by Hayes, Lane
Lars was maybe an inch shy of my own six feet, but he was burly. His shoulder span rivaled a linebacker’s, and I could tell his arms were heavily muscled through his navy-striped button-down shirt. My gaze traveled from his chest to his thick waist before meeting his gaze. His blue eyes twinkled in amusement.
There was nothing quite as mortifying as being caught staring at close range. Except perhaps a sudden inability to refocus and act like a professional businessman instead of a star-struck teenager. I didn’t know what was wrong with me, but I was tongue-tied and utterly mesmerized. And all he did was say “hello.”
“H-hey. I-I’m Jeff,” I said in a raspy voice as he took my hand.
“Pleased to meet you,” Lars replied.
Those four words inexplicably reverberated through my body. Maybe it was his deep timbre or maybe the extra pressure he applied in the simple handshake. I had no clue why my dick jumped in my trousers, but I quickly lifted my suitcase to shield the evidence as I shook his meaty paw.
“Yes, um…we have some numbers to go over. I’ve been looking through your sheets and—”
Lars threw his head back and guffawed. “And what did you find in my linens?”
I sputtered incoherently, unable to come up with a response that wasn’t lame or inappropriate. I failed. “Your wife?”
He cocked his head and narrowed his eyes, but he didn’t respond. He froze, and so did his receptionist and the phones and hell, maybe the whole damn city. I felt like the idiot actor with the worst lines in a play who knew it was only a matter of seconds before the audience booed him offstage. I licked my lips and offered a quick apology. But Lars intercepted me with a friendly pat on the shoulder and another deep chuckle.
“I’m not married. But let’s talk about those sheets.” He paused and raised his forefinger like a teacher making an important point. “Excuse me, spreadsheets. Would you like some coffee or—”
“I’m not married either,” I blurted, unsurprised by the instant flush of heat on my cheeks. “Divorced. It was a long time ago, but—I’m…yeah. Coffee would be great.”
Lars studied me for a long moment. Then he smiled. A kindly, sweet gesture meant to set me at ease. It worked. I felt my heartbeat slow and resume to something closer to normal. I returned the gesture and lowered my briefcase. His gaze followed the movement and to my mortification, so did mine. And yeah, I had a boner. There was no way he could miss it. The fabric on my suit jutted out a good couple of inches in a lewd show of blatant arousal.
Oh, my God. I might actually pass out.
No joke. I was closing in on sixty, for fuck’s sake. My heart couldn’t take this kind of pendulum swing. And really…one would think that at my age, the last thing I’d have to worry about was popping wood in front of a sexy man. And why did I find him so attractive in the first place? Lars was a gray-haired bear of a man with a trimmed beard and a ruddy complexion. He reminded me of a construction worker past his prime who was good with his hands and—no. That wasn’t helping.
I needed the carpet to swallow me whole, roll me out the door, and the universe to give me a redo, one that hopefully included amnesia on his part, because I wasn’t sure how I’d recover from anything quite this embarrassing and still manage to work with this man for the next few weeks.
“Coffee,” Lars repeated thoughtfully.
Then he winked, and his friendly expression morphed into something decidedly mischievous and…seductive. Of course that had to be my imagination.
I gave him a weak smile and pursed my lips before attempting to salvage what was left of my dignity. “Yes, please. Coffee sounds nice.”
“You got it,” he said in a husky tone. “This way.”
I loved the simplicity of numbers. They didn’t lie. They might confound some people, but they didn’t deceive. Not really. If someone didn’t understand an equation, that was their problem. Two plus two would always equal four. Not almost five or maybe something more than three. Just four. For someone who’d craved a modicum of truth in which nothing and no one could pretend to be something they weren’t, numbers were my anchor. My happy place.
However, Lars was fucking up my mojo big-time. I couldn’t concentrate around him. The smell of his cologne, the sound of his deep baritone voice, and that funny way he crinkled his eyes as he explained which accounts corresponded to which project. I lost my train of thought more times than I cared to count. Pun intended. Two weeks into our daily briefings, I was a mess.
