by Jodi Payne
Owen shivered. “Fuck yeah.” Fuck yeah, and Reese totally had it going on.
“So? It was good? He fucked your brains out and…?”
“No, actually. He doesn’t fuck on a first date.”
“What? He told you that? How odd.”
“Right? I mean I can respect that, whatever. But it’s not something a one-night-stand kind of guy would say.”
“Hm. No.”
“He got cold feet?” That was Jess.
“Oh. Well, yeah maybe. It was kind of out of nowhere. Things were going really well, we were talking, and then he just checked out. He sort of disappeared somewhere, and suddenly had to go home.”
“Mm. So he’s got baggage.”
“Something.” Definitely. He could see it in the man’s face.
“Did he give you his number?”
Owen sighed. “No.”
“Oh, honey.”
“I gave him mine, though. Wrote it down, put it in his pocket. I told him to call me when he’d worked it out.” He’d looked into those incredible eyes. He had a hard time believing Reese would simply let him go. There was so much more there to explore, to learn. “Maybe he will.”
“Don’t get your hopes up, baby.”
Owen wilted. “I’m so bummed, Carla. He was so… I don’t know. Human. Real. I liked him.”
“He weathered my evil eye and killer handshake pretty well. I was hoping it might work out for you. But you know how it goes, Owen. You can’t compete with ghosts.”
Owen shook his head. No, but for the right guy, he could live with them. Hell, he had a couple of his own. “Yeah, I get it. Thanks, Carla. I should let you guys go.”
“You’re coming to brunch, though, right?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
“Good. See you in the morning. Get some rest.”
“You too.”
“Or not.”
Owen laughed. “Or not. Even better.”
Jess interrupted again. “Night, Owen!”
“She is definitely drunk.”
“Shhh.” Carla stage whispered. “Not drunk. Willing.”
“Ooh, you’re such a dog, Carla.”
“Ha. Love you. Night, Owen.”
“Night.”
He hung the phone up and stared at it. If he had Reese’s number, he would be calling it. Owen would be asking questions. Where had his mind gone? Did he want to talk about it? Owen had a pretty good ear. Why walk out when things were so comfortable and going so well? And the big one:
When would they see each other again?
Reese might call. It wasn’t impossible.
Owen switched the light off and tried to sleep.
Chapter VII
AS PROMISED, Chad gave Reese Sunday off. That was a good thing, because he didn’t get home from Owen’s until nearly four thirty in the morning, and when he did get home, he’d opened up his liquor cabinet and put a little dent in a bottle of scotch. He spent most of Sunday sleeping, nursing a light hangover, and folding and unfolding the piece of paper with Owen’s cell number on it.
When Monday morning came, however, Chad was on the job.
“Good morning, soldier.” Chad’s voice was entirely too cheerful for a Monday morning.
“Hello, Chad.”
“Uh-oh. Somebody needs to make coffee.”
“Somebody needs to tell me why he is calling when I’m not even out of my pajamas yet.” He was grumpy. Maybe he was still hungover. Or maybe he had someone on his mind. It needed to stop because he had five thousand words to write before his reading tonight.
And right there, there was another indication something was wrong—he remembered he had a reading tonight. He looked at the still-brewing coffeemaker and waited impatiently.
“I’m calling to remind you—”
“Reading. Got it.”
“Six o’clock. Be there at five thirty.”
“Five thirty. I’ll be there.” At least it was an independent bookstore this time and not another Barnes & Noble. He’d had enough black eyes for one month, thank you.
“Am I signing?”
“Only the first fifty people to come in.”
“Fifty sounds like a lot.”
“It’s not the nearly couple of hundred you signed last week,” Chad offered encouragingly.
“Oh. Well, that’s reasonable, then.” Reese poured a cup of coffee, added a little cream, and then leaned against his kitchen counter.
“So,” Chad began, and Reese knew exactly where he was going. “Did you get home all right the other night?”
