Chapter 9
Adriel
It was not a big event.
Adriel had been told this four times. Once by Miriam, who delivered the invitation with her usual brisk efficiency. Once by the email that followed. Twice by himself, standing in front of his open wardrobe for the last forty minutes, repeating it like a mantra.
Author signing celebration. A small gathering at a wine bar three blocks from the office. Attendance expected.
He stared at his wardrobe. At the row of shirts hanging in tidy order, the sweaters folded on the shelf, the single jacket draped over the back of his desk chair.
Everything felt wrong; too casual for an office thing, too formal for a wine bar, too tight across his stomach, too loose in the shoulders.
He pulled out a dark shirt. His best one. He held it up, studied it. The fabric was soft, good quality, something Jenna had helped him pick out two years ago.
He put it on. Buttoned it slowly, watching his reflection, and the man looking back at him was fine. The shirt fit. It was just a shirt on a body, and the body was what it was.
He looked away immediately.
He thought about Landen.
He'd been trying not to. He'd been trying for days, ever since that night in the office; the lamplight and the manuscript and the way they'd sat so close their knees touched under the table. The way Landen's eyes had dropped, just for a moment, to Adriel's mouth. Again.
The way he'd leaned in.
Adriel's breath caught just remembering it. The heat of that moment. The world narrowing to just the two of them, to the space between their mouths, to the certain knowledge that Landen was going to…
And then the long walk home alone, replaying it, wondering if he'd imagined it, wondering if Landen had felt any of it too.
He was still wondering.
He would see him tonight. That was the thing sitting in his chest all day, a low hum of anticipation and terror.
Landen would be at the wine bar. Landen would look at him across the room.
He would remember that moment the same way Adriel remembered it, or he wouldn't, and either possibility felt unbearable.
He tugged the shirt smooth over his stomach. Straightened the collar. Ran a hand through his hair, then immediately regretted it, tried to push it back into place.
He grabbed his jacket from the chair. Left the bedroom before he could change his mind.
Jenna was in the living room, feet up on the coffee table, book open in her lap. She looked up as he emerged and did that quick scan thing she did.
"You look nice," she said.
Adriel pulled at the hem of his jacket. "It's just a work thing."
"Uh-huh." She set her book down. "And the forty minutes in front of your wardrobe?"
He didn't answer.
Something softened in her expression. "It's going to be fine.”
He nodded. He didn't believe it, but he nodded.
"Text me if you need an out," she said. "I'll call with a fake emergency. Burst pipe. Sick cat. Anything you want."
"We don't have a cat."
"I'll acquire one."
He almost laughed. The corner of his mouth twitched, and for a moment the tightness in his chest loosened just a fraction. She'd always been able to do that, even when they were kids; find the small crack in his armor and slip a little light through.
"Thanks," he said.
She held his gaze a beat longer. "You're going to be fine," she said again, and this time it sounded less like reassurance and more like a fact. "Whatever happens."
He didn't ask what she meant by whatever happens. He didn't want to hear her say whatever happens with your boss who you clearly have feelings for out loud, because then it would become real, and if it became real he'd have to do something about it, and he had no idea what that something would be.
He pulled his jacket straight one last time. Headed for the door.
"Adriel."
He turned.
She was watching him with that. "You look good. I mean it."
He stood there a moment, hand on the door, something warm and painful pressing against the inside of his ribs. Then he nodded, pulled it open, and stepped into the corridor.
The door clicked shut behind him.
∞∞∞
The wine bar was warm and intimate; low lighting that softened every edge, exposed brick soaking up the amber glow, the hum of conversation already underway when Adriel pushed through the door.
He'd timed it perfectly. Arrived a few minutes after the stated time, calculated specifically to avoid being the first person standing alone in an empty room.
It had worked, in the technical sense. The room was not empty.
People were scattered around the long tables near the back, clusters of conversation spread throughout.
Now he just had to figure out where to put himself.
He scanned for familiar faces. Found Miriam near the bar, talking to someone from press. Paul at the far end of the main table, laughing at something the author was saying. A few others from the floor scattered in between, their faces familiar if not quite known.
He could work with that. He could find an edge, a spot on the periphery.
He migrated toward the nearest group, a loose cluster of people from the floor below.
Grabbed a glass of wine from the bar on his way.
Took a position at the edge of their conversation; close enough to appear included, far enough to avoid having to contribute.
Held his wine in both hands and tried to look like someone who was comfortable.
He didn't feel comfortable. He felt visible. Like every person in the room could see the forty minutes he'd spent in front of his wardrobe, the spiral he'd talked himself down from, the desperate hope he was still trying to pretend wasn't there.
He found Landen almost immediately.
His eyes had developed the infuriating habit of finding Landen in any room before Adriel could stop it, before he could remind himself not to look, not to hope, not to do this to himself again.
He was across the room. Mid-conversation with someone Adriel didn't recognize, an older man in a well-cut suit.
Landen's jacket was dark, his tie absent, collar open at the throat in a way that was somehow more unsettling than the full office armor.
Head tilted slightly, the way it did when he was listening properly.
One hand in his pocket. The other held a glass of something dark, loosely, like he'd forgotten it was there.
He looked relaxed. Shoulders easy, expression open, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Adriel looked away.
