Rocco nodded, giving him a thumb’s up before turning to do just that. He felt the heavy click of the deadbolt under his fingers, and the fear turned into something else. His mouth watered, his cock plumping behind the zipper of his jeans. He dragged a hand through his styled hair, then grimaced and tried to set it straight before gathering his courage and pushing through the swinging doors.
Rocco had worked in a kitchen once. His mom knew a restaurant owner willing to take a chance on a Deaf kid who hated voicing. He didn’t do much beyond bussing tables and washing dishes, and it wasn’t easy. The kitchen was chaotic and loud—the sounds that got through his hearing aids were piercing and unkind to his sensitive ear drums. But he loved that he was doing something on his own, earning his money, proving to himself he was capable—even if it was just cleaning up the messes of the LA middle class.
This kitchen was nothing like that. It was tidy to the point of pristine apart from a long wooden baking table that was covered in flour. Simon was nowhere to be found, but the evidence of his recent work was all over. There were trays stuck inside a tall rack that were filled with cookies and unbaked bread dough, and an industrial mixer was whirring and kneading a massive lump of what he assumed would probably be bread.
He felt a faint vibration under his feet, and he saw Simon coming out through a side door that he realized probably went up to his apartment. He wasn’t covered in flour anymore, and he looked nice in jeans and a button-up. His hair looked damp, curls in ringlets that just barely touched his forehead, and there was a faint dusting of color to the apples of his cheeks.
‘What are you baking?’ Rocco asked, pointing at the mixer.
‘Challah. I like to make extra because it sells well Friday afternoons before I close.’
Rocco raised an eyebrow. ‘Is there something special about Friday afternoons?’
Simon shrugged. ‘It’s for—” Rocco didn’t recognize the sign, and Simon blushed furiously as he spelled it out. ‘Shabbat. Sabbath,’ he clarified when it still didn’t make sense.
Rocco took four steps closer, hands fighting to reach for him, wanting to kiss the shy smile off his face. ‘I didn’t know those words.’
‘I didn’t know I’d ever be able to teach you ASL.’
Rocco laughed. ‘Living language, always learning.’ He finally gave into his urge—just a little, and brushed the back of his knuckles over Simon’s heated cheek. Rocco felt the way Simon’s entire body shuddered, the way he leaned into it like he was starving for touch. ‘Do we need to wait until it’s done? I want to take you to dinner.’
Simon dragged his bottom lip between his teeth and shook his head. ‘No. I just need to wait until my timer goes off. I’ll put it in the fridge after.’
Rocco nodded, and wondered if maybe he could convince Simon to kiss him more while they waited. If Simon came again, they weren’t in the ideal place to get spunk everywhere, but at least they were close to home. He stepped a little closer, saw the way Simon responded, saw the way his cock began to bulge.
Rocco’s hand had just started to reach out when Simon jolted, and it took him a second to realize something made noise. The buzzer. Simon ducked his head and moved around him to tip the massive bowl on the table. With quick, proficient movements with a large cutter, Simon separated the dough, then slapped them all on to baking sheets and added them to the rack.
He moved precisely, like it was in his blood, but Rocco could see the discontent in his eyes as he pushed the rack into a massive fridge and slammed the door. He ached to make Simon feel better, to take some of the burden away. He liked watching Simon in this place—in this kitchen—but he hated that it seemed to suck the life out of him.
‘Where are we going?’ Simon asked after he swiped his hands on a towel.
Rocco spelled the name of the restaurant, and saw the way Simon’s mouth quirked into a half smile. ‘Charlie at the Lodge said it was a good place to take a date.’
‘Is this a date?’ Simon asked. His lips were parted, like maybe he was having a hard time with his breath, and fuck—Rocco liked that.
‘Yes. If you want.’
Simon looked terrified, but only for a moment. It melted into something more—curiosity and desire and need all at once. ‘Yes.’ His answer was steady.
Rocco offered his arm, and Simon laughed as he took it. He turned the lights off as they headed for the door, and Rocco swore he had never, ever been so charmed.
