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Someone was staring at him. West Daley felt it even without raising his eyes from the book in his hand and, when he finally glanced up to locate the source, he found that he didn't entirely mind.
The owner of the insistent stare sat two tables over in the coffee shop, nursing an iced drink with a brightly colored straw poking out of it. West visited this coffee shop at least once a week, since it was near his apartment, but he hadn't seen that face or that stare before. It was just that memorable. The man had cheekbones for days and an untidy ruffle of honey brown hair, the kind of style that looked slept in and effortless but West knew from his own attempts really wasn't. And despite the winter chill, he was in a t-shirt. West just made out the line of a tattoo marching down his arm beneath the short sleeve. Words maybe or something strange and minimalist. He looked the type. And for West that type had always been "look, but don't touch."
Before West could turn away again, their eyes met. Every bit of breath left his body as the other man smiled with a broad—satisfied—curve of his full lips, the kind of smile that knew things it shouldn't, and gave a cheerful wag of his fingers while West sat frozen. Caught. Imagining the first taste of those lips. The rough touch of those fingers holding him. Crushing him. Molding him while West returned the favor and traced every line of that perfect body with the kind of reverence he'd once reserved for church. Holy things. His hands tingled with the phantom touch.
He wasn't one to fantasize. Never had been. But for the two seconds that their gazes locked he considered changing that. He wanted to change.
But he couldn't.
West dropped his eyes. He ducked back into his book, forcing himself to focus on the words swimming across the page instead of the red hot blush creeping up his neck because oh God it wasn't often he used the word gorgeous, but West would use it this time. On him. Whoever he was.
West would happily use plenty of other things on him too.
Look, but don't touch.
It had only been a quick look, but it was enough. West would carry the memory of that smile and those mischievous green eyes, that crinkled at the corners, to his grave.
West's fingers tightened on his book. He'd come out to drink coffee and read, to forget about the nightmare his family was about to become. Again. He'd been working hard on willful forgetfulness when that first prickle of awareness had washed all of it away and replaced it with hunger. He kind of wanted to go back to that. Maybe if he did less of his thinking with his brain he'd be happier.
Other people probably looked forward to visits from absent family members. West wondered what that was like. His older brother Reese wasn't exactly estranged, but he was close enough that the distinction barely mattered. Two years he'd gone without a visit. Sporadic phone calls and Christmas cards and occasional updates in passing filled the space Reese once had. Two years of peace. West should have appreciated it more while it lasted.
Too late for that now.
The countdown to Reese's return had the suspicious cadence of a death march. Maybe he was being dramatic. His mother would say he was.
It was only one visit. A couple weeks so they could "catch up" and then go back to ignoring each other as nature intended. West could do that. He'd managed longer before. Days and weeks and months and years of the little digs that Reese was so good at, the kind that shrank West down into manageable size and kept him there, flattened like a penny on railroad tracks.
After this visit Reese would be on a plane and with any luck not return for another two years. Like one of those special holidays. Or leap year. Four years was a nice round number. Maybe he could convince Reese to try that out.
Or maybe things would be better this time.
His hope was the biggest lie.
West grabbed his cappuccino and took a sip, frowning. It had gone cold already, thanks to the draft wafting its way around the coffee shop; no surprise with all the windows and the door opening as people came and went. Generally, he liked the place. The coffee was good. The atmosphere was quiet. Soft folk rock and pop played in the background. Art hung on the walls and tacky fake flowers sat in vases on the tables. It was nice to sit in a room full of people and not be expected to talk to any of them. He could be alone without being completely alone the way he would be in his apartment. His sister Charlotte was always telling him to get out more. Well, now he had. Unfortunately it had failed at easing the tension buzzing in his brain. He hadn't been able to settle even before realizing he was under scrutiny. Delicious scrutiny.
Like a compass needle pointing north, West's gaze drifted two tables over. The staring had stopped—temporarily at least—and now the gorgeous man sat in profile. The bright white winter sun from outside haloed his hair and his features so that he looked like a work of art. One of those religious icons. The kind with cherubs and scudding white clouds and eyes turned heavenward in beatific ecstasy. There was nothing angelic about him, but with the right choir... maybe.
