First Love: A Superbundle Boxed Set of Seven New Adult Romances (146 page)

Somewhere beneath the panic, I register the concern on his face. He’s backed away, and his hands are up, palms outward, fingers loose. But I’m not looking at his hands. At least not anymore. While I take deep gulps of the stale hallway air, my eyes rove over him. I’m both waiting and watching, trying to reconcile what I expected with what I see. This can’t be Arion. I’ve spent more hours than I can count talking to him through the computer. If I’d been talking to a Greek god incarnate, I think I would have known it.

His chest is bare, glistening beneath a light sheen of sweat, which I guess makes sense given the blonde who just left. Considering how slender I am, it would be hypocritical of me to think he couldn’t possibly be the same guy who’d spent hours playing WarQuest with me into the small hours of the night, because someone with those abs couldn’t possibly spend so many hours in a computer chair. Call me a hypocrite, because that’s exactly what I was thinking.
 

Sometimes, I used to try to imagine what he might look like, or how awesome it would be to have him actually whispering into my ear instead of just through my headset or phone. My imagination was seriously slacking. Dark, slightly mussed hair begs me to tangle my fingers in it, and yesterday’s stubble dots his cheek. I blink hard, trying to rein in my runaway thoughts.
 

“See something you like?” His voice, that teasing tone, is exactly like I remember it, even though it’s been over a year since we talked.

I finally find my own voice, at least enough to manage one word. “Arion?” I ask, because I still can’t believe this is him.

His cocky smile collapses. “Angel?”

No one’s called me that in a long time. Something stirs within me, some remembrance of who I used to be. I don’t know whether to nod or shake my head. We stand there staring at each other for a moment, and then he steps back, ushering me inside. After the unimpressive hallway, the living area we step into catches me by surprise. The gray in the hallway was drab, but Arion’s living room can only be described as
wow
. Grays blend with warm chocolate brown, topped with splashes of black and cream. I’ve stepped into the Venti Mocha-Rich-a-chino of apartments. Like a fancy five-dollar coffee, it’s worth every penny but way out of my league.

“I’m sorry for just showing up like this,” I say, because I should, and because I don’t know what else to say. Once, there wasn’t ever a shortage of words between us.

He laughs, but it comes out more like a snort of disbelief, as he starts to shut the door behind us.
 

Someone yells down the hall, and it sounds a lot like the blonde who just left. “Axel, Vince needs you in the kitchen. He says to tell you it can’t wait.”

Arion grabs a shirt out of a closet behind the front door, and when he turns back to me, I can see the apology in his eyes. “I’m sorry; I’ve gotta deal with this, but it shouldn’t take long. Can you wait…” He eyes the backpack still slung over my shoulder.

There doesn’t seem to be much choice, so I nod. I’m trying to ignore how good he looks as he buttons up a black shirt with the bar’s logo, but it’s hard. It goes well with his worn jeans, too. Not that I noticed.
 

“Make yourself at home,” he says, probably not realizing I don’t have one if he doesn’t let me stay here. “God, Angel, I can’t believe you’re here.” And then he’s gone, and I’m alone.

Two

Arion

She can’t know how many times I’ve closed my eyes, hoping I’d see her when I opened them. Or how many times I wished I could just reach through the computer and touch her. And now she’s actually here.

Angel’s taller than I thought she’d be. Tinier, too. The Angel I imagined was fierce and fiery; this one looks fragile and…fallen. Okay, I’ll admit, I even pictured her with red hair. Which was stupid, because she’d told me it was brown. I believe her words were, “Brown and boring, like coffee without enough cream.” What she should have said was, “Brown, like the richest, finest chocolate in the world.” Maybe it was just because she’s soaking wet, but the depth of color to her hair was anything but boring. Nothing about that girl has ever been boring. And what the hell is wrong with me that I’m fixating on how gorgeous her hair is? At least it’s safer than focusing on just how kissable her lips are.

I storm through the bar, pissed that they’ve called me away from her. It’s my job, and I’m here, but my mind is still upstairs in my apartment with the only girl I’ve never been able to forget. Chelsea’s perched on a stool behind the counter, flipping through some dumb magazine. Why the fuck couldn’t she handle the kitchen? Not like she’s busy. I shake my head and ignore her as she tries to wave me over. I don’t have time for her crap right now. If I know her—and I know her better than most—she’s got something to say, and it has everything to do with Angel.

