Chapter 11
Maverick
“People think I’m some creepy guy obsessed with death.”
I sipped my margarita on the rocks and tried to look sympathetic.
Percy had been on this topic since he’d picked me up for our date.
He’d arrived at my door with a tasteful bouquet of marigolds he hadn’t gotten from my store.
There were no other flower shops in Granville, not since Pearl closed hers, so that meant he’d gotten them somewhere else.
A funeral service? Someone’s grave? No. I was sure he’d driven to Riverton. It was a sweet gesture, really. The flowers had surprised me. His car, too. Despite rampant gossip about Percy picking up Clark in a hearse, he’d turned up in a perfectly bland sedan.
I’d been so shocked to see him—I hadn’t expected the Mamas to set me up with Percy—I’d immediately put my foot in my mouth. “What, no hearse?”
He’d reddened and thrust the flowers toward me. “I only drive that when work requires it.” He paused. “Or my car is in the shop. I have to get around somehow.”
“Right.”
“I’m not any different than other guys,” he’d said. “I just have a job that’s different.”
He’d continued the topic all the way to The Stag Pub, sitting down, and ordering our drinks. I was beginning to think he might stay on the topic for the rest of the night, but he abruptly changed course.
“You know, my sister does most of the mortician work, but someone married her.”
“Right, Priscilla seems…”
I didn’t know how to end that sentence because no one saw much of Priscilla. Not since we all graduated high school, anyway. She’d been a quiet introvert even then, more interested in books than other students. She’d gone off to some mortician licensing school and come back engaged.
“Yeah, I know,” Percy said, as if I’d actually given him an adjective. “I’m the good-looking one, so I have to be the face of the mortuary. So, I get all the grief.”
I chuckled, but Percy wasn’t wrong. Once you got past the conservative haircuts and somber suits he usually wore, he had a pretty decent face. Square jaw, just a hint of stubble, pale blue eyes that gave him the air of seriousness that probably worked well as a funeral director.
But was I really checking out Percy? I mean, he was my date, but…despite his assurances he wasn’t a weird guy obsessed with death, his whole livelihood was kind of about death.
“I’m serious,” Percy said. “I work out a lot, too. My body is totally banging under this suit. I have no trouble on hookup apps. I get laid all the time in Riverton.”
My eyebrows shot up. “So why are you doing matchmaking, then?”
“Because I want more than sex. I want a relationship.”
Well, I did tell the Mamas I wanted someone serious about finding love and not just a good time. I guess I’d basically invited them to set me up with Percy.
“Good ans—”
The DJ set up in the corner interrupted. “Welcome to Wednesday night trivia! The rules are simple. No phones. No conferring with other teams. No hate or harassment—”
“Yeah, right,” Percy muttered.
“—No arguing with the host. My decisions are final. Now, let’s have a good game!”
I glanced up to see the large television screens in the bar displaying the first question of the night: Who was the first televised president?
“Hoover,” Percy said.
Was it Hoover? I thought that might be too early for television.
Multiple choice options popped up. Hoover was among them, so maybe Percy was right.
“Did you want to play?” I asked him.
He hesitated, then shook his head. “No, I have a team I usually play with.” He waved a hand toward a table a few feet away. “Deadly Accurate. But we usually lose because the game is rigged.”
“Rigged how?”
“They let really large teams compete against small ones.” He pointed, not so discreetly, toward a loud table to my right.
I recognized Clark and Hunter Rhodes, along with Tucker and Laurie Ellis, Wes and Beckett Monroe, and Bobbi Spade.
“The Smarty Pints win way more than they should. It’s not fair at all. ”
“Oh. Well, that’s good. We can focus on getting to know each other, then.”
“Right.” Percy’s gaze flicked to his team and back to me. Then he swung sideways in his chair, hissing across the room. “Donovan! Hey, Donnie!”
An emo-looking guy dressed all in black swiveled his head toward us. He was younger than us, so I didn’t recognize him from school, but I’d seen him working in the kitchen at The Diner.
His eyes were dark—but I could still see the way they lit up when they landed on Percy.
“Hey, are you—” His gaze flicked to me, then dimmed. “Oh. You’re with someone.”
“You know the answer to this one, right?”
Donovan nodded. “We got it!”
“Cool.” Percy turned back to me.
Donovan’s gaze lingered on him a moment until he saw me watching. He abruptly turned back to his group, which included a redhead I’d seen working at the pharmacy and a dark-haired woman who could have been Donovan’s sister, wearing a D&D T-shirt.
“Sorry,” Percy said. “I just can’t trust that group to win without me.”
“We didn’t have to go out tonight,” I said. “If you wanted to play with your team.”
