Robby (Cooper Construction Book 3)

by Jen Davis

  “I was an idiot.” Robby spoke before Matt’s feet hit the floor.

  Definitely not what he was expecting.

  “You’ve never said or done anything to make me believe you would judge me for—being gay. I let my hang-ups take something small and turn it into something big.” Robby wrapped his arms around his waist, his ever-present clipboard conspicuously absent. “I probably imagined the whole thing.”

  It would have been so easy to let Robby think their awkward moment had only been in his imagination, but it would make him a really shit friend, and this was his chance to make things right. “You didn’t imagine it.”

  Robby reared back, and Matt held up his hands in supplication.

  “Wait, please. Just hear me out.” He dragged his hand over his head. “I’m not great with people. Obviously.”

  Robby stilled, watching him carefully.

  “I only had one friend growing up, and she was a girl. Is a girl.” This wasn’t going well. “What I’m trying to say is—I froze. Not because you’re gay. How would I know if you’re gay? I froze because I hugged you without thinking about it, and then I was afraid I’d done the wrong thing. I overthink stuff. And you—you’re the first guy friend I’ve ever had. I didn’t want to mess it up, and, well, I went ahead and messed it up.”

  “What you’re saying is,” Robby drawled, “you’re even more socially awkward than I am.” His face lit up. “That’s the coolest thing I have ever heard in my entire life.”

  Matt scowled. “You’re not making your life sound very exciting.”

  “Ha!” Robby laughed. “You have no idea. Maybe I’ll tell you the story someday. And maybe you could tell me about the girl with enough game to manage to keep you all to herself.”

  “Eh. Maybe one day.” Or, hopefully, never. “Are we good, Rob? ‘Cause I’m really sorry I kind of freaked out on you.”

  “Yeah. We’re good. Especially if you can overlook an occasional, irrational, emotional outburst, fueled by intermittent low self-esteem.” Robby punctuated the statement with an exaggerated smirk, and it was like a fifty-pound weight lifted from Matt’s shoulders.

  “You need to work a little on selling yourself, Rob. Seriously.” He had never thought of his friend that way. He hoped Robby didn’t either. “I have a class tonight, but you want to game with me afterward? I think I’m going through withdrawals.”

  Robby’s eyes crinkled at the corners, and he bounced on the balls of his feet. “You see the new download? I’m so stoked to jump in.”

  And just like that, the world was right-side up again.

  Chapter EIGHT

  Robby

  Robby ran a dust-cloth over the TV for what was likely the fourth or fifth time in as many minutes, though calling it a dust-cloth was probably—no, definitely—an insult to dust-cloths everywhere. In reality, he dusted with an old tube sock which he’d worn a hole through the toe of months ago. It worked just as well.

  The past few nights had been awesome, staying up late, taking out targets on the PlayStation with Matt. They’d gotten into a groove, logging on just after dinner and setting up a private chat on the headsets. Every night, the conversation started off about the game, but in bits and pieces, they evolved into more.

  One night, he shared with Matt his love of all things Marvel. How he still couldn’t re-watch the Avengers: Infinity War movie and how it never stopped bothering him when Rhodey had been recast after the first Iron Man movie. Matt liked Don Cheadle better in the role, but, heck, it just proved the man wasn’t perfect.

  And it wasn’t like he hated all recasting. The Incredible Hulk was hands-down his favorite character, and he loved Mark Ruffalo. It might have been a good segue into how he always thought of Brick like the Hulk, but he kept that little nugget to himself.

  He admitted his soft spot for a good romance too. Not the tearjerker kind, but the ones where the guy inevitably screwed up and had to make a grand romantic gesture and a promise to love the woman until the end of time.

  Another night, Matt told him about the time he’d shared an elevator with Stan Lee at DragonCon, and he was so star-struck, he hadn’t said a word. The convention was a sci-fi fantasy lover’s haven, and Matt was freaking adorable in his full-on geek mode.

  He also told Robby about his dreams of becoming an architect and how he was taking night classes to knock out his last few electives.

