Chapter Twelve #2
Evan figured he was allowed an opinion because he’d actually been there. “It’s not even close to a hellhole,” he defended. He didn’t add that he’d seen actual hellholes growing up, and the run-down, worn house Miles had lived in couldn’t even begin to compete.
Nate only shook his head. “You know where to find me if you get sick of them.”
“What did he mean?” Evan asked as they walked to the car. He told himself he wasn’t jealous, that Nate wasn’t propositioning Miles if he got bored later. He was mostly lying.
“Nate works at a late-night wine bar too, pouring. Pays for his expensive shoes,” was all Miles said as they got into the car.
“You don’t like him,” Evan stated, somewhat to his own surprise. “You really, really don’t like him.”
“Gee, what gave me away?” Miles asked with a lopsided grin in Evan’s direction.
“I mean . . . you don’t talk to me that way.
I thought that’s how you talked to people you didn’t like.
” Evan had a fleeting thought that maybe this conversation shouldn’t be happening now, after he’d had a few glasses of wine.
Miles had pleaded required sobriety for driving, but Nate had poured most of the winery library for Evan.
At the time it had seemed like an excellent learning opportunity; a way to expand and refine his palate. Only now did Evan realize drinking so much wine had been a mistake. He was definitely tipsy, and even worse, he kept saying all sorts of things to Miles that he shouldn’t.
Was this what being relaxed felt like? No. It was definitely what being drunk felt like. “That’s because I don’t dislike you.”
“But, you definitely seem to. I mean, you said you did.”
“I also said I thought you had a hot ass. Does that seem like something I’d say to someone I didn’t like?”
“No.” He did have a hot ass. It was hardly the first time he’d been informed of this fact, but none of those other times had made his face burn and his cock harden. In fact, all those other times, he'd varied between mildly and extremely creeped out.
“You’re cute when you’ve been drinking,” Miles announced.
“I’m not drunk,” Evan said. Total lie. The way Miles grinned meant he knew just how drunk Evan was, and just how much he was lying.
“And yet you're still not relaxed.”
Evan frowned. It seemed very obvious the best way to relax him. And because he'd apparently lost his brain-to-mouth filter, he said it. Out loud. “I know exactly how you can relax me.”
Miles turned into a parking lot and pulled into a space.
Evan glanced up at the sign above the rows of little wooden stalls.
“What is this?” he bit off. This wasn’t the sort of relaxing he wanted to sign up for.
The wine tasting had actually been pretty fun; whatever this was, Evan already knew he wouldn’t like it. Why? It was cooking.
“I thought you might want to come to the farmer’s market with me,” Miles said, so reasonably that Evan felt a tiny bit ashamed for snapping.
But only a tiny bit. After all, it felt like Miles had been pressing for weeks for them to have sex, so it shouldn’t have been so difficult to get him to do it again. Especially when it had been so good the first time. Even better than he could have predicted.
“Is the farmer's market supposed to relax me?” Evan snapped.
“I thought watching me cook turned you on?” Miles glanced over, and there was so much heat in his gray eyes it was a miracle he didn’t melt right onto the seat. Oh wait, that was Evan, who wasn't only feeling warm and loose from the wine he'd drunk.
“I don’t think I remember saying that,” Evan said. He should be a lot more ashamed at getting caught out, but this was Miles, and he’d probably read all the comments on his videos a few dozen times. And everyone thought Miles cooking was a turn-on, because it was.
It was those long fingers and the way he caressed every goddamn ingredient.
“Are you coming?” Miles said, eyes glittering with unrepentant amusement.
“No.” Evan gave a frustrated grunt. “Not even close.”
“Come on,” Miles persuaded, “it’ll be fun.”
“Fine, but if you fondle the raspberries again, I’m done,” Evan said.
It was a hell of a lot sweeter than Miles had ever imagined it would be to see Evan so obviously needy for sex. And not just sex in general—sex with Miles.
Only part of it was that he’d never really had someone turn him down so many times and fight so hard against a mutual attraction.
Most of it was that it was just Evan. Miles was beginning to realize he adored everything about him.
From the way he’d stared enviously at Nate’s stupidly expensive loafers, bought with too many long nights at the wine bar, to Evan's frustration that they hadn't immediately fallen into bed again, to his extraordinarily pleased expression when he’d been told he had a decent palate.
