Better Than Friends (11 page)

“Sorry, guys. Nothing much to tell. It was a nice dinner—”

“The restaurant is fabulous, isn’t it?” Aaron asked.

“Yeah, it was really nice.”

“Ugh. He said that word again. Curt! What did you talk about? Where did you go after? Your place or his? Gawd, I hope you at least cleaned a little before you invited him to your apartment.”

I heard Matt chuckling in the background as Aaron wound himself up over nothing. I muted the call while I finished up in the bathroom, and then made my way to my kitchen with my cell phone perched on my shoulder. I took a quick stock of my surroundings to see if my pad needed a little tidying. I winced at the dirty dishes and takeout boxes on the coffee table, sitting next to a pile of unopened mail. Shit. Aaron was right. Thankfully, I lived alone and didn’t have to worry about bumming anyone else out with my clutter. I had never been particular about messes, but I had recently fallen behind in my attention to basic grunge. It was a strange personality quirk, I supposed. I hated chaos in my daily life. I was obsessed with deadlines, timing, and work commitments, but I was not a neat freak.

“Don’t worry. I didn’t invite him over. We had dinner, walked to a jazz bar close by, and then back to our cars. The end. So let me make my coffee while you boys get back to your drive to suburbia. What’s the occasion, by the way? Isn’t this kinda early in the day for a parental visit?”

I grabbed one of last remaining clean mugs and leaned against the counter, waiting for my coffee to brew. In my head I was already thinking about spending the day at the ballpark with Jack.
Is he going to come upstairs? Fuck, I hope so. I really should clean. Try to get some work done too.
Aaron’s exasperated tone interrupted my internal list-making.

“It’s my mom’s birthday. She wants us all to go to church together and then have lunch back at the house.” Wow. A lot had changed over the past couple of years in Matt’s world. He and Aaron had moved in together a year after they became an “official” couple, and, well, he seemed perfectly fine tagging along to family events with his man. They really were family to each other now.

Aaron couldn’t let my nonevent night with Paul go, however. “That’s it? Did you kiss him at least? Did he kiss you?”

“Aaron,” Matt and I chided him in stereo.

“
What?
Okay, fine! I’ll stop. Ugh! You are a difficult customer. You do think he’s hot, right?”

I rolled my eyes though no one was there to witness. “Yes, Aaron. He’s good-looking. He has a sexy voice, he—”

“Finally! Now we’re getting somewhere.”

“That’s all, though. Let me go so I can get some work done before Jack gets here and—” Shit! The words were out of my mouth before I realized what I’d said. I waited one second… two….

“Holy fuck!
Jack?
Oh my God! What? Where are…?” Aaron’s excited voice made me smile even though I was pissed at myself for saying anything.

“Babe, leave him alone. Let me talk. Okay?” Matt chuckled.

“You never ask the right questions!” Aaron complained. I could just picture him crossing his arms over his chest like a pouting kid.

“Hey, guys? I’m still here and I…. Look, it’s no big deal. Jack knows I like baseball and he invited me to a Nationals game today. I have a lot to do before he gets here, though, so I’m hanging up. Thanks for the wake-up call!” I ended the call quickly and changed the setting to Silent, knowing Aaron would call back immediately. I’d deal with my nosey friends later. For now I had a couple weeks’ worth of household crap ranging from laundry, dishes, and a lack of groceries to deal with and only a few hours ’til Jack arrived. I ran my hand over my stubbled jaw and wondered where to begin.

B
Y
TWELVE
thirty I was showered, dressed, ready, and waiting outside my building. I’d been keyed up all morning, anticipating my day with Jack. I felt a little more relaxed after a trip to the gym, but I was still nervous. I wondered if I should have suggested we meet at the park. Or maybe I should have insisted on picking him up so I wouldn’t be forced to ride on the back of his Harley. Which opened a different can of worms, so to speak… no one was forcing me to do anything, so what was with me? Was I suddenly a fan of motorcycles and tattoos? I smiled at the thought, which should have alarmed me, but didn’t.

