Road To Romance: A First Time Gay Enemies To Lovers Romance

by Peter Styles

  The door slamming behind me had two heads whipping in my direction. My jaw clenched, and I glared at Luke’s smirking face. “What is he doing in here?”

  Normally, Luke was the aggressor in this pissing match we had; but if he honestly thought I was going to roll over while he reported me again, he had another think coming.

  Harris interrupted Luke when he opened his mouth, eyes shooting daggers at me. “Enough, both of you. Max, sit down.”

  Begrudgingly, I sat in the chair next to Luke across from Harris’s desk. Luke squirmed in his seat, clearly wanting to snipe at me, but unwilling to be unprofessional in front of his boss.

  Idiot.

  I turned to my uncle and shot him my nicest grin. “I don’t know what Luke has been saying, Harris, but—”

  He waved me off and rolled his eyes. Luke shot me a pinched look, and I fought the urge to say something else.

  “I didn’t call you in here to yell at you,” Harris said slowly, eyebrows raising. I considered that, forcing myself to not turn or fidget. He smiled at us, looking at us both carefully and appraisingly. “I have a project for you.”

  My spine stiffened; Luke sat straight up in his seat, his face immediately shifting to something hungry and eager.

  “Um, sir?” Luke prompted.

  Harris cracked a smile. “It could be a way for you to move up the ladder here—both of you. I know you’ve both been hoping to bring something more to the table, to advance in the company, and I want you to know that we notice that kind of thing here. Luke, you have a great track record; Max, your help with the Heysman account has been important.”

  I couldn’t help it; I stole a glance at Luke. His eyes were wide, expression nearly stunned in its surprise. I could feel nerves building in my chest.

  I turned to Harris quickly. “Is this, like, a competition?”

  “No,” Harris said firmly. He placed both hands on his desk. “We have a—sensitive package that needs to be delivered to a client in Los Angeles.”

  “You want us to facilitate the delivery?” Luke frowned.

  Harris shook his head. “It’s not suitable for air travel. It needs to be delivered in person. I need someone I trust on this.”

  “So you want us to, what, drive to LA?”

  “I think,” Luke said deliberately, shooting me an exasperated look, “what Max is trying to ask is: what, precisely, do you need from us?”

  “I need you to drive to LA and hand-deliver a package to one of our most important clients. The contents of the package are non-replaceable.”

  “That’s, like, forty hours of driving,” I pointed out.

  Harris threw his hands up. “Well, if you’re not up to the task—”

  “Hey, hey, no, I didn’t say that!”

  “Sir, I would be happy to complete the task myself.”

  I glared at him. Weasel. “I’m sure you would.”

  Luke glared right back.

  Harris muttered something under his breath that I couldn’t quite hear. It took all my energy to not glare at him, too.

  I sighed. “Why not send a courier?”

  “The package is, as I said, irreplaceable. I’d drive it myself, but I trust both of you. Of course, you’re both fully able to say no—”

  Luke and I interrupted him with a loud litany of protests. He smiled. “Good.”

  “When do we leave?” Luke, straight down to business.

  At the same time, I asked, “What’s in the package?”

  Harris pinched the bridge of his nose and then smoothed out his expression. “Confidential, for our client’s privacy. You’d need to leave immediately.”

  “I have dinner with Mom,” I blurted out.

  Luke shot me an incredulous look. “I, of course, will cancel any plans I have.”

  Harris’s mouth pinched; I recognized it as him trying not to laugh. “Leave in the morning. Take a company car, if you want.”

  “My car works fine,” I said.

  Luke rolled his eyes. I quirked an eyebrow. There was a beat before we both looked away, conceding the fight before it began.

  Harris didn’t notice the tip-toeing of our battle plans. He was shuffling through papers. “Here.” He shoved an envelope at Luke. I tried not to take it personally.

  Luke flipped through the contents and then handed it to me. Inside were directions to the client’s drop-off location, contact information, and where to get the package before we left.

  Harris dismissed us. I saluted; he rolled his eyes; Luke shook his hand firmly. Fuck, he was a suck-up.

