Chapter 3
“Earth to Caleb!”
Sally’s voice pulled him from his daydreaming, where he’d apparently been staring at the neat rows of foam rollers lining the wall of the trainer’s office. Daydreaming about a hot, often flustered-looking librarian.
“Sorry, what’d you say?”
Sally’s freckled nose scrunched as she laughed. “What’s got you so distracted? I just came up here for ice. Coach wants me to bring it to Angie. If I don’t get down there soon, he’ll have my arse.”
“Right,” Caleb muttered, crossing to the ice bin and scooping some into a bag. “Sorry about that.”
The Chelsea women’s coach, Halcombe, was tough on the girls. Caleb had clocked him immediately as someone not to get on the wrong side of. Week one, he’d watched him scream at the Head Athletic Trainer over something completely trivial.
“So what’s got your head in the clouds?” Sally leaned against the doorframe, ice bag in hand. “Drama? Hot date?”
Caleb lifted one eyebrow. “Isn’t Angie waiting?”
“Ugh.” She rolled her eyes and turned. “Fine. But let’s go out this weekend! We need to hang out more.”
A loud “Jones!” came from the bottom of the stairs—Halcombe, no doubt—and Sally hopped to it.
Taking a mental inventory of everything else he had to do before leaving, Caleb pulled out his phone and checked his messages.
Still no reply from Jamie.
It wasn’t like him to get this attached after a one-night stand. Was last night even a one-night stand? If he gave a blowjob, refused one in return, and then spent the night spooning a hot British guy?
Either way, it wasn’t like Caleb to get like this. He’d dated men before, and he certainly wasn’t afraid to tell someone he liked them, but all day he’d been thinking about Jamie—waiting for a reply, overthinking how long he’d taken to text that morning and the way he’d worded it.
Coffee this week?
As he picked up the last of the training equipment and put it away, he kicked himself for being such a dork about this. He didn’t play games. He asked for what he wanted and was fine when someone didn’t want the same.
He wanted to take Jamie on a date, so he’d asked.
After it became clear just how nervous Jamie had been back at his apartment, Caleb had made up his mind they wouldn’t be going any further. The last thing he wanted was for Jamie to feel pressured into anything he wasn’t ready for.
So he’d happily gotten on his knees for him, given him an exceptional blowjob (not to brag), and held him for the rest of the night.
Sure, Caleb was horny as hell, and probably poked him in the back all night with his boner, but most importantly, he wanted any partner he had to feel safe.
And if that meant not getting intimate, or not seeing him again, that was fine.
The only thing was: he couldn’t stomach the idea of not seeing Jamie again.
Sure, the man was sexy and smart and extremely fuckable—but there was something else about him that Caleb couldn’t put his finger on.
Something intriguing about the way he lit up talking about history books, or his job at the library.
And something so adorable about how flustered he got at the simplest caress of Caleb’s hand.
The feeling was strangely familiar, like the urge to smoke a cigarette after he’d quit.
Except it was a softer feeling than that.
Thinking about Jamie’s chocolate curls and those bright green eyes, hidden behind his glasses. The heat in his eyes and the uncertainty in his touch as he reached for Caleb…
He desperately wanted to take care of Jamie. Make him tea, or soup, wrap him up in a blanket. And, Jesus, he wanted to learn more ways to make him squirm and moan like that—
“Jesus.” Caleb palmed his face for a moment, then gave the space one last once-over, grabbed his bag, and headed for the metro station.
The Tube, he corrected internally.
As he stepped onto the platform, his phone buzzed. Like an idiot teenager, he fumbled for it, a flicker of excitement sparking in his chest at the thought that Jamie had finally replied…
Tay
Did British man agree to a date?
Caleb sighed. In a moment of weakness and, admittedly, a bit of desperation, he’d told his sister about last night, and now she was texting him every hour asking for updates. He typed back:
Nope. I think I’m getting ghosted.
Tay
Oh please. It hasn’t even been a day. Give it a few more hours.
Caleb rolled his eyes and shoved his phone back into his pocket, pulling out his headphones and popping them into his ears.
Jamie could run this exhibit ten times better than Clarence.
But alas, here he was, helping the old wanker set up a large poster board in front of the replica of the Lindisfarne Gospels that read: The most spectacular surviving manuscript from Anglo-Saxon England.
Obvious and cheesy.
All he wanted was the chance to show his boss what he could do with one of these exhibits. He was patiently waiting for his chance to design one of his own, and yet he was still stuck working under Clarence.
“A touch to the left, lad,” Clarence instructed, leaning back and narrowing his eyes at the board. Jamie nudged it a fraction, even though it was perfectly straight already.