He tried not to dwell on the mystery of what those thick brown waves would feel like clenched between his fingers.
With every ounce of logic he possessed, West noted the fact that there was another man sitting at the table with him, this one a little less showy, hair a little darker and loosely curly. A friend maybe? There was something about the way they were sitting that said "not boyfriend". And it wasn't like he had a personal stake in it anyway. They hadn't even spoken. They weren't going to. West had come here to be alone-yet-not-alone and he was busy with that. Very busy.
West turned a page.
An obscenely long stare from across the coffee shop did not a date make. But maybe it didn't hurt to look. Just once more. So he did.
*****
NOAH MARTEL SET HIS chin atop a fist and snickered at the bookworm and his pretty pink blush sitting across the coffee shop. While Noah watched, the bookworm dragged a hand through his loose shoulder length hair, pulling it back off his forehead and tucking the strands behind his ear. The wire rimmed glasses perched on his nose twinkled as he shifted and Noah considered what he would look like out of the glasses and the button down. Or maybe with the glasses on and the shirt off. The glasses were working for him. Just how far down did that blush go? Noah could imagine tracing his fingers over collar bones and down the bookworm's chest, searching for the end of that flush like trying to find the pot of gold at the end of rainbow.
"Are you listening?" Liam asked from the seat beside him. His eyes weren't smiling now. Noah didn't even have to look. He could hear the frown in his brother's voice. Frowning audibly was a skill he'd cultivated over decades and it had only been honed to a razor's edge in the subsequent years that Liam had been teaching high school. Noah called it the Teacher Voice. It had probably put the fear of lunch detentions into scores of teenage hearts.
"Nope," Noah assured his brother, still watching and waiting for the next peek from the bookworm. It would come. He was sure of it. He wanted to be watching when it did.
"Well, at least you're honest." Liam sighed. They both knew he was just as bored with all the talk of wedding planning as Noah was, he was just better at pretending that he gave a shit about floral arrangements and tux rentals and... Noah wasn't totally sure about what came after that. He hadn't been listening. He had tried for a good minute or three. But it wasn't even going to be a fun wedding. The wedding was for their elder brother, Eli, and he didn't know the meaning of the word. Eli had always taken his role as oldest brother and unimpeachable authority on everything and used it to bludgeon them into doing what he wanted. This was just example number five thousand and whatever. "I didn't invite you for coffee so you could ignore me. I thought we might talk. Exchange actual words. Like normal people do."
Noah snorted. "You're talking. I'm pretending to listen. Isn't that close enough?"
"Not this time. It's Eli's wedding. You ditched everything else so far; you can't skip out on the actual ceremony too."
"If you try hard enough and believe in yourself, anything is possible, Liam. You know that."
"He'll never speak to you again if you don't show up."
"Really not helping your case any," Noah told him, finally glancing back towards his brother. He did look mildly concerned. Noah took a long pull from his drink, enjoying the sweet rush of sugar and caffeine. It helped to soothe him. He smiled at Liam around the straw. "What did he say exactly? Did Eli actually say the words 'never speak to Noah again'? Or are you just assuming?"
"Do you remember that time you borrowed his car without asking and someone keyed it?"
"That was a very important supply run," Noah pointed out. "And I only took his because he blocked me into the driveway. I still hold that it was fair play. But yes. I remember that."
"He looked like that."
"Oh." Noah nibbled at his straw, brow furrowed in thought. "I don't suppose he'd believe I had a business trip someplace far away and impossible to return from on short notice. With palm trees. I'd like to pretend to see palm trees."
"You don't go anywhere."
"Yes, I do. I go plenty of places."
Liam stared at him in silence. Then he took a drink of his black coffee. Staring. Unblinking. He was still going strong when Noah finally broke eye contact. Damn him and his superior eye lubrication.
"Fuck. Fine. I'll go. Stop staring at me." He balled up a napkin and threw it in Liam's face. It bounced off his chin and dropped onto the table without getting a reaction. "I don't even know why he wants me to be there. The second I open my mouth he'll be all over me."
"You could always try not intentionally pissing him off," Liam suggested, to which Noah immediately replied with a snort. "Just a thought. But it's his wedding. Of course, he wants you there."
