Zack gritted his teeth, fighting the urge to hit something. If anything in this rented dump broke, his manager would charge him for repairs.
Quiet settled in after a while. The town outside kept up its steady noise, cars and music and the dull thump of something dropping in the laundromat. Nothing out there could get in. Maybe.
Zack wanted to call Colton. Or even just text. Hey, had a crap evening, wish you were here. But Zack didn’t, afraid Colton would learn how Zack’s skin crawled with shame.
Pulling a cold bottle of water from the fridge, he pressed it to his wrist, ignoring the condensation dripping down his arm. Tomorrow the bruise would go from red to purple, then fade just in time for the next round with his brother.
It was always the same story. Craig pushing, Zack flinching, then Craig either hurting Zack to get what he wanted or promising to return. He treated Zack’s existence as a vending machine for misery.
A dry laugh escaped when all Zack wanted to do was cry.
* * * *
The following morning Zack pulled on a long-sleeved shirt despite the warm weather. He was meeting up with Colton and Zack didn’t want the guy to see the hand-shaped bruise circling his wrist.
After checking his hopeless, wayward hair in the mirror, Zack trotted down the stairs then exited the building. The glaring sun made him instantly sweat in the long-sleeved shirt. There wasn’t even a slight breeze to alleviate his discomfort.
They’d agreed to meet at Cyril’s Café to share in an early-morning coffee. Zack decided to walk the few blocks since he was early. Even though his wrist ached, he was looking forward to spending more time with Colton. There was something about the guy that made Zack feel as if he’d known Colton his entire life.
“Don’t you dare get attached to someone you just met,” he muttered. “Unless your plan is to scare him away.”
A twenty on how well that strategy would pay off? The odds weren’t great.
The interior of Cyril’s Café was bright with morning glare from the window, a sliver glinting off a glass dome on the counter. Cinnamon and hot coffee flooded the air, snuggling up alongside the tang of lemon squares.
Zack blinked sweat from his brow, trying not to look like a guy who was worried his date had ghosted him already. He didn’t see Colton, not at any of the tables or couches, not at the counter, and not standing around looking lost and gorgeous. Maybe he’d changed his mind about their date.
Not that this was a date. He wasn’t calling it that. Definitely just two dudes hanging out, drinking caffeine, enjoying the morning.
Zack settled onto a two-seater booth near the front window, nervously shredding a paper napkin left behind. The barista swung by once, smiling quick and polite. Zack asked for a minute. Second time, the barista raised his brow as if he’d seen it all before and nodded. No pressure, just understanding.
Maybe Colton had found someone at the gym. Someone who could walk around in a tank top without looking like cosplay for the world’s weakest superhero.
The urge to check his phone for the time nearly killed him, but he left it in his pocket. Not that Colton had his number. The guy didn’t even have his last name. Hell, maybe Colton had meant to stand him up in person, but he was running behind schedule. That seemed almost comforting.
At least the place had character. Ancient ceiling fans whirred at a lazy, don’t-rush-me pace. The walls were the color of old vanilla ice cream and hung with those metal signs that tried too hard to be funny. In the far corner, two guys were deep in conversation about who made better chili, like it actually mattered.
Zack didn’t notice the door until the old bell on top gave a metallic thunk.
In strode Colton, tall enough to climb. He moved like every inch of space bowed to his movement.
His black hair was cropped short, silky waves on top, full beard making his jaw appear lethal. Brown eyes, warm and alert, skimmed around the place. His T-shirt fit him like a love letter, huge biceps making it clear Colton would not be losing any arm-wrestling contests.
Drool might’ve formed in Zack’s mouth.
Then Colton spotted him and everything stopped for a second. The guy’s face changed. It wasn’t the kind of smile you did for show or to be polite. This was the real thing, slow and hungry, like he’d just walked in on Christmas morning and the gifts were all stacked in his booth.
Zack blinked, then tried to smile back. His face felt like a used napkin. Colton was the kind of good-looking that made your brain short circuit.
The guy crossed the diner in nine confident steps and paused at the edge of the booth, one hand braced on the seat. “Hey.”
Zack almost knocked the table over trying to stand. “Hi.”
Colton grinned. “Sorry I’m late. Had to take care of something.”
“Oh, that’s fine.” Zack waved the apology away, but his hand kept waving like it had its own mind. “I was running early, which is unusual for me. Normally I’m still five minutes behind even when I start the day ahead of schedule.”
Colton’s gaze flicked over him, slow and appreciative. “You look good, Zack.”