His heart was doing something complicated, something that felt like a warning and a longing all at once. He stared at the wine in his hands, the deep red of it, the way the glass caught the low light. Counted his breaths. One. Two. Three.
He looked back.
The man Landen was speaking with said something that made him laugh, a real laugh, not the polite one he used in meetings, and Adriel watched it happen and felt something twist in his chest.
He looked away again.
The group beside him shifted, someone asking him something he didn't quite catch. He turned, smiled, nodded, made some response that must have been adequate because they turned back to their conversation without missing a beat. He took a sip of wine. He didn't taste it.
His eyes were already moving back across the room.
He caught himself this time. Stopped mid-glance. Made himself look at the brick wall instead, at the exposed beams, at anything that wasn't Landen Waters standing across the room with his collar open and his hand in his pocket, so fucking beautiful it felt like an insult.
The image was already there anyway. Burned in. The low light catching the sharp line of his jaw. The way his mouth had curved when he smiled. The way he'd…
He stopped that thought. Pressed it down and took another sip of his wine.
About twenty minutes in, someone new arrived.
The man was tall. Dark-haired. Effortlessly good-looking in the way that read as accidental even when it wasn't, the kind of looks that seemed thrown together but had clearly been curated, stubble perfectly placed, jacket simple but obviously expensive.
Adriel watched him cross the floor. Watched the way people turned to greet him, the easy smiles, the brief touches on the arm. Watched the way his presence pulled the room's center of gravity toward him without any visible effort.
A literary agent. That was what Adriel gathered from the nearby conversation; fragments drifting over from the group beside him.
Felix. From one of the big agencies, the kind that handled authors Adriel had only ever read in bound manuscripts.
He was young to be that established, or maybe he wasn't young at all and just looked it, the way beautiful people sometimes did.
He moved toward Landen.
The greeting was easy, familiar; a hand briefly on Landen's arm, a smile that widened into something genuine. The kind of greeting that spoke of history, of ease, of people who had known each other long enough to skip the formalities.
They leaned in slightly as they talked. Felix laughed at something Landen said, his head tipping back, his hand coming to rest on Landen's shoulder.
Adriel felt something cold and sharp move through his chest.
He had no claim. He had nothing. An almost-kiss that probably wasn't; that was all, that was everything, and it was nothing compared to what Felix clearly had. The history. The ease. The right to touch Landen's arm and make him smile that way.
Adriel looked down at his glass. Almost empty. He couldn't remember drinking it.
He drained the last of it in one swallow.
They were deep in conversation now, heads close together, the world around them faded to background. Felix said something that made Landen laugh and Adriel felt the cold thing in his chest twist sharper.
He looked away.
His hand found the edge of the bar behind him. He set his empty glass down, too hard, the sound thankfully lost in the noise of the room. Someone nearby was still talking, still including him in their orbit, and he nodded at something they said without hearing a word of it.
He needed another drink.
∞∞∞
He didn't mean to keep watching.
It was like a wound he couldn't stop touching. His tongue finding the same sore spot over and over, testing it, reminding himself it was there.
Felix leaned in, his mouth close to Landen's ear, and Landen's smile widened into something private. His hand came up briefly as he responded, and Felix laughed again, head tipping back, throat exposed, beautiful and easy.
Adriel set his glass down on the nearest surface. He needed his hands free, needed to move, needed to get out of this room before the walls closed in any further.
He started making his way to the door.
Head down, threading between clusters of conversation, murmuring apologies when he bumped into someone, not waiting for responses. He reached the door. Pulled his jacket from the hook. Shrugged it on.
Slip out into the night, walk home, forget about this whole fucking evening.
He was reaching for the door when Landen appeared at his elbow.
"Hey. When did you get here? Didn't see you come in."
Low. Familiar. Close enough that Adriel could feel the warmth of him in the cool air near the entrance. He glanced up.
Of course you didn't. Why would you?
"Hello." Steady. Good. "Yeah, I came a while ago." A pause. "And now I'm leaving."
Landen looked at him for a moment.
That look. The specific one. The one Adriel couldn't interpret and couldn't stop craving; the one that had haunted him since the night the world had narrowed to just the two of them and the space between their mouths.
"Stay a bit longer. It's still early." He leaned closer as he said it. Just a fraction. Just enough to make the space between them shrink, to make Adriel acutely aware of every inch separating their bodies.
So close. Adriel could feel his breath, warm and faint. Could see the exact shade of his eyes in the low light, the pupils widened, the way he was looking at Adriel like…
"I…"
The word died in his throat.
His eyes connected with Landen's and just like that he was back in the office. Landen was looking at him just like he had that night, and Adriel was frozen. Stuck in the gravity of it. Unable to breathe.
Landen's gaze dropped to his mouth.
Just a flicker. But Adriel saw it, felt it, the way you felt the moment before lightning strikes. The air between them thickened. Became something you could almost touch.
"Hey, man! You gotta hear what Margo just told me!"
A hand landed on Landen's shoulder, long, elegant fingers gripping the fabric, and Adriel looked up to find Felix there, huge smile, already pulling Landen away, chattering as they moved back into the room. The noise of the bar rushed in to fill the silence he left behind.