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Jake’s hand landed on mine where it lay on the table. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
I’d stopped breathing again because, you know, the hand thing. God, this guy was going to kill me. He needed to brush up on his how-a-straight-guy-should-behave-in-the-company-of-a-gay-guy handbook.
“What do you mean?” I managed to ask.
“You were smiling and then…” His words dropped off.
“And then what?” I asked.
“Then you stopped.”
His words were a mix of confusion and surprise–like he hadn’t been planning on admitting that last part.
He’s straight, he’s straight, he’s straight!
I ignored the voice in my head and left my hand where it was. My dick had calmed down after he’d left, but I knew it wouldn’t last. “Um, I’m designing some clothes and had some really high-end textiles in there. They’re probably unuseable now. I guess I should be grateful I hadn’t actually cut and sewn them up yet. At least I only lost the materials instead of the labor too.”
“You’re a clothing designer?”
His response seemed to ease my libido a little. Although I knew he hadn’t meant anything by the surprise in his voice, I also knew it was the reaction I’d get from all my colleagues when they found out what I was doing. Even Zoey had been shocked when I’d told her of my plans so many weeks ago. I hated that it stung, but it did. I shrugged. “Trying to be, anyway. We’ll see. I’m designing a collection to present in February in New York. That’s why I’m here, actually. To focus so I can get a whole bunch of work done in a short amount of time. There were too many distractions back home.”
“Can you get more fabric?” Jake seemed to realize his hand was still resting on mine and pulled it back quickly under the guise of clutching his coffee mug.
“Yes. I have an order on its way, but I’ll have to replace what was damaged. I wonder if there’s a fabric warehouse in Denver.” I made a mental note to look up nearby resources because I would surely need last-minute items like buttons and zippers as I got further into production.
I noticed Jake glance again at the makeshift decorative pillows I’d set out on the sofa. Despite not mentioning anything about them, surely he appreciated what I’d done to make the place more livable and less depressing. But when his jaw stiffened the longer he studied them, I shifted awkwardly.
God, I’d gone too far.
“I’m sorry, I just… I thought you wouldn’t mind a bit of color. I could, uh, go grab some stuff to make you new pillows for your sofa. They’re super quick, and it’ll help your place look more like a home…”
As I spoke, he went to the couch. His eyes were laser focused on the pillow with the blue scarf around it. He picked it up and then carefully and slowly worked the fabric off the pillow. I’d been careful not to stretch or damage the material when I’d wrapped it around the pillow, but he was acting like I’d used the scarf as a mat for stomping your boots on when you walked into the cabin.
“Not necessary,” Jake said, his voice low and flat. “It’s fine the way it is. I don’t need any of that colorful shit. You can go back to your place now. I fixed the heat. It was just a popped circuit on the electrical panel.”
I stared at him in shock. It was like he’d flipped a switch and gone from nice, arm-caressing man to cold, get-outta-here asshole.
“Oh. Okay. Well, thanks for all your… help.” I stood up and looked back at him as I headed toward the door, scooping Boo up on my way.
“If your burn looks red or you start to spike a fever—”
“Yeah, yeah,” I said, raising a hand above my head to wave off his concern. “Come find you, I know.”
“No. I was going to say, you might want to go to the clinic in town and ask them for help.”
I felt a stinging kind of numbness take over. It had been a long time since a man I found attractive hadn’t wanted me. Even the straight ones were usually willing to consider it, based on my looks alone. But to have him not even want to be around me long enough to check my wound if it got infected? Especially after all the concern he’d just shown me?
It took everything I had to keep from running out of there and back to my cabin to lick my wounds. Instead, I remembered to kill him with kindness. I turned to look at him with a big smile–the kind that had lined my pockets and filled my bank accounts to overflowing.
“Will do. Thanks ever so much for your kind attention to my wound and your quick repair to my furnace problem. As per your wishes, I’ll be sure not to bake or sew you anything in thanks… and to stay out of your way in the future. Have a nice evening.”
