by Ali Lyda
What was Gordo doing here? It should have felt invasive, having a part of my life that was new and undefined invading something as sacred as the center was, but I felt only nerves and a smidge too much elation. I hadn’t seen him since the day I’d stammered out the world’s most pathetic apology and then abruptly left, the potted plant I’d picked up for him totally forgotten.
Well, that wasn’t true that I hadn’t seen him at all—I’d spotted him occasionally as he put Giuliana in her car seat to drive somewhere, paying too much attention to his well-shaped ass and broad shoulders. I didn’t want to be creepy watching from afar, but I sure as hell didn’t want him to be reminded of my stutter and how awkward I was with new people by going over to say hi.
Biting my lip, I resigned myself to ignore the distraction and finish Andrew’s rooster. But then Mike called me over. I signed to Andrew that it would be a minute and shoved all the confusion over Gordo’s appearance in my sanctuary down, down where it couldn’t surface.
I walked over, wiping sweaty palms on my jeans.
“Javi, this is Gordon Black. He’ll be helping us revamp our website and brand. Gordon, Javi is one of our best volunteers.”
Well, shit. That meant I’d be seeing even more of him, and his continued presence at the center meant I’d have to fight constantly to keep the rattle of my heart under wraps. There was no more room in my ego for rejection, and I wasn’t willing to tarnish the center’s place in my life by getting stupid over a guy here.
I reached over and shook Gordo’s hand. The move pulled attention to the deep V of my shirt and Gordo’s eyes locked onto my tattoos. I knew he’d seen some of them before, but I realized he must not have understood the extent of them when his face twisted into something I assumed was surprise, and I wondered if he saw what so many people did.
Thug, criminal, lowlife, punk. Someone you wouldn’t let near your home or your daughter—certainly not your heart. While I was used to shock and staring from others and had cultivated a fuck-it attitude toward it, the frown that tugged at Gordo’s mouth made my confidence falter. It was a gut punch, the judgment leaving me winded and wounded, even more so for how unexpected it was.
But after the parties, I knew he must be seeing all my tattoos and assuming the worst about me. Disappointment soured in my chest as I realized he wasn’t the open-minded man I’d fantasized him to be. Gordo’s appearance and fast judgment of me had left me stung and faltering. I’d worked hard over the years to not second-guess myself, to stay armored at all times. It’s why I had the shield tattooed over my heart.
Before my heart could sink too much, though, a noise grabbed my attention. Andrew was hunkered down, trying to finish the rooster I’d started. The frustrated noises coming from him were a welcome distraction.
“Excuse m...m-me,” I said, managing to keep my stutter to a minimum.
I went over to Andrew, tapping his shoulder again to get his attention. Then I signed that I’d show him how to finish it. When I pulled out my chair, I looked up and saw that Gordo had joined us, sitting at the other end of the table. I’d needed the space and distraction of Andrew to piece myself together, but instead, it felt as if Gordo was moving closer.
He was like gravity, demanding my attention, but I resisted—though not without effort. Even with the force of Gordo’s attention on me, I refused to let him distract me from Andrew. Kids like Andrew got used to people dismissing them, especially adults, and I wouldn’t be another in a long line of them.
It took a combination of patient signing and trial and error, but before long, Andrew had the fundamentals of the shading down. He was working some color into the rooster, giving it depth and life as I watched, my heart singing with pride.
At the last stroke of red, Andrew threw down the marker and shouted, thrilled by his accomplishment. And I had to admit, the kid was talented. He’d picked up my tips and put them to use like a natural. But the icing on the cake was when Andrew turned and thanked me. Not with his hands, but with his voice.
“This is great. Thanks so much, Javi.”
When his mom came in a few minutes later, the buzz hadn’t worn off for Andrew yet. He showed off his mock-tattoo, pointing out the parts he’d done himself. He was so animated, and his mom’s stunned, wide-eyed stare told me all I needed to know about how things had been at home.
I didn’t miss him showing off to Gordo, as well. It made me suck in a breath, unsure of how to react. But Andrew’s mom saved me by clapping and complimenting her son, effusive in her praise of his work. After a few more minutes, she sent Andrew out to the car and came over to me.
“I—” She started, but a tear escaped one eye and she paused to dash it away. “He’s been so angry. For weeks. This is the first time he’s smiled in so long.”
She pulled me in for a hug, brief but firm. When she stepped back, her smile was as large and infectious as Andrew’s. “Thank you for being so good with my son.”
“S...s-s-s… It’s fine.” I bit off the answer as my stutter seemed to be taking charge of my mouth. I’d just wanted to say sure thing—why did simple things like that have to be so difficult for me?
It was hard to choke down my irritation with myself and give Andrew’s mom a smile and a nod. She was in just as hard a space as he was, having to deal with a moody teenager in addition to his disability, which could make everyday activities a challenge.
I waited until she’d left before daring to look over at Gordo, not knowing what to expect. But what I saw when we locked gazes stopped me in my tracks.
Gordo was looking at me like he’d never seen me before.