  We walked quietly to the elevator. Luke was practically bouncing where he stood. His enthusiasm was a little hard to be annoyed at, even if he was a dick half the time. I punched the down button. “So, I’ll pick you up at eight.”

  His head whipped to me quickly. “Who said you’re driving?”

  “Uh, I’ve seen the sack of shit car you drive. We’re taking mine.”

  His eyes narrowed. “We could take a company car.”

  “Then we’d have to wait until at least ten to rent it out, and get on the insurance, and it’d be a whole big thing. No, we’ll just take my car.”

  Luke’s lips pursed together. His mind was whirling for an excuse so bad I could see the smoke coming out the top.

  “Fine,” he said at last, a look of utter defeat crossing his expression. He pulled out his phone and tapped aggressively. “I just airdropped my address to you.”

  I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone, nodding. “Okay. Eight?”

  “Eight,” he agreed, sighing heavily. We stepped onto the elevator and he punched the button. “I can’t believe I have to drive all the way to LA with you.”

  “Aw,” I said. I leaned against the corner of the elevator, crossing my ankles and grinning. “I’m a delight.”

  “You’re a pariah to society.”

  “Wilson, you are a treasure to society.”

  “Shut up,” he grumbled, crossing his arms. I laughed.

  He stormed out as soon as the elevator cracked open, shifting his hips so he could slide between the still-moving doors.

  I cracked up, quickly texting Stella what had just happened as I made my way back to my desk.

  Sure, a road trip with Luke Wilson wasn’t my favorite way to spend a weekend, but at least he’d be twice as miserable as I was. And Stella always did love a good Luke story.

  4

  Luke

  In a surprising turn of events, Max showed up on my curb at exactly eight a.m.

  I had a duffle bag full of clothes, the package that needed to be delivered, and a Thermos full of coffee in my hand. The bad mood that had clung to me the past few weeks was finally lifting.

  I might not have been looking forward to spending so much time with Max, of all people, but this was my chance. This random-but-important errand was going to be the thing that got me out of the mediocre middle ground of the corporate ladder.

  Not even Max could ruin that excitement. I waved a little in greeting as he slammed to a stop by my house.

  “Hey.” I tossed the duffle into the backseat and slid into the front. It was a nice car—I didn’t know much about cars, but this one seemed nice. I couldn’t remember seeing it in the car park.

  It was a sleek black Volvo, the inside dark leather. I wouldn’t say it to him, but it was a good thing that we were taking his instead of my old blue Chevy. It would not be half as comfortable, let alone get gas mileage as good as this thing probably would.

  “Hey.” Max’s radio was playing some old rock song. He bobbed his head along to it, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. His other hand was curled around a coffee cup.

  It was an extra large from a coffee shop kind of near work. I’d gone there once, my first week at the office. It was one of those artisanal, expensive joints.

  I buckled my seatbelt, and after giving me an appraising look, he took a gulp of his coffee and threw the car into drive. We shot off of the curb fast enough that I let
out a quick, surprised curse. I tightened my grip on the folder of information.

  “You drive like a maniac,” I said.

  Max rolled his eyes. “Dude. Forty hours.”

  I shrugged one shoulder. I’d much rather get there in forty-two hours and survive, but, hey. I flipped through the documents one more time, even though I mostly had them memorized from going over them last night.

  “Hey, if we take Route 150 South, then—”

  “Nope.” Max barely glanced at me, interrupting my suggestion. “I mapped it on my phone.”

  “But the documents—”

  “Harris is a hundred years old,” Max said. He reached for his coffee again. It bumped against my thermos. “We’re not taking directions from a literal map! We can just use an app.”

  I pursed my lips together. Don’t fight, I reminded myself. There was no real benefit to arguing with Max. We were stuck together in his car, and even though Harris had said that this would be a good opportunity for both of us, everyone knew that Harris had a soft spot for Max.

