by Brandon Witt
He rolled his eyes at my caveman impression. “Yeah, I heard what he said. I also heard what he didn’t. You ever notice that people say the most when they’re not talking at all?”
“Glad I was present the exact moment that you turned into Confucius.”
“Fine, Mackenzie, use your sarcasm to keep me at arm’s length. But you know I’m right. It doesn’t sound like he’s done with you. And you certainly don’t look like you’re done with him,” he added.
I didn’t debate the point because really, I was realizing something new and scary myself. I was mad at Trevor. Frustrated with him, certainly. He’d owed me more as his friend and boyfriend both. But he wasn’t the one I desired right now. He wasn’t the one who’d been on my mind all night. And he certainly wasn’t the one I’d imagined fucking me at Asher’s. Nor the one whose package I was covertly staring at, conveniently at eye level.
Suddenly his hand appeared in my line of vision as he laid it on mine and squeezed. My eyes shot up to his, and we looked at one another, his expression surely as confused as mine, before he yanked his hand away.
“Give him some time. Maybe he’ll come around. I’ll bet he’s confused.”
I gave him an eyebrow. My gaydar had the occasional fritz, but I knew I’d felt a vibe. “Seems to be going around.”
He didn’t pretend to misunderstand me and flushed adorably.
“Mr. Channing?” The voice was back.
Jordan answered the intercom, looking absolutely relieved to not have to field that one. “Yes, Susan?”
“Rachel just arrived in the lobby. Should I ask her to come up?”
“No,” he said quickly. “I’m on my way down.”
Feeling dismissed, I stood. I didn’t offer my hand. It was just as well that I wouldn’t be feeling the sparks from Jordan Channing’s hand in mine again. What the hell was with me and straight guys lately?
“Want to walk with me to the lobby?” he asked, and I declined.
“I know my way down.”
“Sure,” he said, nodding. After a moment, he cocked his head and asked, “You’re not going to listen to me, are you?”
Not a chance. The one guy I wanted to come running didn’t even play for my team. I didn’t say that, though. I waved instead on my way out. “Thanks for the save, Jordan.”
Chapter 6
I SLAMMED the door of my pickup with certain force, and it threatened me back, nearly falling off. I was still pissed at Trevor but not pissed enough to miss lunch. I’d planned to be at my desk today, and to avoid Drew’s evil eye when I usually sauntered out for lunch break, I’d brought my lunch with me.
Or at least that’s what I called my sad sandwich and apple this morning. I shook out the paper sack, disbelieving I’d packed so light. Lunch always seemed less important in the morning, and you’d think I would’ve learned my lesson by now. Usually I was stuck staring at Drew’s expertly packed meal—leftovers from the night before—complete with side dishes and silverware. I dug up an old bottle of apple juice from the cab and took a swig.
“Ugh!” Apparently old apple juice tasted a bit like urine.
I listened to random stations in my car, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel. At this rate, lunch wouldn’t last long at all. I looked at my clock. I probably even had time to get in a little surveillance on the lovely Blakes. Suddenly the door of my cab opened, and Jordan stood there, holding my phone in his left hand.
“You forgot this.”
“Thanks.” I took it and tossed it on the dash.
His lips twisted wryly. “Glad to know it’s so important to you. That I saved your very life.”
My responding grin died as Jordan heaved himself up into my dusty cab. He shut the door behind him, squeaking on its rusted hinges, and settled down on the cracked vinyl.
“So what’s up?”
I looked at him in confusion. “What is up? What happened to Rachel? Do you no longer need my services? A lot of my clients do just choose the put-her-feet-in-concrete-and-dump-her-in-a-lake option, but I never get used to it.”
“Cute. Rachel came to tell me she has a meeting and can’t meet for lunch.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Should I be punching the clock, or what?”
“Nah, she really has a meeting. I think.” He looked around, eyeing my cracked dash. “I came to find out what makes this so preferable to going to lunch with me. So far, I’ve got nothing.”
