Obvious

by R. G. Alexander

  A dancer. He should have known.

  Rory did mention stripping.

  Not the same thing. And though Oliver downplayed it, his body told a different tale. The kind of dedication Matthew had never felt about anything.

  It left him oddly at a loss. He didn’t know anything about dancing. Footwork to dodge a punch, sure. But not the kind of dancing Oliver was talking about. And the closest he’d been to a play was watching a kink scene unfold at the club, which was not a comparison his date would appreciate.

  “Looks like I’ll have to start visiting the theatre.”

  Oliver made a face. “Did that make me sound pretentious? Bragging about dancing on stage? I didn’t mean it to. I like it, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t have delusions or longing for Broadway.”

  “And why not?” Matthew said with a frown. “I imagine you’re every bit as good as a Broadway dancer. You certainly work hard enough at keeping fit.”

  He laughed, delighted. “Look at you. You’ve never even seen me dance and you’re already defending me to fictional show producers. That’s cute.”

  “I’m not cute. And I’m growing my beard back, starting tomorrow.”

  Oliver laid his hand over Matthew’s. “You don’t have to butter me up, Finn. You were right. I’m attracted to you, and I have been since you started hanging around a few days ago.”

  Matthew blinked slowly in disbelief. “You never even looked at me.”

  He would know, since he could barely force himself to look away.

  “Oh, I’ve definitely been checking you out. I’m just sneakier about it.”

  “I see.” His heart was thundering in his chest. Having Oliver admit his attraction brought all the desires he’d been trying to tamp down back up to the surface. He got so hard so fast he was seeing stars, and it was all he could do to beat back the primitive urge to drag Oliver to the nearest bed he could find. Or a table. Any flat surface would do at this point.

  Just coffee.

  Damn it.

  “I liked the way you watch me.” Oliver flushed, swiping his finger through his remaining whipped cream and sucking it between his lips.

  Matthew’s cock responded to the sight and he groaned under his breath. “I like watching you, but I don’t want you to think that’s all I’m here for.”

  “I’m still surprised you are, since I didn’t think you were gay,” Oliver admitted softly. “I’m usually a good judge of that kind of thing. I’ve had to be.”

  “I’m not.” The denial escaped before Matthew knew what he was saying.

  Oliver went noticeably still.

  “You’re not a good judge? Or you’re not gay?”

  Rory had warned him to approach this topic with caution, but until he’d seen the look in Oliver’s eyes he hadn’t realized the danger. Shit. He couldn’t fuck this up now. “I didn’t even think I was bi until—I mean, when I saw you… You’re the first guy I’ve wanted to—”

  Or maybe he could fuck this up in a spectacular, stammering fashion and ruin everything.

  “Stop.” Oliver held up his hand. “Don’t strain yourself, Matthew. I get it now. When you seemed so persistent, I thought—” He sighed in disappointment, shaking his head. “This isn’t something I’m interested in pursuing. I think it would be less awkward for both of us if we end the night now with no harm done.”

  If you don’t play your cards right…

  Matthew covered Oliver’s hands with his own, holding him in place before he could push away from the table. “All I’m asking for is five minutes. Can you give me that, Legs? I admit I’m new to this, but I don’t think you get it at all.”

  There was a bitter edge to his beautiful voice. “I don’t get it? I know the vibe I give off can be confusing. But despite the way I look, I’m not an idiot or an easy mark. I’m also not desperate.”

  The way he looked? What the hell was he talking about? “I don’t think you’re—”

  “You aren’t the first straight guy to want to experiment with me. Though you might be the hottest. Unfortunately, I don’t have time to play therapist and reassure you that coming like a geyser while you suck a man off doesn’t really make you gay. Because it kind of does and lying is exhausting. What I’m saying is, if you don’t know what you want by now, I’m not the one who has your answers.”

  Embarrassment climbed up his neck and warmed his cheeks, but refused to look away. “You really don’t know my family that well do you? I thought they were famous in this town.”

