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

by Peter Styles

  “Oh my god,” he groaned, tugging the plate closer to him. “This is heaven.”

  “That,” I jabbed my fork at him, “is a heart attack waiting to happen.”

  He took a bite, practically unhinging his jaw. I scrunched my nose at him.

  With much more enthusiasm than was entirely necessary, Max devoured his lunch. He ate with such big bites his cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk’s.

  I contemplated the benefits of him dying on this road trip; I’d get time off, probably, for the trauma, and the promotion would be mine, hands down.

  He offered me an onion ring. I finished my salad, ignoring him.

  When we got back on the road, I was pretty sure that Max was going to pass out at the wheel. When I commented on that, he glared at me and turned the music up louder.

  We stopped for gas once more. I tried my hand at convincing him to let me drive again, but Max threatened to buy me Powerade instead of flavored water, so I gave in and stayed in the passenger seat.

  I did manage to convince him to change the radio station to something less head-banging hair bands. Max glared at me for that and muttered something about uncultured swines, but at least there wasn’t any more REO Speedwagon playing.

  It was even more difficult now ignoring him than it had been before lunch. His every move seemed to grate against my skin, his every breath loud, pressing against me. I couldn’t stop myself from staring at him, from noticing the way his jaw twitched when he was passing someone on the road, his spine straightened when he recognized the song. How my own spine tingled in response to him singing out loud.

  Even the car’s scent—citrus, bright, clean—seemed to pale in comparison to him. His shampoo, or something, smelled like oak trees and honey maple, a heavy scent that clung to me every time the car turned a little.

  I wanted to fling the car door open and let the road take me. I was here for work, and yet all I could think about was how aggravating Max was. If there was ever a time to keep my guard up around Max, it was on this trip.

  I forced myself to lean against the door, closing my eyes, and tried hard to ignore Max.

  At some point, I must have dozed off. I woke up with a sharp jolt. Max yawned loudly. I jumped at the sound, head hitting the window I was leaning against.

  He laughed, and I glared at him. “Jerk.”

  “Not my fault you’re sleeping on the job.”

  “The job?” I huffed. “You won’t let me do anything.”

  “It’s my car!” Max slapped his hand on the wheels. He sounded angry, but his lips were twitching.

  “Do you ever take anything seriously?”

  He gave me an arched look. “As seriously as you?”

  “Yes.” I crossed my arms.

  He smiled. “Nope.”

  I groaned. I wanted to punch him. He winked at me, and looked for all the world delighted by my frustration.

  “You’re so annoying,” I said.

  He shrugged one shoulder. I sighed. My head was starting to pulse. “Can we please pull over for the night? You’re going to fall asleep at the wheel.”

  “It’s only 8 o’clock.”

  “Yes.” I gritted my teeth. “And if we had been switching off like I said, then you wouldn’t be so exhausted.”

  “I’m not exhausted—”

  “Max. I’m going to kill you.”

  Max pursed his lips together. His eyes were bright, laughing at me with just his appeasing look. Then his expression smoothed out and he nodded. “Sure, man. We’re like halfway there anyway.”

  I let out a sigh of relief. If I could just get away from him for a little bit, everything would be fine. We pulled into a motel lot, and I practically leapt out of the car.

  “I’ve got the company card,” Max said pointlessly. I knew that. He’d been paying for all the gas. “I’ll go check us in. Then we can grab some food?”

  I nodded. “That sounds good.”

  Max smiled at me, offering me a quick salute before walking off toward the motel lobby. I leaned against the car and sighed heavily.

  Come on, Wilson, I thought to myself. Pull yourself together.

  This trip was going to be the end of me.

  5

  Max

  The motel keys dangled from my hands as I made my way back to Luke.

  He had been moody all day, bouncing back and forth between sniping at me and pretending like I wasn’t there. I hoped a good meal and some sleep would get the stick out of his ass. Otherwise, tomorrow would be just as long and just as annoying.

  Hell, I knew the guy didn’t like me. But it wasn’t my fault I existed. He could cut me some slack.

