Heartsville 04 - Clique (Jayden Brooks) (2 page)

“It’s perfect.”

Not bothering to hide his suspicion, with one eyebrow lifted, he asked, “Yeah, what part do you like best?”

Ugh! This again? “I’m gonna start singing ‘Let it Go’ at the top of my lungs every time you bring this up,” I threatened. “Besides, I
was
paying attention.” Folding my arms defensively, I slouched further into the comfortably worn couch and pouted.

Both eyebrows shot up, but he remained silent, waiting me out. Apparently I had to suffer the indignity of a pop quiz. “Let’s see… the part where Aaron at Market Café agreed to provide treats and refreshments. Then there’s the part where you’ve corralled the mighty Shepherd Knight for a book signing. And finally, there’s the part where I’m going to be taking pictures of the event.” I was tempted to add a neener-neener. But that’d be childish, so I settled on an eye roll.

Slouching into the well-worn couch, I grumbled, “I haven’t spaced out mid-conversation in a long time.” Well, not with Mark at least. I’d learned my lesson. He was an expert hand at guilt trips. I had the ability to split my focus. Yes, I’m going with ability. It’s a skill, I tell you. One day I’ll convince him it’s my superpower. Until then, he just thinks it’s super rude when I zone out.

I grinned at his exasperated huff. “I still can’t believe you let me ramble on and on,” Mark said. His eyes flashed, and he clutched a fist to his chest. “Pouring my heart out while you nodded at appropriate intervals, but you abandoned me in my time of need.”

“Poured your heart out? Time of need, really? I didn’t realize you felt so passionately about garbage collection.” Entertained by his dramatic tale of woe, I plopped my feet on the ottoman next to his hip.

The dirty look he shot my way belied the smirk he couldn’t entirely hide. “Everyone should feel passionate about recycling.”

I’d heard the same refrain innumerable times. Along with the story of how, after stepping into the alley behind the shop, he’d caught the sanitation worker in the midst of tossing the bookstore’s carefully sorted recycling into the waste truck, which had ignited Mark’s rarely seen temper. The resulting confrontation led to the discovery that it wasn’t an isolated incident, but the result of a newly appointed regional manager cutting labor costs.

As penance for my lapse in attention, I had watched as he reenacted the events in minute detail. The story had ultimately taken on a life of its own, each subsequent retelling a little more grand, Mark’s intervention a little more heroic. It was quite the adventure. The Heartsville version of the fish that got away. But it had become, if only for a moment, a mini-scandal in our progressive town. It would appear that Heartsville was a hotbed of environmentally conscious business owners and residents.

I admire Mark quite a lot. He’s so expressive, so quick to get involved, and incredibly generous with his time and friendship. The fact that he’s beautiful only adds to his appeal. His tight physique and friendly smile are quite the combination.

Doing a slow pan of the store, I noted a few guys browsing the fantasy section and a woman checking out the magazines. By the way Mark’s gaze darted around, I knew he had them in sight while he continued to pepper me with questions about my thoughts on his plans for the day of the big Shepherd Knight book signing. I replied while completely paying attention—I swear. But then I caught sight of a now-familiar form, though I’d deny it with my last breath, out the bookstore window. Across the street, there he stood.

I practically flew to the window, damn near knocking Mark off the ottoman, before doing my super-sleuth impression. Granted, it was a pathetic impression, but I did my best to hide behind the gift-card tower as I peeked out the window to see the man and beast beyond. “Again, with another dog,” I muttered in confusion.

“What the hell, Adam?”

I didn’t answer. But it wasn’t because I had zoned him out. Honest.

“Adam!”

“Shhh.” My body was tightly coiled, waiting for Brandon to do something suspicious or mildly off-putting. Hell, anything that would help me get over thinking about him all the damn time.

All. The. Time.

In bed. At my desk. In the shower. Oh God, especially in the shower.

I felt Mark sidle up against my back, resting his chin on my shoulder and asking in an exaggerated whisper that half of Heartsville could have heard, “What are we doing?”

