Chapter Three
As the meal wound down and wine made laughter quick and voices a bit louder than they'd been an hour ago, Doug focused his eyes on random things around the dining table: half-empty plates smeared with pasta sauce, his sister-in-law, Beth’s pink nails as they tapped her glass, his baby niece's tomato stained, chubby hand swirling a ravioli bite around. Anything but the smug smirk on his brother’s face each time their eyes met across the table.
“So Doug, Wyatt tells me you’re an engineer.”
Oh yeah. Doug was also doing his best to ignore the handsome, attentive stranger seated beside him. His name was Jairo, a nurse that Wyatt knew from the clinic, and he was the only other guest that had been invited to dinner. It hadn’t been a great leap to figure out Jairo was gay, and that Wyatt had asked him to dinner in an attempt to play matchmaker for Doug, a truth that did little to squash his growing annoyance with his big brother.
“Yeah,” Doug said, glancing at Jairo. “Manufacturing.”
Jairo gave him a little smile and held his eyes, but Doug saw more curiosity than desire in his expression. He was a good looking guy, with golden-brown skin, curly dark hair and a neatly trimmed goatee. And while his face was a bit narrower, and his toothy grin far wider, he reminded Doug of Harry, his ex-boyfriend. Jairo was, in fact, what Doug had once considered to be his type. Harry was half Indian, with the same dark curly hair and easy smile that Jairo had—a fact that had no doubt factored into Wyatt’s decision to play pimp.
But Wyatt should have realized that a Harry look-alike was the last thing Doug wanted. “I’ll help you with that,” Doug said, standing when Beth began to clear the plates.
“No, sit down, please,” she said, giving him the same knowing grin he’d been getting from Wyatt all night. “Just relax, Doug, I’ve got it.”
“No problem, let me help.”
He followed Beth out of the dining room and into the kitchen, setting the dirty plates down on the counter next to the sink.
Beth turned to him with a wry smile, tucking a long strand of curly blonde hair behind her ear. “You’re mad,” she said.
“I’m not mad.”
“Doug.” She grabbed his chin. “I know you. You’re mad that we invited Jairo.”
“No, no, I mean I appreciate the thought. A little heads up just would have been nice.”
She sighed, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “I’m sorry. We just thought, you know. He’s a cute gay guy. Successful, nice. We thought maybe you’d hit it off. I’m sorry, Doug.”
“Don’t worry about it, Beth, really, it’s fine. Dinner was great.”
She looked terribly disappointed. He almost felt bad. She and Wyatt had seemed positively gleeful at dinner, like they’d brought Doug a surprise gift and were waiting for him to thank them. He knew they had few gay friends. By finding this attractive work colleague of Wyatt’s, they’d likely thought they’d discovered a rare gem, the sort they knew Doug collected. And he didn’t want it.
Wyatt stepped into the kitchen and set down some dishes. He looked back and forth between Beth and Doug, pushing his glasses up on his nose. “What’s going on?”
“He’s mad,” Beth said.
“I’m not mad,” Doug said.
“What...why are you mad?” Wyatt asked.
“I’m not mad.”
“He’s mad,” Beth said. “You guys go out and talk on the deck. I’ll go entertain our guest. I’m sure Jairo’s have a great time sitting alone in there with baby Mandy.”
Beth left the kitchen. Wyatt opened the slider, and Doug followed him out onto the back deck. Doug leaned against the railing, taking a deep breath as he looked up at the stars.
“Why are you mad?” Wyatt asked. “Because I invited a friend to dinner?”
He looked at his brother. “You set me up, Bro.”
“So what? Jairo’s a nice guy. What’s wrong with him?”
“There’s nothing wrong with him. He’s great, it’s just a little awkward walking into a blind date I didn’t know I had.”
Wyatt shrugged. “I thought it might be good for you.”
“I know.” Doug raised his hands. “I know you mean well, Wyatt. But listen, I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, but I don’t need you to take care of me, all right? I don’t need you to call my landlord for me, and I don’t need you to find me a replacement-Harry. Or any other sort of date. I’ve got it from here. Understand?”
“Okay, fine, I just thought—”
“’Scuze me, guys?”
They both turned and saw Jairo standing in the doorway. He stepped onto the deck, offering them both a wide grin.
