Chapter 1 #2
I chuckled and crammed another couple chips into my mouth. “You’re not wrong. Both my parents grew up loaded, but they were the black sheep of their families for not following in their footsteps. Ma became a social worker, and my old man runs a scaffolding business. You may have heard of it.”
He quirked a grin.
“My brother and I still grew up comfortably,” I admitted, “but unlike the rest of the family, we were taught to work and make something of ourselves. My mom is a firm believer in sharing things you didn’t work for.”
“I like that.” He grabbed his soda. “My mother is a firm believer in marrying for money so she doesn’t have to work at all.”
I chuckled and winced. “That’s a choice too.”
“Uh-huh. Her latest husband owns a chain of tanning salons in Nevada.” He seemed kind of disillusioned by his family. I guessed they weren’t close. “I’m way closer with my dad and his wife. They’ve talked about moving out here, actually.”
That explained that.
“Are you in school too, or are you waiting to take over your dad’s business?” he asked.
“I went to trade school,” I answered. “My brother and I are gonna start our own business one day.”
“Ah. How old are you?”
“Twenty-six.”
He bobbed his head and sipped his soda.
It didn’t escape my notice that he checked out my arms every now and then, when I reached for my own soda, for instance. He tried to be subtle.
I might have a shot.
“I don’t have the same kind of career ambitions you appear to have,” I felt the need to say. “I’ve always put more energy into hobbies and shit.”
“What kinds of hobbies?”
I shrugged and scratched my shoulder absently.
“Knives and leather craft, mainly. Rock climbing too. But also, like—I want a big family one day, so that’s part of my planning for the future.
” Time to see how he’d react. “I’m gonna move to Boston eventually, ’cause it’s way easier for gay people to adopt there. ”
He flicked me a glance as he fiddled with the straw in his soda. “Oh.”
“My brother and I were adopted.” I threw that out there too. “Do you have any siblings?”
He shook his head. “I always wanted a brother.” He went for more chips, and he shifted in his seat. “Are you some kind of gentle giant? You don’t strike me as someone who’s already thinking about family.”
Was I gigantic? I may have a few inches on him in height, but I wasn’t built like a linebacker or anything. I’d played quarterback in high school, which was ages ago.
“I don’t know about gentle. Or gigantic,” I chuckled. “I try to be kind, if that’s what you mean—and that’s all Ma.”
He quirked a soft smirk. “And the swearing comes from your dad?”
I laughed. “Yeah, maybe.” I scratched the side of my head.
“I don’t know. I just have these memories of my mother trying to find homes for so many kids that it stuck with me.
We spent Thanksgivings and Christmases at group homes and shelters because my mother taught me that if a single child spent a holiday alone, grown-ups had failed. ”
Fuck. It hadn’t been my intention for this to turn heavy. It made me a bit uncomfortable.
“She sounds incredible,” Nathan murmured.
I smiled. “She is.” I nodded at his watch. “When do you start your shift?”
He checked the time and made a face. “In half an hour.”
And it took…maybe fifteen minutes to get to Center City on a bike.
I was headed that way too since I was going home, and I’d officially reached the stage where I offered to throw his bike in my truck.
“I don’t mind driving you,” I said. “My truck is parked two blocks away.”
His expression was one part surprise and one part… Wariness was a strong word, and I couldn’t call him timid. Maybe…careful? Maybe…getting closer to figuring out that I was trying to make a move?
“Why would you willingly put yourself through downtown traffic?”
“Well, I live there.” I grinned. “I’m goin’ there anyway.”
“Oh.” He huffed a chuckle. “I don’t know why that didn’t occur to me.”
Possibly because it was fucking expensive to live there. “Part of growing up comfortably,” I admitted. “We’re not complete saints.”
He exhaled a laugh and shook his head. “There’s nothing wrong with having a nice place to stay. It’s sure as hell my goal to get out of my roach-infested shoebox in Strawberry Mansion.”
Oof. I bet. Rough neighborhood. “It’s settled, then. I’ll take you to work.”
“Um, all right. Thank you.” He had to fucking know I was coming on to him at this point. If the poor lighting wasn’t betraying me, it kinda looked like he had a faint blush going on. “I’m just gonna go take a leak. Then we can head out of here.”
I nodded with a dip of my chin, and he slid out of the booth.
I raked my teeth across my bottom lip and grabbed one of the unused napkins, then a pen from my side pocket.
It wasn’t my MO to invite guys to my home; I preferred their place, the bathroom of a bar, or the occasional alley, but fuck it.
There was something about Nathan. I wanted to both fuck him six ways to Sunday and make sure he got a proper night’s rest after.