  We took our bags to our rooms, adjoining, with a door that Luke emphasized would stay shut. I rolled my eyes. Like I had always said: Luke Wilson was a dramatic bitch.

  The woman who checked us in said that there was a pizza parlor across the street. I led Luke the way she had pointed, and soon enough, we were situated in a booth with a large pepperoni pizza between us.

  Luke’s eyes were huge when he watched me grab my second slice. “How the hell are you still hungry?”

  “What?” I swallowed the hot food and winced. “Dude, lunch was eight hours ago.”

  “You ate more at lunch than I do in a week.” He was still staring at me incredulously.

  “Oh, right, I forgot you’re trying to keep your slim figure.”

  I winked at him. His face seemed torn between scowling and blushing sheepishly. I fought the urge to laugh by taking another bite.

  I ate slowly, trying to see how many slices I could get through before Luke threw in the towel and started to make fun of me again. It was entertaining, at least, to see him squirm.

  I’d noticed the looks all day, of course. The confused ones, the sharp ones—he’d been unable to keep his eyes off of me most of the time.

  Normally, Luke stared at me like I was the scum beneath his shoe. Now, he was looking at me warily, like I was something dangerous.

  I’d always assumed that Luke was straight. He never seemed interested in any of the guys during college, even though everyone was experimenting and coming out. I wracked my brain to try and remember if he had ever dated anyone, male or female.

  He’d hung out with that guy Nick a lot, but Nick had been with his girlfriend—Mary? Margot?—since before I had even known him. I doubted that a goody-goody like Luke would be a cheater. Ah, the moral implications! The guilt!

  The looks that Luke had been giving me in the car were a little bit like he wanted to jump my bones. But maybe for Luke, that look meant he wanted to break my bones. It wasn’t a far leap. He was not the most considerate guy I’d ever met.

  He was quiet as we ate. I couldn’t think of a thing to say to him besides, “Are you planning on killing me?” And I figured that would really make things awkward.

  I threw another slice of pizza on his plate when I grabbed my third. He opened his mouth to protest, but narrowed his eyes and stayed quiet instead.

  “You must have the world’s smallest stomach.”

  Luke took a bite, rolling his eyes as he chewed slowly. “I’m not a gluttonous monster.”

  “Sure.” I leaned against the back of the vinyl booth, grabbing my cup. I sucked from the straw and considered the way that Luke was avoiding my eyes. “So. What do you think the mystery package is?”

  Luke frowned. “None of my business.”

  Boring-ass follower, I thought. “We could always open it. It’s not even sealed!”

  “No!” Luke shook his head.

  I tapped my fingers against the top of the booth. “Okay. Well. What do you think the promotion is?”

  Luke sighed and gave me a hard look.

  I ran my fingers through my hair, trying to crush the angry frustration that was building at his complete reluctance to speak.

  He cleared his throat and wadded up his napkin, throwing it against the table. “Give me the credit card.”

  “What?” I cocked my head.
>
  Luke took a deep breath. “I’m going to go pay,” he said slowly, like he wasn’t sure if I could follow. “But I need the company card first. Give it.”

  I huffed, but grabbed the card from my wallet and tossed it to him. He caught it easily and gave me a mocking smile in thanks.

  I grabbed another slice of pizza and bit off the crust, glaring at him as he made his way to the counter. Dick.

  He could at least pretend to not hate my guts. We were stuck on this trip for at least another three days, and if Luke kept hurling angry glares at me, I was going to punch him.

  I was a nice guy. I was happy to make small talk and pleasantries. Hell, I’d be Luke’s friend, if he stopped being an asshole.

  I never turned him in to the company’s CEO when he was late, and I’d only ever eaten his lunch from the office kitchen once, and I’d even felt bad about it. This guy could put in one percent of the effort I did, and I’d be happy as a clam.

  But nope. He came back to the table already glaring.

  He had a to-go box and a doggy bag and started to load up the leftovers. He shoved it at me. “For when you inevitably get hungry again.”