5
Gordo
It had taken all of my courage to apply for this job solo. The local youth center was having a hard time fundraising and was eager for a revamp—new logo, new brand, new chance at snagging the money they needed to stay open. Branching out from the firm that had been my home for most of my career didn’t exactly feel like a betrayal, as turnaround in my field was common, but it was scary as hell to think of the risk I was taking at trying to be my own boss while Giuliana was just a baby.
This was supposed to be an easy job, a good way to ease into freelance work, and the job had fallen into my lap. I’d seen a call for volunteers in the local paper and the center’s brand was… well, it was shit. Definitely the kind of low budget home brew that spoke of a place with tight funds, and I knew it wasn’t going to be winning the center any favors as they tried to bring in donations.
So I’d e-mailed the director, offering my time and energy at a fraction of my normal rate in exchange for a recommendation and networking opportunities, not to mention a feather in the cap of my portfolio. It was a large job, almost a complete makeover, and I needed it to go well so that I’d hopefully net some other clients. Ones who would pay full price, and allow me to not regret leaving the design firm I’d been with for years.
The director of the center had been taking me through the facility, showing me all of the different rooms and talking about ways they tried to help local at-risk teens, and I’d nodded along, taking mental notes. I’d finally hit my stride, feeling like I was doing the right thing for myself and Giuliana.
All around us were shapes and colors that inspired. The sheer volume of optimism, too, got my creative juices flowing. As we walked, my brain was already building a new website, playing with images for a logo, and more. This was a job I was meant to do. Kismet. But if fate was involved, then she had a sense of humor. Because as soon as Mike led me into the arts room, my focus narrowed in on the man at an art table.
It was Javi. His head was bent down, and he was drawing on some kid’s arm, but I recognized that lean, muscled back and dark hair instantly. Something in my body hummed to life at the sight of him, an unwanted intruder.
What had happened after was one surprise after another: Javi, shaking my hand and staring at me with those hazel eyes brimming with wariness. My mind worked double time to balance my party-loving neighbor with someone who
volunteered at a center like this one. Then there was his chest tattoo, so intricate and powerful that I’d stared at it too long, my fingers itching to trace the hard lines of the shield over his heart. It had felt, briefly, like a challenge, and a challenge was the last thing I could afford.
Finally, the boy at the table had gotten loud with his frustration. Javi had rushed over and identified the problem. Then—and I thought my jaw was going to hit the floor—he began to sign with the boy, their hands dancing with crisp movements, and Javi had used a pen and paper to show the boy what to do.
As I sat near them and watched, I realized that the director and I had interrupted Javi giving the kid a marker tattoo, which was unbearably sweet. Now Javi was teaching him how to finish it. There was an ease and comfort between the two of them that spoke of friendship and mentorship, and Javi was gentle with his instruction.
When the rooster—as I’d finally determined it to be—had been finished, the kid had whooped like he’d won a marathon. When he’d thanked Javi, I could hear the awkwardness in the words; the kid was deaf, and if he was spending time at the center, he was probably having a hard time. And Javi had made his day.
By the time the mom had pulled Javi into a hug, my mind was unraveling with it all. I’d constructed this narrative of my neighbor, one based on the silent, looming man he’d been in our previous interactions. Sure, he’d come to apologize and tell me the parties were on hiatus, and I appreciated it. But there’d been a stiff set to his shoulders, his eyes like daggers and his words, when he bothered to say anything, short and clipped.
Yet the Javi at the center was relaxed. He smiled. He seemed comfortable in that intricately decorated skin, and my mind was blown. Who the hell was this guy, and why was my heart racing so fast every time I looked his way?
I smiled tightly at Javi and walked back over to the director, trying to keep some semblance of cool. After all, this was part of the job—a job I very much needed if I was going to build a life where I didn’t have to stick my daughter in daycare for ten hours a day.
Just the threat of that kind of life, one so separate from Giuliana, made me desperate to do whatever it took to make sure I could keep that from happening. Currently Mason’s wife helped me with childcare when I needed it, but I wouldn’t be able to rely on her full-time. I’d chosen Giuliana and made her my world, and nothing was going to stop me from following through on my promises to her.
“Javi’s great, isn’t he?” Mike had his hands in his pant pockets, smiling like a proud dad.
He wasn’t wrong, though. “That was incredible. You say he’s a regular volunteer here?”
“The best one we have. Several times a week, too, and never asks for anything in return. I don’t know what I’d do without him. He knows the center and our kids inside and out.” Mike’s face lit up like it was Christmas morning. “Hey, you’ve got me thinking—Javi! Come over here, will ya?”
My jaw clenched even as my blood began to thunder in my ears. The closer Javi was, the hotter I felt. But my neighbor seemed unaffected. Curious at best—and, based on how his gaze slid over to me for a brief moment, wary as well. He stood closer to the director, I noticed. As if he was afraid of me. But why would he ever be intimidated by someone like me?
“Gentlemen, we have a plan,” the director boasted with such exuberance that I had a sinking feeling in my gut. “Javi, you should work with Gordon—his creative partner, so to speak. He’s going to rebrand us digitally, but with your artistry and behind the scenes know-how, he’ll be able to really capture the essence of what we do here. It’ll be authentic, something we always strive for. And it makes way more sense for you to be the point of contact for this than me, because you understand better than most what we need.”