  At one point, they’d talked about their favorite games, and Robby gushed over his VR headset. Yeah, the set-up had set him back a few hundred dollars, but he had bought all the gear used at GameStop, and it had been worth every penny. Matt had never so much as stuck his toe into the virtual reality pool, and of course, Robby had to remedy the injustice with an invitation to come check it out.

  Which was how he now found himself obsessively cleaning his already spotless apartment, waiting for Matt to arrive. Everything had to be perfect, or at least as close to perfect as his low-rent one-bedroom could be. The carpet was vacuumed, the sofa cushions fluffed. A bowl of potato chips graced the coffee table, and drinks were chilling in the fridge.

  The pizza was due to arrive in about half an hour. He’d gone back and forth about whether to have it here when Matt arrived but decided they would enjoy it more if it was hot. Plus, if things got awkward, they could focus on the food.

  Please don’t let things get awkward.

  His heartbeat picked up at the soft knock on the door. The place was as clean as it was going to get. Shoving the dust-cloth under one of the cushions, he advanced to the door.

  Please go well. Please. Please. Please.

  His cheeks strained at the too-big smile on his face as he opened the door; his back teeth clenched so tightly, they threatened to splinter in his mouth. But one glimpse of Matt fidgeting with a grocery bag and shuffling his feet on the porch made the tension melt away in an instant.

  “You need a hand?” He reached out to snag the brown paper bag.

  Matt had been holding it horizontally because it had a vegetable tray inside. “I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to bring anything.” As he stepped over the threshold, his gaze flitted from one end of the room to the other, looking everywhere except at Robby.

  It was impossible to stay nervous around someone even twitchier than he was. “This is perfect. Thanks.” He pulled off the clear plastic protecting the food and placed the platter next to the chips. “Snack food ‘till the pizza gets here.” He dipped a broccoli floret in the reservoir of ranch dressing, then popped it in his mouth.

  “You had me at pizza.” Matt swiped a handful of chips from the bowl and crunched them with a grin.

  “Wait. You haven’t even heard the best part yet.” He cleared a path to the kitchenette in five long strides. He pulled the glass pitcher from the fridge and held it up triumphantly.

  Matt followed him over. “Tell me I’m not looking at the famous Rum Punch.” He lifted one of the two tall glasses on the counter and tipped it forward for a fill-up.

  “I didn’t taste it,” Robby admitted, pouring for Matt. “But I’ve made this recipe so many times, I’m practically a pro.” He filled his own glass with sweet tea and clinked it against Matt’s. “Cheers.” Closing his eyes, he tipped his head back and indulged in the sugary goodness. Not quite as exciting as a cocktail, but smarter.

  Matt groaned. “Oh yeah. I’ll take this over a beer any day of the week. What’s in it?”

  The recipe rolled off his tongue, the ingredients long memorized from years of tinkering with the perfect proportions. He’d played bartender countless times for John and his friends.

  The pizza arrived a little ahead of schedule, but the savory sauce was the perfect complement to the sweet drinks. The quiet prayers he had sent up not to bungle the evening quickly faded until they were forgotten. Over pizza slices, they laughed about Kane’s hatred of all fictional motorcycle clubs. They speculated about how much Cooper Construction was making from its deal to subcontract for Berringer Homes. And they dished over their f
avorite celebrities, almost all with roots in sci-fi or fantasy.

  Matt tried out a few of the virtual reality games, but they all made him sick to his stomach. Resident Evil, in particular, prompted him to pull off the headset and declare the experiment an unmitigated failure.

  Thankfully, the nausea seemed to vanish the minute Matt took the visor off, and Robby spent the next five minutes forcing him to watch the videos he’d made on his phone of Matt screaming at imaginary monsters.

  He couldn’t remember the last time he laughed so hard. “You want me to make another pitcher of punch?” He rubbed his hands together. “Oh! Or you can make this one. Show me your new bartending skills.”

  Matt shot him a dubious look. “My bartending career has spanned one shift. You really want to take a chance with my hands in your favorite recipe?”

