by Jack Harbon
“Are you…staying?”
“I thought I’d help clean up. No one else seemed to be offering, so…”
“That’s nice of you,” Jordan noted, taking a hesitant step towards him. “You really don’t have to, though. I do this by myself all the time, anyway.”
“That’s because I wasn’t a member of Meet Cute Club before. Now I am.”
Jordan tried his best to keep his expression neutral, because inside, he was having a minor freak out. What was Rex’s game plan here? Did he truly just want to help out, without any caveats or ulterior motives?
“Okay,” Jordan said. “You can help me clean up all these bottles and the cupcake liners if you want.”
“Sure.”
They worked at opposite ends of the living room, grabbing various bottles of water, glasses of tea, and other small pieces of trash that had been left around by the other members. Jordan reached for a balled-up cupcake liner just as Rex did, and he wanted to die on the spot.
How absolutely painfully cliché was this?
Jordan pulled his hand back quickly, muttering a brief, “I’m sorry.”
Cool as ever, Rex chuckled and grabbed the trash. “Don’t be, handsome.”
Before he could spontaneously combust and paint his white walls red, Jordan carried his haul of garbage to the kitchen, where he dumped it all in the bin and washed his hands. Rex was right behind him a moment later.
As he ran his hands beneath the faucet, Rex said, “I read that other book you recommended, too. The Patricia Hayes one.”
“Yeah?” It didn’t matter who it was; Jordan always got giddy when people said they read the books he’d suggested. “What’d you think about it?”
“Much better than Duke’s. There was no obnoxious grand apology with a dozen hand-picked roses or anything, so right off the bat, that makes it ten times better. You were right about me liking it more.”
“See?” Jordan smirked. “I told you it was good. Have I turned you into a fan yet?”
Rex reached for a paper towel to dry off his hands. “Not even close,” he said. “I may need some more convincing to stay in the club.”
“If all these muffins and drinks didn’t convince you, nothing will.”
“No, I can think of some things that might.” Rex took another step towards him, dragging his fingers over the dining table.
Jordan was willing to play this game. “What kind of things?”
“I’ve always been convinced by a nice pair of lips.”
It was a fairly effective line, but Jordan wasn’t going to let him off the hook that easily. He took the next step, only a foot away from the other man. “Where in the world could we find a pair of those?”
“You seem to be in possession of two perfectly good ones.”
“So I am,” Jordan murmured.
Rex closed the gap between them, his broad chest practically pressing against Jordan’s. He wore the worst, most mischievous grin Jordan had ever seen, and he wanted desperately to knock it off his face. To catch this cocky bastard off guard and show him that he wasn't as in control as he always assumed he was.
Whatever came over him, Jordan couldn't explain. The heat of the moment, or maybe some underlying desire to show Rex he wasn't the only one with confidence. No matter the explanation, it led to the same result.
Jordan reached a tentative hand up and cupped the side of Rex’s stubbled chin, dragging his fingertips over the bristles.
“Are you going to kiss me and convince me to stay?” Rex asked.
“No.”
Rex blinked. “Why not?”
“Because you’re going to kiss me. You’ll lift me up and set me on the counter and kiss me until you feel lightheaded. And when you’re done, you’ll say thank you and tell me that you’re committed to this club.”
Jordan waited, momentarily afraid that he’d been too forward. He’d fought too hard to take the steering wheel, and now, they were careening off the freeway.
Rex put those doubts to rest when he grabbed Jordan's behind and hefted him, dropping him on the counter gracelessly. He took Jordan’s face in his hands and studied him, stroking over his bottom lip with his thumb. As he inched his finger closer, Jordan nipped at it.
“Kiss me,” Jordan whispered.
“You're so damn bossy,” Rex muttered. Without hesitation, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Jordan’s.
For the briefest moment, it was completely wrong.