  “I’m growing,” I quipped.

  Luke gave me a once over and shrugged. “Much like a child.”

  “Fuck off, thanks.”

  Luke scoffed. He grabbed his jacket, and without giving me a half second to follow, left the parlor. I scrambled out of my seat and followed.

  Such a dick.

  — — — —

  Even though we’d been driving all day, I wasn’t the least bit tired when I got back to my motel room. I had unused energy buzzing beneath my skin, begging me to not have the absolute most boring day possible.

  Unfortunately, the motel had five channels and a questionable-looking bedspread. My options were limited by more than just energy levels.

  It took everything in me to not think constantly about Luke, and even everything didn’t help that much. Every three thoughts, my mind would rotate back to Luke’s careful disdain and casual disinterest, and I’d be just as mad as I had been.

  I took a shower, changing into sweatpants and a t-shirt. I brushed my teeth, then ended up eating more pizza, and then brushed my teeth again.

  I mapped the road we’d be taking tomorrow, and looked at diners along the way that promised the world’s best pie. I even tried to watch baseball.

  Nothing helped.

  And baseball was really fucking boring. I didn’t like it, never had. I hated the entire concept of baseball. Even live, it was arguably the worst sporting event imaginable. I didn’t even know why I was trying to watch it now, in this crappy budget motel.

  Except I also knew exactly why I was watching baseball.

  I called Stella on the phone. She answered after a half dozen rings.

  “Bitch, it’s five-thirty in the morning.”

  I winced. “Um. Sorry?”

  “I’m going to fucking kill you.”

  “Can’t do that till you get back,” I said.

  She huffed loudly. “The hell you want?”

  I felt my face heat up. It seemed dumb now. “I—I’m watching baseball.”

  Stella was quiet for a beat, and then there was the shuffling of blankets. “Haven’t done that in a while."

  “I know.” I watched as the pitcher threw the ball. God, this was a terrible game. My chest ached.

  “What’s got you thinking of—him?”

  Stella knew better than to say his name. Jeremy.

  When I was seventeen, my then-boyfriend had loved baseball. He was the captain of our school’s team, the only openly-gay boy in the entire high school, and somehow still the most popular guy in the entire tri-state area. I’d always hated baseball, but I would watch it, every week, for him.

  Jeremy had died in a car accident a month before our one-year anniversary.

  God, I missed him sometimes. It had been a long time—years and years, a lifetime ago. But sometimes, I just missed him. Or missed how I remembered him; missed being really known by someone. Missed having someone.

  “Want me to come back? I can be there in, like, twenty hours.”

  “No,” I said quickly, trying to keep Stella from jumping on a plane. “I’m fine.”

  “Did a lot of driving today?” she asked.

  I shrugged. “Yeah, but, you know. I still do drive.”

  “Not often,” she said gently.

  I swallowed around a lump in my throat and ignored it, pivoting the conversation. “I didn’t call to talk about Jeremy. I called to talk about how annoying Luke is. I just—this guy gets to me. He’s—”

  “He? As in boring-ass-suck-up-work guy?”

  “I think that’s his given Christian name.”

  “Shut up. You’re on your work trip, right?”

  “Yeah.” I shrugged even though she couldn’t see me. “I’m just mad.”

  “And when you’re mad you like to wallow,” Stella said knowingly.

  I protested anyway. “I’m not wallowing.”

  “Yes, you are!” Stella said firmly. Her voice had lost its sleep heaviness, and I was being attacked by the full brunt of Mama Stella Parenting. I should have called my actual mother—she’d be way more sympathetic.

  “You’re mad that this guy doesn't like you, and instead of dealing with it, you’re wallowing.”

  “I refuse that analysis.”

  “Non-refundable,” she said. “Look, I get it. It’s almost the anniversary, and this guy reminds you that you’re a dick—”

  “Hey! I’m not the dick in this situation.”

  “Kind of are.”

  “I’m sad about my dead ex-boyfriend; can’t you be nice?”

