Chapter Three

 

Rory: The most important thing to remember is that this date is all about him. Ask him questions about himself and then listen like there might be a pop quiz later. Don’t be the dick that only talks about himself and his badass Irish upbringing.

Robert: That’s what happened on my last date. I thought she’d like hearing about my trip to Greece. Big mistake.

Rory: Yeah, yeah, we’ll solve your problems later, Nora.

 

He sat at the small, kitschy coffee shop across from a freshly showered Oliver. The t-shirt and jeans he’d thrown on did as much for him as the snug shorts had, thankfully hiding his legs from view so Matthew could concentrate on the conversation.

He watched, somewhat impressed as Oliver inhaled the three blueberry muffins and dozen chocolate chip cookies he’d ordered to go with his large caramel-flavored coffee. The man had an appetite. He hadn’t let Matthew pay for any of it, either, as if he wasn’t entirely willing to consider this a date.

Maybe it doesn’t mean anything. Look at him. He’s clearly lightheaded from hunger.

“We should have gone for pizza instead. I didn’t realize you’d missed dinner.”

Oliver smiled sheepishly, brushing the crumbs from his chin and the bow-shaped lips that kept drawing Matthew’s gaze.

“I didn’t. I had a turkey sub in my locker and ate it halfway through my workout. I’m still this hungry because my metabolism is freakish. My grandmother swore I was on something for years.”

“So you’re saying no one else in your family can put away muffins like you do?”

Did that sound sexual?

Only to you, idiot. Stop staring at his mouth.

“You don’t want to hear about my family,” he said firmly. “It’s big, crazy and full of constant drama.”

“You’ve got one of those, too? Fancy that.” Matthew chuckled, fingers tracing his cup so he wouldn’t reach for Oliver’s hand. “Mine is growing so fast we’ll need to rent out an auditorium for family gatherings.”

Oliver smiled. “I know what you mean. Why did you say you were still getting used to them?”

“Now that’s a story,” Matthew started, rubbing his hands together. “I only found out about the American Finns a few years ago, so you can imagine my surprise at how fruitfully they’d multiplied. The Waynes are a more recent addition, with two of the seven siblings marrying into my family to make it a trifle incestuous and even more confusing. Before I moved here, I’d grown up confident in the knowledge that I only had one brother, one sister and one Grump.”

“Grump?”

“Paternal grandfather. It’s a term of endearment.” More of an accurate descriptor for the irascible Aaron Finn. “He never thought I was on drugs, but most of the time he was convinced I was using my computer skills to cheat on tests. The old sourpuss wouldn’t acknowledge my genius and let me skip a grade, he was that sure I’d found a way to rig the system.”

Oliver made a face. “So Grump fits.”

Way to turn him on. Now tell him about the time you got pantsed in fourth grade.

“How did you find the place, anyway? My brother’s gym, I mean. Robert said they hadn’t had a chance to advertise before you walked in and signed up.”

Oliver inhaled another chocolate chip cookie before answering. “I saw the new sign from the street and thought I’d give it a try. I liked the location. What do you do for a living?”

Matthew noticed the quick turnaround. “Technical support for software glitches. Which is about as exciting as it sounds. Lots of ‘Did you try turning it off and then turning it back on again?’ jokes at the office, which are always a laugh. And decent health benefits.”

Oliver tilted his head curiously. “You’d rather be doing something else?”

“Who wouldn’t? But no matter how desperately I long to be a cowboy, the paycheck keeps pulling me back in.”

The truth was he’d rather be learning from Ken Tanaka. The man was a legend among wannabe hackers and pros alike. When he wasn’t helping out the feds and saving the world at large, he was running his own security company and looking after the family. To Matthew, nothing sounded more exciting.

But Tanaka was engaged to his cousin, Brady, and it would feel too much like a handout to ask if there was an opening. They’d already done so much for the three of them, including putting a roof over their heads and saving William’s arse from going to prison. Wanting more would just be greedy. Selfish.

“What are you thinking?”