I stared at him, nonplussed. I wasn’t prepared to answer why, exactly, eating with him was such a horrible idea.
“I’m even paying,” he said, his fingers resting lightly on the door handle. Which promptly fell off. “My God,” he said, raising disbelieving eyes from the slain door handle to my defensive gaze. “Surely the PI business can’t be that bad. Even in this economy.”
“Is there something wrong with saving?” I demanded, taking a bite out of my PB and J sandwich. “And this is PB and J by choice. Not necessity.”
He grinned.
“Besides, I was saving… we were saving. For a house.” The sandwich suddenly tasted like dust in my mouth.
He looked sympathetic for like a millisecond before he was on my case again. “I hate to tell you, but Trevor makes more than enough for any kind of house you have in mind.”
“I wanted us to be equals,” I said defensively. “Especially in our own home. I have more than enough for the kind of house I had in mind, but Trevor…. Trevor has different tastes.”
“You should teach a class in euphemisms. That your way of saying he’s a stuck-up, social climbing snob?”
Even after all he’d done to me, I felt disloyal nodding.
He laughed softly, almost to himself. “And this is the person you’re still pining for?”
“Pining may be too strong.”
“Pining seems just about right,” he said, almost affectionately. I thought if he was my brother, he might have ruffled my hair.
“It’s so odd how he’s just… moved on, you know? It’s like some crazy part of me is waiting for him to come to his senses.”
His smile was gentle. “And his senses would be loving you?”
I flushed. “I know I’m no prize, but… yes.”
“I guess it depends on what the game is.”
I think I almost gave myself whiplash turning to look at him that fast. I found him staring out at the passing traffic, expression closed, and I turned back to the front. Did he just say I was a prize? I couldn’t take it anymore, and I figured there was only one solution, really, a novel idea. I had to ask. “Jordan, I don’t like to assume anything, so I need to be frank.”
“Shoot.”
I could feel his eyes on me, measuring, assessing, but now I couldn’t look in his direction. Otherwise, I would never believe I was about to ask Jordan, unbelievably gorgeous and put-together Jordan, straight Jordan, if he was hitting on me.
“I’d like to think I’m a pretty good judge of character. And I don’t think you’re the kind of guy who would play with someone’s feelings.”
He nodded. “Yeah?”
“Nor do I think you’re particularly oblivious, which leads me to believe you’re well aware of all those signals you’ve been sending me.” I waited for some sort of denial, but there was nothing. My heart started to trip a little off beat. Was I right, then?
He blushed, and suddenly I was embarrassed. What was wrong with me? Why did I put him on the spot like that?
“I have a fiancée.”
“I know.”
“I’m not gay.”
I covered my eyes. “I know.”
“Maybe I just like you. Maybe you should stop analyzing everything to death.” The sunlight hit his eyes, making them impossibly beautiful.
“Do you wear contacts?” I blurted, almost mesmerized. It didn’t really matter if he did, but as usual, I had to say the first thing that came to mind.
He reached through the open window and opened his door from the outside. As he exited my truck, he l
ooked amused, as if he wanted to laugh. “I’ll see you later, Mac.”
“Am I fired?”
This time he did laugh. “Do you have no filter at all?” He walked two steps before turning back to my truck. “I may not be gay, but I think Trevor is absolutely crazy for walking away from you.”
I went red as fire. “Thank you.”
“I also think you can’t put your whole life on hold for someone who may never come to his senses. I hate to tell you this, Mackenzie, but life is happening with or without you.”
I WENT home in a sour mood. Jordan had a lot of nerve telling me how to live my life. Or worse yet, that I wasn’t living my life. And pining for Trevor? Hah! I slammed my truck into park, and the transmission slipped a little, sending me into the parking stone with a little bump. Bessie was grousing again, and it brought Jordan’s words into stark focus. So what if I could afford a better car? Didn’t mean I wasn’t living.
