Chapter 10
Trevor
The man named Camden crunches on a chip as I wait for Isaac to appear.
The place is typical of student-rented housing. A bit worn down. Sparsely furnished. Completely lacking the warmth Isaac deserves.
“You lift?” Camden asks, crunching down on another chip.
“Yeah. I have equipment at home.”
He nods, as if he expected as much. Footsteps approach. But it isn’t Isaac who walks into the room.
It’s a five-foot-nothing, brown-haired woman who appraises me with sharp eyes. She stops a dozen feet in front of me, her gaze taking me in, top to bottom. I’m fairly certain her waist is the size of my thigh. “Trevor?” she says in question.
“Lumi?” I deduce.
Her lips twitch into something akin to a smile. “Isaac will be down in a second. He would have been ready on time, but Todd and I kept him…preoccupied.”
“I don’t mind waiting,” I tell her truthfully.
Todd ambles in the next second, shooting me a wave. “Library Guy.”
“Nice to see you again, Todd.”
Camden eats another chip.
Lumi steps closer, taking an arc around the couch that reminds me of a prowling cat. “I assume I don’t have to give you the obligatory ‘you hurt my friend and I’ll turn your balls 2D’ speech?”
Camden coughs around his chip.
“You’re welcome to give me any speech you’d like,” I tell her.
Her eyes narrow, but she looks pleased as she comes to a stop in front of me. I have to look quite a ways down to meet her eye. “February 15th,” she says. “You find out why it’s important and you might have a chance.”
It’s Isaac’s birthday.
I don’t say it aloud, but I remember the date from his driver’s license. I have a feeling Isaac doesn’t readily share it with others, based on Lumi’s comment.
It seems I’ve been given a test to earn it directly from Isaac himself.
I hold out my hand. Lumi’s grip is strong as we shake once. She turns with a flip of her hair, and Isaac stumbles into the room.
“Sorry,” he says quickly, his gaze holding suspiciously long on Lumi before he shoots me a wobbly smile.
“It’s no problem. You look great.”
And he does. But Isaac always looks like someone I wasn’t made to resist.
He huffs nervously before glaring at the other occupants of the room. “Don’t you all have better things to do?”
Camden pops another chip in his mouth.
Rolling his eyes, Isaac stomps my way and grabs hold of my hand. “Let’s go.”
“Sure. Nice to meet you all.”
Lumi waves her fingers, her voice light. “Have fun.”
Outside, I point to where my car is parked down the street. “That’s me.”
Isaac shoots me a tiny smile, seemingly surprised to find our hands still linked. He doesn’t pull free, though, not until we’re at the vehicle. I open his door, and Isaac shakes his head, looking bemused.
“Have a good day?” I ask as we buckle in.
“Sure. Fine.”
Isaac startles when I touch his chin, pulling his focus my way. “Why are you nervous?”
He puffs out a breath. “I’m not. I just…”
“It’s only me,” I remind him, kissing one corner of his mouth and then the other. Isaac chases me when I pull back, and I chuckle, sliding my hand behind his neck as I kiss him square on the mouth.
His lips are soft, opening for me in a way I find wildly addictive. There’s trust in his kiss, and a whole lot of longing that’s impossible to ignore.
“Are you trying to seduce me?” I ask.
Isaac’s laughter is soft, a whisper of air against my lips. “Need I remind you who started it?”
“I was being a perfect gentleman.”
He snorts. “The funny thing is I believe you.”
I give him one more peck. “But ask me to and I’ll erase that word from your memory.”
Isaac curses as I lean back and start the vehicle. His subtle adjustment in his seat has me fighting a smile for the rest of the drive.
When I pull into the parking lot of the tattoo shop, Isaac looks around curiously. “This is where you live?”
“It is. My uncle rents the place above the shop from the owner.”
“Must be nice to be so close to where he works,” Isaac observes. “You didn’t want to follow in his footsteps?”
“No,” I say around a chuckle. “I don’t have his artistic flair.”
He hums. “Did you grow up here?”
“I did. Does that surprise you?”
“No,” he says gently, following me out of the car. “The way you talk about him… You seem close.”
“We are.”
Isaac’s smile is slight. I can see the questions burning in his half-formed smile—about me and my parents and why I grew up with my uncle instead. But he doesn’t ask. “When did you get your first tattoo?”
“I was sixteen,” I tell him, the both of us ascending the stairs to the apartment. “The whole shop gathered around to watch. It was a good day.”