  They got on together easier than I did with any of the higher-ups. While I was sort of sure that Max wouldn’t openly badmouth me to the boss, he probably wouldn’t shy away from telling Harris if I was openly hostile.

  “Fine,” I said after a moment. “Do you want to plan the stops now? I’m thinking we can switch every four hours, grab some lunch after the first switch?”

  Max waved me off dismissively. “No need; I like driving.”

  I frowned. “That’s insane; I can drive at least half.”

  “Nope,” Max said. “My car, my rules.”

  “We could have taken a rental!” My fingers creased into the papers, and I forced myself to relax, to keep from jumping out of the car right then and there.

  “No need; this baby drives smooth.” He winked, then started to rattle off various details about the car.

  I interrupted him. “I—look, I really don’t care.”

  I winced at the shortness of my voice and glanced over. Max’s lips were twitching as if he were amused, eyes staying on the road almost purposefully. I felt less bad.

  I considered arguing more. It was ridiculous—there was no way Max could drive the entire way to and from Los Angeles, especially when another fully capable driver was sitting right here.

  I could talk about the ways that driving so much was dangerous. It was bad for the body, but also, he was more likely to crash his car. He seemed to like his car—maybe that would work. Or I could argue that it was my job, my duty—Harris had chosen both of us, and I wasn’t about to let him do more of the legwork so he could one-up me.

  I drank my coffee slowly, considering my various options. Regardless of what I did, I was trapped with Max for—I checked my watch—at least 39 hours and forty-four minutes. I needed to play nice.

  Max hummed along to the music playing. I didn’t recognize it; I didn’t really listen to rock music. Ambient work tunes, sure, or whatever indie band Macy was into that week.

  But I wasn’t really into any particular type of music myself. Nick said that was weird. I told him he was a dick. We agreed there was a difference in opinions preventing us from seeing eye to eye.

  I drank the rest of my coffee slowly. Even though I was used to being up this early—hell, I would normally have been in the office for an hour already—it was different. I couldn’t lose myself in work, couldn’t dive into my cubicle and ignore the rest of the world while going over customer complaints and expense reports.

  Normally, I did everything I could to avoid spending any amount of time with Max. Now, it was taking everything in me to not stare openly at him.

  I didn’t think I’d ever seen Max drive before. Of course, I got to work before him and left after him most days, so it wasn’t like we’d be leaving the car park at the same time. But even before work, in college, I couldn’t remember a time when he’d been behind the wheel.

  It seemed impossible now, watching him on the road. He looked more relaxed here than he did anywhere else I’d ever seen him—I briefly wondered if that was safe, if he was actually currently using any brain cells at all.

  One hand was curled around the steering wheel, a loose grip that was nothing like the ten and two I drove at. His other sat on the top of his coffee cup, which had to be long empty but still occupied the cup holder. He had a thick ring on his middle finger, a dented silver band. Had he always worn that? It looked like a wedding band.

  I snuck a glance at his face. Surely I would know if Max had been married. We’d been in each other’s lives for far too long for that to be a surprise.

  He quirked an eyebrow and looked over at me. “Yeah?”

  “Just wondering if you’re purposefully trying to kill us,” I sniped automatically. He rolled his eyes and went back to staring at the road. In my defense, he was driving ninety in a seventy-five zone.

  I had never really taken the time to study Max—physically, at least. I knew everything about his grade stats, every promotion and side project he’d gotten since we started at

  Spectrum. But I had never really looked at the guy. I’d spent all of my time avoiding it, actually.

  But here, trapped in a car that smelled like citrus, there was nowhere else to go, to look.

  His hair was wild, like he had never taken the time to brush out the crazy, dark-brown curls. It was entirely unprofessional. It had to add at least three inches of height to him. Compared to the near buzz-cut I got once a month, he looked like a frat boy.

  Underneath that unkempt mess, he did have a strong face; his cheekbones were sharp, jaw nearly deadly enough to cut glass. He had really bright blue eyes, too; I couldn’t see them right now, with his gaze focused on the highway in front of us, but I knew they would be an intense blue, framed with thick, dark lashes and perpetually quirking eyebrows.