“Hey, Jairo,” Wyatt said. “We were just getting some air. You want another drink?”
“No, thanks, Wyatt. I was actually hoping I could have a minute alone to talk to Doug.”
Wyatt glanced at Doug, who shrugged, then nodded.
“Okay!” Wyatt gave them both an exaggerated grin. “I’ll be inside, then.” He glanced over his shoulder at Doug as he went in, twitching his eyebrows comically.
Doug chuckled and shook his head. Once Wyatt was gone, Jairo came to stand beside him, leaning against the railing with hands in his pockets. “So,” he said. “Good thing that dinner wasn’t awkward at all.”
Doug laughed. “Yeah.” He stepped forward then turned to face Jairo. “If I was rude in any way, I apologize. I’m just...just in a mood tonight.”
Jairo smiled, white teeth gleaming against dark skin. “You just didn’t know I was coming,” he said. “I figured that out pretty fast.”
“Yeah,” Doug said. “I’m sorry. It’s nothing personal.”
“But you’re not interested in me,” he said, still grinning.
Doug laughed at his directness. “Again, it’s nothing personal.”
“No, really, it’s fine,” Jairo said. “To be honest, I only did this as a favor to Wyatt. I’m not particularly interested in you, either. Not that you’re not great looking but I kind of prefer blonds.” He shrugged, then slapped Doug on the arm. “Nothing personal.”
Doug let out a full belly laugh, and Jairo chuckled along with him. “Oh Christ,” Doug said, running fingers through his hair. “I need a beer.”
“Tough week?”
“Long week. I moved at the beginning of it, so it’s been pretty hectic.”
“Yeah,” Jairo said, “Wyatt told me you moved to the neighborhood. How do you like it?”
“It’s great, I like it. After imposing on Wyatt and Beth for so long, it feels good to be on my own steam again. I’d forgotten how much I liked my alone-time.”
“Oh I can imagine,” Jairo said. “My apartment’s being renovated right now, and I’m going nuts just having to crash on a friend’s couch for a few days. So your new place is nice?”
“Yeah, I love the place. Had some issues with the neighbors already and I just need to blow off some steam tonight, I guess. I didn’t expect to have to be on my best behavior at dinner. But then I didn’t know I had a date.”
Jairo looked down, nodding, still with the cute grin. Doug got the feeling Jairo was rarely without a smile. He seemed a truly happy person, confident in himself and optimistic. Doug felt drawn to him, not sexually, but like a bug drawn to the light.
“Hey, you want to get out of here?” Jairo asked, looking up. “Now that we’re officially not on a date, we can go grab a beer as friends. Have you been to Bernie’s Pub yet? It’s in the neighborhood, probably not far from your house. You’re down by the pond, Wyatt said?”
“Yeah, right near the pond.”
“Well, shit,” Jairo said. “You could walk home if you want to get a bit tipsy. What do you think? It’s a great place, not too big but cozy. They have live music on Fridays, usually just a guy with a guitar. But it’s fun, a good crowd. Mix of gays and straights. Usually a lot of cute guys.”
Doug’s mood lifted. It sounded perfect, just what he needed. With Jairo, he’d have a companion to venture out with so he didn’t look like the lonely loser, but now that they were officially not on a date, there was no pressure. He thought about Wyatt and Beth. He loved the hell out of them, and felt a bit guilty that he’d been cross with them. They really did have his best interest at heart. And he owed them so much.
“What about Wyatt?” Doug said, wincing. “Can we just cut and run like that?”
Jairo laughed heartily. “Are you kidding? Your brother will be thrilled to see us leave together, it will make his night. He’ll spend the rest of the evening congratulating himself on his matchmaking success.”
Doug grinned, nodding. “Yeah, you’re probably right. Okay, fuck it, let’s go. You want to ride with me? I can bring you back to get your car after.”
“You may not want to do that,” Jairo said, giving him a wink. “Like I said, lots of cute guys at Bernie’s. You might get lucky.”
Doug laughed. “Somehow I doubt that will happen. Luck and I haven’t exactly been best buds lately.”
Jairo smiled, his gaze traveling over Doug’s body, then meeting his eyes. “I guess we’ll see. But I have the feeling you’re going be very popular tonight. You ready?”
