Chapter 13 — Calvin

Calvin checked his phone again to make sure Jack hadn’t sent another text.

Nope.

Just the last one, saying he’d be right over.

That had been ten minutes ago, though, and Calvin knew it only took seven to get from his house to Jack’s.

Was it creepy that he knew that?

Whatever.

He was just observant. Nothing creepy about that.

And even if it was maybe a little weird to know that it took seven minutes to get from Calvin’s door to Jack’s, he couldn’t worry about that now.

Not when Jack should be pulling up in his driveway any second. Not when Calvin still wasn’t sure what had prompted that first text out of the blue after Jack had been gone from the shop all day.

Did Jack really want to talk about marketing plans or whatever? Did he really expect Calvin to be able to concentrate on that stuff?

Calvin already knew there was no way he could. There was no way he could think of anything else until they cleared up the business about that kiss.

Which was probably not going to happen tonight, if Calvin had to guess. But at least Jack offering to come over—outside of business hours, even—was something, right?

That was a step in the right direction, as far as Calvin could tell.

He walked to the window that looked out onto the street in front of his house just in time to see Jack’s car pull into the driveway.

Calvin flattened himself against the wall. Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.

Had Jack seen him peeking out the window like a spy? Was that creepy?

Calvin slowly crept back away from the window and sat down on the couch, only to pop back up a second later when he heard Jack’s car door open and shut.

He was breathing too quickly. His hands were suddenly clammy even though he was currently causing enough friction from wiping his palms against his jeans to start a small fire.

God, would Jack want to shake hands?

No, probably not…

That would be weird, right?

Calvin didn’t know. He didn’t know anything in that moment except that he was still breathing so quickly he was almost definitely in serious danger of hyperventilating and he really needed to get it together before Jack knocked on the door.

The actual knock scared a small, strangled noise from Calvin’s throat as he wiped his palms on his jeans again and tried again to just breathe.

Just.

Breathe.

Inhale. And. Exhale.

He hurried to the door, still working on the whole inhale and exhale thing as he reached for the doorknob.

Whatever.

It might actually be merciful if he passed out from a lack of oxygen. At least then he wouldn’t have to worry about what to say when he opened the door.

Which was happening now.

The small, shallow breath he’d managed to take hitched in his throat when he saw Jack standing there, his hands shoved into his pockets and his eyes so full of emotion that Calvin could feel it—the uneasiness rolling off Jack in waves as he met Calvin’s gaze.

“Hey,” Jack said, not quite managing a smile as he inclined his head just a little. “Thanks for letting me stop by.”

Calvin didn’t really trust himself to say more than a couple of words at a time, so he simply stood aside and gestured for Jack to come in. “No problem,” he said, his voice sounding way too unsteady to his own ears.

Jack stepped inside Calvin’s house, but stopped just a few feet inside the door before giving Calvin a plaintive look. “Can we, ah…” He swallowed hard and shifted his weight from foot to foot for a moment before continuing. “Can we talk?”

“Marketing stuff, right?” Calvin tried and completely failed to sound even a little bit enthusiastic about the topic. “Sure. Let me just grab a notebook so I can, um, take notes.”

“Okay. Right. No problem.” Jack was speaking in weird, short little bursts as he followed Calvin through the house to the spare bedroom he used for a home office.

“I’ll just be a second…” Calvin said, plucking the notebook from his desk and turning on his heel so quickly that he nearly ran right into Jack’s chest. “Sorry, I just, um…” he slid past Jack through the doorway, miraculously without coming into contact with the man’s expansive chest or bulging arms. “We can go sit on the couch where it’ll be a little more comfortable. Can I get you something to drink?”

Jack shook his head as he followed Calvin into the living room. “No, thank you. I’m good, thanks.”

Calvin nibbled at his lip but resisted the urge to turn around and look behind him. He could tell Jack was nervous, too. Not only from his body language and the look in his eyes, but by the way he was talking—and the fact that he’d just thanked Calvin twice in the same answer.

Nerves were good, though, right? Nerves meant Jack cared, right?

Caring meant something good, even if Calvin had to suffer through a bunch of marketing mumbo jumbo instead of talking about what was really on his mind.

Once they were both settled on the couch, Calvin took his notebook and pen in hand and half-turned his body to face Jack.

“Okay. I’m ready when you are.” Calvin forced a smile even though being this close to Jack was pure torture. “Hit me with the marketing plan.”

“Right.” Jack nodded. “Marketing.” He looked away and fidgeted for a moment. “I thought we could start with some basics, and then we c-could…” Jack stumbled over his words as he finally looked back to Calvin’s eyes. “We could… oh, fuck it.”

Calvin flinched, his pen still hovering above the paper. “I’m… sorry?”

“No, I’m sorry,” Jack said, his brow furrowing. “I’ve been an idiot, Calvin.”

