Chapter 3
Wednesday afternoon I was a basket of nerves. I’d seen Robin a couple of times that week, casual conversation at the shelter that probably meant nothing to him but had me searching for hidden meaning in every word. I pulled on a Blazers tee as I stripped off my bakery uniform, too pressed for time to shower. Whatever. Wasn’t like I was getting lucky that night anyway. Before my surgery I’d been vain, making sure I didn’t live up to the sloppy fat guy stereotype by always being freshly showered and wearing nicely tailored clothes when I wasn’t at the bakery.
But these days I always seemed to be running to or from the gym, and I’d gone through so many sizes that my bank account screamed at me to slow down my shirt purchasing. Besides, I didn’t want Robin thinking I was reading too much into the evening.
We’d agreed to meet outside the Moda Center. He stood near the main entrance in a beat-up leather jacket and one of the close-fitting tees he seemed to live in. I was glad I’d gone with casual.
“Hi!” His broad smile resurrected every hope I’d tried to suppress. He looked around, taking in the red-and-black-clad crowd clogging the gates. “This is cool.”
“You ever been to a game?” I asked after we were in the stadium, following the sea of humanity through the concourse.
“Lakers game long time ago with my dad.” He made a face, like it wasn’t exactly a happy memory. “But this is way cooler than I remember.”
“You wanna walk a bit? See the stadium before the game starts?”
“Sure. And we should get food. I know it’s crazy, but I’ve been looking forward to stadium food all day.”
“I’ll show you all the food vendors. They have Killer Burgers and Fire on the Mountain wings now.” I tried to match his enthusiasm, but I knew I failed miserably. Time was I could pack away a half-dozen hot dogs and beers, but now navigating the sea of food vendors felt like walking on marbles. I hated eating out. My stomach was so tetchy that I couldn’t handle the grease even if I’d wanted to, and despite all the local food favorites, nongreasy was almost impossible to find.
“Oh hell. I didn’t think.” Robin turned toward me as we stood in line for bratwursts. “You probably can’t have anything, right?”
Damn perceptive bastard. Of course, the whole shelter knew about my surgery. I’d had to miss several shifts, and I wasn’t exactly coy about stuff like that.
“There’s a place over there that’s got a salad. I’ll grab one.” I kept from making a face. I was so damn sick of dry lettuce, but I didn’t want to spoil Robin’s fun. He bounced on the balls of his feet like there was nothing better than overpriced pork on generic white buns. I distracted myself by thinking about Robin’s buns and what I’d like to do to them.
I got the blasted twelve-dollar salad—likely a buck a leaf—and met Robin up at the condiment kiosk, where he was loading his brat with pickles and ketchup.
“You know, I haven’t had the chance to tell you how much I admire your changes,” Robin said, looking at me. I mean looking at me, like he hadn’t seen me three minutes prior or weekly for the last two years.
A strange chill crept up my spine, and I couldn’t decide if it was a good or bad sensation.
“It’s not all me. Surgery and all, you know?” I always felt weird taking praise for the weight loss. I suppose the gym time was something I could take pride in, but after all these months it still felt like a damn root canal, something I did because the doc told me it would prevent long-term problems.
“Still. You . . . look good, man. Really.”
“Thanks.” I couldn’t help grinning at the compliment. He probably meant it no different than telling Melissa he liked her dress or whatever, but I still felt the praise all the way to my toes.
I’d eat lettuce for a year if it meant someone like Robin thought I looked good. Truth was, I’d had an easier time attracting male attention before. It was just a matter of knowing the sites that catered to dudes like me. I might have been way heavier than I needed to be, but I was a big, beefy Italian guy with a hairy chest and a bigger-than-average dick. There were always a few guys into the supersize bear thing. Now, though, I was just another thirtysomething guy with a receding hairline and decidedly average body that didn’t translate to great selfies—or much interest on the hookup sites.
Not that I really wanted a hookup anymore. What I wanted was that look from Robin, the one he’d had in line, when it felt like he noticed me for the first time. I wanted this not-a-date to be a date. I wanted a gorgeous guy who wasn’t ashamed to be seen with me, wanted to be out with someone like Robin, who made jokes about the starting lineup and kept up a steady conversation during the slow parts of the game.
“Sorry,” he said as he leaned forward to better see the third-quarter action. Every time he leaned forward our shoulders brushed.
“No problem.” I wasn’t sorry at all. Just like our easy conversation, touching him felt almost automatic: high fiving for a basket, clapping him on the shoulder. It was all good.
