Good Together (4 page)

Then Mick coughed and I diverted my gaze to him only to find him grinning from ear to ear and winking at me. "How long have you two been together?" he suddenly asked, making me start.

Even Adam paused, looked at me then said in all seriousness, "We're not together." But his words held promise, as if he was working on it, or had plans for me, and I burned under his next gaze, reading all his hope in his eyes.

"Oh. I'm sorry. I just thought…" Mick trailed off then collected himself. "Well are you involved with anyone?"

"No," I said right away only for Adam to echo my response and we carefully avoided each other's eyes.

"Well maybe you should try and go on a date," he said carefully only for Adam to rebuff him. "Maybe we will, but maybe you should focus on staying still for me instead of embarrassing the guy with the tattoo gun and his guest."

"All right, all right. I'll keep my mouth shut. Are you almost done?" Mick inquired and Adam went into his explanations, leaving me once again with my thoughts.

Confusion didn't even begin to explain my feelings toward Adam. I liked him physically, and even when we talked he was interesting, attentive, and seemed willing to please. But then there were those moments when he seemed to get angry for no reason, or when he frowned harshly and just catapulted me back into my teenage years and all the attraction seeped away. Still, I had to admit that the more I got to know him the less those moments frightened me. I mean, even I had my quirks where at first glance simple things pissed me off beyond belief. It could be the same for him instead of something personal.

Then again, while all of that was true, I couldn't get past the fact that there was nothing in me, or on me that he could possibly find appealing. I was average and inconspicuous, and I actually liked it that way. It kept me out of trouble. But Adam's whole body screamed for someone's attention, from his build to the body art. Even his thick beard wasn't usual and still with all of that he was handsome; out of the ordinary but attractive. If I thought of his personality I only found more of the good stuff, and none of it was something I could measure up to. Even if he gave me a chance I would probably feel inadequate for all of the few weeks of our possible relationship. No, it was better to just not even get into that and find someone more approachable, someone more down to my level. After all, the last time I fell for a gorgeous, funny, and seemingly perfect guy, it was completely obvious we were anything but right for each other.

"There. All done." Adam broke the silence, bringing me back from my trance.

He wiped the tattoo, put some stuff on it and showed Mick to a mirror. Mick was ecstatic, thanking him repeatedly and it all suddenly felt too much. Adam's world was one of fame and spotlights despite him not being famous and it was a world I could never fit into.

"It looks amazing. You had a great tattoo artist," I said,  adding my two cents before facing Adam. "I'm gonna go. But thanks for the opportunity to watch you work. It was really something." I almost beamed at him before turning to go.

"Wait a minute," Adam said, then spoke quietly with Mick before coming closer to me. "I'm off in twenty minutes and I can ask Jill to close if you'd be interested in…"

Which was the point where I pretty much freaked out. "I'm sorry, I really have to go. I'll see you some other time, but this was really nice. Thanks again. Bye." I rushed out to the front, barely waving at Jill and Archer before I was outside and walking quickly to a safe distance. I doubted he would chase me, but I felt it was better to be safe than sorry. Adam wasn't the right guy for me. I just had to repeat that some fifty times more to believe it and everything would be fine. I kept on walking, listening to the sounds of the city and my own footsteps, and only when I was halfway home and half an hour had gone by did I stop a cab and head home. I would find someone someday, and he would be the right guy for me.     

Adam

The practice with the kids was always fun, and seeing them on the ice exuberant and excited sent me back to that time when ice and hockey were everything to me. When just the smell of the rink, the cold air, and the sound of skates had my heart beating faster and I couldn't imagine living a life without the game. I had seen plenty of pictures of myself when I still played, and the joy on my face couldn't have been more obvious. If I wasn't certain of anything else, I at least still knew hockey was my first and only love.

Those days were gone, unfortunately, and now the closest I could get to that joy was the few friendly games here and there and the same expressions on those kids' faces that I once had on mine. Still, some days were better than others, and on ones like this, right after practice, I headed straight to the gym, where I pretty much ruined myself. It came down to hours on the bike, track, and with weights above me, trying to forget something long gone and remember that I was too old to play anyway.