He was adorable, if you paid attention. Even if you didn’t, Miles realized, but then he’d spent too long trying to ignore him. Even when Evan made himself difficult to ignore.
“Can you please explain what it is you’re doing?” Evan asked, eyes obscured by a pair of aviator sunglasses he’d slipped on.
“As directed, I am not fondling the raspberries," Miles said.
Evan took a step closer, reaching up on his tiptoes to murmur into Miles’ ear. “Then how come you’re rolling them between your fingertips?”
Had he been? Given an inch, Miles was figuring out that he was desperate to go the mile. Consciously or even subconsciously. “Maybe because I want you as badly as you want me?”
“You’re doing that annoying thing again, where you answer a question with a question,” Evan hissed after Miles dropped the container of raspberries into the basket he was carrying.
“You love it when I do that,” Miles insisted.
Evan sniffed. “No. I definitely do not.”
“Sorry?" Miles asked, shooting Evan a lopsided smile. That smile had charmed legions during his single life, but all it did was emphasize Evan's frown.
"I don't get it," Evan said as they walked away from the fruit stand. "If you want me as much as I want you, how come we're not at the hotel right now?"
Miles shoved his own sunglasses on top of his head as he leaned down to examine some zucchini.
Maybe he'd make a zucchini and squash ratatouille.
Xander had a secret obsession with Italian food and would appreciate it.
"Because," he said patiently, "we're at the farmer's market, buying supplies to make dinner.
Also, because you're drunk and I don't want to do something you might regret. "
A frustrated groan came out of Evan's mouth. "You're the one who took me wine tasting!"
Miles turned away from the zucchini, decided this needed his full attention. He couldn't get distracted by squash or Xander's tendre for rustic Italian. "I took you wine tasting because you like wine, and I thought you might have fun. Even though that jerk Nate was the sommelier."
"But . . ." Evan tried to say but Miles placed the produce basket on the ground, and wrapped his arms around Evan's narrow waist. Evan resisted a little, but eventually gave in, letting Miles pull him closer.
"No buts," Miles said seriously. "I do want you. I can't wait to take you back to the hotel, but this is also a break for you. A break you really need. And as far as I'm concerned, that's more important than getting a quickie at the hotel. You're more important than a quickie at the hotel."
Evan's eyes grew wide. Like he genuinely didn't believe he was more than a convenient fuck.
Which, as far as Miles was concerned, was a bunch of bullshit.
Yeah, he'd sent that email. Yeah, they fought and bickered like cats and dogs, but when had he ever made Evan feel like he didn't like him?
Like he wasn't important? He'd been trying since he first realized to show Evan that he cared.
Even more than he was ready to admit to.
"Oh." Evan seemed shocked and speechless. But maybe still not totally convinced.
So instead of letting Evan go and picking up the produce basket, ready to resume his shopping, Miles decided there was no time better than the present to do a little additional convincing.
It wasn't so easy for Miles to say the words yet—even in his own mind, he tripped uncoordinatedly over them—so he showed Evan just how much he was wanted.
He kissed him, pouring in all the skill he'd learned and all the passion he felt for the other man, his tongue slipping between Evan's still-stiff lips, giving everyone at the farmer's market a nice show.
It took a long second for Evan to respond, but when he did, he threw himself into the kiss, tongue rasping against Miles', hands wandering down his back, landing pretty firmly on his own ass.
There were dim cheers somewhere over to his left, but all Miles could feel was Evan's mouth moving insistently against his own, his body pressed against his, his erection poking into his hip. And it hit him, like a ton of zucchini, that this was what he had really wanted, almost from the beginning.
Evan was what he had wanted. He had just been so slow—way too fucking slow—to see it.
Miles lifted his head and looked down into Evan’s light brown sugar eyes. “You really . . . you really do want me,” Evan breathed out unsteadily. Miles’ own pulse was racing a hundred miles a second, and he didn’t quite trust his own voice so he nodded.
And while Evan didn’t say why he’d doubted, Miles thought as they resumed their casual stroll through the farmer’s market that it weighed heavily between them. He ached for the young Evan, who had been convinced he wasn’t worth anything, and that nothing had ever happened to change his mind.