Chapter 14 #2
He was perched on a stool in his usual corner of the bar, book open, beer half gone.
Flannel sleeves pushed to the elbows, forearms braced on the rail, jaw propped on his fist. He was reading, and his stillness in the midst of the jukebox and TV both playing pulled at something low in Leo’s stomach.
Dawson’s finger was hooked over the top of the page like he was about to turn it.
His other hand was wrapped around his glass, and Leo tracked the line of his wrist to where his sleeve bunched at the elbow, the tendon shifting when he lifted his beer. He made himself look away.
Wes set a drink in front of him. “Jonesy says you’re buying.”
“Jonesy’s wrong.”
“Too late. He opened a tab in your name.”
“Jonesy,” Leo hollered. No way in hell was he paying for everyone tonight. It was their last night off for a while, which meant they’d all be relying on two of the rookies, who were the acting sober drivers, to get them home.
“What?” Jonesy spread his hands. “You had a good practice. We’re celebrating. That’s how teams work, V. You do something good, I spend your money. It’s a system.”
Leo shook his head, drank his beer, and let Riggs drag him into the Packers argument, which he lost because he didn’t know shit about the team, the players, or why it even mattered. Riggs seemed delighted to have a fresh audience for his outrage.
Across the bar, Dawson turned the page.
Twenty feet between them, and both of them pretended they were strangers.
Leo on this side, loud and laughing, wedged into a booth with teammates who were starting to feel like more than coworkers.
Dawson on that side, quiet and contained, occupying the same corner he always did.
They hadn’t acknowledged each other. Leo kept glancing over, quick looks he covered by reaching for his beer or checking his phone.
Once, he caught Dawson’s eyes already on him, and the contact held for a full second before Dawson dropped back to the page.
Leo’s pulse kicked, and he picked up his glass just to have something to do with his hands.
He excused himself to the restroom. On the way back, he detoured past the bar. Stopped close enough that his sleeve brushed Dawson’s shoulder, and said, low enough that the bar noise covered it, “Good book?”
Dawson’s eyes stayed on the page. “Decent.”
“You look comfortable.”
“I am.” Dawson turned his head to look up at him. “I’ve been falling behind on my reading lately. Some cocky athlete keeps texting me when I’m trying to relax.”
“That’s a damned shame. You should really tell him to piss off.”
Dawson shrugged. “Eh, he’s not so bad. Besides, I wouldn’t want to hurt his feelings. Guys like that can be fragile as glass.”
Leo gave him a playful shove. “Dick.”
“Just calling it like I see it.” He jerked his chin towards the booth where his teammates were in yet another heated conversation. “You’d better get back over there before they send someone over to see why you ditched them.”
“You’re probably right. Talk later?”
“You know it.” Leo’s dick twitched when Dawson winked and licked his bottom lip.
He lasted forty minutes. Leo pulled his phone into his lap under the table while Riggs launched into another story.
Tonight would be more fun if you were over here.
He watched Dawson’s hand go to his pocket. Watched him pull the phone out, read the screen, and set it face-down on the bar. Dawson stared straight ahead for a long moment, jaw tight. Then he picked it back up.
Yeah, that wouldn’t look weird at all.
I know. I’m just saying it’d be nice.
Yeah. It would. It sucks being all the way over here when you’re way over there.
Leo looked across the bar at Dawson, who was looking back at him. Not shut down. Not making excuses. Just honest, and the honesty was almost worse because it meant Dawson wanted the same thing and was choosing not to have it.
He could have pushed. Could have typed then come over, who cares, let them see. But that was Leo’s desire, not Dawson’s timeline, and he’d learned enough by now to know the difference.
Dawson held his gaze for one more second. Then he looked down at his book and didn’t look up again.
Leo said goodnight to the guys and walked into the cold. The lake was a dark mass beyond the streetlights, and the October wind cut through his jacket on the way to the car. He stood there for a second with his keys in his hand.
His phone buzzed.
Drive safe.
Two words. It wasn’t enough, but it was more than Leo had been getting from him in public, and Leo wasn’t about to push his luck.
But it was also Dawson thinking about him after he’d left the room.
He got in the car and sat there for a minute with the engine running, Dawson’s earlier text still on the screen.
Yeah. It would.
Leo could be patient. He’d proven that. But patience wasn’t the same as pretending the distance didn’t suck, and he was starting to feel it in his chest every time he had to play it cool in a room with Dawson, and one of these nights, “Yeah. It would” wasn’t going to be enough.