Sapiosexual

by Tymber Dalton

  Another area where the brothers differed slightly, she noticed. Rich’s fingers looked lean, nimble, while Nick’s were…just fingers. Not that he was ham-handed or anything, but she would guess, from having friends who played music, that Rich had been playing for quite a few years.

  If not, then he was a freaking natural at it.

  By the time Rich took his first break an hour later, his tip jar was nearly full and he’d earned a standing ovation from some of the room.

  Including Chelbie.

  She’d noticed that many of the people who’d been there at the beginning of his set were still there, and even more people had come in. The place was almost completely packed, including a strange couple sharing the table with Chelbie and Nick because she would have felt weird saying no.

  Several more people stepped forward and put money in his tip jar, as well as took business cards. A couple of patrons stopped him to talk to him and shake his hand. He looked a little bashful, as if not comfortable with the attention.

  Strange.

  At least he didn’t appear to be a raging narcissist.

  One of the baristas walked around the end of the counter and handed him a bottle of water. He accepted it with a thank-you. But when he headed their way, Chelbie didn’t miss how the girl, maybe her age, seemed to glare daggers at her.

  Well, chill, chica. She returned the woman’s stare with her own steady gaze, until the barista blinked first and turned to flounce into the back room.

  Odd.

  Rich had to squat next to the table because there weren’t any empty chairs close by.

  “You are awesome,” Chelbie said, for once without a hint of snark. “That was great.”

  He bashfully smiled before taking a swallow from the bottle of water. “Give me time. I can get worse.”

  “No,” the woman on the other side of the table said. “That was really good. Can I buy your music on iTunes?”

  “See?” Nick told him. “I keep telling you to put together an album. I’ll even loan you whatever you need for studio time, or to buy equipment, or whatever it is you need.”

  “Talent,” Rick said, glancing up at Chelbie before staring across the table. “I need talent.”

  She laid a hand on his arm. “You have that in spades,” she said, wanting to give him a swift kick in the ego. “Believe me, I’ve heard some crappy music in my life. That was not crappy. Far from it.”

  He shrugged. “Thanks.”

  * * * *

  Nick could see his brother liked Chelbie. The way Rich had tried to deflect praise—totally him. He’d also heard Rich play a few songs he rarely played in public, ballads Nick had always told him were good, and Rich’s fans on YouTube and Facebook had always clamored over, but Rich usually claimed were too “sappy” to play in person.

  Not tonight.

  Seemed Rich was going for full sap.

  Now if his brother would just go full wood and show Chelbie in a way she could tell meant he was interested, things would be moving in the right direction.

  After Rich finished his second set, he got his equipment packed and ready to go before he rejoined them at the table. This time, the other couple wasn’t there and Rich could sit.

  The staff was preparing to close, giving last call.

  “You need to release an album,” Chelbie insisted. “You’ve got talent.”

  “Thank you,” Nick said. “I keep telling him that and he blows me off.”

  They walked her to her car after she helped Rich and Nick carry Rich’s gear out to his.

  “Thank you,” she said. “This was great. When do you play again?”

  “Tomorrow night,” Rich said. “Same bat-time, same bat-coffeehouse.”

  “I’ll try to stop by, then.” After exchanging e-mail addresses and phone numbers with Rich, she hugged him, then Nick, before getting in her car and driving away.

  “That went well,” Nick said.

  “Yeah.”

  Nick looked at him. “Told you.”

  “It was a couple of hours. Not even a date.”

  “Can you for once be positive?”

  “I’m positive she’s cute.” He stared at Nick. “That’s as good as you’ll get from me for now.” He headed for his car.

  “Well, thank god for that, at least.”

  Chapter Seven

  Just before Chelbie went to bed, she texted Mallory.

  I’m home safe. NEED SLEEP. Will call you tomorrow, promise. Went well.

  Chelbie’s mind raced as she lay in bed and thought about the brothers. Rich’s music haunted her in a way she hadn’t dreamed possible.

  Nick hadn’t been exaggerating.

  Now she couldn’t wait to listen to him again.

  After talking to Mallory the next morning, Chelbie had to buckle down. She’d lost nearly an hour perusing Rich’s YouTube channel, website, and Facebook page.

  There was one user, probably a woman, if Chelbie had to guess, who was all over all his stuff like flies on crap. Lots of hearts and exclamation points when writing to him, including text speak, which Chelbie abhorred outside of text messages.

  Finally pulling herself away from that, she had a couple of assignments to work on for her final classes during the day, and a couple of book covers to complete and send to clients, but as soon as she finished all of that, she prepared to head out to the coffeeshop again.

  She wanted more time with Rich. She’d had alone time with Nick on Saturday. His brother needed equal time, so to speak, before she could decide if she even wanted to look into taking things farther with them.

  Packing her laptop so she could work, she left home early and arrived at Puerto Mellow a little after six. The coffeeshop had some light food, and after pigging out on pizza and garlic knots on Saturday night, Chelbie still felt bloated. A light dinner wouldn’t be the worst thing.

  The little bitchy barista who’d given her stink-eye last night was there, too.