  Oliver tugged on his hands impatiently. “I don’t live in a cave, Matthew. Owen Finn’s wedding made the front page. Being related to gay people doesn’t make this okay, you know that, right?”

  He had to make him listen. “Owen is the perfect example. Everyone told me they were sure he was straight for years. He thought he was too, and he had a reputation that more than backed that up. Most of the men in my family didn’t know they were bi or gay or whatever they ended up calling themselves until they got with the right person. Or people, in Rory’s case. It sounds hard to believe, I know. I guess you could say we’re all bloody late bloomers.”

  Oliver’s hands slid out from under his and he crossed his arms defensively. But he didn’t get up to leave.

  “Is that what you’re saying? That I’m the right person? After half a cup of sugary coffee and some eye fucking, you just decide you like men? Simple as that?”

  Add in a week of sleepless nights and constant fantasies starring the man across from him, and that was exactly what he was saying.

  “I don’t have all the answers here, but I’m comfortable enough with who I am to be adaptable about what I am. And I’m not confused about what I want to do with you. To you. I don’t have any problem with the idea of sucking you off, Oliver. Just thinking about it has me so hard I couldn’t stand up and follow you out of here without limping. But I’ll do it, if that would make you take me seriously.”

  Oliver studied the table as if he could see the cockstand Matthew was currently hiding beneath it.

  “I’m saying that I’ve been sitting here, watching you eat half the menu and already scrambling to think of ways to see you again. For more coffee, dinner, or whatever you feel comfortable with. I want to know you. All those things you don’t think I want to hear. All the drama of your big, crazy family. How you started teaching dance. All of it. And to be blunt, wanting that is as new for me as wanting to fuck a man.”

  “Getting to know people is new to you?” Oliver scoffed, but there was a rekindling of interest in his eyes that gave Matthew hope.

  “I get to know people all the time. I just don’t date them.” The disbelief in his eyes was something he’d seen before. “It’s true. I’m one of those gits. I admit it.”

  “Admit it in more detail please. I need specifics.”

  Matthew swallowed nervously. This was not how he’d expected this conversation to go. “Okay, we’re just putting it all out there then?”

  “It might be for the best.”

  He took a bracing breath. “I’ve had sex with people. Women. Done scenes at the kink club or spent a few hours in a hotel with them before we went our separate ways. But I’ve never actually dated anyone. Called, picked them up, sent them flowers, that sort of thing. I wasn’t all that big on swapping life stories either. The women usually felt the same. I never lied or… God, I sound like a worthless gobshite, don’t I?”

  “I don’t know what that is, but it has a nice ring to it.” Oliver’s eyes were wider than usual. “Just to clarify, you’re trying to get me, a gay man, to date you by telling me all about your slutty, kinky sex with strange women you didn’t even like?”

  “Fuck,” he swore, wishing for a slug of whiskey or a time machine. “You asked for details. Was I not supposed to give them?”

  “Some people are fans of self-editing,” Oliver said, sounding dazed. “But you’re right, I asked. And I know you’re being honest. Who would lie about something like that? It makes you sound like
a gobshite.”

  Matthew snorted, met Oliver’s gaze and a second later they were both laughing loud enough to draw a few glares. When they stopped to catch their breath, Matthew couldn’t help but feel relieved. “You’re still here.”

  “Looks like it. But for future reference, never share that story on a first date again. Sexual histories come later, once you’ve hooked them with your irresistible personality.”

  “I’ve heard that advice before.”

  Oliver couldn’t stop shaking his head. “I can’t get over you never going on a date. What about high school? With your looks, I’d have bet money all the girls would be chasing you down the hall for a date to the dance.”

  “I never went to any dances either.” Matthew caught his expression and laughed. “You look like I’ve admitted to murdering a puppy.”

  “You never went to a dance?” Oliver repeated. “Were you homeschooled? Are you from another planet?”

