Page 14 of Summer Catch

He considered calling his old high school friend, the one who’d come out in college, but they hadn’t talked in years, and it would be so awkward for Jon to call him up now. And his niece was too young to give him the kind of practical advice he needed.

He kept coming back to the same thing.

You should just ask Kieran.

But it was about Kieran. How could he ask him when it would become obvious, very very quickly, that the person who’d jumpstarted all these questions was the man Jon was directing them to?

You should just do it anyway. It’s not like he’s ignorant. Or blind. Or stupid.

But Jon felt a little stupid.

It was easier for him to keep their conversations light and easy after his trip to the bar. He complained about the rookies. Kieran agreed they were idiots who didn’t know their head from their ass.

But even then, even as he kept it light, he knew things were changing.

Kieran was more direct. More undeniably flirtatious. And so was Jon, even as he tried to pretend he wasn’t.

You want this. No matter what lies you’re still telling yourself.

But it was one thing to want it. Another to acknowledge it. And a whole other to do something about it.

In between meetings and practices and convincing the rookies to attempt anything he suggested, Jon contemplated the problem.

Kieran had made it clear the ball was in his court.

For you, yeah I’d do it, he’d said about breakfast, only a few days ago. Making his feelings just about as clear as he could.

As clear as Jon had a feeling Kieran felt comfortable with.

It was time for him to do something, too. But what?

Jon debated with himself for three solid days before he woke up on that fourth morning and realized that he’d already decided.

He was going to talk to Kieran. If he couldn’t, or it didn’t go well, then that would be the evidence he needed that they couldn’t do this. That they couldn’t be more than just friends. But if it did go well . . .then Jon could always make it clear—in case it wasn’t clear enough before—that the man who’d led to all these questions was Kieran himself.

And what would happen after that?

Jon felt hot and cold at that thought, but undeniably eager enough that he knew it was the right move.

If they couldn’t be friends first, real friends, who did more than bitch about their day, or celebrate the minor successes, then they couldn’t be lovers.

But if they could . . .well.

So Jon sent Kieran a text. I’ve got a late meeting tonight, he said, choosing every single word of his text with care. And it’s a Wednesday so I know it’s usually light there at the bar. Think you could duck out and meet me for a late-night breakfast?

He hadn’t needed to suggest breakfast—but he wanted Kieran to understand that this was him taking Kieran up on his unspoken offer.

Making it as clear as he could. Maybe not as clear as Kieran had been, a week ago, but, Jon hoped, clear enough.

I can do that, Kieran said. Feeling a breakfast craving?

If we want to call it that, sure. Jon hesitated. Then told himself that he’d never been a coward and to just do it. Embrace it. And I thought we could talk.

About?

Jon gave him points for not saying they talked all the time—because they did.

This is why you wanna take this chance. Why you’re not gonna duck out on this shot before you even aim. Because think how good this could be, if you had this and more, too?

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