A Bluewater Bay Collection

by Witt, L. A.

  I glowered at my phone for a moment before typing out a message.

  I don’t think there’s anything to talk about. You were gung ho until I mentioned my status. Way to make a dude feel sexy.

  My throat tightened at that last line. I’d meant it as an admittedly petty swipe but ended up hitting myself in the gut instead. Being rejected by some stranger? I could chalk that up to ignorance. And it wasn’t like a guy was obligated to have sex with me if he didn’t feel safe. I was fine with that. But a friend? Man. That hurt. Like, don’t sleep with me if you don’t want to, but don’t be a dick about it.

  Movement pulled my attention away from the screen, and my heart flip-flopped as Garrett reappeared in front of me.

  “Sorry,” he said with a lopsided smile. “It’s like they expect me to actually work while I’m here.”

  I laughed despite the heavy, sick feeling in my gut. “Jerks.”

  “I know, right?”

  “My bosses do the same thing. And it’s not fair because I work around comic books and shit. Let a boy read, you know?”

  Garrett chuckled. “You work at a comic shop?”

  I nodded, gesturing over my shoulder at the street outside, as if that somehow indicated all the shops along the road. “I’m the assistant manager at End o’ Earth.” Heat rushed into my cheeks. “Not that being an assistant manager of a comic book shop is anything to write home about.”

  “Why not?” Garrett chuckled. “I’m assuming you earned it.”

  “Yeah, but still. Not exactly VP of a Fortune 500 company, right?”

  “Who needs that level of stress, though?”

  “True.”

  He held my gaze, but only for a second. Then he shook himself. “Nothing wrong with not working for a company like that. Corporate America isn’t for everyone.” As if for emphasis, he started wiping the immaculate bar with a blue towel.

  I studied him. There was something odd about him. About the way he carried himself. About his expression. Like he was holding some cards I wouldn’t have noticed at all if he hadn’t been keeping them so tightly against his vest. And that made me curious about him.

  The silence between us stretched on. He didn’t leave, and I wondered if he was expecting me to pay my tab and get the fuck out. Which was probably a good idea. There was no point in sticking around if my date wasn’t showing up.

  At least, there hadn’t been until this good-looking bartender had dropped out of the sky.

  Thumbing the condensation on my glass, I looked up at Garrett. “Is it, uh, okay if I stay here for a while?”

  “Stay as long as you want.”

  “Thanks. I promise I tip well.”

  He gave a soft laugh and waved his hand. And there it was again—that smile. I didn’t want to be attracted to anyone right now, and I sure as shit wasn’t going to make any kind of move tonight, but I could still enjoy a gorgeous man’s gorgeous smile.

  After a moment, his brow pinched and his eyes were full of sympathy. “So he really stood you up?”

  I arched an eyebrow. “‘He’?”

  Garrett jumped, and some color slid out of his face. “Uh. Shit. I’m sorry. I . . .”

  “It’s okay.” I laughed quietly and gestured at myself—skinny jeans, meticulously styled hair, and all. “I guess I do kind of give that vibe, don’t I?”

  “Uh . . .” He blinked like he had no idea how to respond to that.

  “Relax. Literally no one was surprised when I came out.” I winked. “Honey, they don’t make ’em much gayer than me.”

  Garrett studied me uncertainly, but then he laughed. “Still. I didn’t mean to be presumptuous.”

  “It’s all right. And to answer your question, yeah, he stood me up.”

  He shook his head. “Sorry to hear it.”

  “Thanks. What sucks is this isn’t just some asshole I found on Grindr. He’s a friend.” I sighed, giving my phone a look. “Or, well, was a friend.”

  “Damn. That’s rough.” He studied me, and the question in his eyes was so obvious he might as well have asked it out loud.

  “Let me guess—you want to know what happened?”

  Garrett blinked but shrugged. “You don’t have to answer.”

  “That’s part of being a bartender, isn’t it? Listening to people bitch about their drama?”

  He chuckled. “It does break up the monotony a bit.”

  “Better than sitting at a desk all day, right?”

