Chapter Five

Brian needed three shots in his cappuccino Saturday morning to keep his train of thought from slipping off the tracks and into how Rob tasted, the way he’d moved, the thickness of his cock, and just how hard Brian had come beating himself off.

As predicted, he’d spent a better part of the night with his brain wrapped around Rob and his hand wrapped around his dick.

He’d had the stamina of his youth last night, but that had faded into the early morning. His ass was dragging, and he’d no one to blame but himself.

Still, the morning had gone smoothly, despite the rainy weather. Customers were steady, but not overwhelming, and he’d finished the week’s schedule ahead of time. As an added bonus, somehow he had next Sunday free. The entire day.

Granted, it wasn’t yet noon, so who knew what the rest of the day would bring. Might have been cynical, but he never let his guard down against bad news. After all, the week he’d finally thought the shop was running perfectly, Sam Anderson had hired away Justin.

He didn’t begrudge either Sam or Justin—the job was the perfect fit, and Justin had found Eli and converted that cold, standoffish man into someone full of joy and life. That had been a miracle to see—he’d followed the story of Eli’s accident in the paper, back in the day, and had recognized Eli the first day he’d walked into the shop. Now he was a fixture—a married, happy one. He’d envied them both for the longest time.

Now his head was full of Rob. He’d been astounded, once he’d come down from the fire in his veins, that Rob hadn’t rejected him.

It’s absolutely fine to be bi.

That’s not what he’d heard in college. Hearing those words from Rob had nearly shattered him to pieces right there in the middle of the street. So much he wanted to ask Rob. So much he wanted to do to him and with him.

The door opened with its usual clanging, and the postal carrier came in with a small stack of mail.

“Care for a cup?” Her hat and coat were splayed with water.

“I’d love one.” She plopped the mail on the counter.

He poured his bold drip coffee into a medium cup, put a lid on, and handed it over. She liked it black and strong. “Stay dry.”

“Funny man.” She tipped the cup at him and headed out into the damp street.

He only had time to scan the pile before another swell of soaked customers poured into the shop, then it was a blur of lattes and mochas and macchiatos. Soy, skim, regular. Flavors. He moved and hummed and created them all. Even got some reasonable tips in the jar, too. Those would go to his baristas, later.

With customers taken care of, he took a closer look at the mail. Junk, a supply catalog for things he didn’t need at the moment, and a bill from his coffee wholesaler. He opened that and scanned the invoice. Nothing he wasn’t expecting—however, there was a second paper in the envelope. He read it and his stomach dropped.

He knew prices were bound to rise sooner or later. But this was more than he’d expected. Shit. He ran a quick calculation in his head. Fuck. He could absorb it for the time being, but man, that was going to make things tight. Especially with several baristas being due for raises—that he would not deny them.

Outside, the rain and wind picked up and Brian watched people scramble down the street holding on to their umbrellas. So much for his smooth day. He slipped the papers back in the envelope and took the mail into the back room.

He grabbed his laptop to send out an e-mail about the schedule and print a copy to post on the employee bulletin board. Some clicks and taps later and that was done. After he pinned the schedule up, he grabbed a mop and the “Slippery When Wet” sign—too many wet shoes on the wood floor. Didn’t want anyone falling.

Couldn’t afford it.

It took a few minutes to clean up the water and set the sign, but in that time, he already had an e-mail from Vance, one of his baristas. Brian’s stomach lurched. Problems come in threes, wasn’t that the adage?

Vance was a decent guy, but he’d been late to his shift one too many times the past few weeks and that had required a conversation. He’d tried to keep it light and thought they were okay, especially since Vance had sent in his preferred hours. Brian clicked open the e-mail.

Hi Brian,

I’ve been thinking about this for a couple of days now. I know I’ve been late a few times and yeah you’re right that I shouldn’t be. But I don’t like being yelled at.

He hadn’t yelled, had he? Brian chewed on his tongue, a chill creeping up his spine. Maybe he had raised his voice? Couldn’t remember the details now.

To be honest, working in the shop isn’t fun anymore. Too tense and serious. I miss the old days. I think it would be better if I found a job more suited to me, so please take me off the schedule. I’m not going to be working at Grounds N’at again.

Thanks,

Vance

Brian stared at the screen. It was only after he chewed a piece of his nail off that he realized he’d been biting his thumb.