Reese decided to try evasive maneuvers. “Yep. Just fine. Thanks again for the ticket. I really did enjoy the performance.”
“And how did you perform after I left you alone with the musician hottie?”
Reese sighed and massaged his forehead with his fingers. “Owen.”
“Yes, Owen.”
“He plays… rock cello, sort of. I don’t even know what to call it. He has a small band, and I stayed and listened to his set. It was pretty amazing.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. And I had a blondie. It was yummy.”
“Reese,” Chad chastised lightly. What he didn’t say was you know I’m going to get this out of you so you might as well talk.
“What? We had a drink at his place after, and I stuck to my rule.”
“And?”
“And that was it. I went home around four, had a drink, and spent yesterday on my couch with all the shades closed.” He sighed.
Drinking usually meant he wasn’t processing well, and Chad knew that.
“Did you call him?”
“No.”
“Did he call you?”
“No, Chad. No phone calls. It was a nice evening, but you know what I do. It’s not worth it.”
“Oh, Reese.”
“Don’t, Chad. Don’t do that. I’m not your poor Reese.” Reese pushed off the counter. “I have words to get in today. I need to get in the shower.”
“Okay, Reese.” Chad apparently decided now was not the time to press the issue. Thank God. “See you tonight. At five thirty.”
“Got it.” Reese hung up the phone. “Shit.” He took a big sip of his coffee before he headed for the shower. He tripped over his dress shoes on the way there, swore, and tossed them into his closet. He turned on the water, and then dumped his robe on the floor, trying to get a handle on what he was feeling. He was angry with himself for not being what people needed. He was angry with other people for not understanding what he needed. He was angry that he walked out on Owen the other night. Owen hadn’t deserved that.
Reese let the hot water relax him and moved himself toward a more creative headspace. He thought about Harris and how it must have felt to have a psychopath leave a dead woman in the driveway and what that might do to a detective who had made it a mission to bring the guy to justice. How resentful Harris must be that the subject had made it personal.
After his shower, feeling clearer headed and ready to write, he sat down at his computer and had two thousand words done before lunch. The other three thousand were a little harder to find, but find them he did, and by four o’clock his work was done. He had a snack, dressed, and then was at the bookstore, as promised, by five thirty. All in all, a good day.
“Hey, Reese.” Chad came over and gave him a hug. “On time and everything. Productive day?”
“Yes, actually. Hit my word count, had a shower, made quesadillas for lunch, and took the tux to the dry cleaner on the way here. Boom.” Reese grinned.
“Attaboy. My credit card bills thank you.”
“Ha-ha.”
“Your face is still a little….” Chad made a gesture to where his shiner had been.
“Green. Yeah, I know, but it doesn’t hurt anymore. Does it look awful?”
“No, no. It’s noticeable, but not too bad. Still, maybe you should start off with a joke, you know, so people aren’t distracted by it.”
Reese made a face. “
Right, okay.”
The store manager came over to him and spoke to him politely. “Welcome, Mr. Kelsey. Are you ready?”
“Yes. Let’s get this started.”
IT WENT well. Reese much preferred readings to just straight-up book signings. He felt more connected to this event, and he liked hearing and sensing the audience’s reaction to his work. He always picked some particularly suspenseful passage and made sure to leave off on a cliffhanger. Chad said audiences tended to eat that stuff up and buy, buy, buy.
Chad put a hand on his shoulder after he’d signed the last copy for the evening. “Nicely done. Good sales, lots of happy guests. The store manager is happy too.”
“Excellent. Now I am going home and putting myself to bed happy.”
“Alone?” Chad winked.
“Chad.”
“What? You still haven’t called him?”
“No, not yet. Maybe not at all. How is this your business?”
“Reese, honey. You are my business. Call him.”
“You remember the state I was in after Mr. Paul M. Norcross, Esquire left me?” Reese snorted. Paul left? Or Reese ran him off? “Seriously. I think part of me just disconnected that morning. You really want to tempt fate again?” Actually Reese didn’t remember a lot about that day. He knew Chad had somehow convinced the building manager to key into Reese’s apartment. He knew Chad had taken care of him too. But the little Reese could remember feeling still made him physically ill.
