by Alexa Land
“I don’t care who started it, you’re walking away now.” His right wrist was wrapped in an Ace bandage, but he still used that hand to flip a switch and propel his new electric wheelchair forward, while restraining me with his other arm.
“Well, technically rolling away,” I muttered, then added, “Let go of me,” struggling against his grip. He was surprisingly strong.
“Just let it go, Hunter. Be the bigger man.”
“I don’t want to be the bigger man. I want Cole to know he can’t push me around.” I looked back at the crowd. Jamie had appeared in the dining room, and was trying to placate my ex. Brian punched the call button on the freight elevator as I caught sight of Trevor. The poor guy looked completely bewildered, and he was still clutching those damn napkins. I just wanted to give him a hug. “I’m so sorry, Trevor,” I called. “It really was nice to meet you! I hope to see you again.”
For some reason, that was the last straw. Cole growled and lunged forward, looking like he wanted to beat the shit out of me, and Jamie had to forcibly restrain him. Brian boarded the elevator, then did an odd eighteen-point turn and finally pulled up beside the panel of buttons, tapping the one for the ground floor. I raised an eyebrow at him as the door slid shut, and he said, “What? I’ve had this chair for all of an hour. I’m not good at maneuvering it yet.”
“What are you doing here, anyway?”
“You mean besides preventing you from getting beat up?”
“Oh, no. I could take Cole. He wouldn’t be able to beat me up.”
“You’re high. He had three inches and thirty pounds on you.”
“Did you forget that I was able to hoist your sweatpants-wearing ass up off the floor?” I looked at him closely, then said, “Hey, you’re not wearing sweatpants.” He was dressed in a plaid shirt over a t-shirt, and jeans. His hair even appeared to be combed…sort of.
He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, they just invented this new thing. It’s called changing your clothes.”
“I totally love it when you’re sarcastic.”
“Right back at ya.”
The door slid open on the ground floor, and as Brian propelled us forward, I asked, “Is there some reason you still have me in a basket hold?”
“It’s only a half-basket. I need the other arm to drive.”
“Is there some reason you still have me in a half-basket?”
“You’re faster than I am. If you decide to run back upstairs and get in that guy’s face again, it’ll take me a couple minutes to come after you on the elevator. By then, you will have been beaten to a pulp.”
I sighed and said again, “I could have taken him.”
“Is that what you want, to beat up your ex-boyfriend? That’s who that was, right?”
“Yes, that was Cole. And no, I don’t really want to beat him up. But I did want to yell at him some more.”
“Were you really hitting on his date?”
“No. I was only thinking about hitting on his date. And I didn’t even know that guy was there with Cole. I thought he was just some random cutie at a party.” I looked at our surroundings as Brian sighed elaborately. We’d left the back of the building, and were rolling down an alley. I asked him, “Where exactly are you taking me?”
“I have no idea, other than away.”
I sighed too, then let myself relax a little. After a few moments, I rested my head on his shoulder. As soon as I did that, his hold on me relaxed too, but he kept his arm around me. A weird little tremor went through me as the adrenaline drained away, and he rubbed my arm reassuringly.
“What were you really doing there?” I asked.
“I’d decided to move in with Jamie until my downstairs bathroom was repaired. I think I illustrated pretty vividly this morning that I can’t live in my house until that’s done.”
“Well, that’s good.”
“Yeah, but I’m not going back there.”
“Why not?”
“When I texted my cousin after leaving the hospital, he told me he was having a few people over for brunch, although apparently by ‘a few people’ he meant our entire family and half of San Francisco. He knows I’ve been trying to avoid my relatives, and I felt pretty blind-sided.”
“I’m sure Jamie didn’t blind-side you on purpose. I think brunch just sort of snowballed into a big party.”
“Still.” We’d left the alley and were travelling down a side street. He came to a stop in front of a hole-in-the-wall diner and asked, “Do you feel like a cup of coffee?”
“Always.”
I hopped off his lap and went up the stairs, while he swung wide and took the ramp to the left of me. “I’m going to hold the door open for you,” I announced, tugging on the door handle. “Just giving you fair warning, in case you somehow find that an insult to your masculinity or something.”
Brian stopped right in front of me, a smirk on his full lips. “You’re a pain even when you’re doing something nice,” he said, before heading into the coffee shop. I noticed there was a backpack slung over the back of his chair.
We each ordered coffee, and Brian got a slice of key lime pie. When it arrived, I picked up a fork, scooped up a little dollop of whipped cream, and stuck it in my mouth. “I thought you didn’t want anything,” he said.
“I don’t.” I scooped up a little more whipped cream and licked it off the tines.
“Why don’t you order some pie?”
“I don’t want any.” A third dollop of cream found its way between my lips. He chuckled and doctored up his coffee. “Ugh, four packets of sugar,” I observed.
“Be quiet and eat your pie.”
“It’s not my pie.”
“Then stop eating it.”
I knit my brows and said, “Sorry,” as I put my fork down. A minute later, I poked my finger into the whipped cream, then sucked it clean.