It had been ages since he’d been out socially, and just as long since he’d hooked up with anyone. But the very idea of it gave him a small tingle, anxiety mixed with anticipation. Taking a deep breath, Doug nodded. “I’m ready.”
****
Bernie’s Brew Pub was like a dozen other places Doug had been to: rustic dark wood with vintage posters framed along the walls, clusters of small tables and bench booths, and a long bar running the length of the building at the far end of the room. Two men played acoustic guitar on a makeshift stage, their gravelly voices belting out a popular ’90s ballad. A few tipsy patrons sang along drunkenly, but they were only a drop in the noise-bucket of cacophonous laughter and conversation that filled crowded pub.
Though Doug had once frequented places like this, his long absence from the social scene had left him out of practice, unaccustomed to maneuvering a crowded bar on a Friday night. His shoulders bumped patrons as he dodged and weaved through bodies, struggling to keep sight of Jairo.
A group of women exited a table in front of them and Jairo all but dove on it, beckoning Doug urgently with a wave of his hand. Doug reached the small table and sat across from Jairo, who smiled excitedly as though he’d discovered a pile of treasure. “We got a table!” he said, raising his voice to be heard over the noise.
Doug laughed. “Yes, I can see that.”
“I never get a table in here. See, you’re lucky already!” He glanced toward the bar, then back at Doug. “I’ll get us a couple beers, you hold the table,” he said conspiratorially.
“Okay. Got it.”
Jairo stood, then paused, eyeing his empty chair as though wary to leave it. He removed his light jacket and slung it over the back. “Don’t let anyone take my seat,” he said, then shoved through the crowd toward the bar.
Doug smiled as he watched Jairo retreat on his beer hunting mission. He glanced around the room, people watching. Not much had changed since his party days. Some patrons dressed casually, as he had. Others, who’d likely been here since happy hour, wore disheveled business suits, ties removed and jackets slung carelessly over benches. There was a third faction, those who’d showered and coiffed themselves up for the evening: women with perfectly styled hair and strategically form fitting outfits, and men who’d clearly ironed their jeans and spent more than a casual moment in front of the mirror.
Boisterous laughter caught his attention and his head turned toward a group of men clustered in the far corner beyond the bar. Two of them had commandeered the dartboard, but at least six other men hovered nearby, shouting friendly insults at the players. They all seemed to know each other, and Doug watched them with a mixture of envy and contempt. They were a good looking lot from what he could see through the crowd, tall and burly, somewhere around his age. He used to go out drinking with a big group of guys like that, but such activities had dwindled off shortly after college, when buying homes and making money had become more important than getting together. Weren’t these guys a bit old to still be venturing out in a big group like that? It was a bitter thought, fueled mainly by the sharp reminder that he’d lost most of his friends to Harry in the breakup.
He subtly shifted his seat, trying to get a better view of the men. They’re probably all straight, anyway, he thought with a dose of sour grapes. Most with beers in hand, the presence of the group near the dartboard was loud and somewhat aggressive, lots of slaps on the shoulders and exaggerated laughter.
Jairo returned with two overflowing draft beers. He set them carefully on the table and took his seat, wide smile in place. “How you feeling, Doug Crandall?”
“Good,” Doug said, taking a sip of the brew. It was dark and foamy, a molasses flavor lingering on his tongue.
“You look like Wyatt,” Jairo said. “But you’re definitely the prettier brother.” He cackled. “Don’t tell him I said that. Doctor’s ego and all.”
Doug smiled. “Thank you. This place gets pretty crowded, huh? Lots of guys here.”
“Yeah, isn’t it great?”
Doug lifted his glass in salute. “Thank you, Jairo, this is just what I needed.”
“Any time,” he said, clinking Doug’s glass with his. “Is it the best not-date you ever had?”
“Absolutely. We should not-date again sometime.”
“Deal,” Jairo said. As he took a sip of beer, his dark eyes widened, focused on something in the distance. “Oh my God. He is effing gorgeous.”
Doug followed his gaze, back to the boisterous group near the dartboard. The bar had cleared a bit at that end, lending a more unobstructed view of the men in the corner. Doug squinted. “Which one?”
Jairo gaped at him. “You have to ask? Him!”
