Waiting in line at the DMV.
Using the port-o-potties at a race.
I became an engineer to do hands-on work, not because I like writing. It’s a terrible side effect of the job that a significant amount of my time is spent filling out forms explaining all my work to a bunch of administrators who haven’t taken a single math or engineering course.
Besides, being back at my computer lets my mind wander. Lately, when it walks, it always goes back to Oliver and our not-a-date. It’s been a long time since I was attracted to a man, at least five or six years, but sitting next to him heated my blood in the way no one of any gender has in a long time. Worse, he seems to have stuck with me. My phone buzzes, and I open it, expecting it to be my group chat with Matthias, Tyler, and Nathan. There’s always someone dropping something in there throughout the day, especially on weekends. I love the connection it brings us. We might only meet up as a group once a week, but I never go a day without talking to them.
Oliver
Want to get together?
CHAPTER 6
OLIVER
The little coffee shop by my apartment building is nearly empty this late in the evening. A few people are reading or studying near the corner, but otherwise the place is dead. Not that I expect anything different. Coffee this late in the evening is usually a bad idea. I panicked when Aaron agreed to hang out again. I was certain he would say no, and that would be the end of it. I’d applaud myself for being brave enough to send the message, then spend the evening pouting over a bowl of ice cream.
Instead, he asked what I wanted to do.
The honest answer to that question is to take him back to my place and get him naked, writhing beneath me in bed. As far as I know, that’s not on the table. Without any other good ideas, I suggested grabbing coffee.
Boring, but safe.
This whole series of events explains why I’m still on the market. I should’ve found something better to do, like going toan arcade or a museum, but instead I’ve set us up to spend the evening staring at each other. At least activities come with built-in discussion topics. This comes with a sugar high and caffeine-induced insomnia.
After a bit of debate over whether I should order now or wait until he’s here, I order myself a vanilla latte and a chocolate chip scone. I’m not hungry, but I need something to do with my hands. My usual option is to tear a napkin into tiny pieces, but I’m hoping to avoid introducing Aaron to that version of myself for as long as possible.
When the barista hands over the items, I find a table near the window that feels almost private. It’s got oversized chairs with big red cushions that resemble thrones. It also gives me a good view of the door, so I’ll see the moment Aaron walks in. Or, if he doesn’t show, it’ll give me the chance to stare into the void and consider my disappointment.
Does it even count as being stood up if it’s just friends?
Well, that thought at least gives my mind something to focus on as I try to contain my nervousness. It’s my fault for showing up ten minutes early, but if I’d waited any longer, I would’ve gotten sucked into something at home and been late.
It’s not a date, but I still want to make a good impression. He can find out about my inability to keep to a schedule later.
Or not, considering he’s a few minutes late.
I’m licking my wounds by stuffing half a scone into my mouth when he barrels through the front door.
“Sorry.” He rushes over toward me, pulling his beanie off his head. Aaron’s messed-up hair, combined with his frazzled disposition, is endearing. “There was this whole thing at work with—” He stops in front of my chair. “You know what, it doesn’t matter. I’m sorry I’m late. I would’ve texted, but I was driving.”
“It’s okay,” I say, doing my best to be unbothered by the situation. He’s got a reason, so I don’t know why it’s botheringme so much, probably because I was convinced that he stood me up.
Besides, it’s five minutes. Even the little bit I know about Aaron makes me think he wouldn’t no-show on someone. After the string of assholes I’ve been out with, it’s hard for me to believe that anyone would behave any differently. “Sorry, I already got my coffee. I can go get you something,” I offer.
“I got it. Be right back.” He hangs his coat over the back of the other chair, saving his place, as though someone else might come along and take it.
They’d have to fight me for it. Over the past week, I’d made every attempt to convince myself that I’d misremembered how incredibly hot Aaron is. Maybe it was the drinks or the fact that he showed up when I was feeling low. No one can be that good-looking.
Nope. If anything, he looks even better this evening than he did before.
Despite my urge to turn and watch him order and make sure he doesn’t run away, I manage to pretend to have some chill. Instead, I’m trying to decide if I want to devour the last of my scone. I meant to eat it very slowly, savoring the bites while we chat. That ship has sailed.
Fuck it.I shove the bite into my mouth.
Bad choice. My mouth is full of dry pastry when he gets back. No matter how hard I chew, it doesn’t seem to make a difference. The more I try, the worse it gets until I’m coughing, bits of crumb flying out of my mouth.
“You okay?” Aaron asks, setting his cup down on the little table. He’s foregone the snack and has a mug with a tea bag. Obviously, a better choice this late, but I need the caffeine. Not to say awake, but to help me calm down. I know, weird. It’s always been that way. I find it calming. Something I’m in desperate need of at the moment.
