Chapter 2
CHAPTER
TWO
SANTOS
Today
I readjust the collar of my gray polo and try to bite back my nervousness. In a conference room with several other professionals, it’s hard to not feel out of my depth. The fluorescent lights, long wooden tables, and massive windows all make the environment feel like the boardroom from a sitcom. We are, after all, in an office, but I was always more of a warehouse guy. But mingling is par for the course when you’re a professional and it’s your first week with the company.
“Don’t freak out.” My best friend Keisha bumps me with her shoulder. “This is just orientation. A simple meet-and-greet since we’re the new kids on the block.” She gives me a calming grin, but I continue to sweat bullets. Keisha hands me a tissue, and I pat my scalp. I feel moisture wick on my dark beard as well―what is wrong with me?
“Mm,” I say, noncommittally.
“I thought you’d be excited to have this huge contract. Unless of course, there’s another reason you’re self-conscious.” Her insinuating tone and dark brown eyes do nothing to calm me anymore. Not much gets past her, but she doesn’t know what my life was like growing up in this county.
Before Keisha can say more, we’re both distracted by the figure approaching us. Oh crap, it’s the CEO, the big wig.
“Greetings! So good to see you! I trust you’re enjoying the coffee?” The man stands an inch taller than my six-foot-two stature. He wipes his brown button-down shirt, then pushes up his thick glasses.
My friend and I nod and raise our small paper cups.
“Arjay, thanks for having us!” Keisha grins and takes the man’s hand.
“Nice to meet you,” I mutter, shaking his hand as well. The dude screams queer, and I don’t miss the way he looks at my forearm. What I lack in speaking ability, I make up for in upper body strength.
“Of course we’d want you here. We want to welcome all new employees as well as local contracted companies!” Arjay grins at us and shifts his glasses up. His white-and-black beard contrasts with Keisha’s dark, braided ponytail. Looking at both of them, I’m reminded that my sweaty scalp is probably a shining ball. Did the room get hotter or something?
“Well, we’re happy you chose us,” Keisha says, tapping my deltoid. I smile along, immensely grateful that my best friend is a talker. “Bulk Cardstock Company is ready to service your board game needs.”
“Good to hear it. Great Big Sea Games is undergoing a massive growth period, and one of my lead designers couldn’t recommend you enough.”
“We hope to not let you down,” Keisha replies.
I gaze around at the room, and the other professionals are mingling about. The one person I was afraid of seeing isn’t here, and I don’t know if I want to cheer or cry.
“We’re looking forward to you producing and shipping quality stock,” Arjay says with a smile.
“You’re in demand. That’s great,” Keisha says. “I read all about your games.”
“And we believe every team member, contracted or not, brings something to the table.” The door to our little conference room opens, and Arjay turns around. When I see the two faces approaching, my heart kicks into double-time. “Here they are now!”
“Morning, everyone.” Firass Odom walks up to us, donning a gray blazer and a black bowtie over his red button-down shirt. He’s taller and hairier than our teenage years, but otherwise, he seems like that well-read, intelligent dude I once knew. I have vivid memories of him playing card games in the cafeteria. I’m glad I never crossed him in high school, because last month’s job interview could have gone south real quick if I had been rude to him in the past. Kindness truly is a worthwhile investment.
But it’s the man trailing behind him who makes my heart skip a beat. I swear, time stands still when I see Natie Shiba for the first time in over a decade. He’s wearing a royal blue plaid shirt and the tightest black slacks of all time. His black bangs sway as he makes his way to the corner of the room. He’s no longer the scrawny, nerdy dude I went to middle school with. He’s bulked up, he’s manly, and I nearly have to readjust my trousers at the sight.
Firass mentioned during the interview that Natie would likely be working here, too. I told myself not to be nervous, that my high school crush would be inconsequential to me, but light my pants on fire, because that was a lie. Natie Shiba looks delectable even after all these years.
“Sorry we’re late,” Firass says. “Had to give my young ward here the tour.”
He nudges Natie in the shoulder and we all chuckle. “I’m your assistant, Mr. Odom, not your pet!”
We laugh, and I can’t get over Natie’s smile. His dark eyes crinkle in a captivating way. He didn’t have to shave his head because he’s a balding thirty-one-year-old, like me. When he looks at me, his smile drops for the briefest moment before he beams cordially at Keisha.
I haven’t seen him since prom where I absolutely botched talking to him. Time to make up for it.
“You interviewed these two, right, Rossy?” Arjay asks.
“Now you’re just messing with me. Fee…then Ross. Firass.” He pokes Arjay in the shoulder and we all chuckle. “But yes, I’m so happy to have them here.”
“We’re happy to contract with you. So many game companies outsource, so this is good for the local economy,” Keisha says.
“To be transparent, we did shop around to production companies overseas,” Firass says, pushing up his glasses.
“They gave us competitive rates…” Arjay adds. He eyes us like he’s contemplating the termination of our contract. Meanwhile, Natie avoids my gaze like I might turn him into stone. This is high school all over again.
Not this time, Shiba.
“FASTER!” I yelp.
The four people in front of me startle, along with others mingling nearby. It’s as if the whole room quiets down just to listen to my embarrassing outburst. I hate being the center of attention.