Too much tongue, not enough lips, and an awkward exchanging of breath. The moment the two found their groove, it suddenly clicked. Jordan turned his head just slightly, parting his lips to graciously welcome Rex inside. He dragged his hands up the ridges of his arms, the sensation better than any daydream could ever possibly simulate.
Rex’s beard scratched him, but it was a pleasant contrast to the softness of his mouth. Rex was an expert, skilled with his tongue in a way that sent a new wave of electric pleasure through Jordan every few seconds. He moaned against the man's lips and wrapped his legs around his hips, and when their bodies fit together like a lock and its key, any doubt that this wasn't exactly what Jordan wanted disappeared completely.
He stroked Rex’s tongue with his own, greedy for the faint taste of cranberry and the warm, wet heat that made every hair on his arms stand at full, erect attention. He didn’t care if he looked ugly or how ragged their breathing had become. Not with Rex’s arms around his waist and his forehead pressed against Jordan’s.
He forced himself back, lightheaded and unsure whether any of this was real. He opened his eyes slowly to find Rex dipping his head and attacking his neck with the same enthusiastic kisses.
That beard and that mouth. Jordan couldn’t help but picture taking a seat on both of them and letting his filthiest desires run free. The trouble he and Rex could get into… Those thoughts drove him to tighten the hold of his legs and grind his hips forward, allowing Rex to feel just how well-received this all was. The aching friction between them elicited another moan, and Jordan couldn’t determine whether it was Rex’s or his own.
Rex’s lips moved along the line of his jaw, and when he reached the curve of his ear, he lightly bit down. “Someone’s excited.” His voice was molasses thick, and Jordan’s stomach clenched at the sound.
“Two someones, I’d say,” he replied. He rolled his hips for added emphasis. Just beyond the fabric of Rex’s jeans, Jordan knew he’d find the same throb of excitement.
Rex began to speak again when a frantic knock came from the living room. In an instant, Jordan freed Rex from the vice trap of his legs and hopped down, adjusting himself. He hurried to the front door to find Charles bashfully smiling.
“Hey, Charles, what’s up?” He felt out of breath, like he’d just run a marathon. Charles picked up on something immediately, suspicion darkening his face. Jordan put on a plastic smile.
“Sorry to disturb you,” the man said, his eyes cutting to Rex in the living room. Rex waved. “I forgot my book over by the sofa. I got halfway home before I remembered I’d set it down.”
Jordan nodded and stepped aside. “Come in, please.”
“It’ll just be a second,” the older man replied. He bent over the couch and produced a small paperback. “Gotcha. Thanks, Jordan. Bye, Rex.”
“Later, Charles!” Rex called, hands in his back pocket and his lips pressed into a tight line.
When Jordan shut the door, he closed his eyes and shook his head. What they were doing wasn’t against any specific rules, but it still felt like he’d been caught with his pants down.
Rex was at his side a moment later. “I should get out of here. Got some homework to do for the next meeting.”
Jordan nodded. “Sure, sure. I’ll, uh… I’ll text you tonight?”
“Send me nudes.”
“Get out of my house.” Jordan swung open the door and pushed Rex past the threshold, fighting back the urge to join him in his laughter.
At the curb, Rex swung a leg over his motorcycle and turned t
o face Jordan. “I’m serious. Dirty pictures, right on my phone. Tonight.”
“Rex, I don’t say this often, but I’m going to kick your ass,” Jordan said with a grin.
“Mm, you promise?”
Jordan huffed and rolled his eyes, stomping back to the front door. He could just barely make out that Rex Bailey cackle before he slammed the door shut. In the privacy of his own home, he finally let his ear-to-ear grin free.
Five
If mornings were alcoholic beverages, Jordan would’ve considered this one a nice hot glass of cheap beer. He’d been on the phone since eight talking to his bosses, trying to work out their disagreement about his potential raise without losing his cool. Was it too much to ask for that he get paid for additional work?
