What the Heart Wants

by Jerry Cole

  “Come on,” he said, cutting them both off. “It’s time we got you both back.”

  Amanda said something unsavory under her breath, but Brent was already helping her to her feet, gesturing for Brandon to do the same. Thankfully, Brandon was a little steadier on his feet, but he was still drunk enough Brent was going to have to share the cab. He didn’t trust Brandon to get himself home without incident.

  Getting them both into a car, and cramming himself on the backseat next to them, Brent realized he hadn’t text Marc back. It took him a while to dig his phone out of his pocket, leaning against Brandon awkwardly and tugging it out.

  Sorry. Manhandling people into a cab. It’s not just the dog.

  That felt like more than enough to say, even though as soon as the text had gone, Brent realized it implied he loved Marc. Well, he supposed there were worse things for Marc to think, but he didn’t want it to be something that hung over them or for it to worry Marc to the point he broke up with Brent or something.

  He was such an idiot; hadn’t he told Amanda it wasn’t love? God, he was the worst ever, and he needed to get himself sorted. Maybe he could explain the next time he saw Marc face to face?

  Not that there was anything he could do about it now. They pulled up outside of Brandon’s apartment complex and Brent shoved him out, yelling he’d see him in a couple of days to take care of Saskia. Brandon waved him off and stumbled in the direction of the main door. Brent snorted, part of him wondering if he should follow, but knowing Brandon was a big boy and could make his own way upstairs. Besides, he thought, staring back at Amanda who had fallen asleep against the window, there was no way he could leave her behind.

  Getting Amanda out of the cab, Brent managed to drag her mostly inside, shoving his hand into his pocket and digging out his keys. He could hear Juliette on the other side, sniffing and whining, and he rolled his eyes, knew she would be skidding out into the hall before he could stop her.

  “Need some help?”

  Brent jumped, feeling his heart hammering in his chest, but Marc’s stood there, smirking, and Amanda was staring at him, eyes wide.

  “Wow,” she said. “He really is hot.”

  Marc’s cheeks started to heat up, but that didn’t stop him from moving forward to help. He took the keys from Brent’s hand and unlocked the door. As predicted, Juliette immediately scrabbled into the hall, claws skittering on the floor and starting to whine and bark around their legs.

  “Juliette,” Marc said, latching on to her collar and holding her still.

  “Thanks,” Brent muttered, helping Amanda down the hall and into his own room. He heard the door shut and sighed, hoping Marc had remembered to put both Juliette and the keys in his apartment before shutting the door. He rolled his eyes at himself while he managed to lay Amanda down on the bed. “You need help?

  Amanda giggled and waved him off. “Go see your boyfriend,” she said, voice mostly muffled as she turned into the pillow, making a small effort to stand up. “S’your room.”

  “Yeah.” Brent tapped his hand against the doorframe and looked back at her, the state of her hair, the fact she was struggling just to get out of her shoes. “You can stay here tonight. Would hate for you to drunkenly fall off the couch in the middle of the night.”

  Amanda flipped him the bird and Brent laughed, shutting the door behind him. He jumped again—seriously, Marc needed to stop scaring him—when he saw Marc perched on the edge of the couch, Juliette obediently at his feet.

  “You stayed.”

  Marc smiled warmly. “Of course. You didn’t think I’d toss your stuff and run, did you?”

  “Uh,” Brent started, not wanting to finish that. Clearly, he didn’t think Marc was the type to run away after helping someone, but whatever, it wasn’t as if he was hoping for anything.

  The softness of Marc’s expression and smile drew Brent closer. Holding out his hand, Marc waited only long enough for Brent to take it before tugging him down, drawing Brent’s body against his in a warm hug. Brent melted against him, the stress of dealing with drunk people more than enough to drain him of energy.

  “Thank you,” he mumbled, turning his face into Marc’s shoulder. “How did I ever stay drunk during college?”

  Marc snorted, brushing a hand through Brent’s hair. “I’m sure you were a deviant.” There was a pause, Marc’s lips pressed to Brent’s temple, then his hairline. “Glad you’ve grown out of it.”