But when Natie’s dark eyes look at me, the whole world stops again. Maybe I never got over my stupid, closeted, teenage crush, but I’m a man now, so things are different.
I stand up straight, puffing up the pecs that I built from hours at the bench press. “We…we…we are…faster….than over…seas,” I mutter.
Natie’s face remains neutral while Firass and Arjay gradually nod at each other. Keisha’s eyes dart to each of us before she relaxes.
She clears her throat while I sip my coffee. “What my friend Santos here is trying to say…” We attempt to have a silent conversation via glances, then she turns back to Firass. “…is that production within the state is hugely advantageous. Time is money, after all.”
The gentlemen nod along, except Arjay, who doesn’t seem convinced. Natie turns to him and then says, “We can correct any big production errors promptly. It looks embarrassing for game companies to have to recall their product. A huge blemish on their reputation. You wouldn’t believe the memes my friends and I read about a certain deckbuilder game.”
Natie and Firass laugh and I smile. Is it possible Natie has my back?
“That’s true,” Arjay says, rubbing his chin.
“So if their company messes up, I can personally drive to them and give them a piece of my mind.” Natie turns to Keisha and grins. “Not that I plan to.”
“Here’s hoping!” Keisha raises her hand, and we all chuckle. She turns to me and adds, “We will one hundred percent hold ourselves accountable. We’re at your service, right, Santos?”
“S…S…service,” I mutter.
After two seconds of awkward silence, Firass waves at two people in a far corner. He ushers Natie along, and Arjay checks his phone.
“Excuse me, duty calls,” he says. “Enjoy the breakfast.”
With the three men gone, Keisha mimes wiping sweat from her brow. We almost lost our contract before it even started. But how can I care about that when Natie Shiba is standing in the same room as me?
After breakfast and touring the office―a multitude of cubicles!―I head for the bathroom before Keisha and I depart. When I walk in, Natie is at the sink washing his hands. My breath catches in my throat upon seeing his pert little ass in those tight trousers. He looks up, and his face falls. “Hey,” I say.
“Hey,” he mutters.
As he dries his hands, I recall the miserable failure I was when I last saw him. We need to abstain from having stolen moments in bathrooms, but I’m here now.
“So…” I haven’t moved, thereby trapping him in conversation, but to say what?
“So,” he repeats.
“I, um…” I scratch my neck and look away. “You look…healthy.” Seriously, that’s what I choose to say ?
He quirks an eyebrow, then replies, “You do too.”
I nod and try to ignore the compliment. A part of me was hoping he’d look deteriorated and unattractive after all these years so I could get over this dumb crush. But no, in his thirties, Natie Shiba still appears fit and fashionable. Adult Natie is inexplicably more attractive than he was when we were teens.
He puts his hands in his pockets and looks away. “Look, I think I know what you want to say, so let’s clear the air.”
Huh ? “Um…”
“We’re working together in the same company, so let’s be cordial. Friendly even.”
I nod. “O…okay.”
“We can be work colleagues and forget about how dumb we were as teenagers.”
“Um…alright.”
“Firass trusts you, and he’s like my brother, so I have to trust him.”
I tuck my hands in my pockets. “V…very well.”
“Cool. I guess…I’ll see you around at work, Mr. Hand.”
He sticks out his hand and I reluctantly shake it. His skin feels smooth, and a small shiver of attraction runs across my skin. This handshake feels like we’re erasing the past. I can’t say I blame him too much―I wasn’t exactly charming as a teenager. But I wanted Natie to meet the real me―the modern, improved Santos.
We exchange smiles and I step to the side. Once again, I allow Natie to exit the bathroom before I can articulate what’s been weighing on my mind. With him gone, I do my business and wash my hands as my memory takes me back to the day we first spoke.
In seventh grade, I was already bigger than most of my classmates. I always got picked first for gym glass, and my fellow students couldn’t wait until I could play football for the high school. My size, however, didn’t help me much in English class.
One day we had to exchange essays with the person sitting in front of us. What do you know, I had to interact with the skinny Asian dude who didn’t talk to anyone. I could tell from him answering all the teacher’s questions that he understood the material. Still, I was unfamiliar with him.
When he turned around, he silently held out his paper, and I exchanged it with mine. I read his work; his thoughts on the book were nothing groundbreaking. His grammar was fine, and I corrected little bits and pieces, as instructed.
Ten minutes later, Natie turned around and beamed at me. “Santos…this is really good.”
Huh ?
“You have these awesome theories and ideas,” he said. “You got all that from the first half of the narrative?”
I nod. “The…book was interesting. The symbolism starts s-s-subtle. But becomes…”
“Clearer over time!” He finishes my sentence. “Exactly! You’re so bright!”
Two things struck me in that very moment. One, no one had ever called me bright. I enjoyed reading, but it wasn’t considered cool for jocks to like books, so I concealed that part of me.
And two, Natie was…enchanting. He was nothing like the girls I was supposed to date. He had high cheekbones, a crop of messy black hair, and dark eyes that could only be described as adorable, no, alluring.
I didn’t understand what was happening, but years later, I would identify it as infatuation. That day in seventh-grade English class cemented that I wasn’t straight, and that I wanted Natie Shiba.