Chapter 19
Jacks
Iwas floating. That was the only word for it. My feet touched the ground, and I was aware of pavement beneath my shoes, as I walked from my car to the Barbacks back entrance, but the rest of me existed somewhere three feet above my own body, suspended in a state of blissful disbelief.
Skyler Shaw had kissed me.
Skyler Shaw had kissed me.
Skyler fucking Shaw had kissed me!
The words kept looping through my brain, each repetition sending a fresh wave of nausea and elation in equal measure through my nervous system.
I replayed the moment ten thousand times during the drive to work: the way he’d walked toward me, slow and terrified, the way my back hit the wall, the way his fingers brushed the curls from my forehead with such deliberate intention.
And then his lips.
Oh, holy God Almighty.
His lips on mine.
Soft and hesitant and perfect.
I touched my mouth without thinking, like I could still feel him there.
Get it together, Armstrong, I chided.
I had a shift to work, customers to serve, and a whole evening of acting normal ahead of me.
I could do this. I was a professional.
I pushed through the back door and into the familiar chaos of pre-opening prep. The kitchen smelled like Rod’s famous slider seasoning, and I could hear Benji somewhere in the front, probably rearranging bottles into some elaborate new configuration that would annoy Finn within the hour.
Everything was normal.
I was a normal guy showing up for a normal shift after a completely normal afternoon of making out with a closeted, possibly questioning, definitely not straight (okay, probably) NHL captain on his couch while Kevin Costner ran around with wolves in the background.
Everything was totally normal.
“You’re late.” Finn appeared from the office doorway, clipboard in hand, wearing his usual pre-shift expression of maternal disapproval.
“By like three minutes.”
“Four, and you didn’t answer my text about the keg delivery.”
“Sorry, I was”—kissing Skyler Shaw—“busy. Running errands.”
“Errands.” Finn’s eyes narrowed, his Irish intuition already pinging something. “Right. Well, the Guinness came in short, so we need to adjust the specials board, and the ice machine is making that noise again.”
“I’ll take a look at it.”
“You said that last week.”
“I did. It was working.” I shook my head. “I’m not a miracle worker. It’s like a hundred years old, Finn.”
I tried to slide past him toward the bar, but he shifted to block my path. His expression had changed, morphing from annoyed manager more toward concerned friend.
“Jacks, you sure you’re okay? You seem different.”
“Different how?”
“I don’t know. Just different.” He studied me like I was a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve. “You’re smiling.”
“I smile.”
“Not like that. That’s a weird smile. That’s a ‘something happened’ smile.”
“Nothing happened. I’m in a good mood, okay. Is that a crime now?”
“In this economy? It’s suspicious, at minimum.”
I managed to dodge around him and make my way to the bar where Benji was indeed rearranging bottles, though not into any configuration I could identify as purposeful.
“Jacks!” He spun around, nearly knocking over a bottle of Hendrick’s. “You’re here and you’re late. You’re—” He stopped mid-sentence, his eyes going wide. “Oh, my God.”
“What?”
“Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God.”
“Benji, what—”
“Something happened.” He pointed at me with an accusatory finger.
“Something major happened. I can see it on your face. You’re glowing.
You’re literally glowing. Are you pregnant?
How far along are you? When did you dip the stick?
Can I see it? Did science figure the whole men getting preggers thing out while I wasn’t paying attention? ”
“Benj, I’m not pregnant.”
“You mean you’re not showing yet? It’s too soon, isn’t it?”
“No.” I blew out a breath. “I’m really not pregnant.”
Benji deflated. “Then why do you look like you discovered the meaning of life and had the best orgasm of your existence all at the same time?”
“I don’t look like—”
“Finn!” Benji shouted toward the back. “Get out here. Jacks says he’s not pregnant.”
“He’s not . . . what?” Finn called back. “I did catch him smiling a lot.”
“It’s more than weird smiling. This is full-body weird! Just look at him.”
Finn emerged, crossing his arms as he joined Benji in studying me like I was an exhibit at a zoo. I stood behind the bar, trapped between them and the wall of bottles, feeling my face heat under their scrutiny.
“Okay, this is ridiculous,” I said. “I’m in a good mood. People are allowed to be in good moods. It’s not a federal investigation.”
“You went to pick up Skyler from the airport,” Benji said, the pieces clicking together behind his eyes. “You texted me that this morning, said you’d be here by four-thirty.”
“I’m here now.”
“It was four-thirty-four when you walked in. You’re never late.
You’re annoyingly punctual. You once showed up twenty minutes early for a shift and spent the whole time reorganizing the garnish trays because you didn’t know what to do with yourself.
