Page 12 of Just for Me
“Sounds good,” Luke said. “I’m staying at a hotel in Viaduct Harbour. I’ll park and walk over, meet you there.”
* * *
Viaduct Harbour again.No escape, it seemed.
Just because he’s staying there,Hayden thought,doesn’t mean he’s anything like Julian.And tried to believe it. But when he’d sat in the deep murk of the basement bar for fifteen minutes, then twenty, he started losing faith. He didn’t even have Luke’s number, and Luke didn’t have his. If he stood Hayden up, that didn’t mean he was rejecting him. It just meant it was too much right now.
Or that he was rejecting him.
He wanted to put his head down on the table again. He clearlywastoo fragile to be going out, however casually. He was fit company for George the cat, and possibly a movie.
Or, of course, wine.
No. Luke had been right about the wine. Drinking alone and sad—no. It should be George and the movie, or even better, the gym. If he went home now, packed his kit, and went to the gym, he could be home by ten. The gym was definitely better. He’d go right now. He’d just—
The dim doorway of the place darkened even more, and then somebody approximately the size of a tree was wending his way among close-packed tables and chairs with surprising grace, his eyes fixed on Hayden’s.
The forehead-on-table thing was probably a bad idea right now. Also hyperventilating.
“Hi,” Luke said when he’d pulled out a chair and sat. And smiled.
“Hi,” Hayden said, and, because he wanted to babble on, something about being glad Luke had come, or possibly about the cat, he told Luke instead, “So you know—they don’t do regular drinks so much here. You say what you enjoy—sour, sweet, bitter, and so forth—and they make you something special. An adventure, is the idea.”
“Ah,” Luke said. “An adventure.” And looked at Hayden again.
OK. Not so good for the hyperventilation issue. Hayden held it together, though, and when they’d given their orders to a server who vanished into the gloom again the same way he’d swum into view, went on, “You’ve been living in Paris, so the darkness and cramped quarters will be a feature, not a bug. Or not. I don’t really know, other than films. I’ve been to Paris once in my life, on my gap year. Got bedbugs in a hostel and itched for days, and saw the Eiffel Tower and the Mona Lisa. I’m one step removed from readingMadelinefor my knowledge. Never readRemembrance of Things Past,much less remembering the title in French. I readThe Three Musketeersas a kid, though. Does that count?”
“Probably,” Luke said. “I never read the Proust one myself. Started it once, and got about a hundred pages in before I gave up. Seven volumes of tormented introspection. No, thanks.”
“Tormented introspection,” Hayden said. “Good one. Did you read it in French?”
“Yeh,” Luke said. “Maybe I’m not as dumb as I look, eh. Though, like I said—only a hundred pages.” And smiled.
This was too hard.
Hayden looked at his water glass, picked it up, and set it down without taking a drink. “I need to say something.”
Luke’s smile vanished. “No worries. I know.”
Hayden looked up, startled. “What?”
“That it’s just a drink,” Luke said. “No worries.”
Hayden shook his head. “Wait. Start again. This is awkward.” He tried to laugh, but for once, he couldn’t. He also couldn’t think how to be insouciant. “What do you think I’m saying?”
“That you …” Luke stopped, then went on. “That you don’t want me to think this is more than a drink. Never mind. You don’t need to say it. I look at my face in the mirror every day.”
Their drinks came, and the second the server had left, Hayden said, “Wait. You think I’m not attracted to you? You can’t even tell? Geez, this is rough.” He blew out a breath. “Why are the things I want always so rough?”
Luke looked at him, then down at his hands, which he’d laid flat on the tiny table as if he were about to push off and sprint for the exit. Those were scarred, they were enormous, and Nyree was right about his knuckles. Hayden thought about that, because he didn’t want to think about what he’d just said. “I know why it’s tough for me,” Luke said. “I’m not going to say ‘rough.’ I’m not rough. If that’s what you’re after, it’s not me. I know how I look, but I’m not that guy. I’m never going to be that guy.”
“Oh.” Hayden had no idea how to react. No idea what to do. He’d been flooded with dread, and now, he was flooded with something else. “That’s good,” he managed, “if we’re going there. Going to say that, I mean.” He took a sip of his drink, tried once again to laugh, and said, “Right. I’m going to say what I need to say, and then we can finish our drinks and you can walk out, and I’ll know that at least I told the truth, instead of going along with … whatever. That I wasn’t desperate.”
Luke’s hand came out to cover his, and Hayden stared at it some more and tried not to feel the warmth and the safety of it. You weren’t safe because a man touched your hand, and he knew it. “It’s OK,” Luke said. “We don’t have to see each other after tonight. Whatever it is, you can say it.”
The cold was rushing in again, drowning Hayden. “Got it,” he managed to say. “No, thanks. That’s a no.”
“Wait,” Luke said, pulling his hand away. “What?”