  Chelbie waited in line, offering the girl a bright smile when it was her turn. “A fruit cup and a vanilla chai, please.”

  “Six forty.”

  Chelbie dug the money out of her purse. “Nice day, huh?”

  The girl stared at her.

  No, not stared. Glared.

  Fucking glared at her like Chelbie had just kicked her kitten.

  “Is there a problem?” Chelbie asked.

  “No.” The girl turned to make her chai, and Chelbie barely blinked, keeping a close eye on her, making sure she didn’t spit in it or something.

  After getting her order, Chelbie took it to the far corner, to a half-booth where she could easily see the stage yet avoid the worst of the death-glare from the little bitchista.

  Rich arrived before seven. Chelbie spotted him outside first, smiling and waving when he walked in.

  He saw her, making a straight line for her.

  Chelbie noticed bitchista staring.

  He slid into the chair on the other side of the table. “Hey.”

  “Hey.”

  “Glad you came back.”

  “Me, too.”

  He seemed at a loss.

  “Look, let me go first,” Chelbie said. “Did your brother tell you what we talked about Saturday?” They’d kind of touched on this yesterday, but she wanted to be sure Rich was on the same page and not just carried along by Nick’s enthusiasm.

  * * * *

  Here came the uncomfortable part. “Yeah.”

  “And you’re okay with it?”

  Rich nodded. “We’ve done it before. Just not…you know, long-term before.”

  She reached across the table and took his hands. He was glad to lace his fingers through hers.

  Something about the feel of her hands pulled at his soul.

  There’s a song there, somewhere.

  “As long as you guys are good at taking things slow and easy, and making sure we’ll get along as friends first, I’m good with that, too.”

  Relief. If they were friends, he wouldn’t
have to admit his financial situation to her. “Agreed.”

  He loved her smile. He could stare at her face all day, gaze into her eyes. “I’ll tell you the same thing I told him,” she added. “If you’re looking for a kinky girl in bed, I’m your girl. But I’m not looking to have my every thought controlled. If you try that, we’ll have a problem. I like a guy to take charge in bed, but who’s comfortable with me being me any other time.”

  More relief. “I’m good with that, too.”

  She squeezed his hands. “See? We have a lot in common already.”

  * * * *

  As they sat and talked, Chelbie could tell he was a genuine kind of guy not into spouting bullshit just to make himself look good. Self-effacing, he didn’t seem able to take praise very well.

  And he was adorable in addition to smart. They shared a lot of the same tastes in music, books, movies, and TV shows.

  She was enjoying herself so much, she almost didn’t notice the customer when he walked in.

  Chelbie slid down in her seat.

  Fuck!

  At first, as her heart raced, she tried to talk herself into thinking she was wrong.

  Nope. That was definitely Henry Green.

  He walked up to the counter and spoke with the waitress who’d taken ’tude with her. Cranky Pants naturally smiled at him, talking with him for a minute. He got a coffee—didn’t look like he’d even paid for it—and left.

  “Um, Chelbie?”

  She looked at Rich, who was watching her. “Sorry.”

  “What’s going on?”

  She frowned. “TRO guy, that’s what’s wrong. The guy who was just in here and got coffee. Must be a coincidence.”

  “Uh, who?”

  Finally, she sat back up again. “Henry Green. I went out with him one time, and found out he was crazier than a squirrel jacked up on Red Bull and turned loose in a preschool. He literally called me like twenty times the next morning, demanding we get together again. I told him sorry, I wasn’t interested, and he started e-mailing me crazy shit. I had to get a temporary restraining order against him to make him back the hell off.”

  “How’d you meet him? FetLife?”

  “You know, you’d think so, but no. Took my car in for an oil change at one of those discount places. He was one of the mechanics there, started talking to me. Thought he was a nice guy. We chatted a couple of times on the phone, and in text, and I agreed to go out with him. That was my first mistake.”

  “Sounds like your first mistake was taking your car in for an oil change.”

  “Yeeeaah. I never went back to that place. Wasn’t where I usually go, either. Only reason I went there was because I had a Groupon for it.” She reached for her coffee. “Sorry I wigged out.”

  “No, understandable. How long ago was it?”

  “Last year. When the cops looked, I wasn’t his first TRO, either. Apparently he’s a little…obsessive.”

  “Wow.”

  “Exactly. No charges or convictions for violence, fortunately. He’s just batcrap crazy.” She sipped her chai. “That’s the worst thing in my closet,” she said. “Besides kink. And, no offense, another reason I like to take things slow.”

  He nodded. “I can understand.”

  Before she left that night, after his last set and helping him load his gear into his car, she knew she wanted to spend more time with him.

  Soon.

  He had Wednesday night off. “Okay, here’s the deal,” she said. “I’ll come over and cook for you guys tomorrow night. How’s that sound?”

  “I need to study.”

  “Do you need to eat dinner?”

  She finally coaxed a laugh out of him. “Point taken. Yes, that’d be great.”

  “Any food allergies?”

  “Nope. We like pretty much anything.”

  “Text me your address. I’ll be there at six. How’s that? Then we’ll watch some TV, or you’ll do homework, and we’ll chill. No stress.”