“I bet,” Isaac says, a sort of fondness in his voice that has me smiling in response.
When we reach the top of the stairs, I open the door and call for my uncle. “Raf?”
“In the kitchen,” he answers.
I shut the door behind Isaac and toe off my shoes. When I glance Isaac’s way, he’s frozen in place.
“I forgot to bring something,” he hisses, face paling.
“It’s fine,” I assure him. “Neither of us expected you to.”
Isaac’s wide blue eyes turn my way, and I’m lost. Absolutely and utterly fucking gone.
“Just a second,” I say, giving his arm a squeeze before making my way toward the kitchen. My uncle’s back is facing me, which makes it easy to slip open the cupboard at the edge of the room and grab the olive oil I bought just yesterday.
I make my way quietly back to Isaac.
“His favorite,” I say, passing the bottle over. The oil is infused with chili pepper, giving it a nice kick and flavor.
“He’s going to know I stole it from your house,” Isaac whispers.
I chuckle. “Probably not. I haven’t bought it for him in over a year.”
He lets loose a breath. “If he asks, you helped me pick it out.”
“You got it.”
Isaac takes off his shoes before following me further into the apartment, his head on a swivel. We stop at the entrance to the kitchen.
“Raf,” I say, getting my uncle’s attention. “This is Isaac. Isaac, my uncle Rafael.”
My uncle’s gaze homes in on the oil. “Is that for me?”
“Um, yes?” Isaac says, passing it over.
My uncle coos happily before kissing the bottle, his usual reaction. “I love this stuff. Your boyfriend’s got good taste, peque.”
Isaac flushes, looking happy and possibly a touch guilty for gifting Rafael something from his own home.
My uncle waves us in as he sets the oil aside. “Glad to meet you, Isaac. Want to help with these drumsticks? There’s an extra apron in the cupboard.”
Isaac glances my way before uttering a surprised, “Me?”
“Mhm,” my uncle hums. “Usually we do them in the crock pot, but seeing as we don’t have four hours, these are going in the oven.”
“Only if you want to help,” I put in quietly, rolling up my sleeves. “You can also sit at the table and keep us company if you’d prefer.”
“No. I, uh…” Isaac clears his throat. “Where’s the apron?”
With a smile, I grab it from the cupboard, and Isaac loops it over his head. Once tied, we wash our hands, and I lead Isaac over to where my uncle is currently prepping the chicken.
Isaac, as it turns out, has zero experience in the kitchen. But he tries his best, coating the drumsticks—and himself—in the rub I mix together. When the chicken goes into the oven, my uncle tasks Isaac with peeling potatoes.
“Away from your hand,” I tell him, adjusting his grip on a potato so he doesn’t take a slice out of his thumb.
He shoots me a chagrined smile over his shoulder, leaning back against me for a moment before I can step away. It takes concerted effort not to bend low and kiss the tiny freckle I can see on the tip of his ear.
My uncle asks Isaac questions as we cook. About his major. His family. About what he wants to teach and where he got his love for books.
Isaac doesn’t have a solid answer for that last one.
“I just remember loving them, as far back as my memories go. My mom would read to me before bed each night, and I liked that time. For twenty minutes or so, we’d be transported to another world.
It didn’t have to be better than our own, and it wasn’t always.
But the fact that literature is capable of making us dream with our eyes wide open has always fascinated me.
I’ve seen things through books my own brain would never have known to show me. ”
My chest aches as I hand Isaac a towel to dry off his hands. “Your dad didn’t read to you?”
“Not much,” he says with a shrug. “Even before my parents split, it wasn’t his thing.”
I would think if Isaac is so passionate about it, his dad would make it his thing. But from what little Isaac has said about the man, his father’s priorities lie elsewhere.
“His loss,” my uncle says before twisting the top off the chili pepper oil. “Now somebody grab that bread while we’re waiting.”
As the chicken and potatoes cook, the three of us take a seat at the table, dipping pieces of baguette into little dishes of the oil. I can tell by Isaac’s increasingly red cheeks, it’s a bit spicier than he’s used to. But he soldiers on.
I make a point of mentioning I need water so I can get Isaac a glass while I’m up. He looks grateful, swallowing half of it down in one go.
When the timer dings, my uncle adds a honey BBQ glaze to the drumsticks, and Isaac and I mash the potatoes. It’s only another few minutes before we’re sitting down with our meal, fresh chives adding a pop of color to the potatoes and the chicken dripping as we move drumsticks to our plates.