  “You could say that. My life was very different in Ireland. I didn’t exactly hang out with a good crowd. The kind that went to dances and took their dates to the malt shop.”

  “I don’t think anyone’s been to a malt shop since the fifties, but continue,” Oliver said with a cheeky grin.

  “That’s really the gist of it. Anyone I’d want to date would have steered well clear of me back then. William and I come from the crooked branch of the family tree.”

  “That’s hard to believe.” Oliver brushed off his words. “The last time I saw your brother, he was on the phone with his wife, reading her a book on child rearing. He was discussing first poops and cradle safety out loud, and in front of other men. You can’t get more wholesome than that. And you don’t strike me as a criminal mastermind either.”

  “Crooked, not a crook,” he corrected. “I appreciate the vote of confidence, and the information about my brother’s reading habits though.”

  He was absolutely going to tease William about that later.

  “Technically I’ve never been on the run from the law, but compared to my cousins? Let’s just say the Finn name was never associated with firefighters, police officers, or a sitting state senator. Not until those paragons came along. Local heroes, every one.”

  “Not your family in Ireland?”

  Matthew’s father had gambled himself and his wife to an early grave, leaving the three children with a loony old man who was physically incapable of putting food on the table. William had been forced to leave school and get a job as muscle for the local criminal element, while Matthew and Kate were expected to pretend that everything was normal when everyone knew it wasn’t. Above all, they were expected to resist their family’s tendency to get themselves in trouble.

  They hadn’t always succeeded. And that last time… Well, it was a good thing they’d left when they did.

  Not something you talk about with someone you’re trying to impress.

  “We had a rocky start. But thanks to Bronte, William has a second chance to get things right. And thanks to William, Calamity and I do as well.”

  “Calamity?”

  “My little sister, Kate.” Matthew’s head shook ruefully. “You’re still doing it. How is it that I’m the one gabbing like a guilty man in confession when it’s you I’m interested in?”

  Oliver entwined his fingers with Matthew’s on the table. “You’re telling me what an undeserving git you are so I’ll trust you,” he reminded him lightly. “Black sheep, easy virtue, boring job—you’ve covered most of the basics. And I heard you throw in the words kink and club earlier, so now I’ve got that visual to haunt me at night.”

  Matthew’s lips twitched. “A package like that is hard to resist, yeah?”

  “Impossible.”

  His laughter was captivating, though the fact that he was laughing at all was a damn miracle to Matthew. It seemed the deeper the hole he dug for himself, the more Oliver relaxed around him.

  He wasn’t lying. For the first time in his sexually deviant life, hearing what this man had to say was just as important as getting him naked. More important.

  Don’t go crazy, Matthew.

  “Not to ruin my streak, but can I ask you a question now? Have you always known?”

  “That I was gay?” Oliver nodded. “Always. Only it’s not as trendy in my family as it is in yours.”

  “I wouldn’t call it trendy.”

  Oliver glanced down at their hands. “My family would. A trend. A phase. To be honest, they actually don’t like to acknowledge that I’m gay at all.”

  His admission was quietly and unexpectedly frank. Matthew held his tongue, hoping he’d say more.

  “I feel guilty for talking about them. It’s not that they don’t love me, it’s a cultural thing. That’s what I tell myself. There’s not much room in mine for swishy Latino dancers that are a little too obviously what they are.”

  “Who called you swishy?”

  “I did.” Oliver snorted, squeezing his fingers in gratitude. “I’ve seen your family wandering in and out of the gym for two weeks now, Matthew. That’s enough testosterone-flavored beefcake to fill fifty calendars. Compared to them, I’m one hundred percent swish.”

  “I don’t spend that much time looking at them.” Matthew’s thumb caressed the pulse at Oliver’s wrist, feeling it jump in response. “You, on the other hand…”

  He let the sentence linger for a moment. “I know a few folks back in Ireland who don’t like to be confronted with it in public, but are far too curious and judgmental about who’s buggering who in private. So I think I understand.”