Matthew leaned his elbows on the table and lowered his voice. “I’m thinking that you keep redirecting my questions without really answering, and I’m wondering why that is.”

Oliver’s gaze flickered, glancing down at Matthew’s lips before licking his own. “Most people like to talk about themselves. I’m not one of them.”

“I can respect that. You’ll note for the record that I’m answering all of your questions, however, which makes this coffee date a wee bit one-sided, if you don’t mind my saying.”

“Your accent gets thicker when you’re trying to be charming. If you don’t mind my saying.”

He flattened his hand against his chest dramatically. “Trying? First, I’m not as attractive as my freckle-faced brother, now this. You’re hell on a man’s ego, Oliver Garcia. For the moment I have enough of it to spare, but it could run out eventually.”

“I never said your brother was more attractive.”

“He’s built.” Matthew grumbled out the reminder in case he’d forgotten.

Oliver rolled his eyes. “Yes. Fine. That’s an undeniable fact. But you’re not exactly a couch potato, physically speaking. For an IT guy who doesn’t appear to spend much time working out, you’re in great shape. Not to mention the dark-haired, blue-eyed Disney prince thing you’ve got going on over there.”

“Disney prince?” Matthew rubbed his jaw to hide his grin, enjoying the stubble scratching his palm. “Are you calling me a pretty boy?”

“Are you trying to tell me you didn’t know?”

Take that handsome Robert.

“You should have seen me when I had my beard. You wouldn’t have called me pretty then—it was a fierce thing to behold.”

“Sounds terrifying.” There was a playful humor in his voice that was captivating. “Why’d you shave it off?”

“It itched like the devil all summer.”

“Ah. Well, I won’t tell you about my one attempt to grow facial hair in high school. There are a few people still living in the world who know me as Patches.”

Matthew couldn’t imagine it. “Covering that face would be a crime.”

“I thought it would make me look older.” Oliver skimmed over the compliment, shrugging one shoulder self-consciously before taking a sip of his coffee. When he licked the whipped cream off his lips, Matthew got a little lightheaded.

That should be my job.

Down, boy.

He needed to keep things light. He could practically hear Rory’s advice and Robert’s warnings ringing in his ears. Ask him about himself, dumbass.

He was trying.

“Is there any personal information you’re willing to part with? Maybe what you do for a living? I warn you, if you don’t give me something, I’ll have to guess that you’re nineteen and you’ve spent your life in isolation in the Himalayas, training for the Olympics. I’m not sure how else to explain the kind of shape you’re in.”

Oliver set his cup down, eyes sparkling. “Close enough. I’m twenty and I teach dance—think senior citizens and the tango. I also perform with a local dance company. So far I’ve never been the lead in anything, but if there’s a play with a ballroom scene in town? I’ll be in the background.”

He took a breath, looking almost defiantly into Matthew’s eyes. “And I’m incredibly attracted to you, in case this adventure in small talk is you not being sure. I have been since you showed up a few days ago.”

Matthew blinked slowly. A few days ago?

“That’s good to know,” he said as casually as he could, heart thundering in his chest. He had to beat back his primitive instinct to grab the man and drag him to the nearest bed he could find. Any flat surface would do at this point.

Just coffee.

Damn it.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t exact a little revenge for the shocker Oliver had just delivered.

“I’m still enjoying this adventure, though,” he drawled. “And I should have guessed you were a dancer.”

Oliver flushed, looking disconcerted. “Why do you say that?”

“The way you walk. The way you move. There’s a rhythm to it I haven’t been able to get out of my head.”

“Oh. I didn’t realize it was my moves you were staring at.” He swiped his finger through the remaining whipped cream and sucked it between his lips, the move innocent but so surprisingly seductive, Matthew barely held back a groan. Was it wrong that he wanted to be the whipped cream?

“I didn’t even think you were gay,” Oliver told him. “I’m usually a good judge of that kind of thing. I’ve had to be.”

“I’m not.” The denial escaped before Matthew knew what he was saying.

Oliver went noticeably still.

“You’re not a good judge, or you’re not gay?”

