in the background. Just him, looking like a weirdo, trench coat and all.
Why was his life such a dumpster fire?
While he was frozen with mortification, Matt adjusted the shoulder strap on his bag, which had papers sticking out of the top, checked his watch, and dashed outside like he had places to be.
Brendon stared at the space he’d just vacated, paralyzed by indecision. Should he run after him? After that embarrassing debut? What if this was his only chance?
The door banged shut behind Matt, breaking Brendon from his stupor. He ran to the exit and pressed his face to the glass. The rain had cleared the streets, making it easy to spot Matt. Who was booking it in the other direction. Damn. If Brendon wanted to catch him, he needed to go now.
Brendon started to do just that. He wasn’t going to let Matt slip out of his grasp after he’d spent all week waiting for him. He flung the door open only to be met with a blanket of torrential rain.
Shit. He might have been able to catch Matt. He even might have been able to explain his outburst if he said he’d had a bad week and too much caffeine. But there was no part of his plan that included getting soaked to the bone. If he caught pneumonia, it would mean an expensive trip to the doctor and time off work.
In the two seconds he’d hesitated, the shrinking blob that was Matthew Kingston ducked out of sight. The rain blotted out any trace that he’d ever been there.
Brendon closed the door and leaned heavily against it. Living in the real world sucked. The protagonists in rom-coms never had to worry about getting sick. They were free to do all the kissing in the rain they liked.
He wasn’t sure whether to label the first part of his plan a success or a failure. He’d found Matthew, but he’d let him get away. He’d confirmed that Matt was attractive, but he hadn’t managed to say a word to him. And if Matt had heard him blow up and had gotten a good enough look at his face, he might remember him as “that guy who lost it at the coffee place.” That was not the first impression Brendon wanted to make.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and silenced his alarm. It was time for him to go to work. He glanced outside. The rain had let up enough that he’d consider going out into it now, not that he had much of a choice. Turning his coat collar up, he made a run for it.
Fat drops stung his cheeks as he hurried to the bus stop. He couldn’t buy gas until he got paid on Friday, so he was forced to take public transportation until then. Every time he did, it made him grateful for his car. He spent the long, bumpy, smelly ride replaying his near encounter with Matt in his head. By the time he arrived at the mall, he was a roiling mass of uncertainty.
Brendon walked up to Hairway to Heaven in a daze. Mr. Kenji was there, talking to Lindsay about the morning shift, and he flashed a toothy smile as he greeted Brendon. Brendon didn’t hear a word, but must have responded well enough, because after a minute, Mr. Kenji left. Lindsay followed shortly after, tossing a concerned look at him over her shoulder.
He went through the motions of beginning his shift: counting the register, dusting the displays, and taking inventory. But his mind was still back in the coffee shop, getting its first look at Matthew Kingston. Who, on top of being hot, was nice-looking. Not just good-looking—though he was certainly that as well—but he literally looked nice. He had a kind face, or whatever it was people said. He looked like the sort of guy who would buy his date flowers and insist on doing the dishes after a home-cooked meal.
If that turned out to be true, he could be Brendon’s dream guy. Brendon had thought that before, but he hadn’t truly believed it. His encounter with Matt seemed like a sign, though. Maybe they really were meant to be. The realization trickled down his spine like a melting ice cube.
“Holy shit,” he muttered to himself. “That was him.” He caught sight of his reflection in one of their many mirrors. Oh lord. His hair was frizzy, he was soaked, and he was still wearing the ridiculous trench coat.
Right on cue, Areesh strolled over, looking flawless in a black V-neck and fitted jeans. “What happened to you? Get caught in the rain?”
“No, I decided to take a quick dive into the fountain out front.” Brendon rolled his eyes. “Yes, I got caught in the rain.”
“Tou-chy. You’re gonna scare customers away, looking like that.”
“I know. I’m about to clean up.” Brendon stripped off his sodden coat and shoved it into the cabinet beneath the cash register. His clothes were damp but not drenched, thank God. His body heat would dry them before long. He selected one of the sample straighteners that was designed to work on wet hair and busied himself fixing his bird’s nest.
“Maybe the customers will think you’re doing a demonstration.” Areesh leaned next to him. “Like a worst-case-scenario sort of thing. ‘This straightener can fix even the baddest of bad hair days!’”
Brendon chuckled. “Yeah, maybe.”
“Maybe what?” Sasha appeared at Areesh’s side. She took one look at him and gasped. “Ya Allah! Brendon, you’re a mess.”
He pursed his lips. “Nice to see you too. What are you both doing here?”
“Inventory. It takes two to count all those tiny rings.” Sasha sized him up. “What happened?”
Brendon finished a strand and met her eyes in the mirror before starting the next. “I met him.”
“You . . . what?”
