CHAPTER THREE
JAKE
The weekend had gone by too quickly.
I sighed as I stood in my uncomfortable work uniform, with a platter of various cheese samples in my hands. Another day, another dollar that didn’t go far enough.
Saturday had been occupied with Manny and his family, the small birthday get-together raising my spirits.
We’d colored robots together, shared a cake, and talked with Maria’s elderly parents.
All in all, it had been nice and for a brief time, I’d felt like part of a family.
Before I knew it, Monday rolled around, and it was back to work.
The manager on duty decided I was to hand out samples today.
It was worse than cleaning the smelly seafood racks.
I wasn’t particularly good with people and preferred to keep to myself.
“Hello, ma’am. M-might I interest you in our new selection of cheeses?
” I started, but the lady kept on going as if I didn’t exist. I should be used to rejection by now, but it stung.
I told myself that it wasn’t personal, but my brain was broken and had the propensity to take everything personally.
I did my best to hand out the samples. Some people noticed me and took a wedge of cheese, likely out of pity but most passed me by.
You can do this. Stop being so anti-social.
It was easier said than done. I figured if I couldn’t talk to a stranger about our selection of artisan cheeses, how was I ever going to introduce myself to Mr. Dreamy?
The thing was I could have conversations with people, but I needed to feel comfortable with them first. Like with Maria, Manny, and Jazmine.
It had taken me months to say more than a greeting to Maria.
Two years later and I didn’t hesitate to laugh over a silly joke with her.
It was people that I didn’t know that was the issue, which made no sense to me.
Add that to my other weird idiosyncrasies like being afraid to call people by their names.
Angry with myself, I went to stand closer to the main door where people were filing in, hoping they’d just take my samples without me having to flag them down.
It seemed to work, and the wedges started flying off the platter.
At least the manager couldn’t bitch at me when I returned with an empty plate.
I was so aggravated by my situation that I hadn’t realized it was lunch time.
All my frustrations melted away as Mr. Dreamy walked in with a phone pressed to his ear.
I perked up, my heart skipping a beat. He was dressed in a flashy striped, purple shirt, with paisley flip cuffs that peeked through his light jacket.
The whole ensemble looked damned good on him.
Then again, he looked good every day. His hair was a bit wild as if the wind had gotten a hold of it.
This was it, I realized. This was my chance to say hello and introduce myself. Holding the platter of cheese tightly, I took a deep breath as Mr. Dreamy headed for me. I smiled as best I could and opened my mouth to speak. My throat was dry, but I was determined to do this.
Hi, hello. I’m Jake and I’ve been in love with you since we first met.
“I told you, Bev. I don’t care what you have to say,” Mr. Dreamy snarled into the phone.
He breezed by me with all the force of a hurricane, angry heat wafting off his body.
He didn’t so much as look at me or even acknowledge my presence.
Being ignored by him stung. He came to stand in front of the selection of freshly squeezed juices and continued to snap at whoever was on the other line.
Bev? A girlfriend? Wife? He’d occasionally had lunch with a ginger man who I assumed was a friend judging by the lack of intimate contact.
My hopes were immediately crushed. Scratch that, they’d been thrown in an industrial blender and pulverized.
As the man that I’d foolishly developed a crush on, slashed his hand in the air, I felt so low that I swore I could melt into the linoleum.
I’d reasoned with myself that I had little chance with Mr. Dreamy.
But having everything come to a screeching halt was depressing.
I figured the least I could do was my job.
Angry and lonely, I walked up to the man and gathered the last shred of self-confidence I had.
I’d meant to say hello and inform him about our cheeses, but something reared its ugly head.
It was anger for things I couldn’t control, anger at the world and at myself for being so painfully shy, that I was utterly alone.
“Would you like some cheese with that whine?” My voice boomed over the hum of people and cut through his conversation.
Mr. Dreamy turned on his fancy shoes, his handsome face creased by a scowl. Whatever beast had awoken within me quickly scurried back into its hole and left me looking like a jackass.
Thanks, confidence. Nice to have known you.
“I mean…” Heat rushed to my cheeks, and I rocked on my feet.
“I’m sorry. That was bad timing and a totally inappropriate joke.
I, uh… Wanted to inform you of our new selection of cheeses, imported directly from Europe and hand cut here at Marco’s Fresh Market.
From Spain to Italy, we want to bring you the finest—”
“Breathe,” he said and slid his phone into his pocket.
I dragged in a big breath but felt like I couldn’t get enough air. I offered the platter to him. “I’m sorry.”
His aggravated expression slipped away, his lips turning upward and the wrinkles in his brow smoothed. He took a square of cheese. “I was being a bit loud and rude, wasn’t I?”
“Uh…” How did I even answer that? Mr. Dreamy had drawn a few glances, but I didn’t need to give him any more reason to file a complaint with management.
Popping the chunk of cheese into his mouth, he chewed thoughtfully as if he were focusing on the taste and texture. I watched the way his jaw moved, the finely cut bone right out of a Greek painting.
“This is good parmesan,” he said and tossed the toothpick in a nearby trash can. “What cheese do you recommend?”