There was no noise big enough to express his skepticism so Noah let it go with a few more grumbling noises. Secretly he was pleased. Not that he would have to play the kindly baby brother at Eli's wedding—he could live a happy life without ever doing that—but there was a certain comfort in familial blackmail as enacted by Liam. At least they still cared. They hadn't forgotten him. That had to count for something. The wedding and the matching reception would be a nightmare, but he could suck it up for a few hours, look fabulous doing it, and then go on his merry way. Hopefully Eli wasn't planning on making this a regular thing. He'd never struck as Noah as the wandering type, but there was no telling anymore. They'd barely spoken outside of family gatherings in years. He might have changed.
While he considered, Noah's gaze wandered back to the more interesting territory a few tables over. The large cappuccino mug remained untouched while book pages had been shifted from one side to the other. Noah eyed the cover of the paperback, but there were too many fingers obscuring the title. He bet it was something classic and stodgy. The bookworm probably got himself into a froth over Hemingway or some shit. He had no idea what the intellectuals were reading these days. But every so often chocolatey brown eyes flicked up from the page and found Noah before darting away again. It was adorable really. The glasses and the coy looks and the unexpectedly long brown hair. Just the right length to thread his fingers through and tug.
Noah stretched out a leg and hunkered down in his chair while he tried to measure the odds of getting shot down. They seemed reasonable if the everbearing blush was anything to go by. There was nothing disinterested about that blush.
"There's one other thing," Liam said, and Noah tipped his head back towards his brother though his eyes stayed on the prize.
"Oh? What's this thing?"
"Meryl asked if you would take pictures at the reception."
Noah gasped so hard he almost inhaled his straw. His blended coffee lodged in his throat. Ice crystals sandpapered all the way down to his lungs. "Have you all lost your damn minds?" he hissed. Or tried to hiss. It came out a strangled wheeze as he continued choking on his drink. A knife of pain from the cold split his head. He whimpered and squeezed his temples.
He didn't have anything in particular against Meryl having only met Eli's fiancée the one time, but still no. Only a handful of people were privy to the exact nature of Noah's photography business. Most of them were friends, not family, and they had all been warned to expect no favors just because Noah knew his way around a camera.
"Who told her what I do?"
"Don't look at me. I don't know who tipped her off, but she knows now and she begged me to ask you. Maybe she thought you would be 'happy' about it." Liam set down his mug to inject the necessary air quotes without any marked change in his expression. "People are usually happy about being included in family events."
"Not this people."
"Come on. You can play nice for one day, can't you? She probably doesn't want much. Snap a couple pics, smile pretty, and you're done. And what the hell are you looking at? I'm trying to talk to you," Liam snapped, finally losing his near limitless patience.
Noah smacked his hand away when his brother tried shaking him by the shoulder. "I'm busy."
Liam leaned over to follow the line of Noah's stare. As he did, the bookworm dove back into his book with a guilty flinch that meant he'd probably been eavesdropping. It wasn't hard to do from six feet away. Really. Adorable. "I don't think he likes you. Leave him alone."
"But how do we know that for sure until I go talk to him?"
"You'll have to wallow in ignorance a while longer. We're not done yet. You're still talking to me."
"Oh, look at that. My drink is empty. I need another."
"Like hell you do." Liam slid his own mug in front of Noah. "Drink this and sit your ass back down."
Noah looked into the dark, dark depths of the mug with something like dread. There probably wasn't even any sugar in it. It was just plain, black coffee all the way down. "You're the devil."
"Aw, I love you too. Now, as I was saying..."
*****
IT WAS BECOMING HARDER and harder for West to concentrate on his book with all the noise and the increasing awareness of the stares pointed his way. The strange and gorgeous man was practically sprawled in his chair now, doing obscene things with the straw from his drink. They should be illegal.
West had nearly worked up enough annoyance to leave—over the noise definitely—when he heard the talk shift. To him. He couldn't hear everything, but there was something about the tone that called his attention. Then both men turned to look at him, removing all doubt. West ducked down a little further in his seat and into his book and tried to pretend like he wasn't keenly interested in every word they'd been saying. He couldn't leave now. He was trapped. If he got up it would look like they'd caught him. West's ears burned with befuddled embarrassment. He'd only wanted a moment of peace, away from the mess at home. This had not been a part of the plan.