“You haven’t been—”

“Yes,” he nodded. “Yes, I have. I shouldn’t have left like that earlier, not when we were right in the middle of a conversation. I should have stayed and talked it over with you. I wanted to. I just…” Jack swallowed hard. “I got scared.”

Calvin wasn’t sure how they had jumped from marketing to this, but he was glad for the change of subject. “Scared of what?” he asked, setting his notepad and pen aside. “You know you can tell me anything. Even things I might not want to hear. I hope you know that, anyway.”

There was a growing feeling in the pit of Calvin’s stomach that this was going to end up being one of those things he didn’t want to hear. As strongly as Jack had reacted to that kiss and as difficult as it clearly still was for him to even talk about it, there was no way in Calvin’s mind that this conversation could lead to anything except bad news.

“I do know that,” Jack said, nodding. “I do. At least, I thought I did. But I got confused. And scared, like I said.” Jack leaned closer as his voice dropped to an impossibly low pitch. “Scared of what that kiss meant. Scared of how it made me feel. Scared that I might—”

Calvin leaned in, waiting breathlessly as Jack paused. His heart was beating so fast and loud that it was in serious danger of bursting, but the only thing Calvin could focus on was that Jack was just inches away, still staring into his eyes and still not saying a word.

“You might…” Calvin whispered, his own voice nearly cut off by the lump that had formed in his throat. “You might what?”

“I might do this,” Jack said, reaching up to cup Calvin’s face with his hand and closing those last few inches that separated them so quickly that their lips met before Calvin’s brain could process what was happening.

And then, when Calvin finally realized that Jack was kissing him—that Jack was kissing him—Calvin’s heart stopped completely.

Or it probably did. Calvin couldn’t be sure, and didn’t even care, because oh God, Jack was kissing him.

It felt like a dream, like every time Calvin had closed his eyes and tried to remember the kiss from ten years ago… except this time it was real. This time it was even better than any memory or any dream could possibly be.

The feel of Jack’s surprisingly soft lips, the way it contrasted with the scrape of Jack’s end-of-day stubble against Calvin’s face, even the smell of Jack’s skin—that unforgettable mixture of soap, cologne, and Jack—that filled Calvin’s nostrils was so good, so right, so intoxicating that Calvin had to reach out and steady himself against Jack’s wide, muscular chest.

And oh, sweet baby Jesus, that move only served to heighten Calvin’s senses even further, sending a jolt of pure heat straight down to Calvin’s cock as a tiny, needy whimper escaped his throat.

Jack devoured that noise, hungrily, greedily kissing Calvin with a force that would have taken Calvin’s breath away completely if he had been breathing at all.

When Jack pulled away, Calvin made another needy noise, a noise he would have normally been ashamed to make in front of another person—let alone Jack—but he couldn’t help himself. He wanted more. Needed more.

It took a moment for Calvin to open his eyes and for his vision to focus on the sexy, intense man whose face was still just a few inches away from Calvin’s own, whose eyes were still looking at Calvin like they could see straight into his soul.

“Oh my God,” Calvin said, the words so faint as they left his mouth he wasn’t really sure he’d actually said them out loud. “That was—”

“I’m sorry,” Jack said, standing up so abruptly that Calvin had to blink and reach out a hand to steady himself against the couch cushion. “I shouldn’t have… I…” he shook his head, as if he was having the same trouble focusing as Calvin was. “I need to go.”

Calvin sat there, open-mouthed as Jack hurried from the room and out the front door, the sound of it closing behind him finally snapping Calvin out of the daze he’d felt since their lips had parted.

“What just happened?” he asked aloud, not giving a single care that he was talking to himself.

He eased back against the cushion, not trusting his legs to carry him after Jack—still not entirely sure he hadn’t imagined the entire thing.

But he could still taste Jack on his tongue, could still smell him and feel the burn of his stubble as Calvin raised his hand to rub it along his cheek.

That had really happened. It hadn’t been a dream or a fantasy.

It had been the hottest single experience of Calvin’s life—better than the first kiss he had shared with Jack and far, far better than any kiss with any man since.

And yet… Jack was gone. For the second time that day, Jack had left Calvin reeling, running out the door before Calvin could even hope to stop him.

He had no idea if Jack was going to come back, either tonight to Calvin’s house or tomorrow to the bookstore. He hoped Jack would think it through, hoped he would want to talk about this kiss, if nothing else.

He hoped that the best experience of his life wasn’t just a precursor to Jack leaving again and giving him the silent treatment for another decade.

That would be the cruelest twist of fate, and Calvin wasn’t sure how he would cope if it happened again.

He reached for his phone on the coffee table and checked it, just in case Jack had decided to send another message after he’d left.

But no.

No calls. No messages.

Nothing to ease Calvin’s mind.

Nothing to help get him through the rest of the night without Jack.