  He had a handsome face. I was sure it had paved the way for the carefree, easy life he led.

  I pivoted to look out the window. Gripping the thermos tightly in my hands, I tried to shake the thoughts out of my head. I didn’t need to be getting distracted by—what? By Max’s good looks?

  I was jealous, that was all. I was jealous that everything came so easily to him, that he had never had to work at anything.

  I ignored him as best I could. We only made it another thirty miles down the road before he was singing loudly to the songs on the radio, grinning as he blared Bon Jovi loudly enough to burst my eardrums.

  I glared at him, feeling even as I did it how weak it was. “You could not be more annoying,” I said.

  Max grinned, winking, and turned the radio up louder. He started to pound on the steering wheel with his hands. I could feel the beat of the music in my bones.

  I groaned and ran my hands down my face. Max stopped singing long enough to laugh loudly at me.

  At noon, we stopped for gas and burgers. “We could just eat while we drive,” I suggested.

  Max looked at me like I had suggested we drive off a cliff. “Fuck that noise.”

  “What, are you kidding? We’ll save an hour!”

  “We’re not bringing food into my baby.”

  “If you aren’t a good enough driver to eat, I’d be happy to take over.” I smiled as nicely as I could.

  Max pointed his finger at me, glared, and then jabbed the air again before storming past me into the diner.

  I rolled my eyes and followed him. “Hey.” I shoved at his shoulder lightly. He spun around with narrowed eyes. “You can’t just ignore everything I suggest.”

  “Oh, wow, good point,” he said, sarcasm dripping off of his every syllable. “But you can’t keep suggesting dumb things.”

  “It’s not dumb for me to drive!” I threw my hands up in frustration. A few of the diner patrons turned to look at us. I fought the urge to flip them off.

  “It is,” he insisted firmly, before turning around and stalking off to a booth. He slid into one side and grabbed a menu, hunching down so it covered his face.

 
; I grumbled under my breath about hostile working environments and sat across from him. My foot tapped incessantly against the linoleum floor. I could practically see Max’s hackles rise at the sound but, surprisingly, he stayed quiet.

  I didn’t bother to open the menu. The waiter came with a wary look on his face.

  “Um, welcome to Bobby’s.” He glanced between us as if we were going to scream at him. I felt momentarily guilty for not yelling at Max outside, away from the diner staff. “What can I get you guys?”

  Max sat the menu down and quirked an eyebrow at me. I was going to shave them off, I really was. “Water to drink, and then a hamburger with side salad.”

  The guy scribbled on his menu. “Dressing?”

  “Italian on the side.”

  Max was looking at me again, his face scrunched up and cocked slightly to the side, as if I were confusing him. The waiter turned to him.

  “Coke,” he said, tearing his eyes away from me to smile politely at the waiter. “And I’ll have the Bobby’s Burger special.”

  The waiter nodded. “Do you want that with a fried egg on top? Onion rings on the side or fries?”

  “How about yes?” Max grinned. The waiter laughed. I felt nauseous just considering it.

  “All right, I’ll get that in for you guys.”

  I kept tapping my foot. Max leaned with his head on his fist, scrutinizing me. I tried not to fidget under his gaze.

  Something about his steady glare was exactly like Harris’s; it made me just as nervous to sit under Max’s eye as it did my boss’s, and that, alone, ticked me off.

  I pulled out my phone and scrolled through the text messages I’d gotten so far. One from Grandma, god bless her, reminding me to check in, signed with her full name. Two from Nick, and one from Macy telling me to ignore Nick because she was mad at him. I typed out responses to them.

  “Is your phone actually on this time?”

  Heat burned my ears. I glared at my phone, but refused to answer him. He chuckled.

  Our food came fairly quickly. The waiter dropped off our drinks and came back with my burger and salad. It took him two trips to bring all of Max’s food.

  His burger was steaming, dripping with grease. I had never seen so much cheese on a single item of food before. He had a plate of onion rings and a bowl of fries, and my stomach hurt just looking at it.