I heard his bike before I saw him. My first glimpse of Jack driving down my block on his sleek black-and-chrome bike, wearing a leather jacket and dark aviator glasses, made my mouth water. He looked like a model from a magazine advertising… I don’t know… something cool, hip, trendy, and yes, sexy. He certainly didn’t look like the kind of guy who picked up men like me. I had an urge to look over my shoulder like I did at the wedding to see if this was real or if there was some hot, edgy-looking dude standing nearby. Jack was in front of me before I had a chance.

“Guess what I brought you?” he said by way of greeting. The smirky, lopsided grin made me think it could be anything from an apple to a dildo.

“No idea. A dildo?” I blushed furiously, surprised I’d said it out loud.

Jack laughed appreciatively and turned off the engine as he stepped around to the back of his Harley. He held a second helmet and gave me a goofy, chagrined look, shaking his head slowly.

“Sorry, honey. I wish I’d known. I certainly would have brought my best ten-inch play toy to share. Next time.” He held the helmet level with my head, indicating I should walk toward him so he could do the honors. I rolled my eyes but complied.

Jack smelled heavenly. A delicious combination of leather, cologne, mint, and a hint of tobacco. I quelled the urge to sniff him while he took his sweet time fastening the strap under my chin.

“Are you done yet? Are you sure it’s the right size? I can drive, you know. In fact, I insist. You got the tickets. Let me do the rest.”

Jack quirked his eyebrows and cupped my chin between his thumb and forefinger before he leaned down to gently kiss my lips. He pulled away and walked back to his bike.

“Let’s go, hotshot. Game starts in an hour.”

I gulped and tugged at the strap around my neck, sending up a quick prayer that I’d manage to get behind Jack without falling on my ass. I made a concerted effort not to think too hard about what compelled me get on his bike without argument. For the moment and for a reason I couldn’t quite define, I was where I wanted to be.

T
HERE
IS
a majestic quality to baseball, which is particularly evident when you attend a stadium game. From the moment I cleared the colonnade area and emerged to take my place next to Jack in the sea of spectators, I was transfixed by the beauty of that perfect diamond and lush green grass below. It’s always been like that for me. It didn’t matter that neither of the teams playing were ones I followed. I knew I’d enjoy myself because I loved the sport.

But clearly not as much as Jack.

The guy was obviously in his element. He took his helmet off in the parking lot and replaced it with a Nationals baseball cap.

“What? I’m rooting for the home team.” He shrugged nonchalantly at the smirk I did a poor job of hiding.

I found his enthusiasm really fucking cute. And
cute
was certainly not an adjective I would have ever thought to use to describe Jack. He was manly, muscular, tough with a mischievous sense of humor. He wasn’t cute. Until he started talking about baseball.

“Okay, can you name the three players who hit forty-plus homers and what year they did it? I’ll give you a hint if you need it… they were Braves.”

“I give up.”

“You didn’t even try!” Jack protested, his eyes blazing with annoyance as he squinted at me over the top of his aviator lenses.

I turned to look at him, giving him my full attention. I was blown away by how outlandishly hot the guy was practically every time I saw him, but it was times like that, when he was just an enthusiastic sports fan animatedly discussing one of his favorite pastimes, he became something more. More real, more magnetic. Just more.

I grinned, rolled my eyes, and gave him a hand signal indicating he was free to share, as I sat back in my seat to watch the action on the field.

“C’mon. I’ll give you the year. Nineteen-seventy-three. Now see if you can name at least one player with over forty homers that year on the Braves.” I caught his earnest expression out of the corner of my eye and felt obliged to rack my brain.

I came up blank but gave a safe answer. “Hank Aaron.”

“Good boy! He had forty. Davey Johnson had forty-three and—”

“Darrell Evans,” I supplied, remembering a baseball card from my youth.

I wished there was a way to hit a Repeat button on Jack’s reaction to my knowing the third forty-plus home-run hitter of 1973. He positively beamed at me. His blue eyes twinkled, his megawatt smile gleamed, and that gorgeous dimple I didn’t always notice was fully apparent. It was a look of pure sunshine. I wanted to bask in it as long as possible. If we weren’t in a public venue, I had a strong feeling he would have kissed me then. I swallowed hard and took a handful of peanuts from the bag between us. I could feel him looking at me but I didn’t dare return the gesture. I nudged his knee with my mine and smiled in spite of myself when he nudged my elbow from the armrest in response.

