Page 10 of Summer Catch

Not that he was ready to. But the desire was there.

“No, not really. Not any more than usual. I worry every time something doesn’t go his way he’s gonna just lose it.” Jon sighed. “I wish there was a way I could help him.”

“You gotta wait for him to want the help,” Kieran suggested, empathy written across his face. “You can’t just want it for him. And he’ll get there. When he comes in here . . .let’s just say, I can sense these kinds of things.”

“Another kind of superpower?” Jon asked, taking another drink.

“Yeah, sort of. Just a feeling, more than a certainty. Someday Carter’s gonna run out of booze he wants to drink and people he wants to fuck.”

“God, I hope so,” Jon said.

Kieran laughed. And there went that stuttering heart feeling again. In any other circumstance, he’d worry that maybe he was developing a heart condition.

But no, he was pretty sure the cause was only Kieran. Like Kieran could be an only anything.

“How about you?” Kieran asked offhandedly.

“Am I gonna run out of booze I want to drink and people I want to fuck?” Jon was acutely aware of the fact that he hadn’t specified a pronoun this time. Yes, sure, he was technically copying what Kieran had said about Carter Maxwell—who was a very open and proud pansexual—but he knew that wasn’t only why he’d said it that way.

He’d been hoping for Kieran to react. How exactly? He didn’t know.

But he reacted alright.

Kieran had been setting glasses up, fresh out of the dishwasher, and the second Jon said it, his fingers slipped. A second later, there was a crash as the glass hit the ground and shattered.

“Shit,” Kieran said reflexively, his eyes still not leaving Jon’s.

“Uh, sorry?” Jon said.

“Don’t apologize.” Kieran’s voice was muffled as he leaned over and began to clean it up, tossing chunks of glass into a garbage can, but Jon was pretty sure he could detect embarrassment.

Jon saying people to fuck had turned the normally graceful and composed Kieran into a guy who dropped glasses.

“Alright, I won’t then.” Jon took another sip of his drink.

Kieran popped up, still looking a bit flushed. “You can’t just say that to a guy,” he complained, but the corner of his mouth was quirked upwards into a little grin.

An adorable grin.

Jon was charmed, he was amused, and he was more than a little unsettled, deep down. He’d known the evening could take this turn, but there’d been a part of him that had been almost sure he’d been imagining it all. That once he was face-to-face with Kieran again, he’d feel the same way he did about so many other male friends of his—platonic friendship only.

He’d never felt that hard yank at the base of his stomach, or any of these butterflies, for any of them.

This wasn’t going away. He hadn’t misunderstood.

“I take it back,” Jon said, trying to keep his voice steady. “’Cause I’m not sure I’m actually sorry.”

Kieran’s little grin morphed into a full-blown smile. “I don’t think you’re sorry at all. Besides, no harm, no foul. It was just a glass.”

It wasn’t, though, not really, and Jon had a feeling Kieran knew it, too.

“The drink’s good?” Kieran asked, changing the subject.

Jon let him. Just because he knew what was happening didn’t necessarily mean he was ready to talk about it. Nevermind do anything about it. Not yet, anyway.

“Best Moscow mule I’ve ever had, and probably the best company, too,” Jon said, honestly.

Kieran gave an approving nod and glanced at a ticket printing out. “I gotta pour this beer, then I’ll be right back.”

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