He turned another page in his book without reading it. All the words had become a jumble of letters. The next page was no better. He tried another dozen just to be sure, but he had given up hope long before then. Awkward or not, he needed to leave. To retreat. Before he made things worse.
His eyes flicked up one last time and found that the gorgeous man had turned his eyes and his conversation back to some other topic. West had ceased to exist. He waited a minute, maybe two, just to be sure, but no one glanced his way.
This was not disappointment he felt. He was absolutely sure that it was not disappointment as he folded his book closed and started collecting his things to leave. There wasn't much. An empty cup to leave on the tray in the corner for collection. Phone. Book. Ego. Check, check, check, and check.
Then he just had to figure out how to escape. Short of going the long way around the tightly packed tables, there was no way out of the coffee shop besides walking directly past their table. It was the quickest way. A few short and awkward steps and he'd be to freedom.
West took a deep breath to steel himself. No big deal. He hadn't lost a thing. They wouldn't even notice him. He was invisible, just like always. And he needed to stop listening to Charlotte. She was sixteen. What did she know? He should have stayed in his apartment where it was quiet and nothing could go wrong.
West's eyes had a mind of their own. He looked. It felt preordained. His eyes swept harmlessly past the darker haired man who was wearing a polite yet distant smile as if he was apologizing to West for something. Then West's gaze continued on of its own accord. Completely ignoring his desire to flee. It had barely touched the gorgeous man and his stunningly green eyes before West realized he'd been seen and recognized in some indefinable way.
The words were less than a whisper, barely parting the man's lips as they escaped, but definitely about West. A rogue thought darting out into the open like a deer breaking from the woods.
"I wonder what he looks like on his knees."
For a fraction of a second, the words had shape but no meaning. Like pretty glass ornaments.
Then West walked into a vacant table with a thud.
*****
SHIIIIIIIIT.
Noah hadn't planned to say what he was thinking. He hadn't even realized he had until the bookworm's eyes widened and the flat line of his mouth formed a neat little O of shock instead. Then it was too late. The deed was done. There was no way to sweep that under the figurative rug.
The bookworm flushed. Surprise and embarrassment and maybe a little bit of yes all rolled through his expression. That wasn't the gasp of disgust. Noah had seen plenty of that over the years and he recognized it immediately. No, no. Noah could practically feel the sudden jump in the bookworm's heart rate. The barely suppressed "oh" that wanted so much to be something else. To say something else.
The moment died a swift and awkward death as the bookworm kneecapped himself on a chair. He yelped. His book flew from his hand and slid across the floor like it had somewhere important to be. The bookworm turned so red he looked sunburned.
Noah might have laughed. The whole thing had gone so wrong on so many levels there wasn't anything left to do but laugh.
Then Liam's hand connected with the back of Noah's head with a loud thwack that almost dunked him face first into the mug of coffee on the table. "Apologize to the nice young man," Liam said. His stern schoolteacher voice was back, which meant he expected to be obeyed.
"That hurt," Noah whispered, rubbing at the back of his head. That earned him angry eyes to go with the Teacher Voice.
The bookworm had picked himself up and was turning in a circle, looking in vain for his book or maybe looking for where he'd dropped the last bits of his pride.
The missing book had gotten almost to the door before lodging itself rather inventively under the legs of a chair. Noah slipped free of his seat and Liam's steadily worsening glare to retrieve it.
Whatever the bookworm had been a moment ago, he was something else now that he'd collected himself again. The embarrassed red had transformed into a bad-tempered vermilion. Impossibly, the sight of it made Noah even happier than all the bashful faced glances from earlier. So, not so shy after all. That was a relief. He didn't mind shy, but kid gloves got old real fast.
He smiled and held the book out as a peace offering. "I'm sorry," Noah said. "That was rude."
"Yes. It was." The book was snatched from Noah's grasp. If he could have been tossed aside bodily, Noah felt sure he would have been soaring through the nearest window, but the bookworm settled for brushing past him. Their shoulders bumped roughly together and he made a small displeased growl. Like an angry kitten.
