Rebel without a Claus: A M/M Love at first sight romance

by Denise Wells

  A dark figure is sitting on the stoop in front of our building and my breath catches as I find myself hoping it’s Kris, here to force his way back into my life and prove to me that our differences can be overcome. But when the guy brings a cigarette to his lips, I have a feeling it’s not Kris. And when I get closer and realize how slight the figure is, I know for sure.

  I nod my chin at him as I pass; he does the same. Neither of us says a word, each lost in our own thoughts. I make it up two of the four flights of steps to our level when I realize that’s another thing. We don’t have an elevator; it doesn’t even exist in the building. Kris would have to walk up four flights of stairs every single time he wanted to see me.

  But then I remember how fit he is. And he usually takes the stairs at Coleman’s, by choice, because it’s healthier. I realize that’s not a good reason to have on my mental list, so I scratch it off. Because if I’m going to flatline this budding relationship, I can only have reasons that are irrefutable.

  Sarah isn’t home when I get there. She’s left a note saying she ran out to the store, but didn’t text me because she figured she’d be back before me, if I even came home again, but since I hadn’t texted her to say otherwise—I have to flip the paper over to read the rest—she thought I might. And if I am home before her, she made brownies and there’s ice cream in the freezer.

  I grab a bowl and make myself a brownie sundae before I’ve even changed from my work clothes. Even though I’ve convinced myself that the right thing to do is to not pursue this with Kris, I’m still sad about it. I grab the TV remote and turn on the Hallmark Movie Channel Christmas Movie Marathon.

  Sarah walks in shortly after. “Hey lover boy, what’s shaking?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You okay?”

  “Yes. No. I don’t know.”

  “Did something happen?” She comes to sit by me on the couch.

  I pause the show, and hand her my bowl of brownie sundae so she can have some too. “Kris is Kris Coleman.”

  “Okay.”

  “As in Coleman Department Stores.”

  “Oh!”

  “Yeah. Oh.”

  “Okay, so tell me why that’s bad?”

  “Uh, he’s rich?” I say it like a question, the word ending on an up note, but it’s really a statement.

  “And?”

  I swing my arm in the air. “And we’re not.”

  “So?’

  “He wanted to come over here tonight.”

  “And you said no because you’re being weird about the fact that he has money.”

  “Yes.”

  “Lame.”

  “It’s not lame, think about it. No way would he be comfortable here, he’d always want to be at his house, which is way the hell across town, so I’d always be schlepping back and forth. And no way could I ever afford to take him out to some fancy place like he’s used to. And I wouldn’t fit in with his friends. As soon as they hear I’m a struggling actor they’ll immediately peg me as a gold digger. If he hears that enough, he’ll start thinking it too, and then he’ll break it off, only I’m already invested, and I get hurt.”

  I pause for a breath.

  Sarah finishes off my brownie sundae that I now regret having given her.

  “It’s better to just cut it off at the pass now before anyone gets attached.”

  “You sound like you’re already attached.”

  “Well, I’m not.”

  “Then, what’s the big deal? Keep seeing him.”

  “Fine.” I sigh. “I like him. A lot.”

  “It sounds like you already have it all figured out.” She runs her finger along the inside of the bowl to get the last bits of sundae. “What do you need me for?”

  “I don’t.”

  “Great. Then start the show, and I’ll make us both another brownie sundae.”

  “I don’t want another one.”

  “You didn’t even finish this one.”

  “Too many calories.”

  She rolls her eyes at me. “Lame.”

  “You said that already.”

  “Well, that’s because there’s a million reasons for it. You are lame all over the place right now.”

  I turn back toward the TV and start the show, deciding to ignore Sarah for a while. Which ends up being fine, because she ignores me too.

  11

  Kris

  I can hold a grudge. According to Kelly it’s one of my many faults. I also don’t like to be the first one to give in after a fight, even if I am the one to blame. But in this, with Nick, I don’t think I am. He was weird when I went to ask him to lunch. Weird in like he was a completely different person from the one I’d woken up with.

  So, I didn’t call him or text him. Not all day. I waited for him to come to me. Except he didn’t. I was still holding out hope until close to two o’clock in the morning, which is when I finally admitted defeat, turned off my phone, and went to bed.

  I woke this morning with renewed hope that he had reached out during the four hours I was asleep. But no. I get that now would be the time for me to reach out to him, but I can’t do it. My pride overrules everything else. It was when I told Kelly what happened with Nick that she reminded me that I’m a dick in an argument.

  It was this morning, at the office, she reminded me I hold a grudge. Which, according to her, is a waste of energy. I went downstairs to see if I could find him. Figuring I would apologize for cornering him at work even though I’d technically be doing the same thing in that moment, and everything would be okay.

  Except Santa’s Village isn’t open today.

  I’m left with only a few other options. Waiting until tomorrow (given he hasn’t quit which I don’t think he has), heading down to HR and asking for his address, or waiting for him to contact me.

  None of those options appeal to me right now.

  Instead I get another cup of coffee and get back to work.