“Perfect, don’t move another nanometre! Very good. Very, very good.” Clarence held up one finger and pranced off toward his office, muttering to himself as he went.
Work had been unusually chaotic today—with that kid cutting his hand open, Jamie nearly passing out at the sight of blood, and now Clarence being… well, Clarence.
He was far too tired for it.
Most of his grumpiness, though, came from the fact that he hadn’t slept at all.
He’d been up most of the night, tucked into the warmth of Caleb’s arms, wondering what the actual bloody hell was going on.
Then, this morning, he’d slipped from bed and biked back to Islington, only to turn around and rush to work.
It wasn’t that he’d been uncomfortable. The bed had been ridiculously soft, and Caleb had been very accommodating, but… he felt confused.
He couldn’t tell if Caleb had rejected him by refusing his blowjob, or if he’d simply been too nice to kick him out.
Or if he really did want to take Jamie on a proper date.
The thought made that small kernel of hope flicker to life in his chest, and he immediately tried to stamp it out.
Bit late for that, really, considering his hopes were already somewhere near the ceiling.
Which was how he’d ended up recounting the entire night to his extremely nosy, deeply gossipy French coworker—
Jamie decided the poster board needed his attention. Yes, that was the perfect distraction from the constant spiral of thoughts rolling around in his brain.
“Jamie, mon Dieu. What are you doing?” Speaking of his nosey coworker.
“My job?”
JB’s frantic footsteps stomped up behind him, and suddenly, a smartphone was being shoved in his face.
“I found him, you know.” A headshot of Caleb in a collared Chelsea F.C. shirt appeared on the screen, and Jamie’s face flamed.
JB continued, “Caleb Reed. Chelsea Women’s new assistant athletic doctor—”
“Trainer,” Jamie corrected.
“Ugh, whatever,” JB said in his thick French accent. Jamie flinched as JB shoved the mobile closer to his face. “All I know is that this American man is hot.”
Jamie turned around. “Don’t you have a job to attend?”
“Yes—to make sure you go out with…” He jabbed a finger at the screen. “This man. And have sex with him.”
Jamie’s eyes went wide as he glanced around. “JB!” he hissed. Luckily, no one was nearby.
He was fairly certain that if Clarence heard them talking about sex, the man would drop dead.
“What? You must!” JB insisted.
As always, the man was dressed like a fashion model out of some magazine.
A perfectly tailored grey suit hugged his lean frame, the fabric hugging slim shoulders and tapering sharply at his even slimmer waist. A matching bow tie sat crisp and symmetrical at his throat, like it had been adjusted with a protractor.
His dark skin glowed against the pale fabric, rich and perfectly smooth, catching the light when he shifted.
Back when Jamie was dating Ellie, trying to convince himself he was still straight, he frequently caught himself staring at his coworker. JB was so beautiful, and he knew it. People liked to joke that ticket sales had skyrocketed when they hired JB because middle-aged British women flocked to him.
Jamie wasn’t sure this was entirely inaccurate.
JB held out his hand expectantly. “Hand over your phone. If you do not want to text him back, I will.”
Okay, this was getting ridiculous.
“No! Caleb was probably just being nice when he texted. I haven’t had time to respond, alright? I’ve been busy.” He gestured to the poster board.
“Doing what? Putting together this—?” JB turned to the exhibit, then back, deadpan. “This sad-looking exhibit is not the reason.”
Palming the back of his head, Jamie said, “It’s opening week for this exhibit. I really don’t have the time. You know I’ll be here until eight every night, and I go to bed early, so…”
JB’s large brown eyes softened, his teasing expression morphing into one of concern. “Mon chéri, if you are nervous—”
“I’m not! I just… don’t have time to date. That’s all.” Jamie tried to keep his face neutral, hoping it didn’t show how disappointed he felt.
Going to clubs was one thing. Talking to men, hooking up a little. But the thought of dating someone for real sent all of these panicked thoughts flooding his brain.
What if he went out with Caleb and got attached, only for Caleb to change his mind? Or what if they fell in love? And then Jamie would have to actually tell his mum. His siblings—
The dread in his stomach twisted sharply against the small spark of hope that flickered whenever he thought about Caleb actually wanting him.
No. He was getting ahead of himself. Caleb had sent him one text about getting coffee, not a declaration of love. And his family would probably be fine with him being gay, right? His mum had always been open and accepting. Pippa too. His brothers… less so.
The simple truth is that he wasn’t ready to have those conversations yet.
“Okay,” JB said slowly, pulling his attention back. “If that is the case, you should still tell him you cannot go, yeah?”
“Yeah. You’re right.”
