Chapter 5 Eden
Of all the fucking people to walk in here on Eden’s first fucking day at a new job, it had to be this fucking handsome fuck. If Eden didn’t need this job so badly, he might punch Charlie in the face just for existing. A second time for knocking him to the ground.
Now you can’t run away.
Discomfort wars with guilt. Objectively, Eden was kind of an asshole for standing him up without any warning, but since Eden refused to exchange phone numbers that had been impossible.
It wasn’t like Eden was going to drive across town to Charlie’s house just to knock on the door and say ‘hey my trauma reared its ugly head and decided sex was off the table because I’m actually attracted to you, but in the past I’ve only ever fucked people I didn’t like or who paid me.
I hope there’s no hard feelings.’ Yeah fucking right.
Over Eden’s dead body. Acknowledging the real reason he’d skipped out on the chance to fuck was bad enough.
That truth was going to stay firmly in his brain where no one else could point out how fucked up it was.
Shit happens all the time, and this was just one of those times. For all he might find Charlie hot and intriguing, they’re still just strangers. Eden doesn’t owe Charlie anything.
“I can go anywhere I damn well please,” Eden forces out, tempted to shove Charlie off him.
The only reason he hasn’t is because despite looking lanky, Charlie’s heavy.
Living on a diet of instant noodles and energy drinks has not instilled enough body weight or muscle on Eden, who couldn't get out from underneath Charlie if he tried.
This knowledge makes him want to break something, an overwhelming sense of panic flooding him.
The last time he’d been stuck under another guy had been the last time. Eden isn’t going to let someone else have that level of control over him again. He’d been deluded into thinking things like safe words and monetary agreements meant shit to people who could afford to buy a night with someone.
“I was only joking,” Charlie says, his expression shuttering. He looks genuinely apologetic, and Eden would care more if unwanted memories weren’t trying to claw their way out of the recesses of Eden’s mind where he’d buried them.
“Then get the fuck off me,” Eden hisses, trying not to make a scene but close to losing his shit.
Bile rises up the back of Eden’s throat. Eden focuses on the tang, using his discomfort to avoid spiraling. He’s safe—has been for years. He doesn’t need to run away, though fuck knows he wishes he could. All he needs is for Charlie to move.
“Sorry,” Charlie whispers, finally rolling off Eden and onto the floor.
His pale purple pants darken where the water from where Eden just mopped soaks into the material at his knees and ass.
Honestly, where did he even get lilac-colored pants?
Ella owns pants that color, but she’s four years old.
Focusing on how stupid Charlie’s pants are calms the erratic thrumming of Eden’s heart. This is fine, everything is fine.
“At least let me help you up.” Charlie extends his hand towards Eden, who has apparently lost his damn mind and is still lying on the floor.
The only excuse Eden has is that he’s currently experiencing a range of emotions that feel far too vast for one brain to handle.
From panic to annoyance to confusion, all he can do is marvel at the fact that somehow Charlie is still attractive to him, even after barreling over him while dressed like a brightly colored paint palette.
“I don’t need help,” Eden grumbles, ignoring Charlie’s hand in favor of hefting himself up off the slippery floor through sheer stubbornness alone.
Once he’s off the floor, he becomes uncomfortably aware that his back and ass are now damp. His only relief from embarrassment is that since his jeans are as black as his long shirt is, he doesn’t look as bad as Charlie.
“I really am sorry about knocking you over,” Charlie apologizes, shoving both hands in his pockets.
Frowning, Eden snatches the mop off the floor before fixing the caution sign. Charlie isn’t supposed to be apologizing to him; he should be pointing out what a dick Eden was and going away.
“Did you not see the giant yellow warning sign letting you know the floor was wet?” Eden grumbles, deeply uncomfortable with the turn of conversation. This would be so much easier if Charlie was a dick.
“Nope,” Charlie answers honestly. “I was texting Andrew.”
The frown on his face stays firmly in place.
Right, Andrew. Eden remembers him from the gallery last weekend.
The polite twin. Sexual attraction is so fucking weird because Andrew and Charlie share the same face, but there’d been absolutely zero attraction to Charlie’s twin brother.
Somehow all the arousal is only for Charlie, which honestly, fuck that shit.