  Susan pokes her head in my office. “I’m getting ready to head out, you need anything else before I go?”

  “Nah, I’m good. Thanks for all your help today.”

  “No problem. Hey, you okay? You seem kind of down.”

  I’m tempted to spill everything to her. Susan isn’t just my assistant; over the years she’s become a valued friend. But she’d just tell me the same thing Kelly did. Instead, I ask, “Do you ever back down in an argument that isn’t your fault?”

  “All the time.”

  “Why?”

  “Because my pride isn’t worth the energy I’d have to expend staying angry.”

  Huh.

  “Thanks.” She makes it sound so simple. Maybe it is.

  “No problem, see you tomorrow.”

  “See you, Susan.”

  I’d gotten Nick’s address from HR before they all went home for the night. I figure I have about ten minutes to decide whether I want to use it or not. After that I’ll be on my way home, in the opposite direction, and I won’t detour after that.

  I’m in the backseat of the town car before I make up my mind. “Head to this address, will you?” I pass the driver the slip of paper with Nick’s address on it then sit back and figure out what I’m going to say.

  Four fucking flights of stairs. Of course, he lives in a multi-story walkup. I don’t know how people live like this. I mean, I like taking the stairs at work and other buildings where it’s a few floors. But I’m not sure if I would like it as well if I had to take the stairs and there was no other choice.

  I pause in front of his door, suddenly unsure of my decision. Maybe this isn’t such a good idea. Maybe he was acting the way he was yesterday because he realized he didn’t want to see me anymore. If I show up unannounced on his doorstep, I’ve become some kind of crazy stalker. I mean, really, we’ve only had one date.

  One date and a night of crazy hot sex. But still.

  I step back and lean against the opposite wall, trying to make up my mind was to what I want to do. A woman approaches. Once
she’s a few feet away I realize she must be going to his place because it’s the only apartment at this end of the hall.

  I nod at her in greeting, trying to decide if I just want to leave. She stands there, head cocked, eyes squinted, studying me.

  “Are you Kris Coleman?” she asks.

  I step forward with my hand reached out. “I am, nice to meet you. And you are?”

  “Sarah.” She shakes my hand, her palm is cool, but her grip is firm. “Are you here to see Nick?”

  “I think so. I haven’t quite decided yet. Until I do, I’d rather he not know I’m here.”

  “Oh, he’s not home.”

  My heart sinks.

  “But he will be soon. He went to the gym, and he just texted to tell me a little over an hour ago. He’s usually gone for ninety minutes or so. You’re welcome to come inside to wait. I know he’d be happy to see you.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” I tell her.

  “Come on in anyway. I’ll make some coffee, and we can chat a bit until you make up your mind.”

  What the hell?

  I follow her in the house. It’s inviting and homey but small. I feel like I could be comfortable here. At her behest, I take a seat on the couch, and she joins me a few minutes later with two steaming mugs of coffee.

  “Thank you, Sarah.”

  She nods. “Of course. So, here’s the thing. Nick’s all hung up on the fact that you’ve got money and he doesn’t. And if you ever tell him I told you, I’ll make it so that you disappear. I’m a chemist. I have access to large vats of chemicals that dissolve an entire cow in a matter of minutes.” She looks at me, waiting for confirmation that I won’t say anything.

  I nod. “You have my word.” I pull my fingers across my lips as though I’m zipping them shut.

  She continues. “He grew up poor and has struggled since he’s been on his own. He thinks your friends will accuse him of being a gold digger, and eventually you’ll come to agree when he can’t afford to do the same things that you can.”

  I take a sip of my coffee. “This is good,” I tell her. She smiles, then sits back, crossing her legs, waiting for me to acknowledge what she’s just said.

  “You aren’t describing something I’ve not encountered before,” I say.

  She nods her encouragement for me to continue.

  “But I don’t know how to counteract it. It seems harder for people without money, to overcome being with someone who has money than the other way around.”

  “That’s because you have money.” She half-smiles.

  “So, what do I do?”

  “Show him it doesn’t matter.”

  “How?”

  “You’re going to have to figure out a way for him to even the playing ground so that he doesn’t feel inferior. Maybe come up with something that you can do, that money can’t change, and let him do it for you.”

  It’s a good idea, I just don’t know what that thing would be. But I realize I need to figure it out before I talk to Nick again. I finish my coffee and thank Sarah for her hospitality then quickly leave before Nick gets home so I can figure out my plan and put it into place.

  12

  Nick

  I’m exhausted by the time I get home from the gym. I stayed an extra hour to do more cardio to try and work some of the angst out of my system. Sarah is washing dishes when I walk in.

  “Hey,” I say.

  “Hey. How was the gym?”

  “Good. Thanks.”

  “Decide what you’re going to do about Kris yet?”

  “You know I did. The answer is nothing.”

  “So, you’re just going to remain Mr. Grumpy McMopeyPants forever?”

  “No. Just until I get over him.”

  “Lovely.” Her voice is flat. But then, perks up. “What if you could come up with something you could do for him or give him that doesn’t cost money that he doesn’t already have? Something of value to even the playing field, so to speak?”

