Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Wes's staff meeting ran long, so he didn't have time to go home and change before meeting Riley at McGinty’s.
He had to satisfy himself with splashing water on his face and re-applying the deodorant he kept in his desk drawer for emergencies.
His hair looked fine, a little wilted after a day spent dealing with angsty adolescents and territorial teachers, but presentable.
It wasn't like this was a date or anything.
This was just a drink with Riley, from the coffee shop.
Wes dropped his head into his hands and groaned. This was such a bad idea.
Riley had never been just Riley from the coffee shop.
From the moment Wes had walked into Hot Brew and seen the new hire—six feet, two inches of brown-haired, brown-eyed adorable—he couldn't get Riley's expressive, friendly eyes out of his head.
Not to mention his enormous hands that always seemed to dwarf the coffee cups he handed Wes with surprising gentleness every time.
Then there were his smiles, sometimes goofy, sometimes sly, always a bright spot in Wesley's day.
But none of that mattered. Riley was a friend, and god knew Wes didn't have an overabundance of those.
It had been hard enough keeping up appearances with Georgia's crowd these last few years.
He hadn't had the heart to lie to the few friends he'd kept since college, and over the years they'd slowly drifted away.
So he had no reason to be nervous about meeting Riley at McGinty’s. He hadn't been there in years, since before Georgia, but he remembered it being dark and warm with scuffed up booths and a decent happy hour menu. He’d gone there on a date once. Before Georgia, of course.
Wes's life so far could be pretty much split between Before Georgia and During Georgia.
But he was entering a new phase, as Riley had astutely put it.
After Georgia. He was elated and nervous and terrified and he almost decided not to go six times, but each time he realized he didn't have Riley's number to call and cancel and he wasn't so broken that he had to stand up one of his only friends, even if that friend thought that Wes was some pathetic thirty-year-old divorcee.
He'd worked himself up into a mild anxiety attack by the time he reached McGinty’s a couple of minutes after six.
He pushed open the door and spotted Riley right away chatting with the bartender.
He wasn't sitting on a stool, just leaning against the bar, which gave Wes the chance to admire his mile-long legs encased in crisp dark denim.
Wes had never had the opportunity to admire Riley's ass before, since at Hot Brew he always wore an oversized, untucked black polo shirt and shapeless khakis under his black apron.
Wes, knowing what he did now about the shape and tautness of Riley's ass in jeans, had mixed feelings on the matter.
On one hand, he resented knowing Riley for two years without realizing the full extent of his hotness.
On the other hand, if he hadn't had the chance to ogle Riley, neither had any of the other patrons of Hot Brew.
His gaze reluctantly left Riley's rear and slid up to take in his plaid button-down shirt.
It stretched across his unfairly broad shoulders, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows exposing long, tanned forearms. Wes had known about Riley's forearms but somehow, they seemed even more attractive outside of the coffee shop.
His mouth went dry, and he took a half step back before Riley glanced over his shoulder, saw Wes, and broke into a huge smile.
"You made it!" Riley seemed genuinely happy to see him.
Wes shoved away his inappropriately lusty thoughts with ease—he had a lot of experience, after all, and smiled back. "And you aren't a pumpkin."
"Well, it's not midnight yet," Riley said with one of his laughing smiles.
"Right." Oh god. He couldn't do this. It had been too long. He was too rusty. And this wasn't even a date, just a pity beer with his coffee shop crush. There must have been something showing in his expression, because Riley pushed back from the bar and walked over, concern in his pretty brown eyes.
"Hey, we don't have to stay if you don't want. You hungry? I love the burgers here, but we could go get pizza—whatever you want.”
Riley was way too nice.
"Burgers sound great," he heard himself say, and Riley relaxed again.
"Great. Booth okay?"
An hour later, they were both on their second pints of local lager, had decimated their burgers, and were doing their best to deplete the once-giant pile of fries between them. Wes had a sort of floaty feeling in his chest that he realized with some surprise was happiness.
Riley's long legs knocked against his from time to time under the table, but it wasn't awkward. In fact, Riley had been carrying most of the conversation, telling stories of nightmare customers at the coffee shop, making Wes laugh to the point of tears.
Wes was grateful Riley hadn't brought up the whole divorce thing.
It was nice to pretend to be a normal guy out for a drink with a friend.
But when Riley asked him if he wanted another round, he hesitated.
It wasn't that he didn't want to keep hanging out with Riley, because he didn't think there would ever be an occasion when that wouldn't be the case.
But he was worried if he drank any more the whole sad story would come pouring out of him and then Riley would know, and Wesley wouldn't be able to look him in the eye again—at Hot Brew or anywhere else.
Riley backed off when Wes's pause went on. “Or not. You got an early start tomorrow?" he asked.
The next day was Saturday, so no. All Wes had on his to do list was clean his apartment since the movers had been there all day taking away Georgia's things. The place was probably a wreck. She'd never been the one to keep their place in order, anyway. That had been all down to him.
"One more beer," Wes heard himself saying.
"I'll get it." He went to the bar and ordered, glanced back, and found Riley looking at him.
Riley seemed to blush a little at having been caught looking and Wes felt another sensation under his ribs that took a while to identify. Attraction. Maybe a little hope.
He carried the beers back to the table carefully. He set Riley's down and slid into the booth, taking a large sip of his, even though he wasn't sure there was enough beer in this joint to give him the courage he needed to say what he was about to say.
"You ever go to Camp?" he asked, before he could stop himself.
Riley's gaze narrowed perceptibly. Camp was the gay bar in the next town over.
Wes was 90% sure Riley was gay—he wasn't so socially inept that when the coffee shop guy wore a rainbow pride pin on his apron and talked about his summer vacation in Provincetown the meaning went totally over his head. But he had to be sure.
"Yeah. I haven't been there in a while. But yeah." Riley's voice was low.
"Me either.” Wes laughed uncomfortably. "Been there in a while, I mean. Since I got married. But I used to go there a lot." He willed Riley to read between the lines so he wouldn't have to spell it out.
Riley just shrugged calmly. "I like their margaritas."
Wes let out a breath. Riley wasn't going to make a big deal about this. That's why Wes loved him.
Wait, not loved him, loved him, just—god. "The blood orange margaritas were pretty good as I remember."
Riley grinned. "Yeah."
"Hey, Riley, um, I know we're not the kind of friends who ask favors from each other—hell, until a little while ago I had no definitive proof that you existed outside of Hot Brew—but I'm going to ask a favor from you anyway and you can of course totally say no, and I swear it'll be fine.
" He dared a glance up from his barely touched third beer.
Riley had an inscrutable look on his face, but it wasn't annoyance or skepticism. It seemed a little…fond?
"What's the favor?" Riley's voice was mellow and his face was open and even though Wes was scared shitless right now, he had to do it.
"Would you take me home and have sex with me? Tonight?"