Utterly exhausted and still feeling mellow, I stopped in a coffee shop to satisfy my daily need for caffeine. It wasn't my favorite but on occasion I sat in there after gym and enjoyed the few minutes with my drug of choice and the heat of the cup between my fingers.

The only difference this time was the familiar face next to my usual table and the sudden indecision if I should just leave or join him.

Troy had a half-eaten croissant in front of him, a cup of coffee and a pen between his lips. He was reading something and alternatively sucking and chewing on the tip of the pen. He sneaked his tongue out every once in a while, pushed his hair further up, but none of it was as eye-catching as the little adorable frown as if whatever text was pissing him off.

I still liked him, rather pathetically so, and with my decision made I would have headed his way even without the rushing customer behind me pushing me in her urgent need to pass.

"Do you mind if I join you?" I asked when I stopped next to his table.

Troy startled and looked at me, all wide-eyed and rather fuckable before realizing who was speaking to him in the first place. With a little hesitation he nodded at the seat across from him, removing the pen from his mouth, and I happily slid down, keeping both my interest and my gaze on him.

"I come here every once in a while, but I haven't seen you in here before," I told him as I took a sip of my still too hot coffee.

"It's my lunch time and I didn't feel like staying in the office today. It happens on occasion." He looked sheepish, as if realizing something, but then he looked at me saying, "How about you?"

"I had practice with the kids early this morning, and then I went to the gym. Needed my coffee before heading home and to work."

"That seems like a hell of a lot of workout," he mumbled, still looking at me. I found I rather liked his attention.

"I kept them a bit longer today, but I spent almost three hours at the gym. I had to get my groove back." I winked at him.

Troy seemed amused and rather curious. "And you do it three times a week?"

"With kids, yes. I'm at the gym four or five times a week and there's usually a game over the weekend for us big kids." But it was more than simple amusement, too. I could honestly say, I felt happy spending time with him, and it was difficult to stop smiling after each exchanged word.

"Jesus. You must have a body of steel." Troy blurted out only to color nicely afterwards and look down at the table.

I rather enjoyed the compliment and would have been more than willing to show off the goods. But I wanted to go slow with Troy, needed him to like me as more than a good body underneath the clothes, so I just said, "I do all right. If I didn't enjoy it I would probably tone down the exercise. But it's pretty much the opposite with me. I miss the games and once a week never seems enough."

"Why don't you play more often then?" Troy cocked his head to the side, seemingly recovered.

"Lack of time and company. It's just a hobby now and you can never invest as much time into a hobby as you can into an actual profession."

Troy looked as if he wanted to ask more, but then he closed his mouth as if he'd changed his mind. Instead he asked, "How old are you?" and then seemed to realize it might be intrusive because he followed it up with apologies. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be insensitive. You don't really need to tell me."

Chuckling I did my best to calm him down. "It's all right; don't worry about it. I have no trouble telling you my age. I'm thirty-eight. How about you?"

"Twenty-eight. But I never would have thought you were ten years older than me. You certainly don't look it."

"Well, it must be the lack of grays and my nutrition." I laughed again, thoroughly enjoying myself. "I did think you were older, though. Why did you ask?"

"It's just…" He touched his lip with his finger then reached for his cup. "You speak as if you have a life time behind you and it was difficult to imagine it when I would barely give you thirty and you already have a successful career and are a rather good artist."

"Looks can be deceiving, I guess. But your instinct is right. I sometimes feel as if I was a completely different person before, and often it's hard to reconcile the two. I miss that life even when I'm happy with this one." I curved my lips in what must have looked like a sad grimace, because Troy reached over the table and gripped my hand with his. The touch startled me, but was pleasant enough that I turned my hand around and took hold of his the moment it seemed as if he might pull away.

