Page 5 of Beautifully Complicated

Yes, that last part seemed to happen during his lecture tonight. Logically, I know that’s just my imagination running wild, but believing for even a second that Kier saw me out of all the people in the crowd is a thought I’m going to let myself indulge in. A little ego boost after heartbreak if you will. I figure I’ve earned it, even if it’s not real.

So, I let myself believe Kier reallywaslooking at me. That his cool sapphire eyes found me in that crowd and liked what they saw. That his smooth, rich voice was speaking directly into my ear. And that he walked with purpose because he was walking to me.

God, I sound like a princess looking for Prince Charming.

I must be lonelier than I thought. That should come as no surprise considering my living situation.

There are two couples in my house, and while Damien doesn’t live with Bennet, he’s there often enough. Or he was before Bennet tore his ACL and they started staying at Damien’s since his apartment has an elevator. I’m expecting them to be around more once Bennet’s able to do stairs again, and I wouldn’t be shocked if Damien moves in permanently once his lease is up, meaning I’m more than likely going to be living with three couples my senior year.

Talk about having my single status thrown in my face every day.

Maybe I should move. Get a place where I won’t be subjected to the sounds of sex every night. Damien’s got a single apartment, I bet I could take over that lease.

Yeah, right.

Single apartments are well outside my budget. I’d be better off investing in a new pair of noise canceling headphones.

I wonder if Keir made an audio version of his book. That’s a voice I could fall asleep to every night. Deep. Resonant. Soothing. One I’ve apparently committed to memory since I can hear it even now, more than an hour after leaving the venue.

Memories of that lecture bring a smile to my lips, and I’m so lost in them it takes me a second to realize the voice I’m hearing isn’t in my head. It’s coming from right next to me.

Turning slowly toward the source, I find myself face to face with the man I’d just been fantasizing about. The unattainable one. Kier Caldwell.

He’s even more gorgeous up close than he is on stage, and I feel my Adam’s apple drop as I swallow back the urge to go all fanboy and gush about how much I love his book and his mind and…him. In a strictly professional way. Mostly.

His sky-blue eyes watch me with an intensity that’s both friendly and assessing, as if he’s taking in every detail but not in an appraising way. More like he’s committing something to memory.

“Pardon?” I say the first thing that comes to mind, since I’ve got no clue what he said or how he’s expecting me to respond.

He cocks his head slightly, giving me a curious smile, and making me wonder if that was the wrong response. Then he points to a spot on the bar and says, “I asked if you could pass me a napkin.”

Glancing to my right I see one of those bar-top plastic dispensers that hold napkins and condiments, and with more composure than I feel I reach for it and pass it to him.

“Thanks.” His warm voice cascades over me, sending my heartbeat into an erratic rhythm.

“Sure.” I’m looking at Kier Caldwell.Talkingto Kier Caldwell. And I have so many things I want to ask him, like whether long-term exposure to nanomaterials is safe, and whether they would further enhance or interfere with the haptic feedback or sense of “touch” that AI-powered limbs are already delivering.

Picking his brain, sharing my excitement about my studies with someone who wouldn’t need sci-fi references to understand what I’m saying… That’s a dream come true. The opportunity of a lifetime. I only need to pick which question to ask first.

But before I can put one into words, I think about how lonely I’ve been. How burying myself in schoolwork to avoid Bennet means the only conversations I’ve had recently are about science. How I made a decision not ten minutes earlier to take risks and put myself first. And how I wished Kier really had been looking at me during his lecture, and not as a colleague.

What’s the worst that can happen? After all, we are in a gay bar.

Taking a deep breath, I sit up straight and paste a modest yet engaging smile on my face. “May I buy you a drink?”

Chapter two

Kier

Angelic.

That’s the only way to describe the face of the man sitting next to me in the bar. High cheekbones, smooth fair skin under a crop of dirty blond hair, eyes the same amber as the whiskey in front of him.

He barely looks old enough to drink, let alone a spirit like that, but when he sayspardonafter I ask him to pass a napkin that puzzle piece falls into place. He’s an old soul contained in the body of a young man, with an innocent face and wise eyes.

He seems oddly familiar, though I’d swear I’ve never laid eyes on him before, and the only conclusion I can draw from that is that my own ancient soul recognizes his.

Ironic, considering I’m often accused of being on the cutting edge in my work life, but I’ve never thought of myself as modern. I suspect this man has never regarded himself that way either. After all, what twenty-something chooses a dark pub over a flashy club for a drink.

---