Night Shift: A Gay Lovers Romance (The Neon Glass Club Book 2)

by Alex Roberts

“Still sounds hokey. And juvenile.”

  That eyebrow of his shot up again. “I thought I was an old man. I’m a juvenile now?”

  I tried to hit a teasing tone. “You’re a guy who gets into bar fights, so yeah.”

  “Got into bar fights. I don’t do that anymore. Don would be pissed. I don’t drink much anymore, either. Huge source of carbs and empty calories.”

  The naked ass and oven mitts picture came back to me and made me smile. I eyed his six pack, its outline visible through that clinging shirt. “We wouldn’t want empty calories, now would we.”

  He gave me that look again. The one that said he knew something about me. “You should come to my next fight. Or, just for the weigh in.” He leaned in and whispered, “I usually have to strip all the way to my skivvies to get on the scale.”

  God, I could feel the blush burn my cheeks. I ducked behind the counter to unlock the door holding all the extra cigarette packs. “Dude, I don’t wanna see that.”

  I could hear him chuckling. I opened the door and realized I hadn’t dug into the boxes Jamie had brought in. I didn’t have any inventory in the cabinet. I rubbed at my forehead once more then closed the door and stood.

  “Didn’t find what you were looking for?”

  “I need to unpack for inventory.”

  He leaned back on his heels, his eyes burning onto me. “You do that. I’ll work on the sidewalk again.”

  I leaned over the counter. Damn. Piles of snow had already built up on the sidewalk where I’d shoveled no less than thirty minutes ago. The ice melt was covered. It was going to be a long night.

  Jamie flung his coat on, turned, and snatched the shovel from beside the door. Large snowflakes fell around him; the short awning above the door and windows never prevented anyone from getting wet. Flakes landed on his hair, mingling with the dark brown like little white spots on dark paper. Just short of amazing — until I caught the trembling in his legs straight up to his taut ass.

  It was freaking cold out there. The least I could do was help.

  Chapter Two

  Without a word, he began to dig out the sidewalk. I was astounded at how much snow had come down since I was out there, myself. He moved quicker than I had earlier, despite the snow was already deeper and drifted up to his ankles. I threw my coat on and joined him with the bucket of melting salt. Holy hell, I’d forgotten how cold it was already. I flipped the collar of my coat up and lifted my shoulders closer to my ears.

  He had a crooked smile on. “Thought you had to dig into inventory.”

  “True, but I realized you don’t the optimal crystal per square inch of the ice melt. It’s a professional feat, really.” I illustrated by sprinkling shards off the scoop in an overexaggerated display of concentration and then pointed to the sidewalk. “Perfection.”

  Jamie shook his head and got back to work. He worked at a pace fast enough that I could follow behind him and spread the ice melt at a pretty good clip. There was no sign of the tire tracks from earlier. Everything had already been covered by the snow, and the lot as well as the highway further out was desolate and quickly turning into a vast, whitewashed pasture. I’d have to call Sue later in the morning and see when she could get a plow out this way. I had to believe the road commission would give priority to a stranded clerk.

  I followed close behind Jamie with the salt; the snow fell between us, and the wind howled – wiping the big flakes into our faces. Hopefully, I could get my car started in the morning. That old thing hated sub-freezing temperatures more than I did. With that thought, I smacked into a hard body. Jamie had stopped at the side of the building.

  “Hey,” he griped.

  Quickly, I stepped back, pouring the last of my scoop on the freshly shoveled path. “Sorry.”

  “Eh, no prob.” He pulled the pack of cigarettes from his coat pocket and popped another unlit one into his mouth. He stood there, looking out at the dark sky smeared with white flakes and plucked the cigarette from his lips with a true smoker’s finesse. He blew out white, fluffy breath as though it was smoke.

  I turned and led him back to the entrance of the store, but I stayed outside while he finished his imagined cigarette. I shoved my hands down into my pockets and bounced. “Give a buddy a puff?”

  He looked at me then the cigarette balanced between two fingers. His shoulders shook in that silent laughter again. “Didn’t even realize I was doing it.”

