1. Fucking Angels #2
“Long night?” he asks, appearing once again in front of me and setting another full cup down.
This time it’s accompanied by a Danish—flaky, buttery, golden brown.
A little crater of cream cheese and jam cradled in the center.
It smells so fucking good, I want to reach across the table and shove the whole thing into my mouth before anyone can stop me.
I push it away. “I’m not hungry.”
Of course, my stomach immediately betrays me. It growls so loudly it’s practically a roar, vibrating through my ribs like a tiny angry beast.
He quirks an eyebrow at me, clearly knowing I’m full of shit.
“Eat,” he says.
I do.
Jesus Christ, this man and his singular syllable commands.
They rumble out of his throat, comforting yet authoritative.
I’ve only been treated to three of them so far, but I’m convinced all he would need to say is jump, and I’d be swan-diving off the nearest structure without question.
His presence alone makes all intelligent thoughts evaporate from my mind.
The soft burst of sweetness as I bite into the Danish helps, though.
The outside crackles satisfyingly under my teeth, still a little warm inside.
Flakes fall from my lips as I lower it back to the plate.
I wipe my mouth on the back of my sleeve, knocking the rest of the crumbs away from where they’ve surely gotten stuck to the remnants of my drugstore Chapstick.
“Did you make this?”
Holy moly, a complete sentence. Go me.
“I’m afraid so.” He runs his thick fingers over his beard and looks away almost shyly before returning his gaze to mine.
“You’re delicious.” Shit, I internally groan. It was all going so well. “I mean…it’s delicious.”
He chuckles, and it pulses through every cell in my little horny body. I need to cool it fast, before this poor, almost certainly heterosexual man catches on to the salacious thoughts running rampant in my brain and decides to chase me out of town.
Not that being chased by this man wouldn’t be enjoyable.
“Are you staying nearby?” he asks, making it obvious he knows I’m not from around here. Although in a town this size, everyone probably knows everyone.
“Yeah.” I exhale.
Which is news to me.
I’ve been driving five days now with no real goal in sight, fueled by caffeine, gas station hot dogs, and the overwhelming need to escape. From what and to where are still undetermined, but I figure at some point I’ll run out of road and be there.
My neck aches from multiple nights curled up in my car’s backseat, stomach angry from the lack of nutritional content I’ve been providing it.
Unable to avoid its screaming any longer, I pulled off at the first exit advertising a town—Windy Pines, North Carolina.
Population five hundred and twenty-six—and ended up in this secluded little place.
The goal had been to find something cheap and quick, by this I mean easy to steal, then be on my way. Continuing my pilgrimage far from here.
Now? I’m drafting life plans. Finding a realtor. Claiming a plot of land. Dedicating my life to the gorgeous man in front of me. Planting metaphorical roots, if you will.
Life sure does have a way of escalating.
“Loretta’s place?”
“Hmm?”
“She runs a B I’m sure it’s written all over my face.
He studies me, the laugh lines around his mouth twitching imperceptibly.
“We don’t get many visitors through here. Especially ones like…”
He trails off, but I can fill in the blank easily enough: Visitors like me. Five-foot-nothing, skinny, soft face, faded blue hair with grown-out roots. Places like this don’t know what to do with men like me. Hell, places like this don’t think of me as a man at all.
Still, the guy in front of me isn’t exactly giving run-the-queer-out-of-town-with-pitchforks vibes. That has to count for something.
“I don’t mean to pry,” he starts again, like he’s testing out the words before letting them loose. “Is everything okay? Is there someone I can call for you?”
“I can’t pay for this.” The words tumble out before I can stop them, fast and humiliating. My face burns. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…” I gesture vaguely at the coffee, the half-eaten pastry, his general hospitality. “I didn’t mean to take advantage.”
“Oh?” His brow furrows. “That’s okay.”
“I have a few dollars,” I blurt, because apparently my mouth hasn’t gotten the memo that it’s time to shut the fuck up. “Five, actually. But I’ll need to fill up my car soon and—”
He lifts a hand, silencing me with the smallest motion.
Lucky, really, as I’m not sure what the end of that sentence would have been.
Something tragic, no doubt. Something pathetic.
Something like, then I’ll keep driving until I run out of gas and hope the next place has an equally hot zaddy to feed me coffee and pastries.
The reality of my situation hits harder than expected. Only five crumpled dollars separate me from absolutely nothing. And somehow, a few stolen moments alone with this man had been enough to make me forget that sad fact entirely.
The silence between us stretches until it feels suffocating. I have to get out of here.
Shoving the chair back, I stumble to my feet, every movement awkward and too loud. This poor man—just trying to live his normal, small-town, hot-bearded-baker life—and I crash in, drink his coffee, eat his food, and then announce I can’t pay for a damn thing.
I curse myself silently for ever setting foot inside. If I hadn’t stopped. If those fucking angels hadn’t started singing. If I hadn’t gotten caught up in my little rom-com, first-glance, meet-cute moment, I wouldn’t be standing here feeling so ashamed.
“I should go,” I mutter, needing out of this encounter as fast as humanly possible.
The chair squeals against the floor as I back away from the table. The half-eaten pastry sits there, mocking me. I should’ve at least finished it before making such an ass of myself that now I have to flee and abandon the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted.
But...it’s not like he can repackage it and sell it to someone else. Right? It’s destined for the trash. And if I’m already making a spectacle out of myself, I might as well go all out. In for a penny, in for a fucking pound.
In a slightly manic move, I snatch up the remaining half, shovel it into my mouth, and spin toward the door. The bell above it jingles as I push through and burst into the street.
“Stay.” His voice rumbles from behind me, and even though every atom in my body begs me to obey…
I don’t.