It’s messy, but Isaac dives right in, groaning low as he bites into the chicken. “Holy crap, that’s good.”
My uncle chuckles. “Home-cooked meals always hit the spot. Trevor’s mother was big on eating healthy. I don’t know if I’ve done as good of a job as she would have, but I’ve tried my best.”
“You’ve done great,” I tell him, not for the first time. I’ve learned everything I know about cooking from my uncle. “I appreciate these meals. Thank you.”
“He’s a good one,” my uncle says to Isaac, affectionately tousling my hair. Thankfully, he uses the hand not covered in BBQ glaze.
I huff, but Isaac’s gaze is warm as I swipe my hair back out of my face.
When our dinner is done, my uncle shoos us from the kitchen so I can give Isaac a tour of the place.
It doesn’t take long. Apart from the kitchen, there’s the small foyer we passed through on our way in, a decently sized living space, and the hall that leads to the bedrooms and bath.
Isaac seems interested in it all, stopping to look at wall art and the pictures placed around the apartment.
He points to one picture in particular in the living room. “Is that your mom?”
“It is.”
“She looks young here.”
I hum. She was twenty-five, the same age I am now. It hurts to know she didn’t get longer. “It was a long time ago.”
He nods, continuing on until we reach my bedroom at the end of the hall. I open the door, waving him in. He walks the perimeter slowly, glancing at the knickknacks on the dresser and the weight bench near the wall. His gaze skips quickly over the bed, but I don’t miss his swallow.
“So this is where you sleep,” he says, coming back my way.
“Mhm.”
“It’s a lot quieter than my place. Comfier, too.”
“Yeah? You haven’t even tested the bed yet.”
Isaac huffs. “I can tell. I like it here. It’s a real home, you know?”
“Yeah,” I answer, understanding what he means.
“Trevor,” Isaac says slowly, stopping before me. “It’s kind of a big deal, you bringing me here.”
“Is it?”
“I think so.”
“Too much?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “No. I think you should kiss me again.”
He doesn’t need to ask me twice. I take Isaac’s face in my hands, bending first to his ear so I can taste that freckle I caught sight of earlier. Isaac sucks in a gasp as my tongue flits over his skin. And then it’s our mouths meeting, Isaac using my shirt as a handhold so he can keep me close.
As if I’d go anywhere.
He’s sweet, and he’s fire, and I grab hold of the backs of his thighs so I can bring him to my height. Isaac lets out another gasp as his back hits the wall, gentle as the move is. His hand is in my hair, the other twisting the fabric near my chest before he smooths his palm up to bare skin.
“I thought…” He puffs out a breath, his lips snagging mine again. “Thought you said you wouldn’t mount me on your wall.”
“I haven’t mounted you yet,” I point out, dropping my mouth to his neck so I can feel the flutter of his pulse on my lips. “Would you like me to?”
“Oh, God,” he groans, his head falling back. He speaks through choppy breaths. “We both know we’re not having sex while your uncle is here, so don’t you dare tease me right now.”
I chuckle, Isaac’s grip in my hair tugging my mouth back to his. For long minutes, neither of us has a chance to speak at all.
“You work at the bar tomorrow?” Isaac finally asks, sucking in a breath.
“I do.”
“And, uh…” His eyes meet mine, cheeks bright. “If I meet you there… Say, for our third date. Would you maybe want to come back to my place after?”
“You know I’ll be working my entire shift?”
“Uh-huh. But I can watch.”
“And after?” I ask slowly.
The look in Isaac’s eye answers my question even before he does. “Uh-huh.”
“All right,” I murmur, leaning forward to catch Isaac’s lips once more. The way his eyelids slowly flutter open when I pull back is immensely gratifying to see. “Tomorrow, then, better-than-average Red.”
“Oh my God,” he moans, a smile in his voice. “I take it all back. We’re divorcing.”
I bark a laugh so loud Isaac jolts before a smile breaks over his face. It takes monumental effort to lower him back to the floor, when I’d much rather keep him in my arms.
Isaac smooths down his shirt, his gaze lingering for a long while on my chest before he clears his throat and reaches for the door. “Fuck,” he says in summation.
I can’t help but agree.
The two of us head back out to the living room, the rest of the evening passing quickly. When I drop Isaac off at home, it’s with another kiss that neither of us seems eager to end.
I have no doubt that when Isaac allows me to make good on my promises, the inferno will burn on and on.