  “That sounds like the best idea I’ve heard in a long time.”

  “Good.”

  As Chelbie drove home, she realized for the first time in a long, long time, something exciting was happening to her life.

  In a non-creepy, non-stalkery way.

  The good kind of excitement.

  The kind of excitement that meant she looked forward to what was going to happen.

  She only hoped it kept going as well as it seemed to be. If so…

  Oh, boy.

  Two sapiosexual men?

  She might just be in heaven.

  Chapter Eight

  Chelbie hit the grocery store on the way over to their apartment the next day. She’d waffled about what to make, then decided on an easy dish that wasn’t Italian.

  Rich probably had enough of that from work.

  Ground beef, cream of mushroom soup, fresh mushrooms, sour cream, and egg noodles. She’d throw broccoli in with it, and some cauliflower, and boom, one-dish goodness.

  Well, two, because of the pot to cook the noodles in.

  She was looking forward to this. She’d never really cooked for a guy before. At home, sure. And even for Mallory, when she’d spent the weekends when Chelbie’s parents were out of town.

  She hadn’t been with a guy long enough to cook for him.

  This is a record for me.

  What does that say about my previous choices in men?

  This would also be only the second time she’d visited a guy’s home she was going out with in nearly two years. She always made sure first dates were in public, and hadn’t gotten any farther than that meeting, unfortunately.

  Shoving those thoughts away, she loaded the groceries in her VW Bug and headed for the men’s apartment.

  Upon arrival, she hoped she wasn’t making a mistake. She’d texted Mallory their address, and told her friend she’d text her periodically throughout the evening, and then when she left and returned home again.

  Just to be safe.

  Even though tonight she didn’t expect anything more than cooking and talking.

  And that was a nice expectation to have.

  But what was wrong with the guys? Didn’t there have to be some horrible secret that would blow her hopes out of the water? It never failed something cropped up.

  With a defeatist attitude like that…

  Having both hands full, she tapped on the lower part of the door with her foot instead of knocking. Rich opened the door a moment later, swooping in to help relieve her of her groceries.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “I wish you’d let us chip in for some of this,” he said, leading her to the kitchen. “It’s only fair.”

  “No worries. You guys can cook for me next time.”

  Another first. An assumption on her part there would be more than one of these kinds of nights.

  Another good sign?

  She damn sure hoped so.

  * * * *

  “Nick’s on his way home,” Rich told Chelbie as he helped her unpack. “He texted me a little while ago. We can go ahead and get started. He should be here in about thirty minutes or so, give or take.”

  “Perfect.” She smiled, looking around. He tried to read her expression, to see if she was impressed or not, but then she made it unnecessary. “Nice place. Keeping with the whole honesty thing? I’m glad to see you guys aren’t slobs.”

  “Neither of us like cleaning,” he admitted. “So if I tell you a secret, you have to promise not to laugh.”

  “I make no such promises,” she said, her smile widening.

  “When we were kids, we always had problems keeping our rooms cleaned. Mom and Dad cut off our allowance until we started following the FlyLady system and started helping out more with chores.”

  “FlyLady? What is that?”

  “She teaches how to build routines and zone cleaning and decluttering and stuff. It took us about a month to get the hang of it, but once we started, it sort of stuck.” He shrugged. “It’s corny, but it wo
rks. Now it’s a habit. We don’t leave a sink full of dishes at night. Or, ever, actually. One of us might vacuum the living room one day, the other dusts, we wipe down the bathrooms every morning, that kind of stuff. So when you see the calendar inside the pantry door, that’s what it is.”

  “Ah. I like it when a guy can admit he’s not perfect.”

  He wasn’t sure if she was teasing or not. “Well, then you should love the hell out of me,” he said.

  “How about a quick tour?”

  “Okay.” It wasn’t a long one. His bedroom, the hall bath, Rich’s bedroom and bathroom. Back to the living room.

  “So you record your videos and stuff in your room?”

  “Or in the living room. I hang a sheet behind me for a backdrop and use a desk lamp for extra lighting.”

  “If you ever need a quiet space to record, you can come over to my apartment, once I’m living there. Just a few more weeks until I move. During the day, your playing won’t bother anyone, and at night there aren’t any neighbors. Well, except for Venture on Friday and Saturday nights. And then you might not want to try to record because of the noise next door.”

  “How does that work, anyway?”

  “Kel owns the complex. He was living there when he and Mallory got together. He still uses the office for work, and the downstairs section for storing his gear and some shoots. It’s a full apartment, two-two, kitchen, everything. They’re renting it to me for a flat three hundred a month, just to have someone living there full-time. I don’t even have to pay utilities.”

  “Wow. That’s cheap.”

  “I know, right? I tried to pay more, but they wouldn’t let me. I could move out somewhere else and pay normal price, but this way I can bank the rest in savings for when I eventually do get my own place. I’d like to save up for a down payment on a house.”

  Hell, he was twenty-nine, drove a crappy beater car, and could barely pay his bills every month. Here was a woman, only twenty-two, graduating from college, and was already planning how to buy a house.