I sat at the glass conference table in Lars’s huge corner office and stared at a view of the Bay Bridge and Alcatraz. It was a gorgeous day in late July and for once, the weather cooperated. It had actually felt like summer when I headed into the office this morning. I’d stopped by Starbucks and treated myself to an iced coffee with extra milk and, at the last second, had ordered a second one. I glanced at the condensation running down the side of the extra cup and wondered if I should claim they were both for me. I felt like a grade school kid bringing an apple to the teacher. Or a kiss-ass. And this wasn’t how these things worked. I was supposed to be the badass here. The maestro with a calculator who could make or break his client’s yearly visit with the IRS. But I morphed into a tongue-tied adolescent whenever Lars walked into a room.
Shit. The coffee was a bad idea. I’d have to drink them both.
I reached for the plastic cup just as the door opened. The condensation and my slick palms were a dicey combination. I fumbled the drink, catching it before it slipped from my hand and splattered over the table and me.
“Good morning, Jeff. How are you to—”
“Here.” I stood abruptly and shoved the cup at Lars. “This is for you.”
I sat down and bent my head, flipping through the browser on my laptop. I had no idea what I was looking at, but it was better than making moon eyes at my client. I waited for him to join me but when a few seconds passed, I bravely craned my neck up to see what was keeping him.
Lars raised the iced coffee and shot a glorious grin at me. His eyes twinkled with his usual humor, but there was something more than a simple gesture of gratitude. I had no idea what it might be, though. Indigestion?
“You brought me a Frappucino?” He pulled out the black leather chair and sat beside me.
“Um…no. It’s an iced coffee. Frappucinos scare me. Too many choices, too many ingredients. I saw you drinking one of these the other day so I thought you might want one. It’s okay if you don’t. I’ll drink it. Oh, and”—I stood again and dug into my pockets, then tossed ten sugar packets at him—“here’s some sugar too. You might need to sweeten it up. The extra five shots might have been overkill.”
“Five shots?” he asked incredulously.
“Too much, huh? I tried to call Josh to see what he usually gets, but he didn’t pick up, so I copied the girl ahead of me in line. That might have been a mistake. Like I said—”
“It’s perfect. Thank you,” he said softly as he unwrapped the straw and poked it through the top. His smile twitched in a reflexive wince when he took his first sip.
I pushed the sugar toward him. “Trust me. This helps. I used five. One for each shot. Tomorrow I’m ordering my plain ol’ coffee. I don’t know how you drink this stuff.”
Lars let out a hearty laugh. “I like plain ol’ coffee too. My ex used to buy that hazelnut crap. It smells fantastic, but it tastes like dirt, in my opinion. Charlie thought I was being difficult. Difference of opinion, I ’spose.”
I smiled, unsure how to respond. More coffee talk? No, I should turn his focus to the problem I’d found in his books last night. I bit my bottom lip and glanced at my computer screen before asking, “So you’re divorced too?”
“No. Never married. No kids either, but you probably know all that from my bio,” he said with a chuckle.
“I rarely read bios. Your personal life isn’t my business, just your numbers and—I guess I shouldn’t have asked if you were divorced. That was out of line. I apologize.”
Lars scoffe
d. “Don’t be silly. In fact, I’m sorry there hasn’t been more time to chat. I’ve been swamped with my new project. They always need me onsite in the beginning.”
“So you’re not allergic to the visiting accountant?”
We’d held short meetings that lasted approximately thirty minutes every morning over the past two weeks, but the sessions were abbreviated and often interrupted. No wonder I still felt a little jumpy around him.
He chuckled merrily. “Not at all. Let’s sit back for a few minutes and enjoy our very strong iced coffees with a little get-to-know-you conversation before we dive into those numbers you love so much.”
I melted under his warm smile. God, he was handsome. Not traditionally, maybe, but wow, he did something for me. I clandestinely adjusted myself and nodded.
“Okay. Um…so you’re single?” I asked.
Oh, boy. Well, at least he’d know right away why I was, I thought ruefully.