Chapter Eight
Simon sat across from Rocco in the dimly lit restaurant and tried not to reflect back on the one, single, disaster date he’d been on in college. Three days after midterms his sophomore year, a guy who had been sitting across from him in his Chaucer lecture approached him near the elevators and had nervously asked him out.
“I’ve been staring at you for the last six weeks,” he said, face a little pink. He wasn’t unattractive, but Simon didn’t have the heart to tell him he hadn’t ever taken notice. “Do you want to maybe go get dinner or something?”
Simon’s heart rammed hard against his ribs as he said yes, as he gave the guy his number and his dorm room. He had sweaty palms as they walked together—not close enough to hold hands—to the little Irish pub down the street.
They spent half the night talking about how much they hated Chaucer, and how much they hated their professor. They laughed a lot, and drank too much. Simon ordered a cheeseburger with bacon and indulged in every single sinful bite.
He thought it was the moment. He thought maybe he wasn’t some anxious, lonely nerd. He thought he was worth something. Every single smile he dragged out of the guy fueled his courage, and he’d gone in for a kiss. Their lips never connected. The guy pushed him back, and laughed, and asked Simon if he wanted to suck his dick.
“Uh…”
“Dude, I’m not going to kiss you. Jesus, I just wanted to get off and you looked like a willing mouth.” He looked Simon in the eye…and then he laughed. He laughed hard enough to double over, and Simon ran. The guy quit showing up to the lecture, and Simon didn’t think he’d ever have the courage to try again.
Never, in a million years, did he think he’d be sitting across from Rocco Moretti at a restaurant. He never thought he’d be sitting across from him after having been kissed so hard and so thoroughly he’d come in his pants the night before.
Simon’s only saving grace was that Rocco didn’t know. He didn’t hear the way Simon had groaned out as his cock spilled, and he never looked down to see the wet spot spreading across his jeans. He’d just looked Simon in the eye and told him he’d see him later.
And now they were on a date.
Simon’s head was spinning, and he wanted more, but he knew he couldn’t do that without telling Rocco the truth first. They’d come close to kissing in the kitchen, but the buzzer had saved his jeans from another embarrassing mess.
Part of him half wished it had just happened. At that point he’d have been forced to explain, and chances were Rocco wasn’t going to want to deal with some thirty-six-year-old virgin who couldn’t hold his come. But the selfish part of Simon, the part he was used to ignoring, refusing to indulge, wanted this. Even if Rocco walked away at the end of the night and never looked back, at least Simon would have this. That last kiss–which was his first–and the vision of the man himself smiling sweetly across the table at him.
‘Dessert?’ Rocco asked.
Simon’s lip quirked. ‘My brother would kill me if we ate anywhere else but his truck.’
Rocco chuckled, then signaled for the server before handing off his card. It was an easy exchange, and before long he was scribbling his name beneath a tip, then holding his hand out for Simon. As he accepted, Simon felt eyes on him. He knew how the people of Cherry Creek looked at him. The weird, anxious, hermit baker who rarely set foot out of his apartment unless it was to shop with his head down, and rush out before anyone could make conversation with him.
He was the inevitable shadow of the boy who had slowly whittled down
into this mess of a man. The boy who had never been brave enough to stand up for himself, or to do anything besides turn the other cheek. And there was so much irony in that, it almost made him laugh.
Simon hated being a spectacle, but Rocco seemed to thrive on it. He grinned wider at all the people watching, tugged Simon closer, walked with shoulders straighter. How he envied him—what he wouldn’t give to just have the bravery to not give a single shit what people thought.
The night air was cooler than expected, but he appreciated the chill as they turned the corner and followed the bright streetlamps toward the town center. He could hear the low murmur of people milling around, could smell the sweet scent of kettle corn, and faint music from some live cover-band.
It gave him a thrill to share this piece of himself with Rocco—even if he hadn’t been part of it in years. He would, and soon. The following week, he’d show up early after closing down the shop and force himself to smile politely and not shrink back from their friendly attempts at small talk.
His stomach rolled with unease at the thought, but then Rocco squeezed his hand a little tighter to get his attention. ‘Tired?’
Simon laughed and shrugged. ‘Yes, but I’m always tired. I had to get up earlier than usual this morning.’