Doug’s eyes trailed over the men, trying to guess which had caught Jairo’s eye. Behind the group at the dartboard, he could now see a few more men seated around one of the bar’s small wooden tables. But his eyes were suddenly drawn back when the current shooter finished his round, pulled his darts from the board, and then turned their way. He picked a half full beer off the small ledge that ran along the wall, and took a long gulp.
Clad in rough, faded jeans with work boots, a Boston Celtics tee shirt hanging a bit too loose on his broad shoulders, Doug’s first thought was that he looked straight. His second thought was that something about the guy made his pulse speed up. His body reacted with urgent excitement—which he found odd, as this man was pretty much the exact opposite of what he’d always considered to be his type.
His complexion was fair, the kind of smooth white skin that would most likely burst into flames in extended sun exposure. Silky brunette hair hung a bit long around his ears with a few rogue waves, but it looked more like he hadn’t gotten around to getting a haircut than a deliberate style. In fact nothing about him looked like he gave a damn about his appearance, yet Doug found the entire package sexy as hell. He reminded Doug of one of those sword swinging warrior characters in an action movie, usually played by a handsome actor who managed to stay gorgeous even with blood and dirt all over him.
Unrestrained laughter bellowed from the fair-skinned guy as another man swiped the darts from his hand, muttering something in his ear. Doug melted further at the smile: strong white teeth, one front canine just slightly crooked. It was as though a jealous god had designed him with a few slight imperfections, lest he be too gorgeous to live. But to Doug, it made him more alluring still. Blue eyes crinkled as his cheeks dimpled under a barely visible beard shadow. The guy uttered a loud, vulgar curse and gave the other man a playful shove.
Yes, he could definitely be straight, Doug thought again. Though there was nothing guarded about his boyish playfulness with the other man, and Doug sensed no underlying aggression or competitiveness. Not that all straight men behaved as such, but in Doug’s experience, they tended to do so when clustered in public groups.
“What an absolute doll,” Jairo said with wonder in his tone.
Doll wasn’t quite how Doug would have described him. While undoubtedly pretty, this guy’s careless masculinity and crooked smile almost hid it—he could have gone unnoticed in his crowd of friends had Doug not been searching for the object of Jairo’s sudden lust. Doug’s eyes trailed the man’s body, straining to see more beneath the baggy clothes. His legs looked thick and strong, and while he wasn’t gym-membership buff, he had a solid upper body, the kind that likely came from physical labor rather than pumping iron.
“So what do you think?” Jairo asked, nudging him.
A quick flare of competitiveness heated Doug’s blood. For a split second he wanted to shove Jairo away. Back off, he’s mine! But when Jairo spoke again, he realized that they were, in fact, checking out two completely different guys.
“I told you I like blonds, and damn, he is beyond perfect.”
Doug turned to him. “Wait...which one are you looking at?”
“The blond!” Jairo said. “Sitting at the table there. Why, who were you looking at?”
“Him,” Doug said. “In the Celtics shirt.”
Jairo all but sneered. “Him? No, the guy behind him, sitting on the table.”
When Doug finally spotted the object of Jairo’s desire, he couldn’t believe he’d missed him. Not because he found him as alluring as Jairo did, but because he seemed to be doing his best to stand out. Seated on top of one of the small tables with his feet rested on a chair, he was the focus of several young men and a couple of women who hovered around, vying for his attention. A shock of blond hair fell across his eyebrows, framing a perfectly symmetrical face. He sported a fading suntan, like he’d just returned from someplace warmer. Spring in Boston didn’t turn anyone that color. His hair was short on the sides but longer in the front, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to look like a businessman or a surfer. A salmon colored gauze pullover seemed strategically chosen to show off his tan, one side threatening to slide off his left shoulder, exposing more tawny flesh.
Doug might have thought the shirt too feminine, but even seated, he could see the guy was tall and well built, the long sleeves fitted just right to hint at toned arm muscles. In contrast to the work boot wearing dart thrower that had caught Doug’s eye, the blond was almost too handsome, his good looks so obvious they bordered on generic. And one glance told Doug this guy was well aware of his attributes, each detail calculated to accentuate his superior hotness, including his decision to perch himself there on the table, above the crowd and on display, a king surrounded by his loyal subjects.
“Oh,” Doug said. “Yeah, I see him now.”
“Shit,” Jairo said. “I think I’m in love.”