The two-way door rocks on its hinges as I barge into the kitchen. Vince has been the cook at Tuck’s Tap for as long as I’ve been alive, and he has no problem reminding me on a daily basis that he works for my father, not me. If I fire him, I might as well fire my customers, too, because they’d leave with him. So I let him keep thinking he works for my old man, Tucker, even though the bar was signed over to me more than a year ago.

Vince is glaring at the stove like it just took his daughter’s virginity. He spins as he hears me come in, and his eyes narrow even more. “The truck just left, and do you know what wasn’t on it?”
 

There’s no reason for me to respond since he’ll tell me in about two seconds whether I answer or not.

“Cheese. Do you believe that shit? No cheese. You need to fix this. Half our damn menu uses cheese.” He’s pointing a scar-covered finger toward my chest.
 

Chelsea comes into the kitchen behind me, blocking the door. “Did you send her packing yet? Really, Axel, that girl was a mess. I’ve never seen someone looking so desperate.”

White hot anger blurs my vision hearing her talk about Angel like that. If anyone’s a mess…

Chelsea’s gasp of realization only pisses me off more. If she was one of the guys, I’d probably be tempted to put my fist in her face. But she’s a girl—even if she is being a pain in the ass, and I’ve got a rule about not hitting women. “Not right now, Chel.”

Not one to be deterred, Chelsea’s got her hip thrust to the side, and she’s bracing her hand against it as she leans toward me. “Get rid of her, Axel. You’re not doing this crap again. Things are finally going good…” she whines.
 

I try to keep my annoyance out of my voice, and I fake a smile. If she had half a brain, she’d be able to see it’s filled with more saccharin than sugar. “Don’t worry. I’ve got it under control. Can you run to the store over on Main and pick up a few blocks of cheese?”
 

A sly smile spreads over her face, like a fox that just found the door to the hen-house open. “Will you give me a little extra, so maybe I can stop at Coco’s Cafe on my way back?”

We have perfectly good coffee here, and normally I’d say no. But right now I just want her out of my hair, and I want Vince placated. If I can manage both at once, fine. “How much cheese do you need for today and tomorrow?” I turn toward Vince.

“Four pounds, maybe?” He’s peering into the fridge.

I shove a wad of twenties into Chelsea’s eager, perfectly manicured hands. It isn’t like I’ll miss the cash, and the reward of getting her out of my way is invaluable. “Get whatever he says, then do whatever you want with what’s left.” Brushing past her, I start back through the bar, returning the wave of a few customers. As annoyed as I am at being called down here to solve a minor problem, I’m glad it was something I could fix fast. I’ll be back upstairs with Angel in another minute or two, and I can’t wait. There’s so much I need to tell her that I should have told her before.
 

Something about the way she looked is nagging at me, but I have to put it aside for right now because a group of ten—looks like a bachelor party—just stumbled through the door, and they’re already hollering for drinks. Judging by how wobbly they are, the last thing they need is another round. With Chelsea heading out to get cheese, it looks like I’m gonna have to lend a hand for a bit. I toss a longing glance toward the side door then start making Long Islands. I don’t bother to pray she’ll still be here when I’m done. It took over a year of praying, cursing, and pleading to no one in particular before she showed up in the first place. This time, I don’t have any intention of letting her go. I may not always take the easiest path there, but I do always get what I want. And what I want is Angel.

Three

Angel

After Arion leaves, I stand there, dripping wet on his plush gray carpet. It’s so light it’s almost white, except for the dark droplets surrounding me. A black table with padded leather chairs sits just off to my left, and not knowing what else to do, I hang the strap of my backpack over one of the chairs while I rummage through it, looking for anything dry.

The two shirts and one extra pair of jeans I brought with me are as wet as I am, so changing into something dry seems out. Not wanting to track any more water through his home than I have to, I pull off my sneakers. They are so wet that they squeak if I even shift my weight, so I leave them and my socks by the door. Ignoring the call of the kitchen to my right, I walk forward into the super-modern living room straight in front of me. It’s narrow and not huge, but every surface reminds me of a ‘you break it you buy it’ showroom. Arion definitely has taste. Expensive taste for a guy living over a bar, but taste none the less.