  A subtle flinch, like I’d nudged a nerve. He shifted his weight. “Something like that, yeah. So if you feel like talking, I’m happy to listen.”

  “Thanks.” I hesitated. There was no need to announce my status to Garrett. I wasn’t trying to get him into bed, so he didn’t need to know, and I still stung from the last time I’d tipped my hand. Even a nose-wrinkle from a stranger would’ve been too much right now.

  So I kept that detail to myself.

  I took a sip of my Coke, which was quickly getting watered down by melting ice. “The short version is that we’ve been friends for a while, and he moved to town recently. We started, you know, making noise about hooking up, and that was the plan tonight, but . . .” I shook my head, “I guess he didn’t want to after all.”

  “So he just stood you up?” Garrett’s eyebrows rose. “And he’s your friend?”

  “Was my friend,” I muttered into my straw. “It’s . . . I mean, it’s complicated.” Bullshit. “Long, stupid story.” Also bullshit. Except the stupid part. It’s definitely stupid. “Anyway.” I looked up at him. “I really should get out of your hair. I’m just sitting here bitching at you about the dick I’m not getting.”

  “You’re not in my hair.” He shrugged. “Stick around if you want to.”

  I . . . I did want to. Going home and being alone and pathetic didn’t sound appealing. Hunting someone else down for a roll in the hay sounded exhausting, not to mention demoralizing in my current mood. About the only thing that sounded good was staying where I was and talking with Garrett.

  Garrett, who was probably just humoring me so I’d leave a good tip.

  “You’re sure?” I sounded like a little kid. Ugh. “Even if I’m not drinking?”

  “You are drinking.” He gestured at my glass.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Yeah, and no one else needs to know that’s not a rum and Coke.”

  I eyed him, then my drink. “Oh. True. Well, as long as you don’t mind me sitting here and feeling sorry for myself?”

  Garrett gave me a smile that almost made me forget how gross Charlie had made me feel.

  “You can hang around here as long as you want,” he said. “Long as you don’t mind keeping a bored bartender company.”

  At that, I couldn’t help smiling back. “Deal.”

  Chapter 2

  Garrett

  “Holy crap.” Jesse looked at his phone, eyes bugging out. “It’s one thirty?”

  “Is it really?” I checked the ugly neon Michelob clock on the wall. Sure enough, it was one thirty. “Wow. Time flies, doesn’t it?”

  “Yeah, it does.” He pushed the barstool back. “How much do I owe you?”

  “For a few Cokes? Not a hell of a lot.”

  Jesse chuckled as he took out his wallet. “Seriously. How much?”

  I was surprised at the disappointment in my gut as I rang up his modest tab. When I put the bill on the bar between us, that disappointment sank deeper. Jesse’s presence had made my shift fly by like it had been nothing, and I wasn’t ready for it to be over. But what was I supposed to do? Suggest we go grab coffee at one of the few all-night restaurants in town? Because that wouldn’t be weird or creepy.

  Jesse handed back the bill with his Visa on top of it, and I went through the motions that were still somewhat awkward and clumsy. This job had a learning curve like any other, and even though I’d tended bar in my twenties, I was still getting the hang of everything at this place. Plus, the credit card machine was kind of an asshole, t
aking its sweet time processing, but I was okay with that tonight. Pathetic or not, I didn’t object to the sluggish machine keeping Jesse here a minute or two longer.

  While it lingered on Transmitting . . ., I stole a couple of glances at him. He stood out in a place like this. Hell, he probably stood out anywhere he went, but especially in a dim sports bar. Queer-friendly town or not, I had to admire a gay man who strolled into the Alehouse like he owned the place and made absolutely no attempt to conceal how femme he was. Femme men didn’t usually turn my head, but the sheer ballsiness of unflinchingly swishing past a group of lumberjacks hunched over their beers? That was hard not to notice.

  And once he’d had my attention, I couldn’t deny he was hot. He was unabashedly himself. He was funny. Damn right, I was attracted to him.