Sometime deep in the quarter, I noticed our legs kept brushing, too. Glanced over at Robin—and oh, hell, he was glancing back.
Swoosh.
There’s a certain energy when a shot is about to get nothing but net, a charged stillness to an arena waiting to explode. Looking into Robin’s eyes felt like that, like every cell in my body was waiting for the chance to applaud. Did he feel it, too? This amped up energy arcing between us? I searched his eyes—
“Ring it up! Blazer three-pointer!” the announcer crackled, drowned out by the roar of the crowd.
The moment was gone; whatever shot I’d had for a second there with Robin had gone wild, clanking off the backboard. Didn’t get it back in the fourth quarter, as both the game and the connection with Robin seemed to slip away.
But then, with four seconds remaining, Portland drained a three-pointer for a one-point, come-from-behind win. All around us people were high-fiving like they’d been out on the court.
Without thinking, I hugged Robin. A bro hug. Nothing special until our chests collided and . . . whoa. All that weird energy from earlier seemed to gather into a vibrating ball of potential right in the center of my chest. Robin pulled back first, shaking his shaggy head. But not in a don’t-touch-me way. More in a what-the-hell-just-happened? way. And I was right there with him on that.
We followed the crowd to the exits. I put a hand on his back to steer him so that we didn’t get separated in the crush of people. I’d do the same with any newbie to the Moda Center, but Robin was the only one who made my palm itch to roam. Like the hug, the touch felt charged with meaning.
“Robin?” A familiar, cultured voice cut across the din of the crowd. Damn it. Twenty thousand people and of-freaking-course Paul the Jerk had to be one of them. Even better, he had some blond twink in tow.
Robin stepped out of the flow of traffic so that the four of us were near a shuttered Sizzle Pie—and the screaming, flaming pizza logo pretty much summed up what I felt about the situation.
“I didn’t think you liked basketball, babe,” Paul said to Robin, his tone way more boyfriend than ex. The twink was draped over Paul’s back in a pose suited for clubbing. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh, Vic brought me.” Robin stepped closer to me. “You remember Vic from the mission, right?”
“Oh, yeah. You’re the bread guy.” Paul gave me a dismissive wave of his hand. “Been meaning to call you.” He fixed his gaze on Robin again. “I need to pick up a few things from your place. Left my good cashmere there.”
“Not tonight,” Robin said, all airy. He leaned into me a little. “Doubt I’ll be home.”
Oh, so this is how he wants to play it. I was game. I put a hand on his waist. “How about Robin packs you a box?”
“Whatever. Chad and I have plans for the weekend. I’ll give you a ring.”
Nasty little man. He strode away on a cloud of aftershave and bad vibes.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to put you in the middle of that,” Robin said as soon as they were gone. He didn’t step away from my touch and I kept my hand on his waist, more of that weird potential vibrating between us. People streamed toward the exits, jostling each other, whistling and whooping their way down the long concourse. But standing next to Robin, I felt like we were the only ones in the stadium.
“I don’t mind.” I really don’t, I tried to tell him with my eyes. Use me however you want.
“You’re too nice.”
I couldn’t tell whether he meant the playing along or my unspoken invitation. “Nah. You don’t know me very well. I’m not that nice a guy. A nice guy wouldn’t be thinking how good Paul would look missing a few teeth.”
Robin laughed. “I’m picturing him with that stupid sweater of his for a leash.”
“Or a noose.”
“You’re stone cold, Vic. Stone cold.”
“Us Degrassis are a bloodthirsty lot.”
He laughed again, but it quickly turned bitter. “God, I hate him. Hate this.” He flopped onto a nearby bench. “I’m sorry—”
“Quit saying sorry for that dick.” I settled myself next to him. A quartet of young guys in Blazers jerseys gave us a disapproving glare. I glared right back with a heavy hint of I can bench press two of you, sending them scurrying faster down the corridor.
“I meant sorry for you having to deal with it,” Robin said.
“Hey, I’m just glad you didn’t run into him and his trick by yourself. Want me to come over when he comes to get his crap?”
“What, and glower and look all menacing? Tempting.” His laugh this time was full and hearty.
“I do glower well.” I knocked ankles with him, trying to earn another of those laughs. Hearing him loosen up made my chest expand. I really did do menacing well; adding muscle the last few months and shaving my head only increased my thug look. Pretty boy I wasn’t.
“You’d do that for me? Play the heavy with Paul?”