I wish I could say this doesn’t disappoint me a little.

There was always an undeniable chemistry between us. And maybe someday—once I’ve had time to recover—there might have been a chance. As close as Arion and I were, as often as we talked and flirted, it would be impossible not to consider it. Just like now it’s impossible not to see he likes fine, expensive things. Not battered hand-me-downs. I’m not someone he’d ever consider for a date. And I’m okay with that. I didn’t come here to be his girlfriend. I came here to save my life.

Water droplets follow me into the living room, marking my trail of increasing hopelessness. Each splash is another reminder that I don’t belong here.

A TV screen larger than a small car lines one slate-gray wall, while two fancy-shmancy bronze-toned oil paintings hang on the wall behind the sofa. Under the TV, a free-standing glass panel fireplace crackles. The promise of warmth, even if it’s an artificial warmth, draws me closer, like whispered apologies in the middle of the night. Now that I’ve been out of the rain for a few minutes, my clothes have progressed from just wet to cold and wet. The heat when I get close to the fire is in stark contrast. I close my eyes, letting it seep over me.

As the fireplace chases away my chill, a strong snake of discomfort lies in wait, ready to take its place. Leaving my extra clothes by the fireplace, I follow my hunger into the kitchen. He said to make myself at home, and I haven’t eaten since...I don’t remember. Sometime this morning, I think. Or maybe it was yesterday. The ceiling-high black cabinets and fridge are bare except for a canister of protein powder and a box of those protein-fiber-cardboard concoctions some people try to pass off as granola bars. A groan of frustration swirls deep in my stomach. How can someone spend this much on the way their kitchen looks and not put a dime toward food?

He at least has dishes, so I fill a glass with tap water, only to take a sip then spit it in the sink. The taste is off compared to what I’m used to—a hazard of being in a new place, I guess. I start to abandon the glass on top of the spotless counter that perfectly coordinates with the stone backsplash, but then I think better of it and carefully wash and dry the glass to put it away in the hanging rack above the island.
 

Somehow, I’m not surprised that he still hasn’t returned. It used to be like that when we played together online, too. He’d say ‘afk a minute’ and return hours later armed with some excuse. Occasionally, when it would start to get on my nerves, I’d leave his ass wherever we stopped at, just so I could hear him bitch about the resulting character corpse run when he finally returned to screen. He’d scold me, saying thanks for having his back—not. Hopefully he’ll have my back now, because I’m risking so much more than a couple lost lives in a game.

Two doors are tucked into the wall across from the kitchen, with a third and final one in the corner. I’m looking for the bathroom, but the first door I open goes to the coolest computer room I’ve ever seen. Is this where he was all those times we hung out? A slight flush comes over me, thinking about the hours we spent together, and the few times our flirting crossed the line between harmless and downright hot.

I shake my head to clear it. I can’t think about that right now, it’s too soon. Or maybe it’s too late.

While the rest of the apartment is the exact opposite of what I expected, this room makes sense. Three monitors top the desk, and a myriad of tangled cords are scattered below. Bookshelves hold game guides and discs. I turn the light off and head back into the hallway.

Thankfully, the next door is the bathroom, if you can call it that. Spa might be a better word, because the black marble tub is almost the size of the Jacuzzi my mom’s neighbor has on her back deck.

An orchid in a black pot on the counter is the only feminine touch. No makeup or toiletries are anywhere to be seen. Either the blonde I saw leaving doesn’t live here, or she’s the neatest and most organized girl I’ve ever met. Given the state of near undress she was in when she left, I somehow doubt it.

It’s not like I can be angry at him for having a girlfriend. Hell, he didn’t even know I was coming. No one did. So it shouldn’t bother me. I remind myself once again that I didn’t come here to be his girlfriend. I came to hide out and get my feet back under me at the home of my dorky gamer friend. Who turned out to be insanely, unbelievably hot.

There’s only one room I haven’t been in yet, and I might as well check it out. I can’t help but be curious. The Arion I’m finding is so different from what I expected.
That’s because he’s not Arion. He’s Axel.
Arion was just his avatar in game. But he’s not my Arion, and I’m not his Angel. We aren’t pixels, we’re people, and I’m starting to realize just how little I know him.