  He took Matt’s hand and pulled him toward the kitchen. “The best thing about this drink is how hard it is to mess up. There are only degrees of how good you can make it. And I don’t mind sharing my secret, which is to use orange and pineapple juice from concentrate instead of fresh and then use club soda instead of water to dilute it.”

  He probably should have released Matt’s hand as he broke the recipe down, but it felt so good being skin to skin. Matt’s palm was cool—his fingers long and strong. The best part? He showed no signs of discomfort. He didn’t try to disentangle himself or step back. If anything, he moved closer as Robby used his other hand to pull the various rum bottles forward for inspection.

  “Most people will tell you to use half light and half dark rum.” He lowered his voice, as though he were sharing a secret. “The dark gives it a depth of flavor, but you need to split the other half between the light rum and coconut rum.”

  “Coconut.” Matt was so close, his breath fanned over Robby’s jaw as he spoke. “Not spiced rum?”

  He sucked in air through his mouth and imagined he tasted the breath that had left Matt’s body. He took a moment to savor the idea. Just a few inches and he could taste Matt’s mouth for real. He pulled back.

  A dangerous line of thought. He’d made so much progress with Matt, he would not obliterate it with an overture guaranteed to embarrass them both.

  “No. Ah, if you’re looking for a good fit for Captain Morgan, I’d suggest it as a substitution for tequila in your margaritas. It’s especially good for those of us who have a rocky history with Jose Cuervo.”

  Either Matt didn’t notice his retreat, or he didn’t react to it. Instead, he asked more questions about drink recipes and created a single-serving version of the Rum Punch under Robby’s tutelage.

  Matt smacked his lips together in approval with his first taste. “Almost like a real bartender made it!” Drink in hand, he settled himself back on the sofa. “I may need to crash on your sofa tonight, man.”

  “It’s all yours.” He sat on the sofa’s far end. “Don’t you have a shift at the bar tomorrow?”

  “Sure do. Ten AM. I’ve got my boy too. He’s going to stay with my mom while I finish my shift.” Matt released a yawn into the crook of his arm.

  Robby perked up. Matt never brought up his son. “What’s his name?”

  “Jimmy. He’s one. Smart as hell, my kid. Best thing I ever did. I just wish I could have him with me all the time.”

  “Your ex getting in the way?”

  “My—oh, Patty. Yeah, you could say that. Things with her are complicated.”

  “Tell me about her.” Robby wanted to know everything.

  Matt’s pinched expression eased. “We met at DragonCon. I’d never been, but I saved all the money I earned from cutting grass and washing cars to pay for the ticket, and it was worth every cent, just to watch from the sidelines. Heck, it would’ve been worth it for The Walking Dead panel alone.”

  He swallowed more punch. “Patty recognized me from school, even though I didn’t recognize her. To be fair, though, she was covered in body paint and dressed in some kind of sexy alien costume from the Shatner-era Star Trek.”

  His gaze went distant. “We read the same comic books, loved the same sci-fi shows. She embraced my inner geek. We were like two peas in a pod all through the rest of high school and college. Until we slept together, and it all turned to shit.” He shook his head. “I ruined our friendship by letting it go somewhere I knew it shouldn’t go. I hurt her, and she hates me.”

  Wow. Hate seemed like big leap from embarrassed or disappointed. How could anyone hate Matt? “I doubt she hates you, she—”

  “Trust me. She tells me every chance she gets how much I hurt her. How I took advantage of her friendship.” Matt scowled into his drink before taking a big gulp. “She thinks I’m gay. That I’m lying to myself and when we were together, I was lying to her.”

  Robby gaped. “Wh—why would she think that?”

  He buried his head in his hands. “Because I never dated anyone in high school. Never had any crushes or hook-ups. The only person in my life was Patty, and we were just friends. After a while, though, I knew she wanted more. I thought, what the hell? You know? I did love her. I do.”

  Robby’s breath caught when Matt’s hand rested on his leg. When had they gotten so close? He looked up to see a new awareness in the man’s eyes. It made his dick wake up and take notice.

  “But you don’t love her the way she loves you.” Robby licked his lower lip.

  Matt’s eyes were wide, the brown rings of his iris shrinking against the blackness of his pupils. He shook his head slowly.