  He handed the Marlboro over, and I placed it between my lips. I took a deep breath, scrunched my nose, and handed it back. “Never liked the things. I’m glad you quit.”

  He gave me that I-know-something-you-don’t look again. “Oh, are you? Didn’t realize you were so concerned for my wellbeing.” His voice softened, but it held a touch of mockery. “That’s touching.”

  I scowled at him. “Oh, you know what I mean. I’m happy whenever anyone kicks that nasty habit.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  I felt like I was losing a battle I didn’t even know I was fighting. I turned and yanked the door open. A gust of warm air from the heaters sent a shock through me after being in the cold. It blew my hair back and sent shivers up my spine. Goosebumps formed on my arms, underneath the gauze, and against the tattoo – making me cringe. Jamie followed behind me, and could hear him shake the length of his body as he made a ‘brruah’ sound.

  I walked back behind the counter, stripping my coat off once again. I stared out the window, wondering when — or if — the next customer would come by. Jamie laid his coat back on its resting place and leaned against the front of the counter, picking at the edges of the plexi-glass insert. I studied his wadded-up biceps from the corner of my eye. Yeah, definitely wanted to bite.

  “What happened?” He bobbed his head at me.

  “What?”

  “That gauze on your arm. You get bit by a dog or something?”

  He made me smile. A dog bite? Random. “Umm. No. It’s my new tattoo. Got infected.”

  “Really? Let me see.”

  Jamie reached out along the countertop, and I leaned in, holding out my arm. Jamie gripped my hand tight, and the contact of his rough fingers on my palm lit every nerve on fire. I held my breath. Couldn’t help it. I had to. It was the only thing I could do to steady the shaking that wanted to burst out in my fingertips.

  He slowly peeled off the tape I’d meticulously put on earlier in the day and pulled back the gauze, revealing red, irritated skin around the black ink. The tattooist began to color it, leaving bits of blues and purples, but he had to stop that day. The long, curving lines of the sun’s rays were incredibly skillfully sketched, but they had taken longer than he had intended.

  “You shouldn’t keep it covered like this all the time.”

  “That’s not what the tattooist said,” I answered, feeling a little aggravated that now he was acting like a doctor trained in treating tattoo infections. My guy was good.

  “You got a novice artist, then. I mean, the work is good, but he doesn’t know shit for aftercare if that’s what he told you.”

  He pulled his hand away and retrieved a small tube of something from the pocket of his coat. With a snap of the lid, he daubed some on a tissue and patted it on my arm.

  I winced at the ache. It wasn’t pain, but rather a dull ache across that part of my arm and the skin surrounding it. “Just carry around ointment all the time, Nurse Jamima?”

  He screwed up his mouth. “You want me to take care of you or not, Bran?”

  My stomach twisted. It surprised the hell out of me and left me speechless. My brain attempted to tell my body that I most certainly did not want this man to take care of me. I became aware of the silence and that his fingers were still circling my forearm. “Thank you. It feels better already.”

  Jamie tapped a finger on the tube. “This is good stuff. You should get yourself some. Good lining job on it, though,” he said, tracing the lines with his finger. My stomach responded again, tightening and pulling the muscles taut all the way up my back.
He pulled away, leaving a smooth, greasy film from the cream. “Leave it uncovered tonight.”

  “Okay.” I drank in his dark but soft eyes. He was standing close. Too close. A warm heat swept through me and, damn, had it gotten hot in here.

  His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. Meeting my gaze, his brows narrowed, and the smile on his lips wavered. He let go of my hand and straightened, brushing his hand through his hair. “Anyway… I carry it around cuz I’m getting back into having a little work done, myself.”

  He pushed up his left sleeve to display the tendrils of a tattoo reaching down his bicep. The black lines came from a shoulder solidly covered in dark red and black ink. He dabbed a little of the ointment on his own skin and rubbed it in. I pondered offering to do that for him but realized how lame it would sound. Hey, sexy, can I rub your tattoo?