Rory had warned him to approach this topic with caution, but the look in Oliver’s eyes really brought home the danger and Matthew started to ramble. “I didn’t even think I was bi until—I mean, you’re the first guy I’ve wanted to—”

Oliver held up his hand. “You don’t have to go into detail about what you wanted. I get it now. Why your family was staring. Why you seemed so nervous. At first, I thought—” He sighed in disappointment, shaking his head. “This isn’t something I’m interested in pursuing. I’d stay and finish my coffee, but I think it would be less awkward for both of us if we end the night now. No harm done.”

If you don’t play your cards right…

Matthew covered Oliver’s hands with his own, holding him in place before he could push away from the table. “Just give me five minutes, would you, Legs? I admit I’m new at all this, but I don’t think you get it at all.”

There was a bitter edge to the curve of his lips. “You don’t think I get it? I know the vibe I give off can be confusing. But despite the way I look, I’m not an idiot or an easy mark. I’m also not desperate.”

The way he looked? What the hell was he talking about? “I don’t think you—”

“You aren’t the first straight guy to want to experiment—though you might be my hottest. Unfortunately, I don’t have time to play therapist and reassure you that coming like a geyser while you suck a man off doesn’t really make you gay. Because it kind of does and lying is exhausting, and I’d rather get the job done myself once I get home. What I’m saying is, if you don’t know what you want by now, I’m not the one who has your answers.”

Matthew flushed, but refused to look away. “You really don’t know my family that well do you? I thought they were infamous in this town.”

Oliver shifted and tugged on his hands impatiently. “I don’t live in a cave, Matthew. Everyone knows about the Finns. Owen’s wedding made the front page.”

“Owen is the perfect example. Everyone was sure he was straight for years. Even Owen. Most of the men in my family didn’t know they were bi or gay or whatever they ended up calling themselves until they got with the right people. It sounds hard to believe, I know. I guess you could say we’re all bloody late bloomers.”

Oliver’s hands slid out from under his and he crossed his arms defensively. But he didn’t leave.

“So what are you saying now? That I’m the right person? After half a cup of sugary coffee and some eye fucking, you just decide you like men? Simple as that?”

Add in a week of sleepless nights and constant fantasies starring the man across from him, and that was exactly what he was saying.

“I’m saying that I’m not confused about what I want to do with, and to, you. I’m saying I’m far from perfect, but I’m comfortable enough with who I am to be adaptable about what I am. I’m saying I don’t have any problem with the idea of sucking you off. The thought is so appealing, I’m embarrassed to say I’m not sure I could stand up to follow you out at the moment without limping. But I’ll do it, if that’s what it takes for you to take me seriously.”

Oliver studied the table as if he could see the cockstand Matthew was currently hiding beneath it.

“I’m saying,” he continued softly. “That I’m attracted to you, too, in case you’re still unsure. I already know I want to go out with you again. For coffee, dinner, or whatever you feel comfortable with. I want to know you. And frankly, that’s just as new for me as wanting a man.”

“Getting to know people is new to you?” Oliver scoffed.

“No. But dating is.” At the disbelief in his expression, Matthew nodded, resigned. “It’s true. And yes, I’ll fully admit to being a git in the past if it means you’ll believe the rest of what I’m saying now.”

“Go on.”

Matthew swallowed nervously. This was not how he’d expected this conversation to go. “Okay then. I’ve had sex with people. Women. Done scenes at the kink club or spent a few hours in a hotel with them before we went our separate ways. But I’ve never actually dated anyone. Called, picked them up, sent them flowers, that sort of thing. God, I sound like a worthless gobshite, don’t I?”

“I don’t know what that is, but it has a ring to it.” Oliver’s eyes were wider than usual. “Just to clarify, you’re trying to get me, a gay man, to date you by telling me all about your slutty sex with strange women you don’t even like?”

“Fuck,” he swore, wishing for whiskey or a time machine. “I told you I’m new at this.”

“New and pathetically bad,” Oliver agreed easily, sounding dazed. “But honest. Who would lie about something like that? It makes you sound like a gobshite.”

