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“What? You’ll cancel your date with Winston?”
Arlo’s eyes narrowed a fraction, and the compassion I’d seen in his expression slipped away to be replaced by confusion. “Wilton,” he corrected with exaggerated patience as he killed the engine. “Look, if you want to talk about?—”
“Karaoke on a first date?”
“No. About Zach.”
“I’m fine.”
However, Arlo Marshall was a perceptive fucker, and he’d somehow become an expert in seeing through my bullshit enough to know it wasn’t just Zach that was worrying me. He side-eyed me, and I nearly gave in and told him that going on a date was a bad thing and that, maybe, he could go on a date with me instead. Only I didn’t, and instead, I was frozen in the passenger seat as he passed me the keys, then climbed out and headed for his battered, but much-loved truck.
“See you Monday, boss,” he called over.
I still hadn’t gotten out, but when he started the C10’s engine, some kind of energy fizzed through me, and I was out of my truck and standing in front of his in an instant. “Wait!” I shouted.
Arlo lowered his window, confused. “Did I forget something?” he asked. So much was in my head, so many words were on the tip of my tongue, but I had nothing. “Jax?
I froze again, because shit, my head hurt and my chest was tight, and if his offer of being someone to open up to was still open, then yes, it was him I needed to talk to. My sexy Arlo, always in my space, strong but yeah, so sweetly soft in the middle, smart, driven, and creative. He made an architect’s design better with intuitive additions and subtractions to what a client wanted. He could build a bespoke kitchen with his bare hands and negotiate with suppliers using his arsenal of stupid jokes and endearing smiles to the point where they’d roll over and give him what he wanted. But above and beyond all that sexy competence, he was temptation wrapped in worn denim and a jade green Byrne Construction T-shirt, and ever since he'd walked into the interview for his position three years ago, I’d tried to resist him.
So, what if I didn’t resist him? What if I told him I would take him on a date if he was interested? Or at least attempt to talk him out of going?
An urgent fear compelled me to ask him to stay.
Don’t go!
“I need to talk,” I blurted. “Don’t leave yet.” Christ, now I sounded desperate.
He stared at me for the longest time, turned off the engine, then stepped out and leaned on the car, looking at me over the hood. I took a shaky step toward him.I’m going to fuck this up. He inclined his head, seemed puzzled—maybe he saw something in my expression? Fear maybe? Or plain stupidity.
Stop him from dating someone else. Wilton is the wrong person. It’s me. Look at me.
“Jax?” he asked, which covered everything from are you okay to what the fuck is going on. “Jax?” he repeated, his gaze steady. There was nothing passing over Arlo’s face I couldn’t read at first, and he was heading for the pity part of today’s proceedings in which he sympathized over Zach and explained how he was there for me.
I couldn’t do that right now.
I needed to tell him that he couldn’t date.
No, that heshouldn’tdate.
For the first time ever, Zach wasn’t top of my agenda, and it was all about Arlo.
Why hadn’t I told Arlo how I felt about him before?
Because you thought he’d always be there? Idiot.
Was I being selfish? Was I jealous? Why did I feel so messed up all of a sudden? So childishly pissed off, then so anxious.
I cleared my throat. “Could you come inside for a bit, so we can clear up an issue with an invoice you filed?” I was a lying liar who lied, and I did it before I could second guess myself. He frowned, which meant he was over-analyzing what I’d said, likely imagining trouble, or a million other details he fretted over.
“Okay, did I do something wrong?—”
“Actually no;, fuck, it’s not about that at all; hell, it’s not about work. I just… I need some company for a while, and it’s not work at all, so you don’t have to come in. Sorry. I’m overstepping.” I stepped closer to him, and he didn’t move.
His frown vanished, but before he could make his excuses about the date, I headed for the porch, hoping he’d follow, relief flooding me when he locked the truck and came after me.
“Jax, wait!” he called, but I kept walking.
This had to be his choice to come in and talk to me—I wasn’t pushing him. I had to do something, I was going to forget Zach, and work, and maybe I should have gotten out of my head and told Arlo how I felt about him. What would he say? He’d laugh and tell me I was being stupid over his date. Or he could get angry with me for being stupid. Or, maybe, he would sit and listen. Anticipation almost forced the headache aside, and a flush of positive feelings cascaded inside me, a generous portion of hope right alongside it. Maybe we could?—