  I backed away from the counter and leaned against the cigarette racks behind me. I glanced at my arm; he’d done a good job covering the irritated area. I tossed the gauze in the trash. I could follow his advice for one night. Besides, with the way the snow was blowing, I surely wouldn’t be going back outside to shovel again until early morning.

  “Is that your first tattoo?” he asked, eyes focused on the candy shelves under the counter.

  “My second.” I crossed my arms, taking care not to bump my forearm. “Guy in Jasper did it for me.”

  He bobbed his head and rolled back his right sleeve over his shoulder, revealing a large piece of artwork tattooed across his bicep, shoulder, and stretching up to hide under his shirt. Stepping closer, he set his elbow on the counter, giving me a better look.

  “Been working on this since I was 15.” He traced the black outlines of birds and roses with his fingers. Colors were aging in spots, the tattoo — more like a collage — was a mixing of several themes. Thorns wrapped around skulls on his underarm, birds with wings spread wide on his bicep, and strange lines and curves and colors that I couldn’t see further unless he took off his shirt.

  “Damn.” I breathed, leaning in. “How far does it go?”

  “All the way across to the other arm. Not done yet. I’ve been working on my back.” He turned and reached over his head, grabbing the fabric between his shoulder blades, and pulled up his shirt. I spotted the clean, sharp, black outlines and coloring of a dragon and Celtic symbols. I could imagine the tattoo stretched upward to the cursive name on his neck.

  “Wow.” Wow, indeed. I wanted to touch – to look past the dark ink and feel his muscles strain against my fingers. I opted against that, too. “You gonna fill up your forearms, too?”

  “Damn right. Planning full sleeve work next year.” He turned around, pulling his shirt back down, and motioned across his arms. “Been looking at designs. I have the sleeve on my left planned, but not sure about extending the right.”

  I nodded quietly. There was something about him — hell, everything about him — I wanted to know more. How had he gotten so buff in just six months? What were his design plans for his sleeve? And, if he had a girlfriend now — and it would be great if he said no. The way he flirted. I could tell. There are straight guys who are flattered and encourage you to stroke their ego. Then, there are guys like Jamie.

  “What about your other tattoo? Your first one?”

  I perked up. It was something I’d never really shown anyone, since it wasn’t easily visible like an arm or leg. “Um, it’s a Kanji symbol on my hip.” I pointed out the location just under my waist line.

  “Really?” he asked in a semi-curious, semi-sarcastic tone. His eyes wondered down my body to the general region of my cock and lingered.

  I had the distinct feeling he could see straight through my jeans. I shrugged and shifted closer to the counter where his eyes couldn’t follow. “Yeah.”

  “That hurt for your first tat?”

  “Not as bad as they say it does.”

  He rolled his eyes and shook his head, almost in disbelief. Then, his eyes went serious. “Can I see it?”

  I huffed, “No. But it’s the symbol for happiness with a few little stars around it.”

  “Well, if I can’t see it, how am I supposed to know what Kanji is?”

  No way. Not about to help him out there. “It’s a Japanese style using Chinese characters.”

  He leaned onto his toes over the counter, his eyebrows rising and looking down toward my beltline again. “No idea what that looks like, Bran.”

  “Google it.”

  Jamie settled flat footed again, putting his weight on his forearms. “You’re no fun. I showed you mine.”

  I rolled my eyes. “What about you? You have a bunch of themes going on there. Is there a reason behind all of it?”

  Jamie turned his arm and pulled up his right sleeve again. “Most of it, yeah. The skulls and thorns, not so much. Those were the first I got when I was kid. Thought they looked cool. Guess the theme there is that growing up has way more to do with what happens on the inside than the outside.”

  “Wow, dude. That’s almost deep.”

  He squinted at me.

  I inclined my chin. “What came next?”

  “I’m not saying until you show me yours.”

  I shrugged and spread my palms out in an I’m sorry expression.

  He paused a moment, something passing through his countenance — maybe it was partial interest — then he smiled. “You know, I never thought about symbols other than Celtic stuff. Well, like Japanese and Chinese type symbols.”

  “It’s an idea,” I said, and leaned down to grab a towel. No reason why I couldn’t be cleaning while having this discussion. I was at work, after all.