Holy shit. This wasn’t good. Vance was a pretty laid-back guy. The doorbell rang. More customers. More wet shoes. Brian closed the laptop and tried to push the gnawing fear aside. Tried to stop his hands from trembling.

He managed to smile and joke and make the perfect drinks. But by the time he was done, he wanted to throw up.

Filling in Vance’s shifts would have him at the shop twelve hours, four days a week. That free Sunday he’d been so happy about? Likely his last for a long, long time.

He sat down at the laptop and opened it. With shaking hands, he typed out an e-mail of his own, this one to Miranda.

Hey Mir,

I need you to be honest. Have I been hard to work with lately?

He didn’t expect a reply, but one appeared maybe a minute later.

Honestly? Yeah, you have. You’re tense and cranky most of the time.

Why? What happened?

That woman could read him like a book.

Vance quit. I didn’t realize my mood was getting to everyone.

Well, fuck. I’m sorry, Bri. But yeah, your mood—at least with us—has been shit. We’re working hard too. And we’re sorry we’re not Justin White.

Shit. Shit. Yeah, he had been beating that drum a bit hard.

Crap. I didn’t realize how bad I was getting. I’ll try to leave the worries at home.

You’re never home. That’s part of the problem.

Yeah, he knew that. But with a short staff, what else was he supposed to do? He didn’t reply because he’d only come off as a defensive jerk. If Miranda saw a problem, then there was one.

If only she could work full- or even part-time. He’d make her a manager in a heartbeat. But what his employees needed came first. Except he’d been fucking that up royally.

Again the door clattered and a blast of chilled air whipped in.

“Wow!” The woman at the door paused to push it closed faster. “It’s wicked out there.”

He jumped at the voice. Anita, his most recent ex. She had quite the smile on her face, despite the weather. Thankfully, she left her umbrella in the little can by the door.

“Hey, Bri! You don’t usually work this shift. What happened to the other guy?” She strode up to the counter, her dark curls swinging against her shoulders.

He couldn’t even be mad. Never could with her. “He didn’t work out.”

“Ah, shit. Sorry, kiddo.” Honest compassion there.

“You know how it goes,” he said, then paused. “Probably better than most people.”

Her gaze fell to her hands on the counter. “Yeah.”

Oh. His heart sank straight to the floor when he followed her gaze, and there was the third thing, the big shiny rock on her hand. It had been months and months since they’d broken up. Still, it never failed to hit him in the gut when one of his ex-girlfriends got engaged.

He was the harbinger of happiness, but never for himself. “Hey,” he said and he knew his voice was a mess, “Congratulations.”

She was smiling again when he met her eyes, but there was pain and compassion there, too. “Thanks. Happened last week. He’s a good guy.”

“I’m sure he is, if he caught your eye.” Because Anita? Beautiful woman. Good heart. Way smarter than he was and utterly hot in bed. His parents had adored her and hers had loved him. They’d worked so well in the beginning, but then it had fallen to pieces and they’d drifted apart.

Brian was standing in the main reason they were no longer together. He hadn’t been able to let go of the shop and his lack of time had driven a wedge between them.

His fault, that. God only knew why Rob wanted to date him and why Brian had said yes. This is not good.

She stared at him the way she used to, back when he’d come to her, exhausted and tell her he didn’t want to talk even though he desperately did. “Are you okay, Bri?”

He shrugged. “It’s—been a little rough today.”

“I can tell.”

“You always could.” He huffed a laugh. “What can I get you?”

She settled on a cinnamon-chocolate latte to go, one of his specials. “Something that warms the heart.”

The process of making it was bittersweet and strange, and he didn’t realize why until he reached for the whipped cream. He stared at the canister for a moment and memories of Rob’s smile, his dimples, and the sweet taste of his kiss flooded back.

Not everything had been so terrible lately.

He held up the can. “Do you want?”

“Nah. No good with the lid. Just a dusting of those chocolate flakes you have back there.”

Good. He’d rather share the whipped cream with Rob. When finished, he brought the drink over. “You know, I really am happy for you.”

“I know. And someday, I’m going to be happy for you.” She reached to pay but he waved her off. She only rolled her eyes and slapped down a five. “Take my money, Keppler.”

He did and gave her change, which she tried to dump in the tip jar and he mock blocked her. They were both laughing by the end, much like old times. She wiped her eyes, and her humor slipped away. “Don’t let this place eat you alive.” She reached over and gave his hand a squeeze. “Please.”

“I won’t.”