“I am. Charlie and I split up a year ago after ten years together. And I’m eternally grateful we didn’t put a ring on it.” He snorted with a half laugh. “That man took me to the cleaners as it was.”
He uncapped his cup and emptied at least five packets of sugar into his drink, stirring it with gusto. I kept my gaze on his precise movements, but my head was spinning. Man? Sure, Charlie was a man’s name, but I knew a Charlene who went by Charlie too and—Lars was gay? I narrowed my eyes and leaned in slightly to observe him because frankly, I wasn’t sure I’d heard correctly. I’d assumed he was straight. His masculine voice, rugged looks, and commanding presence reminded me of an old-time cowboy. And the decades I’d spent in my own closet made me think guys like Lars were always straight.
“You’re gay?” I squeaked before I could stop myself.
“I am. Out and proud for about twenty-five years. You?” He inclined his head and smiled.
The kindness in the simple tilt of his mouth was my undoing. That had to be why I didn’t change the subject. I’d only spoken about this once, and it hadn’t gone well. Actually, it had ruined my life. Confiding in a veritable stranger—a client, no less—was unwise…and just plain stupid. But there was something about Lars. I didn’t understand it, but I was drawn to him. I wanted to know more about him than what a few spreadsheets could tell me.
I swallowed hard, then cleared my throat as I weighed which version of the truth to tell. See? This was why I liked numbers.
“I’m gay too. But I’m not—” I furrowed my brow and twisted to face my computer. “We should get going. In my estimation, we have approximately five days’ worth of work to get through. I unearthed a problem with one of the accounts last night that—”
Lars leaned across the table and grasped my wrist. “Hey. It’s okay. I promise.”
I nodded. “Thanks. I know but…it’s not easy. At least not for me.”
“Hmm.” He moved his hand to cover mine, but his gaze didn’t waver. “Does your family know?”
“My ex-wife does, but not our children. They’re not exactly kids now, but…” I shrugged, unsure how to continue.
“How old are they?”
“My daughters, Jen and Janie, are thirty-six and thirty-four, and my son, Josh, will be thirty-two next month. The girls are married with babies of their own, and…I’m old.” That last line sounded painfully pathetic. I grimaced and tried to lighten the awkward mood I’d created with a self-deprecating laugh.
Lars didn’t join in. He squeezed my hand, then folded his arms over his broad chest. “And I was about to say you must have started rather early. You’re not that old, Crypt Keeper.”
“I’m fifty-seven. You?”
“Fifty-two,” he replied quickly before cocking his head thoughtfully. “Now you’re the accountant here, so correct me if my math is off, but were you really a dad at twenty-one?”
“Yep. Kate got pregnant unexpectedly…or maybe not, and Jen was—”
“She tricked you?”
I rolled my eyes. “I had a relatively decent grasp of biology, so I wouldn’t say she tricked me. But yes, I was surprised. Or scared shitless. Take your pick, both work.”
“So you married her and played the family man,” he said. “How long did it last?”
“Twenty-five years.”
Lars widened his eyes comically. “Damn, boy. That’s a lifetime.”
I snickered at his expression. “A quarter of a century, to be exact.”
“You must have loved her,” he stated matter-of-factly.
“I did and I still do, but—” I pursed my lips to stave off blurting anything too personal. This wasn’t the time or place for heart-to-heart conversations involving a woman I adored or any of the fucked-up crap I’d put her through and vice versa. “Let’s just say, things changed when Josh left for school and—we should get to work.”
I glanced at the screen and tried to make sense of the blurry numbers. They taunted me as I tripped over lies of omission, skirting the truth with an alternative version aimed to keep the peace. I wasn’t sure whose peace I was protecting anymore; I only knew it wasn’t mine.
Lars nudged my chair with his foot. It scooted sideways, turning me toward him so his foot brushed the inside of my thigh. My nostrils flared at the contact. He backed off immediately, but it was too late. I was already a tightly wound, hyperaware mess, and he was driving me wild. I bet he didn’t even realize it.
“We aren’t done talking, though,” he said with a lopsided grin. “You didn’t ask me any questions. We can’t leave this get-to-know-you session one-sided, now, can we?”