  I walked around the counter to the pop machine, wiping at the nozzles which had since cooled. His footsteps followed and stopped behind me—I could feel him close — he stepped to the side to lean on the edge of the counter.

  I eyed him. Damn, I wished he would just go read something again, or play with stuff on the shelves. Not that I didn’t like him being near, I just felt a little off balance when he was. I felt like he wanted something from me, or maybe that there was something he wanted to say but just couldn’t get it out. Then again, I kinda wanted to show him my tattoo. I’d have to unbuckle my jeans to slide them down my hip a little. I imagined his fingertips tracing the lettering at the hollow of my hip, and I quickly pulled my thoughts away.

  I needed to fill the silence. “Bored?”

  “I’m not used to staying up all night.” He considered the coffee pot, and his teeth worked over his bottom lip.

  “Why don’t you go lay down on the bench or something.”

  “Nah, I’m cool. Just thinking whether I should get a refill.”

  “If you keep drinking coffee, you’ll definitely be up all night. You already look a little wired.”

  He went for it. “I like being wired.”

  Whatever. I turned back to my work, finished putting the nozzles on the Pepsi machine, then slid over and began working on the Seven Up machine. The slosh of coffee hissed next to me as he refilled his cup. He did that drumming thing on his thighs again. Then, the store went silent except for his breath.

  He stood way too close to me, and though I was tempted to offer the magazine rack to him, I bit my bottom lip and stifled it down. His nearness had the small hairs on the back of my neck standing to attention. Like I wasn’t sure if he would reach out at any moment and grab me. But, why would he do that?

  I continued to replace the nozzles on the soda machine; he stayed still, watching as I worked. That same warmth came over me — too hot in here — and a small drop of sweat tickled its way down my brow.

  I swallowed. Jesus, would he just go sit down? I tried to shake away the image of his tattooed back, those dark patterned lines moving when he moved. I loved the look of a well-defined back. The amount of muscle groups over the shoulders, down the lats, and rounding over hips and ass. Mmmm. And the way the ink slid over those muscles as his tight skin shifted. There’s something about unmarked skin when it s
tands into contrast with the black and dark red of his tats. It makes the eye draw just as temptingly to the etched muscle down his spine and around his sides.

  And, maybe it was just because it’d been so boring — and yet so exciting — tonight, that I couldn’t help but wonder just how moist and hot and passionate his lips would be pressed to mine. My cock sure liked the thought. My hands in his hair, exploring down his muscular back and cupping his ass. Those biceps flexing as he grabbed and spun me. His hands at my belt. His breath at the back of my neck. Would he growl? He seemed like the growling sort.

  Footsteps sounded again. Christ. I was staring at the wall. He’d finally stepped away and was heading for the benches. I finished securing the last nozzle and dumped the cool water down the drain. There was nothing but the little-too-loud rock music to fill the space. Curiosity struck me; he was so quiet at last. Had he spurned the caffeine and finally fallen asleep?

  Around the shelves, I meandered to the benches, but he wasn’t there. He stood in front of the magazine rack, reading again. I wasn’t sure why he was fighting it. He made it perfectly clear he wasn’t going anywhere till morning. Maybe he just didn’t want to go to sleep. He was in a strange place with a strange man, after all. And yet, I didn’t think that would intimidate him in the same way it would intimidate me.

  Back at my register, I leaned against the counter. A yawn escaped me, and I stretched my arms above my head, hearing my spine pop and crack. Damn, that felt good, though. I never thought I’d be the guy to complain about being on my feet all shift, but these tile floors weren’t easy on the joints, and I really needed a new pair of shoes. The arches on these things were shot.

  The sound of paper rustled. He pulled another magazine from the rack, and his face lit up. Apparently, he’d found our sports magazines.

  “Hey. You start leafing through that, you pay for it,” I hollered, catching his attention.

  “Fine.” He glanced at the front of the wrapper. “Jesus, six-ninety nine? They sure expect you to pay a lot just to look at a bunch of shirtless dudes, don’t they?”