Her smile was the same one she’d always had when he lied. “I’ll see you, kiddo.” She headed to the door.

“Invite me to the wedding?”

She swung around, grinning. “Dude, how could I not? My mom still asks about you. She’d be horrified if I left you off the list.”

He laughed at that, and gave her a wave. Then she was gone, back out into the storm. A deep twist in his heart a few minutes later left him breathless, not because of Anita, or Vance, or the conversation with Miranda.

He missed Rob. It was Saturday and he hadn’t yet appeared. He wanted that voice, those freckles, his laugh. Not Anita’s.

He pulled out his phone, but as he was composing a text, the door blew open and a somewhat drenched, laughing Rob tumbled in.

“God, remind me to stick an umbrella in my car.”

That beaming smile pushed every single thought from Brian’s head. Rob was here. Brian’s heart sang with joy.

You have it so bad for this man.

Rob slicked back his hair, but it fell into dark red curls against his forehead. “I spent three years in London, you’d think I’d have learned by now, but no.”

More than one person eyed Rob and smiled. His damp t-shirt hugged his body in sinful ways.

“Need a towel?”

“Depends. Do you want me to drip on your lovely floor?”

Brian snorted, grabbed a towel from the back, and tossed it to Rob.

He snatched it out of the air. “I see the answer is no.” It didn’t take long for him to dry off his hair and face. He took a seat at the bar after setting the towel down on the stool. “Even my bum is wet. I swear, when I left, it was barely raining.”

“Welcome to Pittsburgh. If you don’t like the weather, wait five minutes.” Brian shoved his laptop out of the way and lowered his voice. “It’s good to see you.”

“Likewise.” His eyes had a green tint today, probably from his shirt. Or maybe the rain. Who knew?

Brian couldn’t breathe, not with his heart so full in his chest and warmth settling into his core. It wouldn’t take much to lean down and touch Rob’s cheek or pull those smiling lips against his. Except they were in Grounds N’at and he was working.

He exhaled. “Want something warm to drink?”

“Wouldn’t mind that at all.” Rob glanced at the menu board. “I don’t suppose you’d make me that dark orange coffee again?”

Any day. Every day. “Of course.” He even had some orange zest he could mix with the chocolate shavings. It took a few minutes, but Rob’s appreciative rumble when he set the drink down was worth the work.

He couldn’t help wonder if Rob sounded like that in bed and what the skin under that damp shirt tasted like. “I had a great time last night.” Despite the bumps in their conversations.

“So did I. Love to repeat it.”

A second date also promised more afterward. “Right now, I have all of next Sunday free.”

Rob sat up. “Do you?”

His eyes strayed to the laptop, but he nodded.

This time, the words were harder. “Are you sure?”

He lowered himself to the stool. “One of my baristas quit today.” His voice was a whisper. “It doesn’t affect Sunday’s schedule, but . . .”

Rob grunted and took a sip of his drink—and got whipped cream on the tip of his nose.

Without thinking, Brian reached out and swiped the cream off.

Rob caught his wrist. “Hey now, that’s mine.” He sucked the cream off, his mouth warm and slick, then let go. “Don’t you go stealing.”

Brian put both hands on the counter, mostly to keep from falling over. Had he not been sitting, he’d probably be on his knees.

Wicked mouth, wicked smile. As if that had been the most natural act in the world, Rob continued the conversation. “If you don’t mind me asking, why’d he leave?”

“I—” He’d been a dick. “I’ve been letting my stress show.”

Rob raised the cup again, but didn’t drink. “Then obviously you need a day off.”

“But—”

“When was the last time you spent an entire day out of this shop? Let your employees run things without you?” Now he drank and Brian watched those lips touch ceramic. Rob raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t remember.” A month ago? No. Longer. Holy shit. No wonder he was losing it.

Rob set the cup down and it clinked against the saucer. “Look, even the boss needs a break. Trust me on that. Nothing will kill your business faster than running yourself into the ground.”

That lit a different fire in his gut. “I know how to run my shop.” It came out low and harsh.

Rob tented his hands, his smile gone, and said nothing at all.

The fear, anger, and worry flooded back in, drowning out the minuscule amount of joy he’d found. On some level, Rob was right. But taking time off wouldn’t pay his bills or find him new baristas.

He raked his hands through his hair. “What do you want me to do?” That, too, came out harder than he’d intended.

A shrug. “Let me help you relax.” Rob sipped his coffee around a very sly smile.