  “We give the Irish some serious competition in that category,” Oliver said in a teasing tone. “Plus, I hear our food’s better.”

  “Oi.”

  Oliver flashed a quick grin, but his expression quickly sobered. “That’s why I don’t like to talk about them when I’m…if I’m with a guy,” he admitted. “Most of them don’t understand why I’m not on a permanent soapbox or keeping my distance until my family accepts my sexuality. I’m trying to be myself and find some happiness in that, not change minds or build bridges. They’ll come around, or they won’t, and either way, I’ll still be me. And I know they love me, despite their own bullshit.”

  The whole world for Matthew was narrowing down to this man holding his hand. This brave, fascinating man.

  “I’m not saying they don’t make me mad,” he continued, on a roll now that he’d started sharing. “But my grandmother and uncles raised me, paid for my education and years of dance lessons, complete with bright pink leotards. Don’t ask,” he chuckled. “Family means everything to them. There are just a few things we can’t talk about at the dinner table without starting a fight we all know from experience none of us will win.”

  When Oliver met his gaze again, Matthew nodded his understanding. “I get it. You can fundamentally disagree with family and still be family. William and I have butted heads more than once. Uncle Shawn—that’s Owen’s dad—is the most easygoing Irishman you’ve ever met, but from what I hear his brother was the worst sort of narrow-minded arse, and cruel on top of it when he discovered his son was gay. You know you’re loved. That matters.”

  He did understand, but it still upset him. A man like Oliver should never have to hide who he was to make other people feel better.

  “Wow, this got deep fast,” Oliver said self-consciously, sliding his hand back into his lap. “Another reason I don’t bring up personal history on dates.”

  “So you’re admitting it’s a date again?” Matthew said with a teasing smile. “I’ll name that progress.”

  Oliver smirked. “Date with a friend. That’s all this can be, since you’ll still be straight when it’s over. And I still won’t be interested in experimenting.”

  “Fine. No experiments.”

  You’re giving up already? Big mistake, Shamrock Jr.

  He could practically hear Rory screaming in his head. Putting limits on this was the last thing he wanted, but until he could convince him oth
erwise, he’d say whatever he had to say to keep him in his orbit.

  “Really?” Oliver looked startled. “Okay, that’s smart. I’m glad you agree.”

  Smart, my aching blue balls.

  “I’m not saying that.”

  “What?”

  Matthew bit his lip, getting a thrill when Oliver’s attention zeroed in on the movement. “After tonight, I’m pretty damn sure I’m not straight. But the last thing I’d want is for you to feel uncomfortable, and you don’t know me well enough to feel anything else. So friends it is.”

  Oliver swallowed hard. “Oh.”

  God, he hoped that was disappointment he was seeing in his eyes.

  A tired-looking barista with a tray hovered in his peripheral vision and Matthew scanned the room, realizing they were the only customers left in the shop. “Closing time?”

  Oliver instantly hopped to his feet with a nervous grace, looking ready to bolt for the nearest exit. “I forgot this place closed so early. Sorry about that.”

  “No problem, Oliver. This was fun.”

  “Fun?”

  He sounded so insulted that Matthew couldn’t contain the laughter that rumbled up from his chest as he tossed a tip on the table and moved to stand beside him. “Wasn’t it?”

  “It was something,” Oliver allowed, leaning closer as if he felt the same pull to be closer as Matthew did. “Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow?”

  He would see him every damn day if he had anything to say about it. And hopefully a few nights while they were at it. This wasn’t over by a long shot. “I’m walking you to your car, Legs.”

  He kept Matthew in view as they moved toward the front door. “That isn’t necessary. I got here just fine by myself.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “Look, maybe this is still the way they do things in Ireland with their after-dance malt shops, but here it’s a little old fashioned. I didn’t let you pay for my food and you don’t have to walk me to my car.”

  Matthew bit the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning. “You’re saying I’m old fashioned? Go on. Grump will be thrilled to hear it.”

  Oliver scowled. “You’re stubborn.”