The worst part was that no matter who he talked to, they all seemed to be fighting their hardest to talk him down. All the bogus excuses were grating on his patience, and before he could lose his shit entirely, he simply told John—one of the least terrible executives at the company—that he was done having this discussion.
“John, with all due respect, I can’t keep going in circles with you guys. I’m not asking to be promoted to a manager. I don’t want that, and I know you don’t have room for another one. I just want you to work with me. I’m saving you money from having to hire another employee. Kicking me a raise isn’t an absurd request.”
He was proud of himself for keeping his voice as level as he could. He’d practically smashed the banana he was eating between his fist, but from the sound of it, he was as calm as could be. He wasn’t stupid. Sherleen had taught him long ago to never let them take him there. It wasn’t until he’d started working that he realized who “they” were.
“Jordan, listen, buddy. I want to help you. I understand that you’re frustrated, but right now, it’s just not in the budget.”
“But I think it is.”
“And I’m telling you it’s not.”
Jordan grit his teeth and said, “It’s not my job.”
There was a long silence, and under normal circumstances, he would’ve been uneasy about the quiet. At the moment, though, all he wanted to do was watch the world burn to ash. Which was why when John replied with, “I’m sorry, but it is,” he snapped back with,
“It’s not in my job description, and I’m not going to do this anymore.”
“Is this you quitting, Jordan?”
His heart thudded up into his throat, and the shrill, rational voice in the back of his head screamed itself silly trying to warn him to back down. Back down and just take it. Take it, deal with it, work through it.
“Yeah, John, it is. I’m not doing work I’m not getting paid for. Now you’ll have to fill another position.”
“Alright. I’ll let Martin know that you’ve made your decision.”
“Great. Have a wonderful morning, and tell Martin I said thank you for the opportunity.” Sarcasm spilled from his lips like tar, and he hung up the phone before he could say anything else reckless. That was when the realization of what he’d just done sank in.
“What the fuck?” he breathed, clutching his shirt. He’d really just done that. All those weeks fantasizing about quitting his dead-end job, and he’d really just done it. Immediately, he felt sick to his stomach. He was unemployed.
Bills. Rent. The cost of living.
Everything hit him at once, over and over, and for a minute, he was sure he was going to pass out. Jordan’s chest tightened and his stomach twisted, all the telltale signs that one of his anxiety attacks was on the brink.
But he had Meet Cute Club happening shortly, and he couldn’t lose his shit before their meeting. He had to keep it together. Regain control.
Breathe.
Jordan closed his eyes and inhaled through his belly, centering himself to keep from exploding all over the kitchen. He reminded himself of his savings. Since he’d started working at the call center, he’d kept money in his rainy-day fund. Enough to live off of for at least six months. He would find a job before that money ran out. He would be fine. He’d planned for a situation like this.
Eventually, the swell of panic settled, and he was able to think clearly once more.
It took a few moments to stand up straighter, but Jordan forced himself to continue on with his morning. He still had company coming over, and he owed it to them to keep the same level of energy he always provided.
After a quick trip to the grocery store (and some time perusing the new arrivals in the romance section), Jordan returned home with two bags full of groceries. Whenever he needed an escape from the tornado of thoughts in his head, he tried out a new recipe. With all his focus on not screwing up the hors d'oeuvres, it was easy to put aside his stress and calm down.
The snack for this meeting was a cheese bread recipe he’d found while scrolling through Pinterest. He knew that none of his members had any specific allergies and figured they might be sick of all the constant sweets he pumped everyone full of. It would be a nice change of pace.
Bouncing around the kitchen, the last of Jordan’s anxiety finally disappeared, and he was able to put a smile on once more. With everything he’d gone through in his life, from his parents’ deaths to his struggle with his sexuality, he’d learned that sitting and simmering in one place did no good. It might’ve even been unhealthy, though he had no scientific evidence to back up that claim.
Whenever he found himself facing a tough situation, he had to be active. Proactive, even. That was why, when he popped the loaf of bread from the tin and plated it, he gave himself a pat on the back. He could’ve just as easily fallen to the kitchen floor in one of his worst panic attacks in a long time. But he didn’t. He’d made this beautiful creation.
