Chapter 1 #3
As he talks about his ex, I watch his face. There’s regret there, for sure, but not the heartbreak kind. More like disappointment in the situation.
“We had a big fight,” he continues, “but in the end, I figured there were a lot of things wrong about the relationship, and if I wasn’t invested enough to fix them, I wasn’t in love with her.
I wasn’t giving Rosie what she needed. So…
” He makes a clicking sound and draws a finger across his throat.
Then he takes a long drink of his beer. “Now I’m like…
was it a me thing? Do I not know how to be a good relationship partner? Did I give up too fast?”
This conversation is getting deeper than a strangers-in-a-bar convo, but something about this guy has me shaking my head and leaning closer. As in, close enough to count his eyelashes.
Not that I do, obviously, because that would be weird.
“From what you’ve said, it sounds like she abandoned you at a time when you really needed her. She wanted to make it about her, when you were already stressed-out about caring for your family. I’m not slamming your ex for having her own needs and priorities, but the situation wasn’t all on you.”
Carlos looks up at me with surprise and a little suspicion… and possibly a little relief. “You think?”
“Do I think anyone worth dating would want to support their partner through a family crisis and not complain about it being inconvenient for them? Yes. Do you miss her?”
“No.” He winces. “God, that sounds shitty.”
“It doesn’t. It sounds like you made the right choice, even if it didn’t come about the way you wish it had. So, that doesn’t count as impulsive. That was just smart.” I dust my hands. “Pretty sure this puts me way ahead. One rodeo ride gone wrong doesn’t make you the king, buddy. Try harder.”
He taps his chin thoughtfully. “Okay. Alright. I see I’m gonna need to pull out the big guns.”
I make a big show of examining my nails. “You can try.”
Ames slides Carlos’s plate of cornbread across the bar before heading back to the kitchen, and the smell makes my stomach growl instantly. Carlos notices and pushes the plate between us without a word, then goes back to his chin tapping.
“Thanks,” I say, tearing off a piece. It’s warm and sweet, exactly what I didn’t know I needed. When I lick a crumb off my thumb, I notice Carlos’s eyes tracking the motion. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows his beer.
Fuck. What is wrong with me? Every single thing about this cutie is screaming straight, but it’s like I’m determined to misinterpret him. Probably because I wish so badly that he wasn’t.
I clear my throat. “Don’t let me hurry you, but I am aging over here, so if you’d like to concede defeat right now…”
He laughs and tells me more funny stories—times he shaved a lightning bolt into his hair, bought a truck sight unseen, drove all night to get to some beach and then fell asleep on the sand and got sunburnt.
I try not to laugh, but he sounds so adorably rueful about it all, I can’t help it. “Damn. Okay,” I admit. “You’re clawing back points.”
“Clawing back,” he scoffs. “I think the word you’re looking for is ‘winning,’ baby. Unless you have more stories to share.”
Baby? Do straight guys say that casually to other guys? I mean, they do. They must. Right?
He’s looking at me expectantly, and… Jesus fuck, I cannot remember the last time I was so flustered. I know my face is as red as the fake autumn leaves Ames hung around the bar, and I can’t quite look Carlos in the eye anymore. It takes me a minute to even realize what he’s waiting for.
“Oh. I, um, already said the thing about… about wanting to teach preschool, right?”
He laughs. “You did. And since my brother-in-law’s sister’s a preschool teacher, I’m calling bullshit. Wanting to work with kids makes you a hero in my book. Nobody ever decided that impulsively.”
“Tell that to my father. I chose to major in early childhood education, and he claims it was me ‘acting impulsively’ and ‘wasting my potential.’”
“It’s yours to waste,” he says matter-of-factly, and the conviction in his voice is sexy as fuck.
“Your life, Erick. Your choice. And I also call bullshit on you thinking a four-year degree in something is an impulsive decision.” He leans closer and whispers, “And I make the rules since I’m the king. ”
This is the silliest conversation I think I’ve ever had with anyone. There is no logical reason why I feel so much better than I did when I sat down tonight.
Better, frankly, than I have in months.
There’s also no logical reason why I take a deep inhale of Carlos when he leans close and find the scent of him relaxes me further.
“Okay, how about the time I was sixteen and thought I was about to make my big modeling debut?” I manage.
“You modeled?” Carlos tilts his head and looks me up and down, and I can feel that gaze like a physical touch. “I can see it.”
I shift on my seat. “Er. No. Not exactly. My mom was a model back in the day, so she called in a favor with a photographer friend.” I roll my eyes. “I told literally everyone I knew that I was about to be the next David Gandy.”