“You can move along and order now. Assuming that’s why you’re here and not because you’re stalking me or something.”
“I’m not stalking you,” Charlie objects. “Do you work here?”
“That sounds like the kind of question a stalker would ask.”
“Or a friend.”
“We’re not friends,” Eden points out, unsure why this makes Charlie laugh. Maybe he was dropped on his head a lot as a child.
Charlie’s laugh is somewhere between a chortle and the sound a horse makes when it wants an apple.
Not that Eden knows jack shit about horses aside from all the pony cartoons he watches with Ella.
Either way, Charlie’s laugh is really unattractive thankfully, because the day Eden is attracted to someone’s laugh is the day pigs fly.
Maybe if Eden focuses on that sound he will stop noticing what a perfect length and texture Charlie’s hair is.
Perfect to grab or to hold him in place while he—no.
Bad Eden. Eden needs to fucking shake his own brain to stop this.
He is not going to have a fantasy about fucking Charlie’s mouth right now.
Or ever. Eden’s brain can fuck right off with this attraction bullshit.
At this point, Eden is walking proof that sexuality isn’t a choice because in no universe would Eden choose to be attracted to men, especially not men who look like their outfit inspiration came from the entire rainbow all at once.
“Has anyone else told you that you have a gift for making everything sound as negative and sinister as possible?” Charlie leans against the side of the worn, brown booth—a relic from the donut shop that was here before.
He crosses his arms over his chest, drawing Eden’s attention to the way his low cut floral shirt exposes the hollow of his throat and his tan skin.
There’s a light dusting of chest hair, and Eden either needs to get laid or walk into oncoming traffic.
Seriously, what the fuck is he doing checking Charlie out while simultaneously trying to get him to go away?
A therapist would have a fucking field day with Eden, not that he’d let one within one hundred feet of him after his traumatic childhood experiences with state mandated therapy.
He doesn’t need to pay a stranger to tell him he’s got a laundry list of issues, thank you.
“I’ve been told a lot of things about myself,” Eden says, trying to focus on anything besides how much he wants to bite Charlie’s throat. “Look, you don’t know anything about me.”
“You’re right. I don’t know you, but maybe I could.”
“Why are you still talking to me?”
“You know where I’m from, this is called polite conversation. Maybe you should try it.”
“Unfortunately for you, I’m not polite.” Eden smiles. Addy is always telling him he needs to smile more at work so he doesn’t get fired. He’s definitely going to tell her about this monumental act of social skills.
“Smiling is pretty polite,” Charlie points out.
This fucker. Eden can’t decide if he wants to fuck him or hit him or both.
“Go ahead and order, Charlie. Or leave. Your choice.”
There. Not polite. No confusion.
“You remember my name.” Charlie’s pleasure at this is as unmistakable as the way his gaze lingers on Eden’s mouth, whether because of the double lip piercings he’s allowed to wear working here or because Charlie wants to kiss him is unclear.
Either way, it doesn’t really matter because Eden does not care what Charlie thinks of his piercings, or what he might think if he knew Eden’s tongue was also pierced.
He doesn’t. He also doesn’t kiss, ever, so all of these thoughts are pointless.
“Yes, well, that’s not a big deal,” Eden grumbles, absolutely refusing to admit he had Addy find out his name that first night he saw him at the gallery. Over his dead body will he ever admit to that. “You’re really obnoxious, and annoying things are memorable, that’s all. You’re not special.”
“If you say so,” Charlie laughs. It’s a quieter laugh than before, quicker too. “You know some people might say that being memorable is a stepping stone to other things like friendship, maybe even sex.”
“Some people think jumping out of an airplane is a good idea, so some people are fucking stupid.”
“If I’m so memorable, does that mean you’ve been thinking about me?” Charlie asks, seemingly undeterred by Eden’s personality. Another negative for him. If he’s not put off by Eden’s sharp tongue and bad manners, there’s definitely something wrong with him.
“Nope,” Eden lies, grabbing the mop and dragging it over the same spot he just cleaned before Charlie walked in.
The last thing he needs is for anyone, especially Charlie, to know that he jerked off to Charlie four times this week.
That’s going to stay between his fucked up brain and his shower, thank you very much.
“So you work here then?” Charlie muses, staring at Eden with far too much intensity for his liking.