“Heavy. Bouncer. Jealous pretend boyfriend. Your pick.”
“I’ll think about it. I wish things hadn’t ended so damn ugly. We started so good. He came with me to volunteer. We hung out constantly. And then . . .” He put his hands on his knees as he surveyed the trash-strewn floor. “Things went south and I should have gotten out weeks earlier, but I really wanted to believe, you know?”
“Yeah.” My stomach gave an uncomfortable wobble. I studied the pizza place menu to avoid meeting Robin’s eyes. Really, I didn’t know. If I did ever get a boyfriend, I couldn’t imagine thinking Paul the Jerk was true-freaking-love. But Robin looked so lost and sad, I wanted to offer . . . something.
“Wish I could stop replaying the fight in my head.” Robin chewed on his lower lip, distracting me from his sad tone.
“Regrets will eat you alive if you let them. You gotta outrun them. Find something in the now.”
“That’s awfully profound for you, Vic.” Bumping my shoulder, he said it lightly, almost like a compliment. We were sitting closer together now, hips and thighs touching.
“Not the same thing, but when my dad passed, all I could think for weeks was how we argued about midnight mass right before. Probably wasn’t the healthiest, but I took on every special order Cliff threw my way. I worked until I was too tired to hear the fight in my head.”
I’d also buried my grief under a mountain of cheese and pepperoni and polished off more than my share of six-packs in the months after my dad died. But it wouldn’t help Robin to hear how I’d used food and drink as a crutch to make it through.
“Sorry about your dad.” He touched my arm, a low sizzle that went straight to my groin. “Work’s been slow lately with the holidays, but I should work up a new flyer for the mission. Maybe that would work.”
“Sure it would. Hey, you work out?”
“Nah. Play handball with my dad every once in a blue moon, but gyms aren’t my scene.”
Damn. I’d been thinking of offering him a guest pass at my gym. Another chance to see him. But for all I could put in my time on the rower and clang my way through the weight room, no way was I volunteering to get hit in the face with a ball and look like an idiot. Only balls I wanted in my face were the fun kind.
“Still. Just keep looking for distraction.” My whole last year had been about the power of distraction. Work. Gym. Getting out with Cliff and James. Anything to keep places like Sizzle Pie off my speed dial. Anything to keep from the long hours alone in my place.
“Damn. I wish . . .” He trailed off.
“What?” The lost-puppy look was back on his face. I wanted to put my arm around him, and I got the feeling he wouldn’t shove it away. However, the steady stream of drunken Blazers fans hadn’t let up yet, and I didn’t need more looks from little punks. So I settled for patting his knee.
“Wish I hadn’t been lying to Paul. Wish I didn’t have to head home and see him in every freaking room.”
“So don’t.” I glanced at him, trying to figure out what he needed, what I could offer. Something new crackled between our eyes, the potential of earlier giving way to full-on heat zinging along all the spots our bodies touched. “We could get a dr—coffee.”
“Not really in the mood for coffee.” Robin met my eyes, searching. I hoped to hell he saw what he was looking for.
“You wanna come back to my place? Watch a movie?” Fuck like bunnies? That I didn’t offer, but I sure as hell thought it. Thought the hell out of what it would be like. All evening it’d felt like we were dancing toward something, like this new . . . awareness between us was a half-court shot, hanging in the air, both of us waiting to see if it would sail through the net.
“I don’t date.” That sure as hell wasn’t a no.
A grin busted out on my face. We were surrounded by cement-block walls, but all I could see was the possibility of a yes.
“I heard you. But you need a distraction, yeah? Need to get that bastard out of your head. Why let him have all the fun?”
“Don’t want to use you.”
“Baby, I am all over the idea of you using me to put that cocky bastard from your brain.” I slid closer. What the hell. I put my arm around him. Let the drunken idiots gawk. The area smelled like stale beer and old pizza, but Robin smelled sweet, like cinnamon rolls. “Just come. Watch a movie. You can see about . . . other distractions.”
I wasn’t very good at in-person sweet-talking. Wasn’t sure if I was pushing too far into glower and command. Online, I was good at closing the deal, getting someone to come over. But I’d never wanted a yes as much as I wanted Robin’s.
“You’re way too nice, Vic.” Robin shook his head, even as he leaned into my arm.
“I’m really not.” I squeezed his shoulder. If he wasn’t going to pull away, I was going to enjoy this moment, however short it was. Maybe there would be another—
“You live far from here?”