By the time I stepped behind the bar again, Jake was talking to Riley as if he and I hadn’t just made plans to fuck on Thanksgiving. I winked and didn’t worry about whether anyone could see the way my dick strained against my jeans.
And now, after what has felt like a suspiciously long week, Jake saunters through the same barn doors that had once ushered a broken and bleeding version of him into my arms. The memory is grossly poetic, and I want to pour myself a drink just to blur it better. I don’t move though, uninterested in blurring this vision of Jake, his black jeans and leather jacket typical, and his sweater another expensive one I desperately want to touch.
“You weren’t kidding about it being quiet,” Jake says, sliding onto a stool.
“Nah. Last night was wild, but kitchens and couches are keeping most of the crowd away tonight,” I tell him, leaving a pint glass on his coaster before I nod toward the handful of drinkers across the room. I’d been bullshitting with them for a while before Jake had texted that he was on his way, and they’ve been here often enough to recognize him and wave a quick hello.He returns it with a smile that keeps more secrets than it’s ever given away, and then I shrug and smile, too. “The loneliest among us have probably found a shittier bar—something about insult and injury, I think. The guys who showed up here are probably bored as much as anything.”
“And you? Are you lonely or bored?”
“Rarely lonely, often bored, and neither one right now.”
Jake takes a sip and then grins. “You’re welcome.”
Because kissing is still on my mind, I’m terribly tempted to taste the confidence caught in the curve of Jake’s lips, but I move away to deliver two bottles to an older couple content to spend the holiday with sawdust and beer. In the short time I’m away, Jake has had another sip, and his stare is as cool and calm as I’ve ever seen it. If he minds being here with me tonight—straddling the line between public and private—it doesn’t show.
I have plans for us to straddle something else, but I’m not ready to tease him with that yet.
And he takes the conversation in a different direction.
“Does V ever have to work a holiday?”
“Not if I can help it,” I shrug. “My mom’s the only reason I’ll bail on this place, but she’s always had a non-traditional schedule too, so we’re used to celebrating things whenever.”
“Except for her birthday, right?” Jake asks. “You always go to San Diego for that.”
“I do.”
“Okay, so V and Noah are with their family, and Beau is with Adrian. Would I be prying if I ask about Riley?”
I almost laugh at the idea of that, but he’s serious. I lean forward with my arms crossed and resting against the bar, closer to him than I’d typically dare.
“You haven’t pried about anything in all the years you’ve sat here,” I say. “And I only know that they’re with their brother today and tomorrow. I assume that means they’renotwith Ethan, but I didn’t want to get my hopes up too high, so I didn’t ask for details.”
Jake’s eyebrow arches. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard Riley mention a brother.”
“An identical twin, actually. And V might be the only other one who knows about him. Or maybe Beau does, I guess.”
“And the Ethan situation?”
“What have you heard about that?” I ask.
Jake taps his fingers against his glass and frowns. “Only that it’s not a great relationship for Riley, and everyone here would like it to end.”
“It’s not and we would. But Riley is smart and strong and stubborn, and at the end of the day, they’ll have to make that decision without a bunch of well-meaning misfits doing it for them.”
I watch as Jake lifts his beer again, and because I’m behaving, I back away to help myself to a bottle of water I have stashed beneath the bar. A minute or so later, I close out someone’s tab and remind them to drive safely when they go, and then I stand in front of Jake again, my bare body facing his perfectly clothed one. The combination of cashmere and leather continues to make medizzy, and he knows it.
“You probably won’t mind if I ask more questions about you.”
“I definitely won’t,” I confirm. “Already told you I’ll answer anything.”
And that’s what I do. Or what we both do, really.
Jake asks me about the traditions my mom and I had when I was younger. I’ve got plenty to say, and he’s kind enough to ignore when I push aside the father-shaped spaces I usually pretend aren’t there at all. I ask him about the traditions his family had when Lucy was a kid. Leaning close to him again means I catch the split second he grieves the things he’s lost, but before I can offer him a way out, he takes a deep breath and shares a couple of stories. Clever, or used to dodging the memories that hurt, he asks for another Guinness and drags me back several more years as soon as he can set aside the more recent past. I learn that Jake’s the oldest of five, and I laugh hard enough to draw the attention of half my remaining customers when he tells me about their antics in church pageants, and on camping trips, and through several weddings and more than one funeral.
He mutters something about Irish families and follows it up with what sounds like a prayer, and I laugh at that, too.
I entertain him with tales of my restless childhood, unofficial hobbies and organized extracurriculars doing little to stop the constant hum that demanded I move on before I was done. Jake doesn’t seem surprised that I’ve always been an avid reader, even after the stories of my inability to commit to anything, and I love that he understands a contradiction I never have. Then hislips remain tightly pressed together as I tell him about my cocky teenage years, when I surfed almost every day and kissed lots of girls right up until I spent seven minutes in heaven with a cute boy.