“Good.” A bright smile spread across JB’s face. “Then I will set you up with my friend, Paul. You will love him. I think I’ve convinced him to come by the library next week. He has an enormous—”
“JB,” Jamie groaned.
“Brain! I was going to say brain. Very smart, Paul is.”
Jamie rolled his eyes. “Stop setting me up!” All he received in return was a dismissive hand wave from his coworker.
It was a busy week, and even if Caleb was interested — which was a big if — he probably didn’t want to wait around for Jamie. A man that hot likely had prospects lining up out the door.
Yes. Better to put an end to this now.
Pulling out his mobile, he flipped it open and read the message from that morning. Bloody hell — it was already six.
Caleb
Coffee this week?
Before he could talk himself out of it, he ripped off the bandage.
Hey Caleb. I can’t this week. Big exhibit at the library. Thank you for the offer.
He flipped his phone closed with a small nod. There. Temptation gone.
“Okay, I’m going home,” JB announced, clapping Jamie on the back before heading toward the exit. “Don’t stay here too late,” he called over his shoulder. To Jamie’s surprise, his phone vibrated a few seconds later.
Caleb
Oh, bummer. You don’t have thirty minutes? I can come your way.
You left before I could caffeinate you this morning.
Jamie smiled. This really wasn’t helping him keep his hopes in check. He sat down on one of the library benches and typed back.
Unfortunately not. I’ll be scrambling around here all week.
Caleb
Does the British Library at least have coffee?
Yes, it has a cafe. Pretty decent, too.
Caleb
Good :) What’s your coffee order?
Jamie frowned. Did Caleb want to… chat with him? Another zap of hope surged in his chest.
Usually a caramel latte with oat milk. I try to limit my dairy intake, and almond milk production has an enormous carbon footprint.
Right after hitting send, Jamie cringed. That was far too much information.
Caleb
It does?!?
Yes! One glass of almond milk requires 130 pints of water.
Caleb
Shit. Be right back.
Jamie stared down at his phone, heart pounding. What on earth was going on?
Caleb
Okay, I just threw out all my almond milk ;)
Really?!
Caleb
No. But I’ll stop buying it now that I know.
Jamie’s snort echoed off the walls of the library. Maybe he really did need to get out of here and go home.
The next morning, Jamie slumped off his bike a few minutes later than usual and hoofed it to his office at the British Library.
Well, not really an office. More of an old closet that he and JB had shoved two desks into and decided to share.
After racking his bike, he tucked his helmet under his arm and headed inside.
JB’s greeting was more of a shout than anything resembling a welcome. “You are never late! I was worried sick!”
“Sorry, Mum,” Jamie grumbled, tossing his helmet into the corner and pushing his glasses up his nose. Once again, he’d gotten very little sleep, except this time, it was because he and Caleb had spent all night exchanging messages.
“Good Lord, did you get laid last night? What is with the goofy smile?” JB exclaimed from his desk. The man was overdressed, as usual, in a maroon suit and bow tie.
“No, I did not get laid. Could you be more crude?”
“Yes, I could,” JB replied proudly. “What are you all giddy about, then?”
Realizing he was grinning like an idiot, Jamie forced a frown. It felt strange on his face. “Nothing.”
JB quirked a perfectly plucked brow. “Is that right? Has nothing to do with a certain hot American man who smells just as good as he looks?”
With an eye roll, Jamie turned to his desk and shrugged off his jacket, only to freeze. “Wait.” He whipped back around. “How do you know what Caleb smells like?”
JB’s smile was infuriatingly smug as he nodded toward Jamie’s desk, where a takeaway coffee sat, steam curling from the lid. Jamie approached slowly, picking up the cup and reading the cardboard sleeve.
For Jamie. Hope your exhibit goes great! Coffee next week? - C
Jamie gaped at it, his mouth opening and closing like a fish, before turning back to JB. The Frenchman stood with his arms crossed, wearing the most self-satisfied grin imaginable.
Jamie’s heart pounded. “He came here?”
“Sure did.” JB closed his eyes and shook his head. “And oh, mon amour, he is delicious to look at. You have a very sexy boyfriend.”
“He is not my boyfriend,” Jamie grumbled, sitting down at his desk and pulling out his phone. He already had a message from Caleb.
Caleb
Have a great day :)
Jamie typed back a quick thank you and set his phone down, staring at the coffee. Caleb had come here. To his work. To bring him coffee.
Slowly, he reached forward, lifted the cup to his lips, and took a sip. Jamie stared down at it, his stomach fluttering with tiny, little butterflies.
A caramel oat milk latte.
There was a fresh cup waiting for him on his desk every day for the rest of the week.