He grinned at that, and pushed the plate to my side of the table.
“I’m not going to eat that,” I told him. “I’m on a diet.”
“And calories don’t count when they’re stolen?”
“I’m sorry. You just ordered my favorite dessert in the whole world, it’s hard to resist.”
“Then eat more than just the whipped cream.”
“I can’t. And I usually have more willpower than this, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“You’re rattled, and pie is comfort food.”
“I know better than using food to comfort myself.”
“What do you comfort yourself with, then?”
“Sex.” I hadn’t really planned on answering honestly, but there it was.
He took my answer in stride, saying simply, “That’s a risky proposition in this day and age.”
“I use condoms.”
“For both business and pleasure?”
I frowned at him, but took a good look at Brian at the same time. He wasn’t being flippant or insulting, he just really wanted to know.
“The production company that holds my contract is safe sex only. That’s why I signed with them. I may be dumb, but I’m not stupid.” I grinned at him a little.
“Well, thank God for that at least,” he muttered, then took a sip of coffee. Meanwhile, I snuck another forkful of pie, this time dipping into the pale green filling. When I put it in my mouth, my eyes rolled back in my head.
“Good?” he asked.
“So damn good.”
“You know, people that work out fifteen times a week can indulge occasionally.”
“I don’t work out fifteen times a week. And I indulge plenty. I had half a bottle of tequila last night, didn’t I?”
“Ugh, don’t say the ‘T’ word, I still have a headache.”
I watched him for a long moment. He was fidgeting with his coffee cup, spinning it with one hand in a slow circle. After a while, I said, “So, your wrist just turned out to be sprained, I see.”
“Yeah. A few days recovery time, instead of a few weeks. That fall could have been a lot worse.”<
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“Did they examine your head?”
He looked up at me and flashed a smile. “Yes. I had my head examined.”
“And?”
“And, I have a mild concussion,” he admitted.
“You’re just telling me this now? We need to get you home! You should be lying down.”
“I’m fine, a mild concussion is nothing. Besides, I don’t currently have a home to go to, remember?”
“So, if you’re totally put off by the idea of staying with Jamie now, come stay with me in my apartment.”
“I thought you were uncomfortable there.”
“I’m too uncomfortable to be alone there. But if you’re staying over, then hey, problem solved.”
He mulled that over for a minute, then said, “I’ll make a deal with you. Stop being so goofy and eat that piece of pie, and I’ll agree to stay with you and be your extremely unofficial bodyguard, just until you find someone qualified to take over.”
“Really? You’ll do that?”
“Stalker or no stalker, you’ve proven that you’re someone who really shouldn’t be left unattended.” He was obviously teasing, but I still found it annoying.
“Shut up!”
“You almost got in a fist-fight over brunch, Hunter.”
“You should talk about being left unsupervised. You’re the one who almost brained himself while coming back from taking a crap.”
Brian threw his head back and roared with laughter. It was a good thing the diner was empty, the one waitress on duty too apathetic to even glance our way. When he finally got his laughter under control again, he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and said, “God I love that about you.”
“What?”
“That you’re irreverent enough to razz me about falling down a flight of stairs. Every other person I know is always so damn careful about what they say to me, and I fucking hate that. They act like I’m an emotional cripple, like I have to be treated with kid gloves. ‘Oh, poor little Brian, he doesn’t have his legs anymore, so we’d better be extra, super nice to him.’ Ugh. It’s enough to make me want to swallow the working end of a Smith & Wesson.”
He took a sip of coffee and added, “And by the way, if I said that last sentence to anyone else I know, they’d already be speed-dialing the psych unit at the V.A.” He then looked from me to the piece of pie on the table, and back again. “So, you going to eat that like a normal person, or what?”
I grinned at him and picked up my fork. “Yes, but order yourself another piece. I feel bad for hijacking this one.”
He did as I asked, and when the second piece of pie arrived, he tucked into it with gusto.
“You know,” I said as we enjoyed our dessert, “people also treat you with kid gloves because you have a terrible temper and occasionally throw plates through windows.”
“This is true.”
“I’m surprised you’re just owning that, I’d have expected you to argue.”
“Why? You’re absolutely right.”
I mulled that over as I drank some coffee, then said, “Cole, he would have argued. Even if I was right.”
“Was what I witnessed back there typical for the two of you?”
“Not really. We fought constantly, which is why I broke up with him, but it wasn’t that intense and it never got physical. We just had to argue about absolutely everything, all the time.”
“Kind of like you and I do?”
I shook my head. “Absolutely not. You and I bicker, we don’t fight. It’s totally different.”
“Well, good. I’d hate for you to have relationship flashbacks while you’re hanging out with me.”
“No worries there.”
His next words surprised me. “So, have the police considered Cole as a potential suspect in your stalker case?”
“Of course not. Cole would never do something like that.”
“You sure about that?”
I nodded and said, “What you witnessed back there, that’s not really who he is. He’s actually kind and gentle. I just bring out the worst in him.”