Things were going to turn around for him, and if they didn’t, he was going to turn them around all on his own.
With a quick change of clothes, he returned to the living room in a pair of jeans and his favorite black and white striped hoodie. He’d picked it up on his way to a book signing after the person beside him on the bus spilled her coffee down the side of his previous favorite hoodie. There’d been a small boutique not too far from the bookstore, and he was able to save the day from disaster with a simple thirty-five-dollar purchase.
As usual, Lana showed up at his front door first, and just as unsurprisingly, she had new hair. Gone was the platinum blonde, this time replaced with a red color vibrant enough to make little mermaids jealous.
“Every time I see you, Lana,” he said, shaking his head and giving her a quick hug.
“Variety is the spice of life, baby.”
While they waited for the others to arrive, Jordan and Lana talked about what she’d been up to in the past week. Lana gushed about some foreign movie she’d gone to the theater to see, and how it changed her life forever. He tried to get the name of the film from her, but her attention span moved like a rabbit, from one topic to the next without any hesitation or sign of slowing down.
For as fast as she talked, Jordan noticed the way she rerouted every conversation away from Meet Cute Club. When he brought up the book, she laughed and started on another story about something that had happened to her downtown last weekend. She’d even admitted to forgetting her copy at home. He wasn’t normally a suspicious person, but all of his alarms were going off.
Something was up with her.
The knocks at the door were her chance to escape. Lana hopped up and hurried to greet the other members, starting brand new conversations with all of them. Jordan figured he’d let it go for the time being, but as soon as the meeting was over and they’d all raved over Deadly Lovely Mine, he found himself buzzing around her, quietly trying to piece together why her energy felt off.
“Hey,” he said in a hushed voice. Around him, the other members stood chatting about their families and the next book they were reading. To his surprise, even Rex was in the middle of a discussion about the book for the following week.
“Hey, Jordan, I was actually wondering if I c
ould talk to you for a minute?” Lana pulled him aside, away from the chatter, and lowered her voice as well. “Listen, please don’t be mad at me, but I think this might be my last day of Meet Cute Club.”
It was like being hit with a bag of sand. Jordan blinked, momentarily certain that he’d heard her incorrectly. Lana wasn’t leaving. She was just messing with him. From the uneasy smile she gave him, Jordan knew his face revealed every thought in his mind.
“I’m sorry,” she said, frowning. “I just have so much on my plate right now. I’m actually going to start this pottery club with my mom. At first, I thought it was kind of silly, but she’s really convinced me, and I can’t say no to her. She’s been feeling better lately, but the doctors are still worried she might not stay in remission for very long.”
Jordan’s first impulse was to be upset with Lana, but he knew that would be unfair. With the fight Lana’s mother had been through and how hard she worked to get better, she deserved to spend time with her daughter. It stung, but he wasn’t a monster.
“I…I’m okay. I think you should do it. Your mom is more important, of course. Please don’t feel bad, okay?”
A look of relief washed across Lana’s face, and she nodded. “Thank you. I promise, it won’t be forever, either. If something changes, I’ll be right back here, okay?”
“Sure, sure. And tell your mom that I’m glad she’s feeling better.”
“Definitely!”
Lana made rounds in the room to say goodbye to everyone, then disappeared outside. Following suit, it didn’t take the other members more than a few minutes to pack up and say their goodbyes. Rex sat on the sofa silently, but Jordan couldn’t bring himself to look at the man for very long. Too many thoughts raced around his mind for him to focus on Rex as well.
Jordan made quick work of cleaning, grabbing a bag and tossing paper plates inside of it.
“Let me help you clean,” Rex offered, rising from his seat and sticking a hand out for the bag Jordan was holding.
“I got it.”
“Seriously,” Rex said, reaching out again. This time, Jordan took a step back.