Matthew snorted, and a second later they were both laughing out loud, though for him it was more from a sense of relief and gratitude.

He’s still here.

“For future reference, never share that story again when you’re asking someone out. Sexual histories come later, once you’ve hooked them with your irresistible personality and charm.”

“I’ve heard that advice before.”

I should have listened to Rory.

Oliver gazed at him and shook his head. “I’m still having a hard time believing you’ve never had a relationship. What about high school? I can’t imagine a teenage girl who wouldn’t be chasing you down the hall for a date to the dance.”

“I never went to a dance.” Matthew saw his expression and laughed. “You look like I’ve admitted to murdering a puppy.”

“You never went to a dance?” Oliver repeated. “How is that possible?”

“My life was different in Ireland. We didn’t exactly hang out with a good crowd. The kind that went to dances and had dates at the malt shop.”

“I don’t think anyone’s been on a malt shop date since the fifties, but continue,” Oliver said with a cheeky grin.

“That’s really the gist of it. Everyone in town knew who and what we were and treated us accordingly. I’m afraid my siblings and I are from the crooked branch of the family tree.”

“That’s hard to believe.” Oliver brushed off his words easily. “The last time I saw your brother, he was on the phone with his wife, reading her a book on child rearing. Out loud, and in front of other men. You can’t get more wholesome than that. And you don’t strike me as a criminal mastermind either.”

“I appreciate the vote of confidence, and I agree I’ve never been on the run from the law, but my cousins are the true paragons. Firefighters, police officers, a senator… Local heroes every one of them.”

“And your family?”

His father had had a gambling addiction that had led to his death, and that of Matthew’s mother, leaving their three children with a loony old man who wasn’t physically capable of putting food on the table. William was forced to get a job as muscle for the local criminal element, and Matthew and Kate were expected to pretend that everything was normal when everyone knew it wasn’t—and to resist the temptation of joining the family business.

They hadn’t always succeeded. And that last time… Well, it was a good thing they’d left when they did.

“Let’s just say my siblings and I are Finns of a different sort. Or we were. Thanks to Bronte, William has a second chance to get things right. And thanks to William, Calamity and I do as well.”

“Calamity?”

“My little sister, Kate.” Matthew’s head shook ruefully. “I’m still doing it. How is it that I’m the one gabbing like a guilty man in confession when it’s you I’m interested in?”

Oliver’s hand opened on the table, close enough for Matthew to feel the heat of it on his skin. Close enough to touch.

“Well, you’re telling me what an undeserving git you are so I’ll trust you,” he reminded him lightly. “Black sheep, easy virtue, boring job—you’ve covered most of the basics. And I heard you throw in the words kink and club, so now I’ve got that visual to haunt me at night.”

Matthew’s lips twitched. “Hard to resist, yeah?”

“Pretty much.”

It astonished Matthew, how easy this was. That they could laugh even after his admissions. How could he be this comfortable around a man he barely knew? A man he wanted more with every minute that passed.

“To balance things out, I suppose I could tell you that my family doesn’t acknowledge that I’m gay at all,” Oliver shared in a barely audible voice. “They’d do anything for me, except that. I tell myself it’s one of those cultural things. There’s not much room in mine for swishy Latino dancers that are a little too obviously what they are.”

“I wouldn’t call you swishy.”

Oliver snorted. “I’ve seen your family wandering in and out of the gym for two weeks now. That’s enough testosterone-flavored beefcake to fill fifty calendars. Compared to them, I’m one hundred percent swish.”

“I don’t spend that much time looking at them.” Matthew let his pinky finger brush against Oliver’s skin. “You, on the other hand…”

He let the sentence linger for a moment. “I know a few folks back in Ireland who don’t like to be confronted in public but are far too curious and judgmental about who’s buggering who in private. So I think I understand.”

“We give the Irish some serious competition in that category,” Oliver said in a teasing tone. “Plus, I hear our food’s better.”

“Oi.”