  Brent wanted to ask why; he wanted to know if Marc was glad because he didn’t go out himself, or that he didn’t like people who did drink to excess. Managing to keep his mouth shut, he drew a hand over Juliette’s head, scratching behind her ears. “I’m glad I went out. But I missed you.”

  Marc snorted, a huff of breath in Brent’s ear. “You saw me this morning.”

  “Yes,” Brent said slowly, turning his face so he could look Marc in the eye. “Is it weird?”

  There was silence, and Brent could see from the expressions flickering across Marc’s face he was considering his answer, wanting to make the right now. Something about his uncertainty warmed Brent, and he waited Marc out, playing with his fingers and leaning his forehead into Marc’s shoulder.

  “No,” Marc said at last. “I don’t think it’s weird.” There’s another pause, another brush of Marc’s lips against his hairline. “I missed you, too.”

  Brent breathed out a sigh, settling back on the couch and taking Marc with him. Marc would have to leave eventually, would go back to his own apartment and Stanley, but for now, Brent wanted to spend the next few minutes with Marc.

  “Told you it wasn’t just the dog,” he said, because he apparently can’t enjoy a comfortable silence.

  Marc sighed, but it was more comfort than exasperation. “I’m glad it’s not just the dog.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Brent jerked awake, the sound of something slamming into the coffee table. He narrowed his eyes, the light from the open curtains spilling into the living room, and he groaned, rubbing at his forehead. Amanda was currently hissing, rubbing at her shin as she navigated around the table. Her hair was still in disarray and she looked hungover, shielding her eyes with her hand.

  “Why is everything so bright?”

  Brent rolled onto his back, staring at her over the arm of the couch. “Head all right?”

  Amanda flipped him the bird—still eloquent, he supposed—and headed for the coffee maker. Brent stretched, Juliette immediately sniffing around the edge of the couch, whining.

  “All right,” he said, climbing to his feet, and opening the patio door. He’d take her out for a walk when he was properly awake, but for now she could do her business quickly.

  “So,” Amanda said, once he shut the door, and Juliette skidded after him into the kitchen. Nursing a cup of coffee, and the fact she hadn’t made Brent one said a lot about who she blamed for her hangover, and her smile was close to predatory. “I wasn’t too out of it that I didn’t see Marc.”

  Brent made a face as he poured himself a coffee. “You did see Marc. He’s probably judging you.”

  “Nah,” Amanda said easily. “Anybody that can put up with you on a daily basis clearly has terrible taste.”

  “You would know,” Brent shot back, grinning when Amanda’s mouth opened and then closed without saying something. She abruptly burst into laughter and Brent joined her, only stopping when Juliette butted at his legs.

  Scooping out some of the dog food, he dumped it into her bowl and slid it across the floor, sighing when she immediately tucked in, food spilling onto the floor.

  “You better eat that.”

  “So,” Amanda started. “Is that who you were texting last night?”

  “Yep,” Brent said, popping the p. “What of it?”

  Amanda was watching him carefully, sipping from her mug, considering her next words. She was so much like Marc it startled Brent for a moment, wondering if he ever would have dated her had he not been gay. Shaking his head, the thought m
aking his stomach roll and not just because of the idea of dating Amanda, he leaned back against the counter.

  “He’s good for you,” Amanda said.

  Brent blinked. “You decided that after seeing him once?”

  “No,” Amanda said, placing her mug on the side next to the basin and folded her arms over her chest. “I have to go home tomorrow and if I hadn’t seen him—hadn’t seen you with him—I would have wanted to.”

  Brent stared down into his mug, realizing Amanda hadn’t gone to bed straight away the night before, and even drunk she was nosey as fuck. “You saw us.”

  Unashamed, Amanda nodded. Her face softened into something warm and loving. “I care about you, Brent. I want to make sure he’s good for you. When you told me about his mental health issues, I worried.”

  Brent felt a burst of anger that was gone as soon as it came. “Not because—”

  “Fuck you,” Amanda said immediately, scowling. “You know I would never think that, Brent.”