“It was a bad day, Reese. Everyone spins out once in a while.”
“Hmph.”
“Of course that was a lot more like a tornado than a spin, but whatever.” Chad’s attempt at an encouraging smile made Reese laugh.
“Okay, Chad. How about I just worry about that and you stick with what I hired you for.”
“Oh, fine, then. Word count for tomorrow?”
“I’m shooting for five thousand daily for the rest of the week, but I’ve built in some overtime for Friday in case I don’t hit it every day.”
“Good, good. You have time. Just stay on track.”
“What’s next on the calendar?” Reese asked, not really wanting to know.
“Oh, uh, let’s see.” Chad took out his day planner. He still used a paper calendar, which drove Reese crazy.
“You know if you used an electronic calendar, I could sync it to my phone, and then I wouldn’t—”
“Yeah, yeah. Okay. So you are actually off the hook for appearances until next weekend, and then it’s an out-of-town event on Saturday.”
“Driving? Or are you putting me on a plane?”
“Limo.”
“Excellent. Remind me,” Reese said, packing his things up. Chad would hang around this time to put all the promo crap away.
“Will do. I’ll check in with you in a couple of days, honey.”
“Great. Good night.”
“Call Owen!”
“Good night, Chad.”
IT WAS a perfect night out, and Reese decided to walk home. The air was still cool, even though it was well into spring. The sky was clear, and he could even make out a few stars. It was nights like this that Reese wished he had a dog so he could have an excuse to walk for a couple of hours and go nowhere. He’d tried a dog once, for company. That hadn’t gone well. He’d gone on a writing binge and basically didn’t leave his office for two days. The poor pup had pooped everywhere and fed himself out of the kitchen garbage can. Chad ended up giving him hell and taking the dog himself. It was possible Reese was worse with dogs than he was with lovers.
Lovers.
That thought brought him around to Owen. If his back were to the wall, he couldn’t say he really wanted to walk away. He didn’t. He was definitely attracted, he enjoyed the man’s company, and he admired Owen’s talent. All those things logically added up to the beginning of something worth giving a try. Truth be told, Reese’s issue wasn’t with Owen at all; it was with himself. When it came to relationships, Reese was his own worst enemy, and he frequently ended up the worst enemy of whomever he brought into his life as well. He used to blame the work—it was murder on his personal life; it was too consuming; there was little room for lovers in such a solitary endeavor. But he’d learned, particularly after his last breakup with Paul, that those things were excuses and the real issue was with his own priorities. There were always words to write, always deadlines to meet and engagements to attend. If Reese wanted someone to stay, he knew what he had to do, and it started with reining in the noisy, demanding demons in his own mind.
He’d tried with Paul. He could honestly say he’d tried. He’d adored Paul, and Paul had been so patient with him. It broke Reese’s heart to think about how much energy they had put into trying to hold on to one another. But in the end, Reese couldn’t get his mind around the lawyer in Paul, the one who lived life according to orderly schedules, laws, and regulations, and Paul just wasn’t able to comprehend the winding path that was Reese’s creative process. It had ended wordlessly one very dark and very cold morning. Reese couldn’t bring himself to say a word as Paul gathered the few things he kept at Reese’s apartment, and Paul just didn’t seem to have the energy anymore. The front door closed with a soft click, and that had been the end of that.
Reese blinked a few times to clear his foggy vision. How long had he been walking? He looked around to get his bearings and was deeply annoyed, but not terribly surprised to discover that while he was lost in thought, his feet had taken him to Owen’s neck of the woods. Monday night, after nine… maybe it was worth stopping by the Grey Moon. If Owen was there, he could watch through the window for a minute and see how he felt. No harm, right? And if Owen wasn’t there, he could decide to cut his losses and go back to being a happy hermit.