Doug shrugged just slightly, but Jairo caught it, and widened his eyes. “What? You don’t think he’s hot?”
“Oh, he is,” Doug said. “It’s just a bit obvious, don’t you think?”
Jairo laughed. “Obvious? Whatever. You’re kind of a cranky dude, Doug.”
“I’ve been told.”
“So you really like the guy in the tee shirt?”
“Yeah, he’s cute. You don’t think so?”
“He looks straight,” Jairo said. “And like he might need a shower.”
Doug chuckled, then glanced toward the group of men again. His messy tee shirt dude had wandered over to pay homage to the blond god, who whispered something in his ear. While tee shirt guy didn’t appear as impressed as the rest of the men gathered there, Doug felt a stab of disappointment as he watched his potential love interest move to the bar, order a drink, then deliver it back to the revered blond.
“Damn,” Jairo said, also watching the display. “I was gonna offer to buy him a drink.”
The suntanned blond hiked his salmon shirt back over his shoulder, then accepted the drink from Doug’s crush, ruffling his brunette locks like he was a puppy who’d performed a trick.
“He’s so hot,” Jairo said, his jaw slack.
Doug rolled his eyes. “Just go talk to him, Jairo.”
“You don’t mind?” Jairo shot back, as though he’d been anxiously awaiting permission.
“It’s fine,” Doug said. “Just go, you’re getting drool all over the table.”
“You’ll be okay here alone?”
“Go,” Doug said.
Jairo wasted no more time. He stood, smoothed down his shirt, then wandered over to the table of men, leaning over to speak with the blond. Doug was slightly awed by Jairo’s balls, as he himself had never been too adept at cruising guys. He’d always envied those guys who could just walk up to someone and express their interest without fear of rejection.
In an attempted to appear comfortable with his sudden aloneness, Doug rested one leg on Jairo’s empty chair, leaned back and pulled out his phone. He scrolled through his text messages. There was one from Wyatt, wishing him good luck with a little winky emoticon. He chuckled. Wyatt probably thought Doug and Jairo were in bed together by now. He was tempted to text his brother back a photo of Jairo enthusiastically courting another man, but didn’t have the heart.
Still keeping his phone out as a prop, Doug glanced over at Jairo, impressed, and a bit surprised to see he now had the blond’s full attention. The others who’d been hanging around had eased back a bit, in their own conversations now as Jairo and the blond spoke very closely, their body language intimate.
Huh. Jairo the naughty nurse has got some game.
The acoustic band broke into “Closing Time” by Semisonic, and it was so bubblegum perfect Doug wanted to draw a cartoon love heart around Jairo and his sexy pick-up.
As he tore his eyes away from Jairo, they locked onto the gaze of another. It was his scruffy, blue-eyed crush in the Celtics tee shirt. He leaned against a wooden beam, facing the band, but his head was turned, eyes directly on Doug.
Oh, my.
Doug held his gaze almost involuntarily, shocked to find the man looking at him so openly. The guy seemed to startle as their eyes met. He smiled slightly, then turned his attention back to the band, crossing his arms in front of his chest.
Well, okay, then. So much for that.
Doug went back to his phone, pretending to be interested in the display, when someone grabbed his arm. He looked up to see Jairo, his smile eight feet wide. “Hey,” he said. “Corey asked me to go home with him. Are you cool with me bailing?”
“Oh...um...” Doug caught sight of the blond, now standing by the beam with Celtics tee shirt guy, a brown jacket slung stylishly over one shoulder. He was taller than he’d appeared while seated, and Doug grudgingly admitted to himself that the guy...Corey, was pretty damn hot. Though he still preferred the other one, who was nodding in acknowledgement as Corey spoke into his ear. Corey was most likely giving the same information to his friend—that he was bailing to get laid.
“Well, shit, that was fast,” Doug said, turning his attention back to Jairo. “No, I mean that’s fine. Go. Have fun.”
“You sure?” Jairo asked, but he was already stepping away from the table.
“Go,” Doug said with a wave.
“Okay, I’ll call you. We’ll do lunch or something.”
Jairo made a beeline back to Corey, exchanging a few words with him and the other guy. After a minute, Doug watched Jairo weaving through the crowd toward the door with his blond prize. Doug was a bit blindsided. They’d only just arrived, and while Jairo had suggested they might meet men at the bar, he’d expected they’d spend some time hanging out together first. He considered leaving then, but he still had half a beer, and despite getting dumped by his companion, he was enjoying the lively atmosphere.