Stunned that we were having a conversation, I looked at the cheese wedges agape. “I, uh… I’m a cheddar kind of guy. Sharp or white.”
“Good choice,” he said and selected another piece.
“That’s Bree,” I spoke up.
“What do you think?”
Giving him a sour face, I shook my head. He laughed, the warm sound filtering through my body and stirring all kinds of things. Oh, this was a bad idea. Despite discovering the man was straight, my body was responding.
“Bree is more of an acquired taste. It’s better with crackers or fruit.” He popped the morsel in his mouth and chewed. “Good with Chardonnay too.”
My pulse pounded in my ears, and everything started to spin. I prayed I didn’t have a panic attack in front of him. “We have a nice selection of Chardonnay. I’d make a recommendation, except, I’m not really a wine person.”
“No? What kind of person are you?” he inquired, discarding the toothpick. Something flashed in his hazel gaze, something that terrified me.
Settling for honesty, I shrugged. “The kind that doesn’t want to be fired over a stupid, ill-timed joke.”
He frowned. “Don’t worry about that. Everything is good.”
A weight lifted off my shoulders, but I was still off balance.
“Thanks. I uh… I’ve kept you from your lunch and taken too much of your time.
The caprese salad is good today, you should give it a shot.
Oh, and we’re out of sunseed flowers—sunflower seeds.
There is a truck coming tonight so we should be restocked tomorrow—I’m talking too much. H-have a good day…Sir.”
With that, I quickly retreated, not giving Mr. Dreamy a chance to respond.
I’d totally blundered the whole thing. He must think I was a babbling idiot with my inability to speak coherently.
As I returned to the deli to reload the platter with cheese samples, I decided I wasn’t going to hide from the world anymore.
A one-night stand was better than my empty bed and tired left hand.
When I returned to the floor, I found Mr. Dreamy at his favorite table eating a salad.
It didn’t matter what he thought of me. I had no chance.
All these months of pining and longing, and I had zilch.
I robotically handed out cheese samples and watched with dismay as my fantasy man left the market. It was probably for the best.
The bus ride home was depressing. I was hollow inside and though I’d left work with grand ideas of hot one-night stands, I knew it wasn’t going to happen.
I was not that kind of guy. I wanted a connection; I wanted a friend.
A boyfriend. Not a fuck-buddy. The few times I’d managed to get intimate with someone had been filled with terror and self-doubt.
I needed to get to know the person first and grow comfortable with them before we hit the sheets.
Most men just didn’t have that kind of patience.
I dragged my feet to the pathetic room I called home. Most days I stopped by Maria’s place to check on Manny and his sister, but I was afraid I’d burst into tears at any moment. Loneliness was a bitch. It was vicious and merciless and way too persistent lately.
To keep myself from going mad, I sat down at my desk and sketched on printer paper.
Anything that came to mind—robots, spacemen, aliens, the sharp angles soothing my mind.
There was just something about the lines and patterns that calmed me, that made sense.
As my pencil skimmed across the paper, the hard angles softened, and the image of Mr. Dreamy slowly took shape.
His wild hair framed a finely sculpted face.
Thick lips and a pointed nose filled the paper.
I focused on his eyes, laying down heavy lines and blocking in shadows until I was staring at the man.
“This isn’t helping,” I growled at the paper.
I pushed myself away from the desk, disgusted with my life.
My therapist had warned me about my abandonment issues.
It was a double-edged sword. I had the propensity to get attached to anyone that showed me a little attention but when things got too difficult, I pushed them away.
I hadn’t done that with Maria yet, though I supposed not telling her the truth about my sexuality was a form of distancing myself from her.
The state had provided me counseling when I was young, but once I hit eighteen, they’d dumped me on the street with few resources.
Not that I needed a shrink to tell me how fucked up I was.
I washed up at the kitchen sink, not wanting to take a trip to the grimy community bathroom.
I put on a fresh set of clothes and decided to take a stroll.
The night air was mild but comfortable as I walked leisurely down the block.
I dodged garbage, empty boxes, and homeless people huddled against buildings.
As I moved my feet over the gum-stained cement, I considered taking the bus to Boystown.
But I knew once I was put into the position of sex, I’d chicken out.
It would be best if I saved myself the fare.
I circled the block several times, my sinuses sore from unshed tears.
I so desperately wanted to put effort into finding someone, but even if I could get past those first few months of anxiety, I was terrified the guy would dump me.
Wasn’t it better to protect my heart and be alone than risk what little self-esteem I had left?
Stop feeling sorry for yourself, I told myself over and over. The only way you’re going to find anyone is to try.
Nothing would change if I didn’t put effort into it.
The problem was that I didn’t know how. The neglect my parents had shown me had permanently altered me to a point in which I didn’t think I could ever fix.
A chill blew in and made me shiver. I reversed direction and retreated to the warmth of my room.
“Amigo!” Manny shouted from the door to his apartment.
I couldn’t help smiling. He was exactly what I needed. A distraction from my misery and the illusion of the family I’d never had.