Rocco’s brow furrowed. ‘Why?’
‘Because I had pizza with a friend last night and missed my evening prep,’ Simon told him, then winked. He led the way toward the bustling market as it came into view, and paused as Rocco took it in with wide eyes and a growing smile. When he looked back, however, his gaze was concerned. ‘Don’t worry about it, it’s fine.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Rocco insisted.
Simon let out a small sigh, realizing he’d have to tell Rocco several truths tonight. ‘I usually work late and get prep done because since my brother took a few weeks off to get his food truck established, there’s just me. The dough takes hours to get finished, so I don’t have time in the morning unless I get up at three.’
Understanding dawned on Rocco’s face. ‘And you missed prep because of me.’
Simon’s look was stern. ‘It was worth it. I promise.’
Rocco hesitated, then nodded, and Simon appreciated that he didn’t fight, didn’t try and make light of what Simon had sacrificed to spend time with him. ‘We’ll get back early. How much did you skip tonight?’
‘Just a little,’ Simon attempted to assure him, but Rocco shook his head.
‘I’ll come with. I’ll help.’ He took Simon’s hand after that, silencing his attempt at a reply—and it was just as well. Simon would have argued, but he didn’t want to tell Rocco no. He let the other man lead him right into the crowd, and Rocco kept him close. He walked next to him with shoulders straight, and for all that this was Simon’s town, he felt like Rocco was trying to shield him. ‘Are they staring because I’m Deaf?’
Simon wanted to roll his eyes—not at Rocco, but at himself and how he’d done this all on his own by being such a damn mess. ‘No. It’s me.’ When Rocco gave him a dubious look, Simon led him to an empty picnic bench, and he propped up against the table. ‘It is me. I don’t…I mostly grew up here, but things with my mom were bad and I didn’t make friends very easily. They didn’t like my accent.’
Rocco reached out, just a brief second, brushing his thumb over Simon’s bottom lip, and that was almost enough to make his cock explode. ‘You have an accent?’
Simon laughed to cover up how loudly he wanted to moan. ‘Not anymore. Not really. I only spoke Hebrew when we moved here, but I learned English pretty quick.’
Rocco looked curious now. ‘I thought you enunciated,’ he spelled the word slowly for Simon, ‘differently. Not accent.’
Simon shrugged. ‘It was bad when I was a kid, and I didn’t know how to fight back, so I didn’t. They thought I was a…wimp.’
He braced himself for Rocco to laugh—or even smile a little—but he didn’t. He heaved a sigh and there was understanding all over his face. ‘Kids are assholes.’
From behind them, someone burst into laughter, and Simon turned his head to see Birdie there. Birdie was the Captain of the Fire Department, working under Fitz and was one of the nicest people Simon had ever met, though he didn’t know him well. He was always kind though, when he went to pick up bagel orders. His smiles for Simon were soft, his voice easy, like he didn’t mind Simon was an anxious mess on Sunday morning. He ran a little Blacksmith booth at the Farmer’s Market, and on his display table he had an array of jewelry and sculptures that were strange, but beautiful in a chaotic way.
Birdie looked a little sheepish at being caught, but he beckoned them over and leaned on his table as they approached. ‘Kids are assholes.’
Rocco looked startled, then lifted his hands. ‘You sign?’
‘Deaf cousin,’ Birdie supplied, and Simon startled because he hadn’t known that. Of course, refusing to leave his house after being dragged back when his Bubbe got sick—he didn’t know these people well at all. ‘I’m not good.’
‘You’re fine,’ Rocco insisted.
Simon felt a wave of ugly jealousy hit him for just a moment—because Birdie was nothing like him. He was almost as large as Rocco, and gorgeous, and friendly. He had been the quiet one of his friend group, but he wasn’t a shy mess like Simon.
No one was like Simon.
He was dragged out of his twisting anguish when Rocco tugged him closer. ‘We’re on a date.’
Birdie’s eyes went wide, his lips turning up in the corners. Simon expected to see something mocking, but instead he saw genuine pleasure. ‘That’s amazing. You know ASL?’
Simon nodded. ‘I took it in college. Three and a half years.’