” Benji’s grin was turning feral. “So what happened between the airport and now that made you lose track of time?”
“Nothing.”
“Liar.”
“I’m not—”
“Your ears are red,” Finn observed. “They only get red when you’re lying or embarrassed. Which is it?”
“Neither! Both. Fuck it. I don’t know!” I threw my hands up. “Can we please focus on opening the bar? We have like ten minutes.”
“Plenty of time to spill the beans.” Benji hopped onto a bar stool, settling in like he was preparing for a long show. “Now spill.”
“There’s nothing to spill.”
“Jackson Michelle Obama Zeta Jones Smith.”
“Benjamin,” Finn added for no apparent reason.
“Your whole vibe is different.” Benji gestured at me.
“Your shoulders are different. Your posture is different. You’re standing like a person who got thoroughly kissed, and I would know because I’ve been thoroughly kissed many times, and there’s a specific post-kissing energy that you are radiating like a nuclear reactor. ”
I opened my mouth to deny it.
But nothing came out.
My fucking voice betrayed me.
And Benji’s eyes went supernova.
“I KNEW IT!” He slammed both hands on the bar. “I KNEW SOMETHING HAPPENED! FINN, SOMETHING HAPPENED!”
“I gathered.” Finn’s expression was harder to read, caught somewhere between concerned and cautiously hopeful. “Jacks?”
My name floated in the air like dust motes in sunbeams.
My brain cycled through my options: I could lie. I could deflect. I could make up some story about traffic or errands or anything other than the truth.
But the truth was pressing against the inner wall of my better judgement, shoving against my ribs like I might explode if I didn’t let it out.
“He kissed me.”
The words came out in a rush, barely coherent.
“He kissed me. Skyler Shaw. The hockey dude. The Lightning captain. At his apartment.” I felt my inner self coil like a spring, hold, then bolt loose.
“I helped him with his bag even though he didn’t need help because he only had one bag, but he asked me to come up anyway, and then we were in his kitchen, and it was super awkward, and he offered me water, and then offered to watch TV and play video games, and I was about to leave because the whole thing felt weird, and then he said he needed to try something and asked me to trust him, and I said okay, and then he walked toward me, and I backed up and hit the wall, and he brushed the hair off my forehead like he did at the Taco Bus except this time he didn’t run away.
” I sucked in a breath, then kept rattling.
“This time he leaned in, and he kissed me, and I kissed him back, and then we were kissing against the wall for like five minutes, and then we moved to the couch and—”
“Slow down.” Finn held up a hand. “Breathe. You’re gonna blow something out.”
I drank in air, realizing I’d been speaking without oxygen for approximately forty-five seconds.
“He kissed you,” Benji repeated, his voice reverent. “Our hockey player? Our NHL captain? Our famous straight guy? He kissed you.”
“Yes.”
“On the mouth.”
“Where else would he kiss me?”
“Maybe your cheek. Or if he was feeling fatherly, your forehead. In Europe, they kiss cheeks all the time. It’s a whole thing—”
“It wasn’t a European cheek kiss, Benji. It was a real kiss. A . . .” I felt my face heat again. “A lot of real kisses for like two hours.”
Silence.
Finn and Benji exchanged a look that contained an entire conversation I wasn’t privy to.
“Two hours,” Finn said. “Of kissing?”
“And cuddling. On the couch. We didn’t—” I shook my head. “We didn’t do anything else. No clothes came off. We just lay there watching Dances with Wolves.”
“You watched Dances with Wolves?”
“It was on some classic movie channel. We weren’t paying attention to it.
Mostly we were . . .” I trailed off, the memory washing over me.
Skyler’s head on my chest, my fingers running through his hair, and the soft sounds he made when I kissed the spot behind his ear.
“We were just together, being close, talking sometimes, but kissing a lot.”
“Oh my God,” Benji breathed. “That’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard. That’s movie-level romantic. That’s Nicholas Sparks on steroids.”
“It wasn’t—” My head cocked. “Who’s Nicholas Sparks?”
“Never mind.” Benji waved a hand. “Two hours of cuddling and kissing with a Kevin Costner movie playing in the background while neither of you watches it because you’re too busy being in love?
That’s literally the plot of every Hallmark movie ever made, except gay and therefore better and needing a higher rating, both in stars and legal age requirements. ”
“We’re not in love,” I said, though the words felt hollow even as I spoke them. “We’re figuring things out. He’s never been with a guy before. I’m pretty sure he’s never kissed a guy, I mean, before me and today and shit . . . He’s scared, and I’m scared. Everything is scary.”