So he remained, taking casual sips of his beer, dividing his attention between the band and the crowd, periodically checking his phone so he’d have something to do with his hands. He searched for tee shirt guy, and found him nestled back with the group by the dartboard, speaking with a chubby redheaded man.
Without warning, the handsome brunette looked back at Doug and their eyes locked again. But again, he quickly broke eye contact, turning his attention back to his friend.
Maybe he’s shy, Doug thought. Though he certainly didn’t appear the bashful type while among his cronies.
He thought of Jairo, the way he’d just strolled over and approached Corey. He wished he could summon the courage to do the same, just get up and go talk to this guy. But he was out of practice, and that had never really been his style. And you’re a chicken shit.
But if he wanted to get laid at some point, he supposed he’d need to grow some balls. He wasn’t a kid anymore, and while he knew he wasn’t bad looking, he didn’t garner the attention he once had. It used to be he could just sit alone in a bar and be instantly approached by suitors. But that was then, and though he was clearly alone tonight, no one was beating a path to his table. Still, the thought of just walking over there to talk to the guy made his gut clench with anxiety.
Well, another night then, he thought, draining his beer. He decided he would consider tonight practice, not a total loss. At least he’d gotten out of the house with someone who wasn’t his immediate family. And while he might win the loser-of-the-week award for getting dumped by a blind date he didn’t even want, it was a start.
“You need another beer?”
Doug’s head jerked up, and he saw Celtics tee shirt guy looking down at him. Glancing down at his empty glass, he tried to find his voice. “Uh, yeah. I—”
“I’ll get it.” The man turned and moved up to the bar, leaving Doug to stare after him.
Doug swallowed hard, then shifted in his seat, trying to find his most relaxed pose. While the guy spoke to the bartender, Doug’s eyes drifted over his husky body, from his shoulders down to his work boots. He seemed bigger up close, not overweight but solid.
He returned to the table and set a draft in front of Doug. He held another in his hand. “You mind?” he asked, pointing to the empty chair.
“No, sit. Please.” Doug removed his foot from the chair and the other man dragged it toward himself and sat, setting his beer on the table.
“I’m Doug,” he said, figuring if this guy had the balls to come over, he could at least man-up and start the conversation.
“Stewart.” He reached across the table and gave Doug’s hand a quick pump, then picked up his beer and took a long sip. His blue eyes darted around the bar, and Doug grew awkward, wondering if he was going to say anything further, or just sit there.
Then he grinned at Doug, his smile even more pleasing at point blank range. The dimples almost gave him a baby face, but a full jawline and that crooked tooth lent it a masculine edge. “So,” Stewart said, his tone deep but whimsical. “Corey poached your friend, huh?”
Doug laughed, a bit of tension leaking out of him. “Yeah, he did. In record time.”
Stewart laughed hard, shoulders shaking. “Yeah, Corey has that effect on people.” He turned in his seat, eyes back on the band. Doug liked his voice, a bit gravelly but open and friendly. Something in the way he said the word effect hinted at an accent that Doug couldn’t quite place.
“Where are you from?” Doug asked, his voice getting lost in the bar noise.
Stewart looked back at him. “What?”
He leaned forward, noting the color of Stewart’s eyes, a deep, midnight-blue. “Where are you from?” he asked a little louder this time.
To his pleasure, Stewart leaned forward as well, placing his forearms on the table. “Oh, lots of places. Live in Boston now, not far from here.”
“Is that an accent I hear?”
“Ah.” He nodded. “I come from northern England, but haven’t been back there since I was fifteen. Accent’s been watered down from living in Nebraska, then here. I’m surprised you picked up on it.”
“It’s nice,” Doug said. “I like it.”
Nice? Doug, get a grip, you’re talking like a girl.
But Stewart’s dimpled grin returned and he held Doug’s eyes, making his jeans feel a bit tighter suddenly.
“Thanks,” Stewart said. “I like your face.”
Doug was taken aback. Well, that answers that. Definitely not straight.
Doug grinned, not sure how to respond. “You do?”