“I met him, Sasha.” It was all he could do to keep his focus on his hair so it wouldn’t burn. “Well, sort of. I didn’t speak to him, but I saw him.”
Areesh looked between them. “Saw who?”
Sasha said something in Hindi, and Areesh oohed. “The quiz guy?”
Brendon eyed Sasha. “You told him?”
She shrugged. “Marriage. Now spill! I want to hear every detail.”
“I don’t know where to begin, honestly.” The light on the hair straightener flashed, indicating that it needed time to reheat. Brendon set it aside and fished out a skin-care bag he kept in one of the drawers. You never knew when Idris Elba might walk by. “It happened so fast.”
“Try.”
Brendon started talking, going all the way back to his night of too much wine and rom-coms. He laid it all out: his plan, the disguise, the flan. Everything. By the time he got to his fifth emotional crisis, the hair straightener was hot again, and he ironed while he spoke.
Areesh and Sasha were an amazing audience. They gasped and sighed in all the right places. When he got to the part where he hesitated before chasing after Matthew, Areesh nodded. “You made the right decision.”
“Did I? I feel like I let him slip right through my fingers over some superficial bullshit.”
“Well, tell me
this: if you’d caught him, what would you have said?”
“I would have explained about my outburst.”
“Why? What does a stranger care about the doings of another stranger? And on the off chance he didn’t hear your outburst, how bizarre would that have sounded?”
Brendon stopped short with the flat iron poised over the last wet section of his hair. “Huh. That’s a good point.”
Sasha shook her head. “I can’t believe you ran into him. How incredible. I would say this is the work of Allah, but I suspect desperate cosmetology students are a force of their own.”
“I’m not desperate.” Brendon finished his hair and ran his fingers through it, trying to add some volume. With no brushes or product, he couldn’t expect miracles, but no one was going to buy accessories from someone with limp hair. “I’m taking fate into my own hands. This guy could be the one for me, and seeing him in person made me more certain than ever.”
“But you haven’t said a word to him,” Areesh argued. “You have no idea what he’s like.”
“Don’t waste your breath,” Sasha said in a stage whisper. “I already told him this.”
Brendon pouted. “Look, I know all the cons. I’m trying to focus on the pros here. Anyone who could write all those beautiful quiz answers must be a good person. And the chances of me running into him were so slim. The universe has spoken.” He paused. “Though we are going to have to work on the way he dresses. There’s no such thing as teacher’s assistant–chic for a reason.” Though even as he said that, picturing Matt’s rumpled appearance made him smile. It had a certain devil-may-care charm to it.
“We can burn that bridge when we come to it,” Sasha said.
Areesh frowned. “Dear? It’s cross that bridge.”
“Is it? Well, anyway, we need to decide where to go from here.”
Brendon arched an eyebrow at her. “‘We’?”
“Of course. We’re in this together. Though don’t think for one second I failed to notice you ignored my advice. I said you need to work on yourself before you go chasing after some boy, and here you are.” She sighed in a resigned way. “But it’s clear you’re determined. As your friends, it’s our job to make sure you don’t get in over your head.”
He smiled. “Thanks, you guys.”
“Don’t thank us yet. I have some concerns.”
“Like what?”
“Like, what are you going to do next?”
“Uh . . . well.”
“This is the same problem you always run into,” Sasha teased. “When you come up with a plan, you only think of how to get there, and nothing beyond that. You thought of how to meet Matt but not how to make him yours.”
“I guess that’s true. So, what’s the new plan?”
“The new plan is the old plan, more or less. You’re going to keep hanging out where you think Matt will be. Preferably not the coffee shop, though, just in case he remembers you. And you’re going to leave the coat at home.”
“Got it. Nix the coat. And then what?”
“Then you’re going to pray Matt is just like every other writer his age.”
“Huh?”
Areesh perked up. “Oh, I think I understand.”
Brendon frowned. “Well, I don’t.”
“Think about it,” Sasha said. “You decided this guy was your soul mate because he put all those things you like in his quiz, right? And wrote that blog about being gay? He was probably writing about his own likes and experiences.”
“Yeah, seems like it. At the very least, he goes to the coffee shop he wrote about.”
Areesh jumped in. “That’s your starting-off point. Thanks to this quiz, you already know a lot about him. That gives you a huge advantage. You can take him on a date he’ll love and talk about all his interests without even having to ask what they are.”
Brendon’s eyes widened. “That’s genius. I can use what I know about him to make him see how perfect we are for each other!”
“Exactly,” Sasha said. “Only less sinister sounding. You’re not making him do anything. You two appear to have a lot in common. Show him that, and if the chemistry is right, things will fall into place. If not, you move on: no harm, no foul. Right?”
“Right!” Brendon clapped his hands together. “You guys are the best.”
“I give all the credit to my darling, scheming wife.” Areesh beamed at Sasha.