Working three jobs and putting himself through school couldn’t be easy.
After jotting down my address and digits on the napkin, I pocketed it for now and finished my soda.
When Nathan returned, we paid for our food and left. He’d already had a ten-dollar bill ready to go, so I refrained from offering to pay for him. It wasn’t a date, and I didn’t wanna be too pushy. Or make him uncomfortable.
But for the love of all that was holy, I hoped he was into me and into bottoming.
If nothing else, he was at least interested in getting to know me. On the way back to my truck, he asked what music I liked and if I’d seen any good movies lately. First of all, rock, hard rock, and punk rock. Some country rock worked too. Secondly, I had to think.
“I saw The Patriot when that came out,” I replied. “Before then… I don’t go to the movies that often, but my brother and I did see The Boondock Saints a few months ago. Awesome movie. Oh, and I rented Deep Impact, Boiler Room, and Stepmom the other week.”
He did a double take at me and almost steered his bike into a fire hydrant. “You rented Stepmom?”
“No fucking joke, I cried in my hoagie.”
“Oh my God,” he laughed. “That’s…kind of adorable.”
I grinned. I could live with adorable. “What about you? Wait, don’t say anything. I wanna guess what you’re into.” We crossed the street, and I ran a hand through my hair. “Am I getting close if I say singer-songwriter pop and jazz?”
“What the fuck?” Okay, he was offended. “Do you think I wear turtlenecks and drink port too?”
I cracked up. Well, excuse me! He was a psychology major who rode a bike—what was I supposed to think? As if he didn’t attend fancy wine mixers and discuss Jung. Come on.
“Lemme take a stab at movies too,” I said. “You’ve definitely discussed Good Will Hunting with your psychology buddies. American History X, too. I’m sure you’re alternative enough to have seen Trainspotting and Fargo—”
“Fargo was brilliant.”
“Fargo was fucking boring,” I corrected.
“Well, it’s no Stepmom.”
I shot him a look.
He grinned, pleased as punch, and nudged my arm with his. “I hate to break it to you, but I’m about as deep as a puddle. I listen to mainstream rock, the last movies I rented were Heat and Shawshank, and I haven’t tired of playing The Legend of Zelda.”
The game was already a classic, I’d give him that, and Heat was great.
“Okay, you scored some cool points there,” I said. “But do you listen to John Mayer?”
He didn’t miss a beat. “No, but apparently my ex did after I broke up with him.”
And we had ironclad confirmation. I was impressed by that cocky delivery too. It didn’t seem like him.
“Damn, boy. You out there breakin’ hearts, huh?”
He snorted. “He was a catty asshole, so I hope I broke something.”
I smirked and pulled out my car keys, and I gestured for the side street coming up.
“Good for you.”
When we got to the truck, I dropped the tailgate and jumped up so I could secure his bike. He lifted it for me, and maybe I flexed unnecessarily when I accepted it. Sue me. He seemed to like my biceps, and I couldn’t flash my abs when I was wearing a tee.
“There we go. You’re ready to ride the way God intended. In a gas-guzzling truck.”
He shook his head in amusement. “I can hear Al Gore crying somewhere.” He tilted his head as I jumped back down. “Are you religious?”
I weighed my answer and closed the tailgate again. “Not really. If God is real, I have a bone to pick with him. You?”
“I don’t know. No, I don’t think so. My dad’s wife goes to church a lot, and I can see the good they do, of course. They organize a lot of initiatives to help people in need.”
I nodded with a dip of my chin. “That’s how my ma sees it. She works closely with some congregations that help out at shelters. But then you have a big serving of anti-gay shit.”
“Exactly.”
We got into the truck, and I checked the rearview before I pulled out of the tight space.
“Thank you for driving me,” he said. “Who would’ve thought I’d have a nice afternoon with a paste-eater?”
“Crayon-eater,” I reminded him.
“Right. Sorry.”
I grinned and turned on the radio while Nathan inspected the interior of my baby. It’d seen some things over the years. My folks had driven it all over the country for festivals and protests in their hippie days. It was about as old as me.
I’d done my best to restore it to its former glory once Dad gave me the keys. I’d replaced the padding and the leather on the bench seat. I’d sure as fuck removed the two hundred air fresheners hanging on the rearview.
“Is it just me, or does it smell like weed in here?” he asked.
I scratched my nose. “It ain’t just you. The previous owners have a past as free spirits. I found an old bong under the passenger’s seat when I took over.”
He chuckled. “I’ve never tried it.”
“Really?”
“You have?”
“Sure,” I said. “But I grew up with two parents who have a past as free spirits and left an old bong under the passenger’s seat.”
That made him laugh.