“Okay. Whoever that is.”
“Then I realized we had to strip down to our briefs for the shoot.”
“Ah.” His head goes back, and he nods. “You got shy. I would too. That’s hard.”
I snort. “Oh, it was definitely hard. There were, like, ten of us prospective models, in our underwear.” Carlos doesn’t seem to get what I’m saying, so I fix him with a look. “Let me repeat. Me, a red-blooded and very gay sixteen-year-old, in a room with nine gorgeous and scantily clad men—”
He chuckles, and his cheeks go pink. “Fuck.”
“Yeah. So I, um… pretended I had diarrhea and ran out of the room,” I mutter.
“Thanks to your impulsive erection?” Carlos laughs.
I find myself laughing too, though at the time, the situation had been beyond mortifying. But hearing Carlos say the word erection means that my dick is suddenly all I can think about.
“I still see that photographer at my mother’s Christmas parties,” I say plaintively, “and every year, he asks me how my stomach is.”
Carlos howls. Like, hand-on-my-knee, is-he-even-taking-in-oxygen? laughter. When he’s finally done, I’m halfway through my drink and I’ve eaten most of his cornbread, which I decide is appropriate punishment.
“Anyway,” I say pointedly, “I think we can both see that I’ve won, so I don’t need to belabor the point—”
“I think…” he begins softly. His hand tightens on my knee almost convulsively. “I think I can still top that.”
“I’d like to see you try,” I scoff.
Carlos downs the rest of his beer like he needs the courage. “I, ah… I think I might have… impulsively found myself attracted to a guy today.”
I suck in a breath, and then my whole body locks down.
Is he talking about me? He must be, right?
Seriously, if my friends could see me now, they’d die. I’m acting like a preteen. Like a guy who doesn’t know what his dick is for.
Of course he’s talking about you, Erick. But what do I want to do about it?
“Oh. Wow. Okay. And, um, how do you feel about that?” I ask in a strangled voice.
“You say oh a lot, you know that?” He bites his lip, and the move is so sexy it makes me shiver. “I like it. A lot. It’s like you’re always surprised. Makes me want to see how many times I can make you say it.”
My face goes pink. “I… I… Oh.”
“There we go.” Carlos grins, then turns more serious. “It’s… it’s not like I’ve never noticed guys were hot. It’s just… they’re guys. I work with them, I hang out with them, they’re not… people I want to kiss. You know?”
I nod, then shake my head. “I mean, if a guy is hot and fun to hang with, I probably would want to kiss him, I think?”
“Yeah, well…” Carlos takes a deep breath, and his cheeks flush darker this time. “I thought about kissing you.”
His throat moves in a convulsive gulp, and… god, are these drinks really strong, or did he just make that gulping sound sexy?
“And that’s partly because you’re hot, of course,” he says, like he’s reasoning out his attraction in real time.
“But it’s also because… I don’t know. I really liked the way you stood up to your dad today.
The way you seemed ready to change your whole life to do something that matters to you.
The way you sounded really smart and chill while you were doing it.
Maybe you were being impulsive, but I think you were brave and…
and inspiring, acting on this desire you’ve felt for a while.
Making shit happen. I couldn’t look away from you the whole time.
I just wanted to… to cheer for you, and also stand in front of you and tell your dad to shut up and let you talk.
It was just… cool,” he finishes, spreading his hands in a what can you do gesture.
Now I gulp, and I’m confident it does not sound sexy. More like I’m gulping for air since suddenly I don’t have any.
Many people think I’m good-looking. But the way Carlos is talking so earnestly and haltingly about how he sees something more in me? About how he was feeling inspired by me? It’s like he’s unlocked a secret compartment in my brain that’s been craving that kind of validation for a long-ass time.
Even validation from a perfect stranger, I guess. Or hell, maybe because he’s a perfect stranger. One who happened to find me at my lowest point, so there’s no chance he wants to trade on my name or use me for anything. No chance he doesn’t mean… well, exactly what he says.
“Oh. That’s… that’s… thank you,” I choke out.
He smiles, like he thinks it’s funny that he’s transferred all his nerves to me. “So tell me,” he says softly, “what’s the next impulsive thing you want to do?”
Carlos has just given me the perfect opening to say something flirtatious—or, fuck, to lean in and kiss the shit out of him—but I’m flailing internally like that GIF of Kermit with his arms in the air.
This feels… important, somehow. Like a chance to let someone know the real me.
And I have tragically lost the ability to simply flirt.