For the first time in a long while, I didn’t enjoy the cool, dark interior of my apartment. Yeah, I could probably decorate a little. Clean a little.
Trevor had been the cleanbot in our relationship, often chasing after me with a dust rag and broom in order to keep my place presentable. I’d told him to relax, that it wasn’t important to me, but try telling that to a guy who alphabetized his cereal. I winced, rubbing my neck. I could see four pizza boxes next to the garbage can—the overfilled garbage can. When was the last time I’d cooked a meal? Or eaten more than the limp, frozen vegetables that Lean Cuisine deemed a serving?
I couldn’t hold Trevor responsible for the disaster that was my apartment and my diet. Or lack thereof. I rubbed a hand over my still-flat stomach. No definition anymore, but still not pouchy. Yet.
I stuffed a Pop-Tarts pastry in my mouth as I gathered my gloves and bleach. Oh well. Good-bye, abs. Three bags of trash, twelve soda cans, eighteen beer bottles, and an hour later, I could see wood surfaces. Nice wood surfaces. I eyed my dining room table with a can of lemon Pledge but decided enough was enough.
My phone chirped out “Who Let the Dogs Out,” interrupting the music Bluetooth technology had magically been piping through my speakers. I was a bit outraged that someone would dare interrupt my old-school Madonna marathon, and my greeting was a bit gruff.
“What?”
“’Bout time you answered my call. God knows you never call me back.”
“Hello to you too, Dad.”
“I’ve been trying to reach you for two days,” he groused. “You never call me.”
Good Lord, sometimes it pays to let your phone go to voice mail. I could be listening to “Material Girl” right now. “What are you up to?”
“Fixing that TV in the den.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
My dad has never found an appliance he can’t fix. Only now that he’s retired, his attention span is ridiculously short, and he never finishes any of the projects he starts. We have a strange pseudo-Lowe’s going on in his backyard—any appliance you need, halfway repaired.
“It’s runs for about an hour before going out completely. You know what that sounds like?”
“Sounds like the picture tube to me.” Couldn’t believe he still had a TV with a picture tube, but that’s what it sounded like.
“Exactly.” His voice sounded muffled, like he was behind it this very minute. “I’m thinking about getting rid of the whole thing.”
“You’ve had it for a long time. Since I was like fifteen.”
“Longer than that, probably. Been thinking about one of those flat screen deals. You have to have a specific type of TV for that HD business, don’t you?”
“Yes, Dad. You need a TV with HD capability.” I decided to go ahead and attack the table and sprayed a fine film of Pledge across the top.
“I don’t know how I’d get it out of here, though,” he continued. “This thing is huge.”
“I think they’ll take the TV out for you if you have another delivered.”
“Would you go with Best Buy or Walmart?”
I was silent for a moment, uncharacteristically frustrated. There was no reason to get brand new. This was it between my dad and me. Meaningless conversation and talk of repairing things. When I retired from the force, that had been even one less thing for us to converse about. Sometimes I wished we could have a conversation about something that really mattered. But that just wouldn’t be Joe Williams’s style. He had a simple name for a plain, straightforward guy. And even though he hadn’t exactly enjoyed my “coming out,” he’d still accepted me the best he could.
I humored him. “You know I love Wally World. You going this weekend? I could give you a hand.”
Please say no, I prayed.
“Nah, I’m going fishing with Robby. We’re going down to the Glades and make a day of it. You should come,” he added, almost like an afterthought.
“I’m good,” I said wryly. The only thing more painful than hanging out with my dad was hanging out with my dad and Robert. Fishing used to be fun before my dad learned I was gay and Robert became a dick. Besides the fact that he insisted on calling me Apple because of my nickname, “Mac.” When my mother had done it, it had been endearing. But my little brother? Oh, man, the annoyance. Pair that nickname with the fruit cracks, and I was just about done.
“Do you know how long it’s been since all of us got together on the water?”
“Dear God, not the boat.”