Oliver flashed a quick grin of acknowledgement, but his expression sobered quickly. “That’s why I don’t like to talk about them when I’m…if I’m with a guy,” he admitted. “Most men don’t understand why I’m not on a permanent soapbox or keeping my distance. I’m not trying to change minds and build bridges with my sexuality. I’m trying to be happy. And they’ll come around, or they won’t. I know they love me despite their own bullshit.”

Their fingers were clinging and releasing now, not quite holding hands, but the connection made Matthew ache for more.

“I’m not saying they make it easy to keep quiet. But my grandmother and uncles raised me, paid for my education and years of dance lessons, complete with bright pink leotards. Don’t ask,” he chuckled. “Family means everything to them. There are just a few things we can’t talk about at the dinner table without starting a fight we all know from experience none of us will win.”

Matthew nodded his understanding. “Uncle Shawn—that’s Owen’s dad—is the most easygoing Irishman you’ve ever met, but from what I hear his brother was the worst sort of narrow-minded arse, and cruel on top of it. At least you know you’re loved.”

“Wow, this got deep fast,” Oliver said self-consciously, sliding his hand back into his lap. “Another reason I don’t bring up personal history on dates.”

“So you’re admitting it’s a date again?” Matthew said with a teasing smile. “I’ll name that progress.”

Oliver rolled his eyes again. “You can call it whatever you want, you’ll still be straight when it’s over. And I still won’t be interested in experimenting.”

“Fine. No experiments then. We’ll be friends.” Putting limits on this was the last thing he wanted, but if it meant he could see Oliver again, he’d take what he could get.

Oliver looked startled. “Friends? Oh. Okay, that’s good. Smart.”

Smart, my ass. I’ll have blue balls for the rest of my life.

A tired-looking barista with a tray hovered in his peripheral vision and Matthew realized they were the only customers left in the shop. Why hadn’t he chosen a twenty-four-hour diner? “Closing time?”

Oliver looked up in surprise and then got to his feet with nervous grace, fiddling with the keys in his pocket as he stood beside his chair. “This was fun.”

Soft laughter rumbled up from Matthew’s chest as he joined him after leaving a tip. “Was it?”

“An adventure,” Oliver amended. “Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow?”

He would see him every day if Matthew had anything to say about it. And hopefully a few nights while they were at it. “I’m walking you to your car, Legs.”

Oliver kept Matthew in view as they moved toward the front door. “That isn’t necessary. I got here just fine by myself.”

“That’s nice.”

“Look, maybe this is still the way they do things in Ireland, but just like malt shops it’s a little old fashioned. I didn’t let you pay for my muffins and you don’t have to walk me to my car.”

Matthew bit the inside of his cheek. “I’m old fashioned? Go on. Grump will be thrilled to hear it. And here I thought we were going in the same direction anyway.”

Oliver scowled. “What you are is stubborn.”

“It takes one to know one.”

When they stopped at the bright blue Impala, Matthew whistled. “Nora was right. That is a lot of machine.”

“Who’s Nora?”

“Handsome guy at the front desk who likes breasts, remember? Who does it belong to?”

“Is it that obvious I don’t own this beast? Don’t answer that.” Oliver blew out a frustrated breath and leaned against the side of the car in question. “My cousin, Ruben. He agreed to let me borrow it for a month. He thinks it’s for a job.”

Matthew moved closer. “So you’re borrowing Ruben’s car to come to the gym?”

Oliver hesitated. “I’m usually more of a bicycle guy, but it’s too far away from where I live.”

What wasn’t he saying?

“You’re a mystery, Oliver. Why lie to your cousin and go so far out of your way to a place that you’d never heard of? I know for a fact it isn’t the only boxing club in town. And why boxing? You’re a professional dancer. Are you performing in the musical version of Rocky and Finn’s is your research?”

Oliver shook his head, leaning in to place his hands low on Matthew’s stomach. The touch burned through his shirt, distracting him completely.

“What are you doing?” he asked gruffly.

“So many questions. Before we start this new friendship, we should finish the date, don’t you think? For closure. This is how the best ones end.”

And then Oliver Garcia was kissing him as if his life depended on it.

One second after that, Matthew’s obsession took on a life of its own.