“You weren’t available Thursday or Friday, and I’ve got a family thing Saturday, so…” He shrugged. “But it’s fine. I want to get to know you.”
That was a nice sentiment, but he’d yet to ask me anything about myself.
“Yeah, sorry. I’ve got a big business conference, and they wanted centerpieces for all the tables. I’m going to be working overtime to get them all arranged and set up.”
“Do you do that a lot?”
“Occasionally,” I said. “Mostly for weddings. Sometimes funerals, as I’m sure you’re aware.”
He nodded. “I appreciate the care you take with the floral arrangements. They always look great.”
I smiled tentatively. “Thank you. That’s really—”
“Shit, it wasn’t Hoover,” he muttered, turning in his chair again. “Donovan! Hey, did you get that one right?”
I glanced up at the screen. Sure enough, the first televised president was Franklin D. Roosevelt.
Donovan sent him a thumbs up, and Percy huffed. “I can’t believe that’s not Hoover. Maybe the trivia people got it wrong.” He pulled up his phone, presumably to verify the answer.
“You take your trivia seriously, huh?”
“It’s fun,” he said, though he didn’t look like he was having fun.
“Damn, it really is Roosevelt.” He huffed. “I usually get these answers right. I’m really smart.”
And modest.
Between the comment about his banging body, how good-looking he was, and now his intelligence, Percy was a lot vainer than I’d anticipated. Or maybe he was overcompensating for insecurities.
“Did you know that answer?” he asked.
I hesitated. “No. I thought Hoover might be a little early for television, but—”
“And you didn’t tell me?” he accused, leaning forward aggressively.
Oh, boy.
I smiled tightly. “I wasn’t sure of the answer, Percy. And I’m not actually here to play trivia.”
He sat back. “Right. Sorry. I get a little too worked up over this game.”
“It’s okay,” I said.
But the next question popped up, and again, Percy swiveled to confer with his team. By the third question, he’d gotten up and walked over to their table.
I finished off my margarita with a sigh.
This date was turning out to be a bust. Not that I had high hopes when I saw Percy on my doorstep, but still…
I’d entertained the idea that maybe there was more to the guy than people said.
That maybe he really was unfairly judged because of his association with death.
Mortality was never a comfortable subject.
But no, he really was kind of an asshat.
“I’m going to get another drink,” I told his back.
He barely acknowledged me, so I headed over to the bar. When I got there, Damon was watching me with a shit-eating grin. “Date going well?”
I did a double take. “What are you doing here?”
He waved toward the back corner. “Just here with some friends. I noticed the matchmakers set you up with Percy. They sure do know what they’re doing, huh?”
I narrowed my eyes. “This date is going badly enough without your sarcasm, thank you very much.”
Damon smiled wider, and I was about to tell him to kick rocks when he picked up a glass on the bar top beside him. It was a margarita on the rocks, the rim fully salted. “I bought you a drink.”
“Why?”
“You looked like you needed it.”
I took a gulp because he wasn’t wrong. I swallowed and gave him a flat look. “You’re a dick.”
He laughed. “Is that any way to treat the guy buying you a drink?”
“Depends on his motives.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Well, I’m not trying to get in your pants, if that’s the concern.”
If only he was.
The thought caught me off-guard. My face heated, and I took a quick drink, afraid Damon would notice my reaction.
Since when did I want Damon to come on to me?
I mean, sure, he was hot, in a straight asshole kinda way.
But his personality was usually enough of a turn-off that I could ignore the beefy body filling out his clothes.
Percy’s comment about his banging body hit me again, and I snorted a laugh.
“Why are you laughing? You wish I wanted to fuck you.”
That only made me laugh harder.
Damon glared. “I don’t know why this is so funny.”
That only made it funnier, though, and I laughed so hard tears sprang to my eyes. Damon’s irritation shifted to concern as he watched me lose my ever-loving shit.
“S-sorry,” I gasped. “Just… something Percy said.”
Damon shook his head. “You actually like that guy?”
Something in his tone made me look more closely at him. “Does that bother you?”
“What? No. I mean, why would it?”
“Hmm.” I took another drink of my margarita. “I didn’t take you for a trivia guy.”
“No, I’m not here to play,” he said. “Just hanging out.”
I cast a look toward the table in the corner. I recognized Lyle and Truman. Wasn’t so sure about the other two. They were all wearing matching smirks as they watched Damon talk to me.
“You didn’t come here by chance tonight, did you?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
I pinned him with a look. “Are you here to fuck up my date?”
He snorted. “Looks like Percy is doing that well enough on his own.”