Dad had gotten the boat from Uncle Brennan, a collector of everything and anything with an engine. Uncle Brennan had lived about an hour away all my life, giving Robert and me plenty of time to hang out in his yard and play with things we shouldn’t. We’d driven the undrivable, everything from forklifts to ATVs, and had nearly given our mother fits worrying over us. If I had a nickel for every bone that Robert and I had broken, I’d be able to retire for real. Uncle Brennan had also been a mechanic, which made hanging out at his garage the ultimate thrill. There was nothing cooler to two little boys than hanging out with an uncle who collected and built racecars. He would be horrified if he could see Bessie.
“I gave your Uncle Brennan back the boat. You would know that if you called me more often.”
“You loved that boat.”
“It was a water hazard. It was rusting straight through. Not the kind of boat you want to take to Alligator Alley.”
I laughed. “You finally afraid of those alligators, old man?”
“It’ll take a lot more than a gator to get rid of me, boy.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
“So, you busy or what? It would do an old man good to see his boys doing something together.” He paused to let it sink in and then pushed harder. “You know I’m getting on up in age.”
He may be getting older, but he had still obviously completed the mandatory requirements for Wielding Guilt for Parents 101. I grunted my agreement, and he finally let me off the phone. I swiped at the forgotten Pledge in hard concentric circles, in a better mood but dreading the weekend. God knew I loved my family, but the thought of spending my hard-earned weekend with them was enough to make me scrub the wood off that table.
Chapter 7
I PUSHED my aviators on top of my head and set the tiny pair of binoculars to my eyes. Even though I was sitting there making money (my favorite type of sitting), I was irritated. And as I squinted at the closed door of her house, I realized the reason was a combination of three things: it was the crack of dawn (to me), I was working, and Jordan was inside with this Rachel person doing God knows what. Why the last should bother me, I didn’t care to explore. Why images of them would torture me, I had not a cl— All right, I knew why. I wanted him for myself.
Not for a relationship, and not for long. Love could keep all her hearts and flowers and fake crap to herself. No, I wasn’t looking for someone to share my breakfast table with. I wanted him in my bed, all long legs and soft, inviting eyes. He would look at me with that slightly amused expression and a raised brow and ask, “What are
you waiting for?” The fact that my dream was impossible didn’t dampen my spirits or my erection, and Drew’s voice startled me out of my very pleasant musings.
“So what’s the deal with this chick?” Drew’s voice sounded close in my ear, and I adjusted the volume of my phone.
“Top of the morning to you too,” I said. “She’s Jordan’s fiancée. A real business type, legal shark.” Right now, Legal Shark’s yard was quiet and empty, and I grabbed a video shot of the scene. “It’s 8:40 a.m.,” I murmured into the device.
“I can’t believe you’re up this early.”
“You can’t believe it? If I had to come in to the office, I would be setting up a hologram of myself right now.”
He laughed. “And it would probably do more work than you usually do.”
“Shut it, Rodriguez.”
A woman in a short black dress elbowed open the front door, her hands full with two briefcase-type bags and a purse. I realized I was looking at her with a critical eye, almost as one would a rival, but I couldn’t help myself. She was flawless from the top of her layered haircut to the perfectly manicured claws that hit her key remote. I watched the red bottoms of her black stilettos disappear into her car and threw my car in gear.
“She’s on the move,” I said. “And so am I.”
“Don’t forget we have to meet with McGarrett at one o’clock.” When I didn’t say anything, he continued. “Don’t flake on me again,” he warned, and I groaned.
My phone buzzed again, and Jordan’s name flashed on the screen. “Gotta go,” I said even as Drew was complaining, and clicked over. “Shit,” I said as the white Beemer flew past me.
“Is that the way you answer the phone?” Jordan’s amused voice filled my truck as I put him on speaker and pulled out into the street. I was going to need both hands for this.
“Yeah, pretty much.”
“She just left,” he informed me.
“Was that the white blur I saw?”
The Beemer made a high-speed turn and flew around the corner.
“Shit!” I exclaimed again.