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Fuck. And how am I going to tell this to Brett, who is counting on me to uphold my end of the rent?
I look up from my phone just in time to catch a familiar face heading toward the front exit.
I’m on my feet at once. “Alan …?”
He turns, then stops at once when he sees me, stunned. His eyes drag down my body, taking me in, and then a tiny smile breaks over his face. “Hey there, Kansas boy Connor. What are you—?”
“What are you doing here?” I ask at the same time. Then the both of us laugh. Mine is notably a bit strained. “Sorry. I, uh … I have an internship here. With Mr. Wales himself. Upper levels.”
“Oh.” Ten versions of shock pass over his face. “That’s a very … peculiar coincidence.” He gives me another once-over, this time with anxious eyes.
I wonder if his anxiety has anything to do with that humiliating text I sent him a few nights ago. I haven’t forgotten, and I doubt he has either. “Hey, um … Alan …” I clear my throat and come up to him. My hands find comfy homes in my pockets. “About that text the other night … uh …”
“Oh, it’s okay.” Alan laughs it off. “I figured you were just—”
“No, no, no, let me explain. It wasn’t me. Well, not really me, at least. See, my new roommate and his friends got me super drunk, and I … uh, wait. I mean, I lost count of how many bars and clubs we went to, and I …” My face flushes. “I’m realizing none of this sounds good at all.”
Alan laughs. I love how his eyes sparkle when he laughs, scrunching up with his smile that is so infectious, I find myself smiling too, despite my clear mortification.
“All I want to say in my defense,” I conclude, red-faced, “is that I was … not myself. I don’t want you to get the wrong idea of who I am.”
“Other than a boy from Mayville?” he asks.
“Or the new kid in town who partied a little too hard his first night here,” I add with a smile.
Alan nods slowly, his eyes dropping to my tie. “Hmm. No, it’s all wrong. Let me fix it.”
“Fix what?”
He comes right up to me before I’m ready. He grips my tie, holding me like a lovesick puppy on a leash, and begins to adjust my knot. I freeze up, a host of butterflies stirred awake within me.
He fixes my knot with such compassionate yet confident authority, I could believe in this instant that we’ve somehow known each other for years. He might be fixing my tie before I head to work.
It feels so strangely natural.
Even the butterflies.
And his face is so close to mine right now. His cologne—a faint hint of oak and spice—intoxicates me. His lips, full and round and plump, are inches away. They invite me to kiss them. They dare me.
Then Alan finishes, pats me on the chest, and steps back to admire his work. “Better,” he decides.
I smile. I can’t seem to keep the flush off of my cheeks when I’m around this guy. That intimate moment has gotten me so flustered, I can’t speak.
Until suddenly I do: “I’d totally like to get a bite with you sometime. That’s my answer,” I add, a nervous chuckle spilling from my chest. “To your text, I mean. My sober answer. It’s a yes.”
Another of Alan’s signature warm smiles spills over his face. “I was actually on my way to grab a bite,” he tells me. “Have you eaten? There’s a nice Italian place up the street. I assume you’re hungry, after a day of interning at a place like this.”
The one word I give him is delightfully choked with excitement: “Starving.”
8
The late afternoon sun is only just now giving way to the evening by the time we’re finished with our tasty meal. Despite my insistence—and a word or two of protest—Alan does not let me pay for a bit of it. He doesn’t even let me see the check.
“Seriously,” I tell him, “you gotta let me pay for something. At least take my money for the tip. I still owe you for the Uber, you know.”
“Let’s not do the tit-for-tat thing,” he says. “I wanted to treat you after a hard day of work.”
“And so you did.” I chuckle, then playfully rub my belly. “That was … the best dinner I’ve had in a long time. Maybe ever. What was in that sauce?”
“A lotta love,” teases Alan. He finishes the last of a glass of wine he got himself, which he claimed “pairs well with his dish”, then smiles. “You ready to get out of here?”
“Sure!”
The street we walk down is full of upscale cafés and designer storefronts. After my night out with the boys, it is very evident that I’m on the other side of town right now. Just from a glimpse through the window of a shoe store—which shows off a hot pair of high-tops I could totally rock … if I wanted to pay the hefty price-tag of half my month’s rent—I know I can’t afford a damned thing here.