He slyly ran the side of his hand along my jean-covered thigh as he resumed his one-man stat routine, seemingly unaware of his effect on me. My dick thickened painfully, and I was grateful to be sitting for a long stretch, hoping his stream of baseball trivia would eventually relieve the pressure.

“You seem to have regressed a few decades since we got here.”

“When I order the Cracker Jacks is when you should worry.” Jack chuckled good-naturedly.

T
HE
AFTERNOON
sun was shying behind cooler spring clouds when we made our way back to the parking lot. It had been a great afternoon. Jack was easy company: funny and effortlessly charming. I didn’t think he was trying to be amusing for my sake; rather I got the impression that maybe this was a bonus of being with someone who was older and more mature. He knew who he was. And I was left wanting to know more. It was a relief to be with someone confident and self-assured who didn’t come across as overbearing and pompous. I always thought of myself as having those qualities, but I was beginning to think age and experience had more to do with a real claim to “not giving a fuck” about what other people think about who you are and what you like. I was a work in progress. Jack was the real deal.

“I don’t know about you, but peanuts and a lukewarm beer aren’t near enough fuel for me. I’m starving. Want to grab something to eat?” Jack asked as he tossed a helmet at me.

“Yeah, sounds good, but I…”

Jack shot me one his patent “get on with it” looks paired with a goofy eye-roll, and I felt immediately at ease. I didn’t know how he did it, but I loved it. His laid-back temperament gave me the subtle push I needed to suggest what I wanted to do next.

“I’m waiting… what do you want? A burger? A steak? Or are you a vegetarian? Quit stallin’, honey, I’m gonna chew my arm off if I don’t—”

“Do you want to come back to my place?” I tried to sound nonchalant as I made a big show of fastening the stupid strap under my chin. “I mean… I went to the market this morning, which I don’t do often, so when I go I tend to buy too much. I have chicken, rice, and stuff to make a decent salad. Oh… and cold beer.”

I was talking faster than normal and looking anywhere but at Jack. However, when he remained silent, I gave in to see if he’d heard a word I said. His head was cocked, and although I couldn’t see his eyes because of his sunglasses, I felt a strange vibe and wondered if I’d been too impulsive.

“Sure. I’d like that.” Jack grinned wickedly and mounted his bike, leaving me standing like an idiot wondering what I’d done. Was I asking for more than dinner? I really couldn’t say.

P
ANIC
SET
in on the drive over as I belatedly remembered my apartment was a freaking mess. I had been too nervous to hang around that morning, so I’d made myself busy with a trip to the gym and a trip to the market. Maybe it wasn’t really that bad. Maybe Jack was an even bigger slob than me and he wouldn’t notice the stacks of unopened mail and pile of old magazines and newspapers. I tried to recall if I’d actually thrown away the takeout boxes or just thought about doing so.

By the time we’d reached my door, I’d worked myself up. I was nervous all over again and fidgety. My hand shook slightly as I fiddled to fit my key in the lock. Jack must have sensed my bout of anxiety, but he didn’t say anything. He gently set a calming hand on my lower back and pressed a light kiss on my temple.

I finally got the door open and took a mad look at my surroundings to see what I could do damage-control wise before offering my guest a drink. Other than the obvious clutter, my apartment was small but nice. Aaron had insisted on helping me with paint colors and a couple of key purchases, like a new chocolate-colored sofa, armchair, and bright throw pillows. But I’d kept the old coffee table from the bachelor pad I’d shared with Matt and Dave. No one else wanted it, and I liked that it represented our law-school days. Plus I never had to worry about staining it. It was beyond redemption, scratched and worn.

I walked from the small foyer into the main living area, aware of Jack’s presence behind me as I deftly picked up a couple of dirty mugs in one hand and two empty to-go boxes with the other before traipsing to the nearby kitchen with its open layout giving a full view to the other dishes I had yet to get around to cleaning over the past week. Or two.

“Holy… wow!”

“Uh… yeah well, I meant to clean up a little this morning but I didn’t get arou—” I bit the inside of my cheek nervously as I rushed back into the living room to gather another round of crap. “I don’t usually let it get this cluttered. I like things clean.”