I chewed my cheek, fighting to swallow the refusal that immediately tried to bubble up—I worked better alone, and I wasn’t sure that working with Javi was a good idea. After all, I couldn’t get a read on him, and if we clashed, we’d still have to see each other each day living next door to each other.
Also, what had the director meant, Javi would understand better than most? Just how much time did he spend at the center? How much time would that mean we’d be spending together? There was an uncomfortable swelling in my cock at the idea. Traitorous cock. And that was just another reason why it was a bad idea.
But this was my first real solo client, and I worried that protesting would make me look high-maintenance. So, smiling, I held out my hand to shake Javi’s. “Sure thing, I’d love some input.”
Javi didn’t take my offered hand immediately. Instead, he stood there looking as if the director had asked him to eat a toad. When he finally took my hand, there was a sudden shock at the contact that seemed to burn up my arm, straight to my chest. We both stiffened, and I would swear his lips parted in a way that was more an invitation than disgust. He made me feel like my body was humming, attuned to him in a way I hadn’t been attuned to anyone in far too long.
He dropped the handshake too quickly for anyone to fail to notice. Yet the director seemed to be oblivious to it, waving as he left us and wishing us good luck.
I’ll need it, I thought to myself, my pulse still uneven.
“I’ll help where I c...c-c-c...help where I c-can,” Javi said. His voice was just as I remembered it, rich and deep, at odds with the sharp awareness of those unforgettable hazel eyes. “But I have...work...now.”
That same slow, deliberate way of speaking as when he’d apologized. As if he were afraid to let his words out and was carefully guarding them.
“That’s fine,” I said, knowing some of my awkwardness was leaking into my tone. “Giuliana’s at my brother’s and I need to pick her up anyway.”
We walked in stiff silence to the parking lot. My shoes squeaked, and I missed the comfort of socks and sweatpants, something I never thought I’d want again after these last few weeks. But those clothes meant the safety of my home and the comfort of my daughter and none of the mindfuckery that came with this job. With Javi.
Javi’s boots, heavy black leather and worn laces, pounded out a steady rhythm that echoed down the halls. Occasionally a teen would see him and wave. He’d wave back, but that stride never broke.
When I saw my car, I stopped. The tension was becoming too much.
“Look, Javi,” I said, staring at my feet. “You don’t have to work with me on this.”
I expected relief from Javi. After all, I was letting him off the hook. Instead, I was hit with a snap of anger. “You think I’m n...n-n-not up to it?”
When I brought my gaze up to his face, his browned skin was flushed red. I’d have thought he’d be relieved. After all, he seemed so tense around me—probably because I hadn’t been the friendliest of neighbors, and now here I was, sticking my nose in his space again. He probably thought I didn’t like him, and there was no way to explain that I was scared of the opposite being true.
That there was the potential to like him too much.
“No, I—”
He didn’t let me finish. “I’m an artist, t-too. Just because I t-t-tattoo instead of d-doing something fancy like you d...d-d-doesn’t mean—”
He stopped in the middle of the sentence, shutting down so fast and tight it was painful to watch. Like an iron wall slammed between us. He was breathing so hard, it was next to impossible to keep from reaching out and pulling him into a hug—I wanted to tell him it would be okay.
“Good luck,” he spat, but I could no longer tell how much of his anger was for me. His lips pressed into a tight line, and I knew he was done speaking. He turned and stalked off, an exit strategy I was beginning to think was his modus operandi. And yet…
The stutter. It wasn’t painfully obvious, but it had been there. The other night, too, I could recall a hint of a stutter. Was that why he was so quiet, why he got so flustered when we talked?
I couldn’t help but feel an urge to delve deeper—to chase after the man who, I had to admit, looked fantastic walking away.
That ass was a piece of art. But I stopped myself fast and hard. Javi was a grown man who didn’t need me trying to reassure him. His problems were just that: his. God knew I had enough problems of my own.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was Mason, giving me an update on my daughter. There were few people I’d trust with Giuliana, but my brother and his wife were high on the list. Not every baby could boast her own policeman bodyguard.
I texted him back, letting him know I’d be there to pick her up in a few minutes. It was the perfect reminder of what I needed to do, and who I needed to do it for. With my plan for the day beginning to formulate in my head, I got into my car, visions of the website I wanted to build and the snuggle sessions with my daughter I desperately needed.
Javi, with his glares and his fine ass, were almost completely out of my mind.
Almost.
6
Javi
The hum of the tattoo machine was like medicine. I felt centered with its buzzing drone in my ear and a blank patch of skin in front of me. I could block out all the other shit that was plaguing me.
Like how Reagan had been treating me like a delicate fucking flower since I stopped hosting parties at my place. I knew he worried about me being lonely. I knew he was worrying that I was letting myself spiral, that I might self-destruct like I’d done in the past. His concern made me feel cared for; he was as close to a father figure as anyone I’d known.
On the other hand, I hadn’t messed with anything illegal or lashed out in a way that could land me in trouble in over a decade. I was thirty-three and deserved to be treated like an adult.