  Silence fell. Brent rubbed at his forehead. “Sorry. It’s not that—I just care about him, you know? I feel,” he trailed off, not knowing what word he really wanted.

  “Protective?” Amanda shuffled closer, bumping her shoulder against his. She sighed, slumping against him. After a beat he slid an arm around her shoulders. She felt different than Marc, obviously, and he kissed her head while she clutched at his arm. “I was worried his mental health would affect yours.”

  “My mental health is fine,” Brent protested. “It always has been.”

  “Sure,” Amanda said, in the manner of someone really saying I was there when your father left, remember?

  Brent sighed. “All right, that’s fair. I don’t—it doesn’t affect me that way. I just want to make him happy, like I’ve told you about five hundred times. I think I could love him, Manda.”

  Amanda pulled back, her smile blinding, and she kissed him on the cheek. “Good. I hope he feels the same.” Her expression shifted into something warning. “If he doesn’t, I’ll have to kick him in the balls.”

  Brent winced in phantom sympathy and then rolled his eyes, shoving her off. “I’d have to kick you back.”

  “You could try,” Amanda shot back haughtily, slipping out of the kitchen and back into the living room. “Now, you have to take me to see some of your clients. I hear they love a good walk in the park.”

  Snorting, Brent had a stupid grin on his face as he readied himself for work. It reminded him that he needed to check in with Marc, see if he had any people looking for a dog walker. To be fair, he just wanted to see Marc, but after his ridiculous missing you comment, he needed to at least wait until the evening. There was the cute kind of separation, and then there was the almost-stalker kind of missing you.

  Before leaving the house, Brent shot a text to Brandon, asking if he was conscious. He didn’t have to sit for Saskia until a few days’ time, so he thought he should probably check in on him. He received a text of sick emojis a second later and Brent laughed, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

  Amanda gave him a weird look, but mostly kept Juliette from running every which way. She had a habit of testing whoever was on the other end of the leash, especially when they weren’t Brent, who was more than used to Juliette’s particular brand of annoying.

  “She’s settling in well,” Amanda noted, when they were on the train. Juliette was at their feet, head on her paws, one of the only times on Brent’s journey she was 100% well-behaved.

  “Yeah.” Brent grinned at her, giving her a little back rub as he noted the station they were currently swinging through. They had another few to go. “I’m glad I have a space for her to run around. I’d have to give her up in any other apartment.”

  Amanda nodded. “So, how many clients do you have?”

  Brent eyed her suspiciously, afraid this was another attempt to get Brent to admit he was just ignoring the fact his blog needed to be updated. “I want to ask Marc to help me.”

  “Okay,” Amanda said, drawing out the vowels. “How does that answer my question?”

  “Because I don’t have enough clients,” Brent continued. “I want more, but I’d need help.”

  Amanda knew him better than anyone, so it didn’t surprise Brent when she gave him a pointed look. “Need help for you or for Marc?”

  Brent shrugged, staring down the carriage so he wouldn’t have to look Amanda in the eye. It wasn’t as if helping Marc was a bad thing, but he didn’t want Amanda to think that was all he was about. He cared about Marc more than that. “Both? I don’t know.”

  “Brent,” Amanda said, squeezing his arm. “Look at me.” When Brent did, she sighed, rubbing a thumb over the back of his hand. “You can do whatever you like, but if you’re doing this just for him? I need you to think about it. If it doesn’t work out for you—and I hope it does, don’t get me wrong—I don’t want things to be awkward.”

  It was a sound argument, and Brent tipped his head back against the window. Juliette shifted on his feet, raising her head as the train pulled into a station. “I still wanna ask him. He might say no.”

  “And he might say yes.” Amanda acquiesced with a rueful smile. “I’m just trying to be the voice of reason.”

  “I know.” Brent shrugged lightly. “I’d have already told you to fuck off if I didn’t want to hear it.”

  Amanda nodded, apparently satisfied, and went back to looking out of the window. Brent did his best to distract himself, but he couldn’t help but worry that maybe Marc wouldn’t work with him anyway. If he asked, and then Marc decided the same thing, it wouldn’t be terrible, but what if he just—what if he accepted and then Marc grew bored of him? Or Brent lost his mind and suddenly didn’t want Marc anymore.