Of course customers chose that moment to walk in. Brian got up, his heart and head spinning, and made his way to the sink to wash his hands. By the time he was done, the group that had entered was ready to order.

Thank goodness the drinks were simple—three plain coffees and three cookies to go. The floor under his feet didn’t feel right. His head hurt. Everything ached.

He did need a day off. Sunday Miranda was working, and then Mark. Two of his best—they would keep the shop humming.

Once he was sure no customers needed him, he slid back onto the stool in front of Rob. “Okay. You win.”

That earned him a smile. “So I’ve heard about this place—it’s an abandoned steel mill and there’s been a lot of work to preserve the site— Shit. I’ve forgotten the name.”

“Carrie Furnace?” It was part of the old Homestead Steel Mill and a heritage site.

“Yes, that’s it. Apparently, there are tours.”

There were. There’d been some great events there—that Brian had missed due to work. The dagger edges of worry and fear vanished. “I’ve heard good things.” It would be right up Rob’s alley, given his skill with a camera. “You’ll get some great shots.”

“That’s the idea.” He peered over his shoulder. “Assuming the weather is better.”

“I don’t know—storm shots in old industry? Could be sexy.” As was a drenched Rob. The rain had curled his hair into rings of red that Brian itched to run his hands through.

Rob finished his coffee. “I’m not keen on ruining my camera, though.”

“Get some rain gear for it.” He paused. “Maybe I can help you with that.”

“Let’s make a pact. You help me with photography and I’ll help you stay sane.” Rob held out his hand.

Brian grasped it and shook. “It’s a date.”

“Second one.” The devil’s grin went straight to Brian’s balls.

“You”—he dropped his voice to a whisper—“meant what you said last night?”

“Every single word.” Rob tilted his head. “Consider it part of keeping you sane.”

Or driving him out of his mind. He shared a smile with Rob—then the door opened to a flood of customers.

For the rest of the afternoon, he served customers, chatted with regulars, and caught snatches of conversation with Rob, even showing him rain gear that would keep his camera safe. There were touches and glances. Laughter and warmth.

So much so that he shivered when Rob left for the evening and let a burst of cold air in. He still had another hour before close, and then all the cleaning.

The week loomed large. He fired off another e-mail to see if anyone could pick up Vance’s shifts and Miranda claimed one.

Sorry I can’t do more.

So was he. But he’d make it through. He had Sunday to look forward to, and Rob’s promise to help him relax. Those whispered words from Friday slithered through his brain and into his balls.

After our next date, I’m going to find out what the rest of you tastes like.

His second shiver had nothing to do with the chill in the shop. Yes, please.

***

Rob slipped off his headset and dropped it next to his laptop. One meeting down, too many to go. At least he had a half hour to get up, stretch, and grab a cup of coffee.

On his way to the kitchenette closest to his office, he rolled out his neck. Sitting for hours was killing him. He missed the days of tinkering in the lab. Long hours of functionality testing—which meant playing with actual robots.

Other engineers did that now, though he did roll up his sleeves and join them once in a while to keep his hand in. He tugged at his shirtsleeves. Wrong outfit for that, though. Business suits and hardware labs didn’t mesh well, even when he left the jacket and tie behind.

The coffee machine in the kitchenette was a pod type. Pick your flavor and size. Mix and match. He grabbed something not flavored and stuck it in the machine. Wouldn’t be as good as Brian’s and wouldn’t be served by that sandy-haired firebrand of a man.

God, how he wanted more than the little taste he’d had.

The coffee machine chugged and hissed and thudded its pod into some interior compartment. Rob grabbed his coffee and wandered over to the window to watch the traffic on Penn Avenue. Since Friday, every nerve in his body tingled at the thought of touching Brian. Unlike some of the gay men he knew, he never really had an issue with bisexual men enjoying woman. Women were people, too. Hell, back before he’d finally thrown up his hands and come out of the closet, he’d slept with some women. Pretty much cemented that it wasn’t his thing, but he didn’t begrudge men for whom it was.

But he understood the fear of rejection, of not being understood, of being used. Rob sipped his coffee, swallowed, and frowned at his reflection. He’d been there—especially when he’d made the mistake of not changing his clothes before going out or forgotten to take his watch off—the gold Rolex that signaled “one-of-us” to his business partners signaled something very different to the men he’d met at bars.

Brian hadn’t even pried into his business. He was more interested in bikes and cameras and him.