The bell over the door jingled as he stomped out. Noah spun back to his brother with a delighted laugh. "Oh, I like him."
Liam sighed. "Sit down. Wait for me. And don't talk to anyone else," he ordered as he headed to the counter for more coffee.
*****
WEST FORCED HIS LEGS to keep moving him away away away because if he didn't leave something terrible was going to happen. He wasn't sure what could be worse than the involuntary surge of oh yes please that had shut down his brain and sent him careening into a table in front of the most attractive man he'd ever seen, but there had to be something worse. There just had to be.
He was still torn between the desire to fall to his knees with a cry of "please God" and the equally insistent desire to bludgeon the beautiful man for speaking to him that way. In public. Without warning. What if someone had heard? West's cheeks flamed again at the thought. It was twice as bad when he realized that other things were flaming along with his cheeks.
I'm not like that, he thought with an edge of desperation.
He wasn't.
He wasn't.
West threw himself into his car and slammed the door so hard that everything shook. He envisioned smacking his book against the steering wheel and the dash until it exploded into a blizzard of torn pages. But he didn't. He set it carefully on the empty seat beside him. He started the engine. He did not do any of the things he had imagined. Instead, he drove to his apartment, shivering as that single sentence replayed itself over and over in his head.
His apartment. His sanctuary. West had moved away from home under the guise of being closer to school as soon as he was able and had never looked back. Well, only a few times. But only because of his sister. He knew exactly what he was leaving her to.
His bland grey building sat on a quiet street, every unit boasting almost unusably tiny balconies and surprisingly good soundproofing. He never heard loud TVs or neighbors' arguments so he would have to pretend not to know about 203's snoring or infidelities when he met them in the hall or at the mailboxes. Those moments were awkward enough without replaying their latest screaming match every time you made eye contact.
West was barely over the threshold when his phone rang. The feeling of dread it elicited only improved slightly when he saw his sister Charlotte's name on the display. He answered.
"Please get me out of here," she hissed into his ear before he could even say hello. "They're driving me crazy."
West sighed. "How so?"
"No one is talking. I've barely even seen dad in three days. I just hear him come in and go out. And mom is busy with some big case or something and never comes out of her office. It's like living in a mausoleum. Get. Me. Out. Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease."
"Don't you have school tomorrow?"
"I'll bring everything I need. Please let me stay over. I won't make a mess. I won't get in the way. I'll wash the dishes. Please. You don't know what it's like."
He rubbed his eyes with one knuckle. He did know what it was like. All too well. That was the problem. "Okay. Just stay away from the stove this time."
"Hey, my cooking is getting much better." When he didn't answer, she huffed. "Fine. I promise."
"Do you need me to come pick you up?"
"Oh God yes, you're the best brother ever. I mean it. You'll be rewarded in heaven," she said in a half intelligible rush. Rustling on the other end of the line meant she was probably already on the move. "I'll be waiting outside in fifteen minutes. You won't even have to come in." She hung up before he could say goodbye or have second thoughts.
West stared at the screen of his phone as it went dark again. He had been looking forward to some time alone, especially after that fiasco at the coffee shop, but he didn't blame Charlotte for wanting a rescue. He loved his parents, but they were barely civil at the best of times. They didn't fight, only because they tended not to speak outside of holidays and other important functions. Reese's imminent return to their midst wouldn't help matters either. There was nowhere to go but down. Not that Reese tended to bother anyone besides West. He knew how to pick his targets for maximum effect with minimum personal detriment and he'd decided that made West the ideal target a long time ago.
He allowed himself one long sigh before turning to leave again. His leg still hurt where he'd hit it on the chair and the steady red throb from his shin was just one more reminder of how he'd made a fool of himself. And for what? Because someone had shown a little interest in him? A vaguely flirtatious gesture with no strings attached? And then... oh hell.
West flushed all over again. Something in him still clenched just a little at the thought of dropping to his knees. For that man. Worshiping him the same way he had worshiped that straw. Letting him use West's mouth and any other parts of him that he wanted.
He could practically feel it. Taste it. A part of him wanted it so bad that it hurt. One brief release from everything but the need to feel.
West slammed his door and locked it, but he couldn't slam the door on his thoughts. He wished that he could.