Sasha winked. “What’s mine is yours. Brendon, do you still have the magazine?”
“Of course.” He pulled it out from where he’d tucked it behind the register. “Like I’d throw it away.”
“Good.” She took it from him and turned to the back. “It’s time for the real quiz: how well do you know Matthew Kingston?”
Five days later, Brendon was sitting in the little café inside the Dragonscale bookstore when Matt walked in.
The bell above the door jingled, and Brendon looked up from the paperback copy of Jane Eyre he’d plucked off the shelves. As soon as he spotted Matt, he froze. Matt looked just how he remembered. Adorably tousled. Muscular. Handsome. And like he was in a hurry.
Showtime. Brendon took a deep breath and then exhaled until he defrosted. All he had to do was remember Sasha and Areesh’s coaching and do precisely what they’d said. And, of course, be himself. That was the key to this whole thing. They had to actually like each other.
As Matt walked toward the back of the store, he waved at the girl behind the checkout counter. That confirmed what Brendon had suspected: he came here a lot. It amazed him to think that had fate twisted a different way, they really might have bumped into each other without any of this artifice. That thought gave him a burst of confidence. He could do this. Sometimes a man had to make fate work for him.
He watched over the top of his book as Matt headed for a section of shelves in the far corner. Brendon knew it well. It was the LGBT section. That was promising.
After an inconspicuous amount of time had lapsed, Brendon closed his book, drained the last of the coffee in his to-go cup, and stood up. He stopped by a trash can and then meandered toward the back of the store, dropping Jane Eyre back off in the Classics section as he went. It took everything he had to keep his pace leisurely, eager as he was.
Halfway to the back, he glanced at the mirrored disk hiding a security camera in the corner. His hair was perfect—soft and voluminous with curled blue ends—and his outfit was head-to-toe perfection. He’d donned his favorite spicy-green sweater for the occasion. It made his eyes pop like apple bubble gum. Black jeans and studded boots added just the right mix of chic and edgy.
This time, he was ready.
He made it to the back of the store and set himself up in Matt’s line of sight. He pretended to peruse a tall carousel stocked with literary-themed greeting cards, but every few seconds he glanced toward Matt. Eventually, Matt would look his way, they’d lock eyes across the room, and time would stop, just like in the movies. Brendon would flash his signature flirty grin, and decades from now they’d tell their grandkids that it was love at first sight.
Except Matt never looked up.
After five minutes, Brendon gave up on being subtle. He outright stared at Matt, willing him to glance his way, but he never did. Apparently, he was absorbed in the book he’d plucked off the shelf.
Brendon squinted at the cover. He couldn’t read it from this far away, but he recognized it instantly. Rainbow Boys. It was a YA novel about three gay boys. He’d read it in middle school when he first realized he was gay. He related a lot to the characters, especially Nelson, the flamboyant one. Nelson was even the reason he’d started dyeing his hair. If Matt liked that book, that was another check in their soul mate column. Assuming they ever got around to meeting each other.
In a fit of pique, Brendon swiped a random book off a nearby shelf and let it drop. It struck the ground with a resonant thud. Everyone within a fifteen-foot radius, from the old man reading a newspaper to the guy working in the café, looked Brendon’s way.
Except for Matthew fucking Kingston.
Brendon would have pulled his hair out in frustration were it not his most prized feature. Although, he had to admit, it was adorable that Matt was so engrossed in the novel.
Grumbling to himself, Brendon bent down and picked up the book he’d dropped. He replaced it on the shelf and then glanced back at Matt. Or rather, the now-empty space that Matt had occupied just a second ago.
Brendon whipped his head around. Fuck. In the span of five seconds, Matt had moved three rows over. Brendon followed at a distance, placing himself once more in Matt’s line of sight, but at no point did Matt look at him.
He followed him to another row, and another, doing everything he could think of to force eye contact between them, but nothing worked.
Brendon hunkered behind a display for the latest YA novel that was being turned into a blockbuster. The Midnight Hungry Insurgents, or whatever. Matt was making his way toward the front of the store as if he were about to check out.
Brendon needed to do something fast. He weaved between some shelves until he managed to get ahead of Matt and then leaned against a magazine rack. More like draped himself against it, actually. He situated his legs to advantage, straightened his posture, and kept his neck long. He pretended to fuss with his hair, even though he knew it was perfect. Not that it mattered, however, because even as Brendon posed, Matt still didn’t look his way. The guy had the most intense tunnel vision Brendon had ever encountered.
Why was this so difficult? Men looked at Brendon all day when he didn’t want them to. Was the universe testing his resolve?
Just as he was starting to panic, Matt glanced up and looked unerringly at Brendon. Shit. Brendon was still in his look-at-me pose, but it was becoming uncomfortable. He couldn’t hold it for much longer. His mind blanked as he tried to think of what to do next.
All of the Above Page 4
