Jules’s smile was slow and soft, the kind that made Keaton’s chest ache in the best way. “Are you kidding? If the hottest man in town is interested in me, I’m not going to let him slip away.”
Keaton leaned across the bar, just enough to press a kiss to their cheek. Jules blinked, stunned, and he could see the blush bloom across their face.
“Now who’s surprising who?” they murmured.
“Gotta keep you on your toes.” His fingers ghosted down Jules’s arm. “I’m going to head out and see if I can get a nap before you’re done. Wake me when you get home?”
“I’ll try, but I’m pretty sure you sleep like the dead,” Jules teased. It was true. He rarely heard Jules get home from work, and there’d even been a few nights he’d fallen asleep on the couch, hoping to wake so they could spend some time together. “Any suggestions on what’ll work without dumping a bucket of ice water on your head?”
“You’re a creative person. I’m sure you can come up with something good.” In a completely uncharacteristic move, Keatonwinked before turning to walk away. He glanced back when he reached the door to see Jules gaping at him.
Yeah, Jules wasn’t the only one surprised by Keaton’s playful mood tonight. But if he wanted to prove to Jules that he was trying, he needed to get the stick out of his ass.
The next two hours were going to crawl.
TEN
If Jules thought it had been a long night at work midway through their shift, that was nothing compared to the last two hours. They’d nearly begged Sam to close without them so they could rush home to see what Keaton would do if they woke him up. He’d been in rare form tonight, and Jules hoped they were finally going to test the waters with more than steamy kisses and cuddling on the couch.
Jules shut the door softly behind them, the deadbolt clicking into place. They stood there for a second, fingers still curled around their keys, letting the stillness settle in around them. It was almost one-fifteen a.m., and the hallway light Keaton insisted on keeping dimmed after ten cast a soft amber glow across the tile floor.
Their boots made the faintest thud against the floor as they toed them off, careful not to let the soles smack against the wall the way they usually did. They were trying to be more mindful out of respect for Keaton.
Jules padded toward the living room, their sweater sleeves tugged over their hands. The TV was still on, the screen quietlylooping previews for movies they’d never watch. Keaton was sprawled on the couch, one arm thrown over his head, the other gripping the remote, resting on his chest like he’d fallen asleep while trying to find something to watch.
The throw blanket had slipped halfway off his legs, his socked feet peeking out at the end. His face was soft in the kind of way Jules rarely got to see—unguarded, mouth parted slightly, a crease between his brows still lingering like he hadn’t quite let the day go.
Jules’s breath caught.
He’d tried waiting up.
Jules moved closer, slow and quiet, and lowered themselves onto the edge of the couch cushion near his knees. They didn’t touch him. Not yet. Just folded their arms around their legs, chin resting on their knees, and watched him breathe. This couch was a thing of beauty, deep enough that Jules didn’t imagine they’d have any problems spooning on it while relaxing at the end of a long day.
When was the last time someone had waited for them to get home?
Not because they wanted something. Just because they cared.
They reached toward him, fingers hovering an inch above his hand. Close enough to feel the heat of his skin. Not close enough to wake him.
“I’m home,” they whispered. “Are you going to wake up?”
Keaton had told them to be creative with how they woke him. Jules knew how theywantedto do it, but this all still felt so surreal that they weren’t sure they could wake him with a kiss.But maybe that was exactly what Keaton had been hoping for but hadn’t known how to ask.
Keaton shifted slightly, his brow smoothing out. The hand on his chest slipped to the side and something clattered softly to the floor.
Jules blinked.
Keaton’s phone.
They leaned down and picked it up, careful not to press any buttons. But the screen had already lit up, one message half-typed and unsent.
Miss you. Hurry home?
Jules’s chest tightened.
Keaton had fallen asleep before he could send it. Before he could ask. But he’d meant to. And that was enough.
More than enough.