  Thing was, I hadn’t felt so much as a tingle of attraction in ages. And it had been so long since I’d been attracted to someone and actually considered acting on it, the feeling was completely and utterly alien. Not bad, but not entirely good, either. While arousal zinged along my nerve endings, guilt roiled in my stomach.

  Is it too soon?

  My mind wasn’t sure.

  My body, however, had already decided it was absolutely not too soon. Not if I had a shot with someone as hot as Jesse. Which I probably didn’t—he’d been flirty, but he seemed like the kind of guy who flirted with everyone. And what better way to distract himself from being stood up? No point in reading too much into it.

  Eventually, the machine spat out the receipt, which I handed across the bar along with his card and a pen. “There you go. Just need a signature from you and we’re all set.”

  He smiled as he took them from me. I always hated when people hovered while I was signing a receipt, so I cleared away his empty glass and ran the dish rag across the bar to catch a few stray drops.

  Jesse finished with the receipt, laid the pen over it, and offered another smile, this one a little shy and a lot cute. “Thanks for humoring me tonight. This beat the hell out of moping around at home.”

  “Don’t mention it. Passed the time for me too.”

  “True.” He paused, lingering like he might say something more, but then he tucked his wallet into his pocket and took a small step back from the bar. “Okay, well. I guess I’ll see you next time I come in.”

  “Looking forward to it.” And I really was. That was kind of an auto response all bartenders developed after a while, but I meant it.

  “Me too.” Another smile, and he inched toward the door. “Anyway, I’ll . . . I’ll, um, I should take off.”

  You don’t have to do that.

  But I just nodded, and we held each other’s gazes for a few seconds before he turned to go. Heart thumping, I watched him until the door swung shut and he was gone. Then I released a long breath and got back to work as my stomach fluttered with all kinds of feelings I hadn’t had in recent memory.

  When I went to close out his bill, I had to do a double take at the receipt, and I nearly jogged after him to let him know he’d made a mistake. A ten-dollar tip on a twelve-dollar bill? But before I could chase him down to correct it, I saw the note he’d scrawled underneath: Srsly—thanks. I needed this tonight.

  I stared at it for a moment, then looked at the door, which had long since closed behind him. I wondered if he had any idea how much I’d needed this tonight. After a couple of hellish years and a few weeks of awkwardly adapting to a new town, I hadn’t realized how much good it could do me just to spend an evening in amiable conversation with someone. Most of my relatively recent human contact had been with people who struggled to hold eye contact or figure out what to say. Or worse—couldn’t hide their pity.

  As I finished closing out Jesse’s bill, something in me relaxed, and it was something that hadn’t relaxed in way too long. Tonight had been a few hours of desperately needed normal. Of shooting the shit and enjoying the company of a friendly and possibly flirty stranger. That was oddly comforting after having resigned myself to grief; soul-crushing loneliness; and the never-ending, if well-meaning, sympathy from people I knew. One-time thing or not, this evening was the first glimmer of hope I’d had that “things will get better” was something more than an empty platitude.

  Not long after Jesse left, I helped my boss, Don, close down the bar, then walked out to my truck. All the way back to my apartment, my mind was on Jesse. I liked chatting with people at the bar, and it was rare to have someone show up who wanted to talk to me for any length of time. Not unless they were drunk to the point of incoherence, anyway—and the whole smiling and nodding so they didn’t know I couldn’t understand them act got old fast.

  Jesse hadn’t been drunk. Hell, he hadn’t touched a drop of anything besides Coke. He’d been quite obviously irritated and hurt over getting stood up, but instead of diving into a bottle and drinking himself stupid, he’d passed the evening with . . . me. Whenever I’d had to walk away to take care of someone else, he’d patiently waited until I’d come back, and we’d pick up our conversation right where we’d left off. Next thing I’d known, it was damn near last call.

  The evening had been fun, but driving home now, I was unsettled. Maybe unsettled wasn’t the right word. What I was feeling, it wasn’t necessarily bad, but it was weird. Not something I’d expected when I’d clocked in eight hours ago.