I barked a quick laugh as I swiveled to face him again, utterly charmed. “That certainly wouldn’t be right. However, we have to discuss—”
“Have dinner with me.” His sudden intensity threw me off stride.
I hesitated for a moment. “I’m working for you. That would be highly unprofessional. Unless—oh, shoot. You weren’t asking me out, were you? So yeah. Of course, we can go over numbers at dinner. Sure. Why not?”
Lars shook his head. “No numbers, Jeff. You had it right the first time. I’m asking you out. On a date.”
“A date,” I repeated carefully. “I can’t. I want to but…we have unfinished business here.” I gestured at my laptop and the files spread out on the glass table.
Lars let out a defeated sigh. “How many more days will this take?”
“Five. Give or take. I think we can wrap it up by Friday.” I bit my lower lip and nodded decisively before adding, “I’m free Saturday night.”
He smiled in response and angled his head. “Sounds like we have a date.”
I couldn’t keep the goofy grin off my mug if I tried. A date. Me. With Lars. That was…wow. Just wow.
Chapter 2
The following few days went by in a blur. I worked long hours to ensure the project would be completed by the end of the week. The bulk of that time was spent with the new CFO Lars hired, but we still held a daily briefing. Just the two of us. We’d share a cup of plain ol’ coffee and chat about anything from current events to our favorite bands from the ’80s.
“I was a wannabe punk,” Lars told me Friday morning. “Billy Idol was my hero. I loved his bad boy sneer and those leather pants. I owned a couple of pairs myself back in the day. Believe it or not, I was skinny as a rail once upon a time. I couldn’t fit my right calf into those things now.”
I chuckled when he patted his belly and silently commended my restraint because I wanted nothing more than to unbutton his shirt and run my hand over his stomach. I wondered if he was hairy all over. Like a real bear. I shocked myself sometimes. I had no idea I had a type. A robust, muscular daddy type, no less.
A vision of a leather man sucking on a fat cigar popped into my head. I remembered walking through the Castro with Josh recently and feeling lightheaded at the sight of two burly men holding hands. My poor son probably thought I was uncomfortable with the public display, but that was nowhere close to the truth. I’d been mesmerized. I’d wanted to follow them
home, hide in the shadows, and watch those strangers undress each other and—
“What about chaps?” I asked out of the blue.
Lars raised his thick brow and smirked. “What about ’em?”
“Do you have any?”
“I did. I might still have them somewhere in the back of my closet.”
I gulped. “Oh, my—what were you into? You came of age during the AIDS crisis in San Francisco, for Christ’s sake. You must have seen things, done things and—what was it like?”
“That’s a wide variety of topics, Jeff,” he huffed in amusement.
“Yeah, sorry. I just…I missed so much. Don’t get me wrong. I wouldn’t change where I’ve been. I love my family, and I can’t imagine life without them. In fact, the thought makes me nauseous. But I’m so curious. I’ve always wondered what it was like. I went from feeling jealous as hell of those gorgeous young men having raunchy sex whenever and wherever to feeling scared as hell for them when HIV came into the picture. But I was a sideline observer. A husband and father, living in suburbia. I wished I could have helped, but I didn’t know how to without giving myself away.” I winced as I reached for my coffee cup. “That didn’t sound good. I’m sorry.”
“You apologize for some weird shit, Sheehan,” he chided. “Curiosity is what makes the world go round. Don’t stop asking questions. Ever.”
“True. But I’m not sure if I have a place in your world.”
“My gay world, you mean?”
“Yeah. I’m a fraud. A pretender. I’m not who I claim to be and…I should shut up. I’m sorry.”
“You did it again,” he singsonged. “Listen, the past is by definition over and gone. You said you aren’t sorry about the choices you made. Good. You’re a gay man who’s dipping his toes into the rainbow pool for the first time. I don’t believe there’s an age limit for that. You’re a good man, Jeff, and you’ve led a good life.”
“But not an honest one.”
Lars considered me for a moment before responding. “It’s never too late for a new start.”