I shoved Damon’s arm. “I’m serious. It’s not cool. Do you think dating is easy for a gay man in this town?”
“Kinda.” He waved toward the table full of gay married couples. “There’s lots of same-sex couples here.”
“Yet, a lot more straight couples,” I said. “You go to a bar and there’s like, what, ten or twenty women you could potentially chat up? I go somewhere, and there’s maybe one guy. And sometimes that one guy is Percy.”
“Aha!” Damon grinned. “I knew you didn’t really like him.”
“Unbelievable.” I slammed my glass on the bar. “I’m going back to my date. Percy may not be perfect, but at least he’s not a fucking manbaby.”
“Rude.”
I turned away, but Damon caught my arm. “Mav, wait.”
I glanced back, wary. “What?”
“I’m sorry you don’t have better options. More of them.” He shrugged. “You deserve better than Percy.”
I had no real desire to return to my table, where Percy was only half-present at best, anyway. I picked up my glass again. “Thanks for the drink.”
“No problem.” Damon hesitated. “I know I give you a lot of shit, but um…we’re cool, right?”
I rolled my eyes. “We’re never cool, Damon. You’re a pain the ass. I put up with you because you’re easy on the eyes, but you also make me want to strangle you.”
He chuckled. “I get that a lot, actually. From my girlfriends too.”
I arched an eyebrow. “Funny coincidence, huh?”
“I mean, it’s not the same,” he said quickly. “I just… I’m a bit of a dick.”
“Good thing I like dick,” I teased.
He spluttered on his sip of beer. “You did not just say that.”
“It’s all true, baby. And if you keep barging in on my dates, I might just think you want a taste of it, too.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” He took a step back, holding up his hands. “I am not that curious.”
Not that curious. But a little curious?
I hadn’t forgotten Jory’s comment about the way Damon looked at me. Had I stumbled upon the gay man’s wet dream? A super hot straight guy who secretly wanted to fall to his knees?
Before I could explore the possibility any further, Percy remembered we were on a date and approached me at the bar.
“Is this guy bothering you?”
“Seriously?” Damon said. “You’re gonna go all protector after you’ve been ignoring him on your date?”
Percy colored. “Sorry, Maverick. I’m going to do better. Come back to the table?”
I hesitated, torn between flirting with Damon and going back to a date that was probably going nowhere good. Still, Percy was asking nicely, and it would be really awful to bail on him for a guy who was at best bi-curious, and at worst, just an asshole who loved fucking with me.
“Yeah, okay,” I said with a smile. “Let me get a refill and I’ll be right there.”
Percy glanced at Damon again. “You’ll be okay with this guy? I saw the way he was watching you earlier.”
“Yeah, we’re neighbors,” I assured Percy. “He was just checking up on me. Right, Damon?”
“Right,” he said with a nod.
“Okay, then. I told Donovan he was on his own for the rest of the game. You’ll have my full attention.”
“All right.”
Percy hesitated, then leaned in and brushed a kiss to my cheek—very close to my mouth. “Looking forward to spending more time with you,” he murmured, flicking a challenging gaze toward Damon.
He sauntered away, and suddenly, I could actually see how Percy landed all those hookups he’d mentioned. There was a certain sexy confidence to him when he wasn’t being weird about death or totally annoying about trivia.
Damon huffed. “He thinks he’s smooth.”
“Yeah,” I murmured.
“I’ll be here the rest of the night,” Damon said as I turned to give the bartender my order. “If you need a rescue, let me know.”
I patted Damon’s arm. “Pretty sure I can handle Percy, but thanks.”
He frowned. “He probably has sex with corpses.”
“That’s a low blow, Damon,” I said as the bartender put my fresh drink in front of me. “If you’re not careful, someone will start thinking you’re jealous.”
“I’m not jealous,” he muttered. “I just think you could do a lot better.”
“Maybe.” I threw down a ten and picked up my drink. “But at least Percy knows what he wants.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Damon asked as I turned away.
“You’ll have to figure that out for yourself.”
I headed back to Percy, not because I thought the date would pan out, and not to make Damon jealous, either. But because if I stayed at the bar, I’d give in to the urge to tease him right into bed—possibly with disastrous results.
Yeah, Damon was hot. Yeah, I thought he was curious.
But he was a long way from admitting he was interested. Hell, he probably wasn’t even acknowledging it to himself yet. And maybe he never would.
I couldn’t wait around for some confused guy to figure out his desires—or string me along while he hid in the closet. Been there, did that, didn’t even get a T-shirt.
No. Damon was a pain in my ass, and tonight he’d be a pain in my balls, too. But what he wouldn’t be was a pain in my heart.
I wouldn’t allow it.