  I was . . . Shit, was I really attracted to Jesse?

  One look at him in my mind’s eye, and goose bumps prickled my arms. Oh yeah. I was attracted to him. How could I not be? He wasn’t just hot—he was magnetic. A presence that was impossible to ignore.

  I’d noticed him the moment he sauntered into the Alehouse. Because that was apparently how he moved. Jesse didn’t walk—he sauntered. Maybe that was the only way to move in skinny jeans. Sean had certainly had a distinctive strut when he’d worn his. The memory of my husband stung, so I tamped it down and focused on the man who’d hung out at the bar for most of my shift.

  Jesse had kept his head high when he walked—sauntered—and even when he’d been sitting at the bar. Probably to keep the long bottle-blond fringe out of his eyes. Whenever he had lowered his head—usually to scowl at his phone—he’d had to brush his hair back or at least toss it out of his face when he’d looked up again. It was such a smooth, practiced gesture, he probably hadn’t even known he was doing it. I had, though. Even now, my fingers curled on the wheel at the thought of brushing his fringe out of his eyes or just letting the long strands slide between them.

  And shit—I’d just missed my turn.

  In my defense, I’d only lived here for the past three weeks. Small as Bluewater Bay was, it was still new and unfamiliar. I’d missed this turn twice the day I’d moved in, so I just told myself it was lack of familiarity with the town this time too.

  On autopilot, I parked beneath my apartment complex, got out, and headed upstairs, mind still full of that cute blond with the wicked sense of humor and those intense blue eyes.

  Chatting the evening away with him turned out to be a double-edged sword. As I walked up the stairs, his absence was as conspicuous as his presence had been at the bar. No wonder I hadn’t objected when he’d wanted to stick around for a few hours. My boss got annoyed when people didn’t order food or alcohol, but damn, the company had been nice.

  And now it was gone.

  At my front door, I sighed and found the right key on the ring. I put it in the lock, turned it, and pushed the door open. Same as I did each night after work. It was becoming a habit—one of those things I could do without much thought—but I couldn’t say I was entirely used to it. Part of me wondered if I ever would be. Every time I walked into this place, a shiver went through me. Tonight was no exception. In fact, the chill was more pronounced than usual.

  It wasn’t that the apartment was cold or unnerving. It just . . . It wasn’t home yet. My shit was all here, and I’d started putting a few things up on the walls to break up the sterile monotony of the place, but it didn’t feel like home. It was too b
usy being empty and different.

  As I locked the door behind me, I wondered for the millionth time if coming to this town had been a good idea after all. If I’d jumped the gun and moved too soon. After all, everyone had warned me not to make any major decisions for at least a year. Don’t sell the house. Don’t change jobs. Don’t relocate. Don’t get rid of anything, not even that hideous foldout bed in the guest room.

  Maybe that made sense to everyone, but everyone didn’t understand why I couldn’t keep living in that house. And while I was at it, why I couldn’t keep living in that town or keep working at that job. Everything had to go. None of it could wait an obligatory year to make everyone else feel better. At least I’d gone through the motions of selling the house, finding a new place, landing another job, giving my two weeks’ notice, and all that other noise, even though I’d wanted nothing more than to walk away. Everyone was lucky I hadn’t just tossed in a match and left.

  Fact was, it had all reminded me too much of Sean, and not the good times I’d had with him. No, just the end. The long, agonizing months before that fucking disease had finally won. When being home had meant watching him slowly dying, and being at work had meant feeling guilty over not being with him. Plus, there’d been that crushing grief because he hadn’t been there with me so we could pass in the halls and swing into each other’s offices or have lunch together like we’d done since we’d started dating. Like we’d both figured on doing for years to come.

  Nine months after Sean’s death, I’d left Seattle and hadn’t looked back.

  “Okay, maybe don’t wait an entire year, but don’t you think you’re rushing into this?” Fiona, my younger sister, had asked when I’d told her.

  “Probably, yes. But the alternative is sitting here driving myself crazier. The sooner I get out of here, the better.”

  “But what are you going to do out there?”