Footsteps against carpeting. Rob didn’t turn, but glanced past his reflection. “Hello, Todd.”

“Hi, Mr. Ancroft, how are you?”

Rob closed his eyes briefly before turning around. “God, please call me Rob.” Todd stood by the coffee machine clutching a rainbow mug as if it were a talisman. “Mr. Ancroft sounds like some pretentious git.”

That loosened those shoulders and Todd huffed a laugh. “Sorry.”

Rob waved the word away. “I have to thank you for recommending Grounds N’at.” He frowned into his coffee. “Except for the part where I’m ruined for this stuff now.”

Todd slipped his mug into the machine and set the contraption brewing. “Glad you enjoyed it. They brew a mean cup. Kind of does spoil you for everything else. Fazil and I hung out there all the time when we lived up the street.”

“You’ve met the owner, then?”

“Brian? Yeah. Cool guy. Very creative. He’d come up with these seasonal drinks that no one else had . . . then everyone else had, if you know what I mean.”

Rob took another sip, then pulled back. “I just can’t with this stuff.” He dumped the rest in the sink and tossed the paper cup.

Todd pulled his mug out of the machine. “How much time have you been spending there?”

Not enough. Rob swallowed that, but something must have shown, because Todd gave him the most interesting look, filled with a thousand questions. “I’ve spent some time talking with Brian.”

Todd was verging on a grin, but he was smart enough to sip his coffee and not say anything.

“He’s got an interest in photography and biking and—”

The smile broke through. “I’d hadn’t realized how his interests ran.”

Rob coughed. “Yes, well. Ruined office coffee for me. I suppose I’ll have to fall back on my ancestral beverage.” He opened a cabinet and rooted around for a box of tea that wasn’t some berry-flavored dreck and found—of all things—English Breakfast. He brandished it.

Todd raised his mug. “Cheers.”

Both of their phones chimed at the same time. Shit. “Is it ten already?” Rob ripped open the tea package and pulled out a sachet.

“Yup.” Todd screwed up his face. “The Fortunlia call.”

The bane of all their existences as of late. Rob found another paper cup and added hot water. “They can wait a minute for me to get my tea.”

Todd smiled. “I don’t have that luxury.” He tipped his coffee to Rob, then hustled down the hall.

No—Todd didn’t. There was the divide between him and the rest of CirroBot—it bothered him to this day. Oh, suck it up. You’re the fucking CEO. He finished making his tea and headed back to his office.

He probably should mention his actual job title to Brian—but he wasn’t quite ready yet.

That always changed things.

He closed his door, sat down, and put on the damnable headset. They were chatting on the call already.

“Hello, everyone, it’s Robert. Let’s get started, shall we?”

As the call dragged on, Rob drained his tea and stared out his window. Other voices were chatting about features and schedules, but all he could think about was the feel of Brian’s lips and the way Brian had fingered his denim-covered shaft.

That memory merged with the wreck Brian had been on Saturday. Employees walking away were always hard to handle, even more so with a small company. Rob crossed his legs and stared at his foot while Fortunlia’s line manager reiterated the feature he wanted again.

“We’re working on it.” That was Carter, his head of engineering. “We should be able to get it done by—”

Shit! Rob leapt for the unmute button. “The feature date proposals are listed on the road map.”

Silence. Good God. “We’ve been over this before. You know our drop dates.” Carter knew better than to say anything that deviated from the road map! Promising customers features that weren’t done was asking for trouble.

“Of course,” Fortunlia’s manager said.

“Is there anything else, or are we finished for this week?” He knew he sounded annoyed—he shouldn’t give that much away—but he was damn tired of coddling these people.

“No, I think that’s all for now.”

“Okay, then thanks, everyone.” He waited until more than half the people on the call dropped off before hanging up.

At the rate this week was going, he was going to have quite a head of steam to blow off over the weekend as well. With Brian, who’d never been with a man, but certainly wanted to be. Rob slipped off the headset. He needed to be careful. No pressure. Nothing that Brian didn’t want.

Honestly, spending the day with Brian would be its own reward. Photography, conversation, industrial ruins. If they didn’t make it into bed, that would be fine, too.

Most of all, he missed companionship. He couldn’t have that here at work, not sitting in this office. There was no one to go home to. No family to call. He missed that so much.

Sunday, he could slip off the CEO persona and be Rob with someone who didn’t want him for his money. Who cared about him.

That was worth everything.