‘Four got to be too much?’ Birdie teased, and it didn’t mean to land hard. It was obvious by the look on his face he was treating Simon like he would anyone else.
But it just landed wrong, and he winced. ‘I…’
Rocco shook his head. ‘We have to go. It was nice to meet you.’
Rocco turned his back, taking Simon with him, and he heard Birdie’s apologetic voice call after them, “It was good to see you, Simon. I hope you come by next week.”
Simon didn’t turn around. He didn’t even look up from his shoes until Rocco sat him on a bench, and he realized they were at the outskirts of the market. They hadn’t even seen anything before he had to be rescued—not even from a crowd, but from a single, friendly man. He curled his hands into fists and squeezed, wanting to feel the pain.
His breathing was a little labored, and he didn’t calm until Rocco pressed strong thumbs into the strained tendons of his wrist. When his hands uncurled, Rocco swung his leg over to straddle the bench and he waited for Simon to look up.
‘You left college when your grandmother died,’ Rocco signed. It wasn’t a question, Simon had told him this before, but he could see Rocco’s concern.
‘I probably could have taken Levi back with me and shut down the bakery,’ Simon admitted. ‘Finished school then. But I didn’t even know what I wanted to do. I was one semester away from graduating, and then she got sick and…’ Simon’s hands dropped for a second, and he swallowed back tears he hadn’t cried in so long. ‘She didn’t last long—just a few weeks. By then, I just didn’t want to do anything except get by and keep Levi from spiraling out of control. He was…angry at me. He hated me.’
Rocco cocked his head to the side. ‘He loves you now.’
Simon couldn’t help a bitter laugh and shook his head. ‘He resents me. I’m too…rigid.’
With a soft grin, Rocco reached out and traced the edge of his jaw. ‘You feel soft to me.’
Simon choked back a sob. He wanted to lean in and lose himself in the strong arms of the man who seemed to want him in spite of all the ways he was a disaster, but he couldn’t let himself. Not yet. Maybe not ever. ‘Losing my dad was hard—but he was in the military and he was gone a lot. My mom lost herself to grief when he died, and I think…’ He glanced away and rubbed at t
he scar on his chest. He didn’t remember how he’d gotten it—he didn’t remember feeling pain until days after he left the hospital. He had seventy-three stitches there, and he remembered every eternal minute it took to pull them out. ‘It was ruled an accident, but I don’t think she was being careful. I don’t know if it was on purpose. It was a miracle I survived, but I think Levi blames me for living when she didn’t.’
Rocco’s face fell. ‘That’s probably not true.’
Simon gave a small shrug. In truth, it didn’t matter. He’d fucked up more than Levi when it came to their relationship. ‘I was anxious, and my grandmother didn’t know how to deal with it, so she just…hovered. Levi resented me for that. I think he believes things with my mom were better than they were but…she couldn’t stand him.’
Rocco’s eyes widened. ‘When he was a baby?’
‘He looks exactly like my dad,’ Simon told him with a tense smile. ‘She couldn’t look at him. So, I took care of him when my grandmother was working. But I had nightmares all the time. Of her dying—of him dying. Of being left all alone in this place to rot.’ He closed his eyes and breathed out. ‘After my grandmother passed, I made a bargain with God. I would live a strict, obedient life, and Levi would be safe.’
‘Simon…’ Rocco spelled his name in slow, careful letters.
‘I know, it’s stupid. I know that’s not how it works. I know that God probably laughed in my face when I tried to make a deal with him. But I was too afraid to go back on it. And Levi felt like I was suffocating him, and I probably was. I’m not great with people, not even my own brother.’
‘You’re not unkind.’
‘No,’ Simon agreed, ‘but I’m hard to love. Levi has all-but told me so, and he has a right to. I’ve made his life more difficult than it had to be. The food truck was…that was part of my apology.’
Rocco cocked his head to the side. ‘And the rest?’
‘It’ll be the truth,’ Simon confessed. ‘I’ll tell him that our grandmother didn’t want this life for him—that she wanted to give it to me because she didn’t think I was strong enough to walk away from Cherry Creek, but she knew he would.’
Love Him Free: Book One of On The Market Page 9