“Yeah,” he said, taking another sip of beer. He set the glass down and smiled. “I pointed you out to Corey before he left with your friend.”
“Did you?” The stirring in Doug’s pants was becoming uncomfortable, and he shifted slightly in the chair.
Stewart let out a quick laugh, his head falling forward. He looked up again, grinning at Doug. “Corey said you had serial killer eyes.”
Doug’s jaw dropped, then he laughed, nodding. “I see. Well, that’s...I don’t know what to do with that.”
“Then the guy he was leaving with, your friend, what’s his name?”
“Jairo.”
“Right, so Jairo says to Corey, no, Doug has beautiful eyes. He’s just a little cranky.”
Stewart’s deep infectious laugh came again, and Doug felt himself being drawn in like a magnet. His eyes sparkled when he smiled. And Jairo was wrong—Stewart didn’t need a shower. His hair was clean and smooth, and he smelled of soap and aftershave. Doug found himself wanting to reach out and touch those dark, silken waves, run his fingers through them.
“I can be a little cranky,” Doug said. “But I’ve never been told I have serial killer eyes.”
“You don’t,” Stewart said. Then he shrugged, tilting his head as he examined Doug. “Well, maybe a really sexy serial killer. With a good haircut. But then serial killers aren’t always what you expect, are they? You get those clean cut types, right? ‘Oh, he was such a nice, quiet man’, the neighbors say. Then you find out he’s got a freezer full of heads and asses.”
Doug smiled at him, but his brow lowered in a frown. This was certainly not a pick-up style he’d ever encountered before. But Stewart was coming on to him, wasn’t he? He’d slipped in the comment about being sexy, but did it with humor, in a way that was bold but not overbearing.
“Yeah,” Doug said. “They do tend to be clean cut. The boy next door serial killer variety.”
“And they always live alone,” Stewart said. “Do you live alone?” He held Doug’s eyes.
Doug pondered the question behind the question. “I do live alone,” he said softly.
“Ooh, you’ve got all the warning signs,” Stewart said. “The eyes. Good haircut. Lives alone.”
“I promise,” Doug said. “I don’t have heads and asses in my freezer.”
Stewart rubbed his chin. “Well, I don’t know if I believe you. I might have to check for myself.”
Doug’s heart thudded in his chest. “Really.”
“Really. Unless you don’t want to show it to me. I’ll understand, of course.”
Doug held his gaze. “We’re not talking about my freezer anymore, are we?”
Stewart grinned at him. Despite his apparent boldness, a blush climbed up his fair cheeks. “Would you like me to be more direct?”
“If you don’t mind.”
Stewart leaned back in his chair, looking over his shoulder. He turned back to Doug. “You see that chunky ginger bastard back there?”
Doug glanced over by the dartboard and spotted the redhead he’d seen Stewart talking to before. He was engaged in a rowdy conversation with two other men. “Yeah, I see him.”
“Well.” Stewart leaned forward and clasped his hands in front of him on the table. “He’s called Dewey. Great guy, but he’s a fucking slob. Lives with four cats, there’s shit all over the place, and he stinks.”
Doug frowned, not sure where this was going. “Okay.”
“You saw Corey, who left with your friend?”
“Yeah, I saw Corey.”
Stewart nodded. “I live with Corey. Except he asked me to make myself scarce tonight, so he can take your friend Jairo for a walk on the wild side. So I’ve got to spend the night on stinky Dewey’s couch.” He paused. “Unless I get a better offer.”
“I see,” Doug said. He leaned forward a bit, his own hands nearly touching Stewart’s. “So. Is stinky Dewey the only reason you want to come back to my place tonight?”
“A fair question,” Stewart said. “No. I was trying to get up the nerve to talk to you before Corey asked me to stay out of the way tonight. But I needed another beer, and the threat of sleeping on a sofa that smells like cat piss to give me the proper motivation.”
Doug smiled. He was completely charmed by this man, and it had been a long time. “We can’t have you sleeping on cat piss,” he said. “You want to get out of here?”
Stewart gave Doug’s hand a quick squeeze, the brief physical contact making his heart gallop. “I hope you have a car,” he said. “I rode here with Corey.”
Doug stood. “I have a car. Let’s go.”
Stewart stood and took a last, long sip of beer. He set the glass down and grinned at Doug. “Lead the way.”