  Rubbing his palms on his jeans, Brent was grateful when they arrived at their station. “We’re getting off here.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  It was on the tip of Brent’s tongue to ask him.

  Marc, do you want to find clients with me?

  That was clearly ridiculous.

  Marc, those clients I was asking you about—do you want to work them with me?

  Making a face at himself, Brent frowned. Maybe if he tried something else.

  Marc, I want you to work with me.

  Except that could mean anything.

  “Brent,” Marc said, wrapping his fingers around Brent’s ankle. “What the hell are you thinking about?”

  Brent sat up, back against the arm of Marc’s couch, and his toes wiggling under Marc’s thigh. Marc was on his laptop, doing something for work—which Brent still didn’t know about—but he stopped, regarding Brent quietly. “What?”

  “You’ve gone through like fifty expressions since you sat down.”

  Sighing, Brent gave Marc a small smile. “Just thinking.”

  Marc was silent for a moment, shutting his laptop and sliding it onto the coffee table. He shifted on the couch, tugging Brent closer. Brent went willingly, sliding his hands into Marc’s and waiting for Marc to talk. Marc hesitated, expression concerned. “Is there something wrong?”

  “No,” Brent said, too quickly, his voice loud in the quiet of the room. Stanley raised his head from his paws, splayed out on the floor in front of the television. Juliette was half-hanging off Marc’s futon and Brent rolled his eyes at the fact she somehow wasn’t affected by his loud voice. “Sorry,” he continued, lowering his voice. Stanley went back to sleeping, stretching out his back legs. Marc’s attention didn’t waver, though his concerned expression gave way to interest. “It’s nothing bad. I’ve just been—I want to ask you something, but I don’t know how to do it.”

  “Just ask,” Marc said gently. “Whatever it is, I’m sure I’m not gonna get mad at you.”

  “I would hope not,” Brent muttered. “I just—you know I asked you the other day about my clients?”

  “Yeah,” Marc says, frowning in thought. “Is that what you want to ask me?”

  “No.” Brent tapped his fingers over
Marc’s thigh and sighed. “I wanted to know if, I mean I don’t know what you do for work, but I wondered.”

  When he trailed off, Marc’s eyebrows raised. He was patient, waiting Brent out, lips quirking up into a small smile.

  “Would you help me out?”

  Marc frowned. “With clients?”

  “Yes?” Brent formed it as a question, hoping it would cover his nervousness. “Not, not that you’re not already, but I was hoping you’d help me help me.”

  “I’m not following.”

  “I want you to walk dogs with me,” Brent blurted out, rubbing at his face once he’d done so. God, he was pathetic. “I mean, I don’t want to presume—”

  Thankfully, Marc took pity on him, talking over Brent when he started to babble something else. “Brent,” and Brent quietened down, meeting Marc’s eyes slowly. “I’m a freelancer.”

  “So,” Brent started, feeling his cheeks flush with shame. “I get it, I know you’re busy.”

  “Hear me out,” Marc said, lips quirking into an actual smile. He was more amused than annoyed, and Brent was grateful for it. It made his embarrassment a little less pronounced. “Being a freelancer, and no I’m not ready to share that with you yet.” It was Marc’s turn to turn red, his cheeks flaming and ducking his head, trying to avoid looking Brent in the eye. “But I could definitely, if you wanted me around, help you out.”

  Brent felt the tension in his chest ease, a grin slip onto his face. He squeezed Marc’s fingers, tugged him forward into a kiss. “I just—I’m doing this because I want to see you smile more.”

  “I smile plenty,” Marc said with a frown, which smoothed into a smile a half-second later. Brent couldn’t shake his own grin, feeling light and stupid, the way Marc always seemed to make him feel.

  “’Course you do,” Brent said placatingly, kissing Marc again. “You deserve to be happy, you know that, right?”

  Marc didn’t answer for a long while. Kissing had something to do with that, but when they pulled apart, Marc flicking on the television instead of going back to work, and Brent dragging Marc to lean against him for a change, the silence went on.