  “Like what?”

  “Pfft. I don’t know, that’s for you to figure out. I’m just the idea person.”

  I grab a glass and fill it with water from the tap. Drinking and thinking as I head to the shower. It’s not a bad idea. It’s actually a really good one. I just need to figure out what that thing would be and how to make it work. Then I need to swallow my pride and grovel for forgiveness and hope he’s in a charitable mood.

  Three hours go by, and I’ve produced nothing. I’ve been sitting on my bed, pen and paper in hand, ready to list out all my fabulous ideas, and I’ve yet to have one.

  Sarah knocks at my door then pushes it open a crack. “You awake?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Someone’s here to see you.”

  I perk instantly.

  Could it be?

  I get off my bed and head to the living room. Kris is standing in the middle of it, dressed in jeans, biker boots, a thermal, and leather jacket.

  He looks positively edible.

  I, on the other hand, am dressed in sweats and a long-sleeved t-shirt. I run my hand through my hair self-consciously to try and tame it.

  “Hey.” He looks up at me.

  “Hey.”

  “Can we talk?”

  “Sure.” I motion to the couch and we both take a seat. Sarah has since disappeared to another room, probably hers.

  He sits on the couch, legs spread, elbows resting on his knees, head hanging low. He looks up at me before he starts talking. “Look, first I want to apologize if I did anything to upset you yesterday when I asked you to lunch. That wasn’t my intention. I thought surprising you would be fun, but I understand if it puts you in and awkward position with the other employees, so I won’t do it again.”

  I open my mouth to respond but can’t think of what I want to say and end up closing it again.

  He continues. “I was talking to a friend of mine who mentioned that money is probably an issue for us.”

  “I—” I want to interject, but he holds up his hand to stop me.

  “Let me get this out and then you can say whatever you want to.”

  I nod and look down at the floor, waiting for the bomb to drop. I can’t believe that even though I tried to stop it before it went too far, he’s still here to break up with me and I’ll still end up hurt.

  “This friend recommended we find something to even the playing field, so to speak. Something you have, that I don’t, that doesn’t cost money but that you could give me.”

  Funny, Sarah said the same thing.

  “And so, I’ve spent all evening trying to think of what that would be.”

  You and me both, man.

  “And I think I have the solution.”

  I look up and can’t help the hope that creeps into my eyes. I know he sees it when his own light up.

  “It’s you,” he says.

  I was expecting something else, so I’m not sure what he means. Instead of guessing, I decide to ask him. “What’s me?”

  “You’re the thing I don’t have, that I want, that money can’t buy.”

  “That’s lame,” I tell him.

  “No, it’s not. Listen. I’ve dated a lot, as I’m sure you have too. I know what’s out there, and it’s a ton of variety, especially in a city with the population of NYC. So, when I say that you’re different, I know what I’m talking about. I don’t care about money or apartments or gifts, I just care about spending time with you and seeing where this might go. I think the answer to that is far and we stand a good chance of going the distance, but I need to know you’re in it with me.”

  “You can’t spend the night in my apartment, Kris.”

  “Why not?”

  I make a small noise of protest. “Because. Look at it.”

  I wave my arm through the air.

  “Yeah, it’s not my place. It’s your place. It’s where you live. Everywhere I look I see touches of you, and I love that. I feel comfortable here because you feel comfortable here.”

  �
��That’s ridiculous.”

  “It’s not.”

  “I sleep in a futon on the floor.”

  “Can we fuck on the futon on the floor?”

  “Yes.” My face reddens. I hate that he has this effect on me.

  “Then I don’t see the problem.”

  I roll my eyes and look away. I don’t know how to convince him this is a bad idea.

  “Give me tonight,” Kris says.

  I meet his gaze.

  “Give me tonight, let’s see how it goes, staying here, both of us. And if in the morning, you think I can’t hack, and I don’t convince you otherwise, then we will part ways, and I won’t say another word.”

  A huge part of me wants to say yes. I want that more than anything. But another night means giving him more of my heart and then when he leaves tomorrow, that’s more of me that breaks.

  “He’s fine with that,” Sarah says from her own room.

  “You aren’t in this conversation,” I call back to her.

  “The walls are too thin for me not to be. Don’t be a baby, just do it. What’s the worst thing that could happen? You get another night of great sex? Oh, poor you.”

  She’s right. I know she is. I just hate giving in so soon and leaving myself vulnerable again. Though, if I don’t take a chance, I’ll never know what this can be. And, really, what is the worst that can happen? We wake up tomorrow and part ways, after a night of mind-blowing sex. That’s worth it, right?

  I take Kris’ hand, and I pull him into my room, shutting and locking the door behind us. Turning to face him, I say, “Okay, let’s get this over with.”

  Epilogue

  Kris

  I look across the room at my husband. He is so fucking hot in his tuxedo, carrying our little girl around and showing her all the holiday decorations for the Coleman’s Annual Holiday Party. It’s been three years since we first met, and we’ve been married for two of them. They’ve been the best years of my life, hands-down.