"I wish I could do something to help. You look sad even just speaking about it, but my experiences had mostly been dull or vicious. I've learned to prefer dull." He bit his lip as if he'd said too much.

"Vicious?" I asked, as I leaned forward a fraction.

"It's not something I like to talk about. I just prefer my life the way it is now. Little excitement." But Troy looked anything except satisfied if his expression was any indication and while I might have pressed, he didn't give me a chance. "What about you? Do you still hear from your old friends? Do you have any family?"

He looked uncomfortable enough that I easily took off with the subject, not wanting us to already go our separate ways. "Sometimes, but not often. They have their own families, and I guess life just took them down a different path. I was in a bad way for a few years, and those who didn't stick around through me being an utter asshole I pretty much never heard from again. As for family, I have a sister, married with two sons, and my mum. They're north from here in Deli. It's a little town most people have never heard of. You? Any siblings?"

"No. I'm an only child." And I waited for him to continue, but for some reason Troy found it appropriate to go back to his short answers. I frowned.

Surprisingly enough, Troy matched my expression, tilted his head and asked, "Why do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"You get all serious and dangerous looking for no reason. It made me keep distance from you before because I just didn't trust your actions based on that expression." There must have been some kind of accompanying music to the epiphany I had in that moment. I did do something to make him blow cold.

"I suppose it's my thinking face. Especially when something doesn't sit right with me. I was trying to figure out if your short answer meant you were back to using only cold two word responses with me, or if it was just a matter of the subject not agreeing with you." Troy flushed and I enjoyed every second of it.

"I wasn't cold," he said, folding his arms over his chest.

"Ice cold, baby." The red in his face deepened.

"That's not true. I just wasn't feeling comfortable when you had your angry face on, but you kept pushing. So I tried talking to you as little as possible. I figured you would lose interest. I'm sorry if I offended you." He reached out with his hand, but then shrank back again.

"The shorter your answers the more I wondered what I did wrong. I honestly wasn't angry with you. I was perhaps frustrated with the situation, but you didn't do anything wrong. I guess I was interested in you a bit more than was appropriate considering we'd just met. But you're my type, I can't help it," I pushed on, hoping he wouldn't just bolt.

"Your type? I can't be your type. You're insane." He huffed.

"No need to throw insults." I grinned at him. "I happened to like the preppy look, expressive eyes, and a pretty smile."

Troy was positively burning by then and seemed to start and stop his comeback several times before finally settling on, "Do you need glasses by any chance?"

"Oh, the insults again. Don't be like that. I'm only telling as I see it. You're all fit and proper in those slacks and shirts you wear, and when I look into your eyes I feel like I can see our future." I stalled a bit before adding, "Together."

"Oh, shut up, you're so full of it." Troy started laughing and he reached for my hand again, squeezing, while I just bloomed under the success.

"Maybe I'm joking a little, but I'm not lying when I say you’re my type. From the way you look to the way you are. I think I'm just falling and yards at a time to make it worse. So I would appreciate it, if you could tell me if you're really not interested and I don't have a shot at all." I turned my hand again and gripped his. Nervous didn't describe exactly how I was feeling, because I really did want that shot, and I might not have been head over heels and a white picket fence in love with him yet, but I could see myself going there fast. Especially as I'd been building him up in my mind into someone perfect and dreamlike.

Troy thinned his lips, flushing slightly, but he didn't try to remove his hand from mine, he just stared at me as if trying to read me all the way to my last page. So it was a surprise when he said with a sigh, "I'm damaged goods, Adam. It's not normal that you frighten me on occasion or that I have such a low opinion of myself that I can't really accept it that someone might be attracted to me. I like you. What I know of you, in any case. But I can't help it feel as if you're seeing someone else and not the real me."

"Maybe I am," I forced, still not willing to give up. "But I do want to get to know you. Will you at least give that a chance? Maybe I'm not the right guy for you or the other way around, but I'm willing to do my best and find out. I'm getting old, and when the forties are knocking on your door you don't feel as if you can just let a good opportunity pass. So, will you go out with me?"