“Maybe the ‘worst in him’ is far worse than you’d imagined.”
I frowned and told him, “I wish you hadn’t said anything. Now I’m doubting Cole, and he doesn’t deserve that. Sure, he’s royally pissed off at me, but he’s not a stalker.”
“If you say so.” Brian didn’t look convinced, but he changed the subject slightly by saying, “I guess if I’m going to be your temporary, utterly useless bodyguard, maybe you should bring me up to speed on your case. What’s the stalker done, and what are the police doing to catch him?”
I told him about the letters that had been showing up for months, some hand-delivered to my production company, and described the threats they contained. I also told him about my numerous conversations with the police. When I finished, he said, “So, the threats are escalating, but the police really aren’t doing anything.”
“They’ve done some investigating.”
“Not enough, obviously, since this nut job’s still at large.”
“They’re doing what they can. And while they work on finding this person, I now have you to look after me. I feel better knowing I’m not going to be alone.”
“You’re going to hate having me around all the time. You really should place a few calls today and line up some bodyguard candidates ASAP.”
“I don’t know why you’d think that. I like being around you.”
“Why?’
“Why?” I repeated. “Do I need a reason?”
“Yes.”
“I just like you, Brian. You’re interesting, and smart, and funny when you want to be. I even like bickering with you. I enjoy that give-and-take.”
He grinned and said, “I like that, too. Which probably means we’re both crazy.”
Abruptly, I blurted, “You’re also a really good kisser.”
It had bothered me that he didn’t remember what had happened, so I decided on the spur of the moment to clue him in. I thought there was a fifty-fifty chance that little news flash would completely freak him out, send him into some kind of straight-guy denial spiral or something, but I just couldn’t leave it hanging between us. I explained, “You kissed me last night, when you were completely drunk off your ass.”
He took a sip of coffee, then put the cup on the table and said, “I know.”
“You do?”
“Yup.”
“Wait a minute. I thought you’d blacked out last night from all that alcohol.”
“Yeah, so, I was lying about that,” he said levelly, maintaining eye contact. “I apologize. That was a really childish thing to do, pretending I didn’t remember it had happened.”
“Why were you pretending?”
“It was just easier. I figured it would generate this whole discussion about what it meant, and ‘but I thought you were straight,’ and so on and so forth, and I just really wanted to avoid all of that.”
I considered that for a moment, then said, “Fair enough.” After taking a sip of coffee, I picked up my fork and popped some pie in my mouth.
Brian looked surprised. “That’s it? I was sure you’d make a big deal out of it.”
“Why would I?”
He shrugged. “Maybe because you love to harp about me being a homophobic asshole, and an alleged bigot kissing another man seems discussion-worthy.”
“Oh, I do not harp. I’ve merely mentioned it a couple times.”
“More than a couple.” Brian smiled then and added, “At what point does it graduate from bickering to arguing? Because I’d like to avoid crossing that line, if at all possible.”
“We’re nowhere near the line. If we get within a mile of it, I’ll let you know.”
“Good.”
We’d both finished our dessert by now, and I asked, “Would you think less of me if I licked my plate?”
“Like this?” He picked up his plate and gave it a great, big lick, then grinned at me over the top of it.
/> I grinned too, and said, “Kind of. But I would have been classy enough not to wipe my nose in it.” I reached across the table and ran a fingertip over the tip of his nose, then held it up to show him the dollop of whipped cream.
He surprised me by taking my finger between his lips and quickly sucking it clean, then beamed at me when I looked startled. “Betcha didn’t expect the bigot to do that, either.”
I leaned back in my chair and exclaimed, “Okay, so, now I have to ask, you’ve left me no choice. Are you gay? Straight? Bi? None of the above? I’m at a total loss when it comes to you.”
“And that,” he said, flipping the controller on his chair and rolling back from the table, “is exactly why I wanted to pretend I didn’t remember kissing you.”
“Dude, you just sucked my finger in public. It begs the question.”
He just smiled at me, and crossed the restaurant to the waitress. They had a short discussion as he paid the bill, while I used the side of my fork to scrape up every last bit of my dessert. When he returned to the table and said, “Ready?” I noticed a plastic shopping bag in his lap.
“What’s that?”
“An entire key lime pie.”
“For what?”
“For eating, duh. Now you can stop trying to scrape every last molecule off that plate. You’ve cleaned it so thoroughly that they don’t even have to wash it, they can just put it back on the shelf.”
I rolled my eyes and started to reach for my wallet. “How much do I owe you?”
“In addition to not forgetting that I kissed you last night, I also didn’t forget that I was going to buy you dinner. It was supposed to be a thank you for cleaning my house. Since the pizza never showed up, this is my do-over.”
I was going to argue. But after a moment, I thought better of it, got up and pushed in my chair. “Thank you, Mr. Nolan.”
“You’re quite welcome, Mr. Jacobs.”
As we headed for the door, I said, “I never actually told you my last name.”
“I know. I Googled you last night, when you were in the midst of your cleaning frenzy. You have a really stupid stage name, by the way.”