  Robby inched closer. Just a fraction, but he felt the heat of Matt on his skin.

  “Is it possible she may be right?” Robby’s voice barely rose above a whisper. “Have you ever—have you ever kissed another man?” His heart banged against his chest.

  “I’ve never kissed anyone except Patty. I never wanted to.”

  The grip on his leg tightened, and his dick was so hard, it almost hurt. But he found it a pleasurable kind of pain. He fought the urge to wrap his fingers around it while Matt’s eyes were locked on him. “Do you want to now?”

  Robby’s left leg rested firmly against Matt’s and his entire body strained for more.

  He didn’t wait for an answer. Ignoring the warning sirens blaring in his head, he leaned forward and finally, finally took what he wanted. His lips met Matt’s, and he groaned with the rightness of it.

  Matt held still at first. A second. Two. Then, he yielded, and the surrender tasted so damn sweet. They kissed softly, breathlessly, as if neither had ever kissed another person before. As if they both knew this moment could change everything.

  Robby slid his tongue over Matt’s bottom lip, tasting the bite of rum, and for a heartbeat, Matt’s tongue peeked out to brush against him.

  But all too soon, Matt pulled away and rested his forehead against Robby’s.

  “We can’t. I can’t.”

  Robby’s heart thudded against his chest. Had he read everything wrong?

  “I ruined one friendship this way before.” Matt shook his head. “You mean too much to me to risk it.”

  “But you did…want to kiss me.” He might die of embarrassment if Matt said no.

  “Yeah. Which is the crazy thing. I don’t really understand what’s happening with me. Am I gay? Now? All of a sudden? I never thought so, and now, here you are, and I want—I’m…really confused.” Matt rubbed his hand over his heart. “I don’t want to screw things up between us. Not like I did with Patty.”

  A hundred arguments sprang to Robby’s lips, like how the deepest love could come from friendship or how love was better with someone you really knew and trusted, but Matt had to come to those conclusions on his own.

  “Okay.” He shrugged with a nonchalance he didn’t feel. “We’ll stay friends, but in the meantime, those questions you have? About who you are and what you want? You owe yourself the answers.”

  He stood, then turned off the TV and the overhead bulb. Only a thin beam from the light below the microwave illuminated the rough planes of Matt�
��s face. “It’s late. Get some rest. You’ve got a big day ahead of you.”

  Chapter NINE

  Matt

  Matt woke up with a fuzzy head, and it took a minute to figure out the source of the obnoxious beeping somewhere nearby. He traced it to a small digital clock on the coffee table. Eight o’clock. A handwritten note rested beside it.

  Had to step out for some errands. I hope the alarm worked okay. Didn’t want you to be late for your shift. Hit me up later if you feel like playing.

  –R

  Late for—oh, shit. His heart raced. He couldn’t lose this job. What time was it again?

  Eight-oh-one.

  Oh yeah. He had a couple of hours to run home, shower, and change. Sending a silent thanks to his friend, he lurched off the sofa and foraged for his shoes.

  Hopefully, he hadn’t made too much of a fool of himself last night. The kiss he’d shared with Robby had been a shock to his senses. He wanted to take out the memory and examine it from every angle, but there was no time for it now. If he was going to make it to work to open up, he needed to hustle.

  A hasty shower at his apartment and two microwaved scrambled eggs later, he was unlocking the front door of the bar with ten minutes to spare. He made quick work of setting up the cash register and prepping the bar.

  Customers arrived in a slow trickle. A couple with matching blond hair and dark jeans around eleven. Three or four frat guys just before noon. By two o’clock, though, a dozen twenty-somethings were kicking back with their beers. Matt stayed poised—on the ready to serve their refills and collect his tips as each bottle ran dry.

  He was so intent on anticipating their needs, he didn’t see Patty until she parked herself on the stool directly in front of where he stood at the bar.

  She looked happier, more relaxed than he’d seen her in a long time. The braids gone from her hair, a headband pulled her short twists away from her face. A hint of makeup gave a slight blush to her cheeks. And best of all, her eyes twinkled with her small smile.