He made his way over to the Grey Moon, finding he was walking more quickly now that he had somewhere to actually go. The light spilling out of the windows was familiar and warmed the sidewalk outside. Reese strained to hear the music better, listening for the smooth, mellow sound of Owen’s cello. He was fairly sure he heard it, and a glance in through the windows confirmed it for him; Owen and his band were playing a set.
He hung slightly in the shadows, watching Owen play. He could see the music flowing through Owen’s entire body, up his spine, out to his fingertips. He could see the emotion of the music on Owen’s face and when something sounded particularly right, Owen would smile slightly and nod. Oh yeah, Reese imagined him thinking. Like that.
How long did he plan to stand outside? Was he going to go in and say hello, or was he going to hide here in the shadows for a little longer and then go home?
Go home to what? A milkshake and some crappy late-night TV? Was letting this potential something slip by him and being alone really better than risking being left again? Maybe he could do it better this time. Maybe he could be a better partner. Maybe Owen would understand him.
Maybe not, but after debating with himself for two more songs, he decided he had to risk it.
Reese took a deep breath and opened the door to the café. His eyes were on Owen, who was playing at the moment and wasn’t letting people coming and going be a distraction. Reese headed to the counter and bought himself another blondie and a latte from the cute green-haired barista and then found himself a seat. Owen and the band were playing an incredible cover of Sia’s “Elastic Heart.” It was dramatic and emotional, and Reese was drawn right in, just as he had been the other night. He honestly knew nothing about Tchaikovsky, but this he could really get into. This was so amazing.
He took a sip of his latte and glanced over at Carla, who had taken over the melody for the moment. She was pretty damn talented herself. When he looked back, his eyes met Owen’s and Owen smiled at him briefly. Reese nodded to him and smiled back.
Two more songs and the set was over. Carla, Lisa, and Owen shook hands with the audience as usual and packed up their equipment, and then Owen gave Reese an apologetic smile and pointed at Lisa. He nodded and finished his coffee while the
band had a little powwow, and by the time they were done, the café was quiet and nearly empty. The staff was closing down.
Owen finally got free, gave Lisa and Carla kisses and hurried over to Reese. “They’re closing up, and we have to get out. Can we talk outside?”
Reese blinked. “Yeah, of course.” He held out the last bite of his blondie for Owen, who smiled and ate it right off his fingers.
“Come on.”
It was starting to get pretty chilly out now, and they were hit with a cold wind as they left the building.
“So hey, stranger. You didn’t call,” Owen said, though there was no animosity in his voice.
“I did not call, no.” Reese shook his head. “I wanted to, but.”
“Still sorting?”
“Maybe.” Reese shrugged. “Yes?”
“Can we walk?” Owen asked, shivering a bit.
“Oh yeah. Walk.”
Owen started off for his apartment, and Reese fell in beside him.
As it turned out, they didn’t actually talk much on the walk, but they got closer and closer physically, bumping shoulders, leaning on each other, and sharing kisses as they careened down the sidewalk together. Owen led Reese into the building, and they climbed the four flights of stairs. By the time they got to the top, all Reese wanted was to have him. He was breathless and his heart was pounding from more than the exertion of climbing the stairs.
“You really need to open that door,” Reese told Owen, his voice deep and husky.
“Shit, yes. Fucking can’t find my keys.” Owen put his cello down and Reese pounced on him, claiming his mouth and pushing him up against his apartment door. “Reese,” Owen panted. “Not in the…. Oh God.”
Reese pushed away and flipped Owen’s bag upside down with one hand. The floor was littered with chewing gum, a tuning fork, notebooks, pens, rosin, Owen’s wallet and, yes, thank fuck, Owen’s keys. Reese handed them to Owen and shoveled everything back in Owen’s bag. “Got it?”
“Yeah. Let me get my… wait, the cello….” They stumbled over each other, making sure to get everything at least into the apartment even if most of it ended up strewn all over the entry floor. Finally Owen slammed the door shut and locked it.