  “I would if I thought you were actually sad about him. But you’re not.”

  I sighed heavily. My head hit the back of the bed frame and I winced, rubbing at the sore spot. “If Jeremy was here, I don’t know. Maybe he’d kick Luke’s ass.”

  “You could just kick Luke’s ass.”

  “Good point.”

  “Half-Pint, stop being such a brat and go deal with it.”

  The announcer was talking about innings. God, baseball was boring. Stella was mean. Calling her had been a bad plan.

  “I tried to talk to him.”

  “But did you try to talk to him about why he won’t talk to you?”

  I didn’t answer. She groaned. “Go be an adult, and then call me during normal talking hours.”

  “Fine. Goodnight, love you.”

  “Love you.” She hung up before the last syllable got out.

  Admittedly, I felt better after talking to Stella. I always did.

  Before I could lose my nerve, I turned off the TV and grabbed my shoes. Slipping them on quickly, I walked the short distance to Luke’s room.

  I banged on the door incessantly, not caring how annoying the sound was. I heard the TV cut off and his shuffling steps before the door swung open.

  “The hell?” he said harshly, eyes wide but still glaring at me. It was an impressive angry look.

  He had also changed already, though his sweatpants were snugger than mine and cut off at the ankles. His t-shirt was at least three sizes too big and fell off one shoulder, exposing his collarbone and the smooth, pale skin there.

  I tore my eyes away from it and glared at him. “What the fuck is your problem?”

  Luke’s eyebrows shot up to his forehead and his mouth fell open. “Uh—you coming and banging on my door, for starts?”

  The adrenaline in my body was turning into rage and I jabbed my finger against his chest. “No, you Scorpio-Sun, Aries-Moon bitch, what is your problem with me?”

  He blinked at me. I felt my chest heaving, and dropped my hand to cross my arms and glare back at him.

  Luke waited a breath, and then two. I could practically see the gears turning in his head as he weighed his options.

  “You. You are my problem.”

  “I didn’t do anything to you!” I threw my hands
up.

  He closed the space between us, crowding me. “You get everything you want with absolutely no effort! You don’t care about anyone, or anything, and you just keep getting ahead, and it’s unfair! Life isn’t some easy-breezy bullshit for the rest of us, you know.”

  I felt the breath shoot out of me like a punch. “I—”

  “You show up to work late every day, and nothing happens! You get the Heysman account, you get this promotion, even though I work twice as hard!”

  Luke gave me a scathing look, eyes dragging up and down as he spat his assessment of me. “You’re a privileged asshole who doesn’t care that you haven’t actually earned any of the shit you have.”

  Shock had me frozen to the concrete my feet were planted on. There were dozens of things I could say—I could tell him how hard I worked, what a flawed assessment he had of me, that not everyone had to be a damn martyr—but nothing came out. I just blinked at him, craning my neck up to see with him this close to me.

  I took a half step backward and considered just fleeing. Calling Uncle Harris and telling him that nope, this was not going to work, he needed to just send a damn courier like a normal company.

  And then Luke pounced forward, hands fisting in my t-shirt, and he dragged me to him. There was a beat, for half a second, when our chests were touching, and my hands had flown up and grabbed him by the elbows, where there was a chance for us to stop; for me to knock him away, for him to let me go.

  We held our breaths; neither of us moved.

  And then Luke kissed me.

  His lips were soft, the pillowy press of them a gentle intoxication against mine. He tasted like the sharpness of mint, like he’d just brushed his teeth, and his tongue swept across my bottom lip with a slow, languid drag.

  I parted my lips, dragging him closer to me. My fingers dug into his skin, his hands relaxing until one was curled around my neck and the other flat-palmed against my chest. I chased his tongue with mine, tasting the roof of his mouth, feeling the low groan inside of his chest.

  Then, just as quickly as it had happened, Luke was gone.

  I stumbled from the loss, slamming into the door just as it was thrown shut. My forehead leaned against the door, my chest heaving as I tried desperately to catch my breath.