I shushed him again but added, “Every time I see this guy, he’s with another dog.”

“Like he’s stepping out on Fido? The scoundrel.” He chuckled.

Yeah, that sounded lame. It was driving me crazy, the not knowing. Which was bizarre in the extreme, since my friends’ and family’s chief complaint is how hard it is to hold my attention when I’m not working. But something about the guy drew me. It was more than his good looks.

A new thought popped into my head, and my heart promptly sank. “Do you think he’s one of those people who steals dogs for lab testing?” The idea horrified me. I’m sad to say that my outrage over Brandon potentially being a heartless criminal ran neck and neck with my general animal-loving outrage. Oh hush, it isn’t like I’m the first guy in the history of mankind to store part of his brain in his shorts.

Mark’s gasp alarmed me. Turning to him, I asked urgently, “What?”

He shoved my shoulder. “Why in the world would you think such a thing?” His pretty brown eyes were wide and horrified.

“I’ve seen him around town lately.” The guy was everywhere. “And every single time he has a different dog with him.” Thinking back, I corrected myself. “Well, one time he was walking a really big cat.”

“Big cat?” he asked doubtfully. “How big?”

“Smaller than a tiger,” I allowed. “But bigger than a house cat.”

His eyebrows wrinkled before we both returned to watching Brandon and the big floppy dog. “So by your estimation, he kidnaps these animals and takes them on a walk through town, and sells them off to an underground lab?”

Well, when he said it like that… no. “That does sound unrealistic,” I admitted reluctantly.

“It’s not like you to be so quick to jump to conclusions about complete strangers. What gives?”

That got my back up. “He isn’t a complete stranger.”

“Oh, so what’s his name?”

“Brandon.” Even I heard my sulky tone.

“And why don’t we like Brandon?”

See, this is what I’m talking about. He just got me. The tense set of my shoulders relaxed as I shared the debacle of my first and only actual encounter with the guy lazily making his way down Market Street.

Mark’s face is nearly as expressive as my own, for which I’m eternally grateful. I rarely have to expend the energy to discern his feelings. The furrowed brow, firm set of his lips, and narrowed brown eyes were a great indication that he was about to share unpleasant thoughts. Is it petty of me to relish the idea of Mark disliking Brandon on my behalf? Well, I never claimed to be a saint.

“Let me get this straight.” He ticked off a finger for each sentence. “He saw my best friend doing a credible impression of a walking disaster.” Another finger lifted. “He intervened saving said best friend from certain harm. Then he had the audacity to object when the walking-disaster best friend of mine wanted to take his picture.” His jaw clenched, before he ground out, “Yes, I can see how you’d conclude he’s a comic-book villain.”

“His dog,” I corrected. “I wanted a picture of his dog.”

He shoved my shoulder, turning me to face out the window. “You’re being an idiot, and you know it, right?” Tapping the glass pane near my temple, he asked, “Did you consider that he has a menagerie of pets, or he’s a pet behaviorist, or a trainer, or a groomer? Anything besides a dognapper?”

I may have been able to lie to myself, but never to Mark. “He completely dismissed me.” God, it was painful to recall how eager Brandon had been to get away from me. It made me feel like some sort of perverted creeper.

“Aw, Adam. C’mon, man. Give the guy a break here. You didn’t meet under the best circumstances.”

Turning to face my friend, I agreed. “No, but I wasn’t looking for a love connection. Heck, I didn’t even consider he’d notice me as a potential date. His type never do.” I shrugged. “I just wanted to be friends with the guy who helped me. In the end I was left feeling smarmy and gross.”

“I will agree that you’re overlooked by some men because they assume you’re younger or immature. But you also don’t go out of your way to correct them.” He sighed. “You’re successful, financially secure, come from a good family, and aren’t prone to drama.” He stepped away and chuckled. “With a few notable exceptions.” He appraised me critically and then challenged me, “Go out there and try again… I dare you.”

Three

They say you never get second chances at a first impression. I bet it’s even less likely when you’ve done something as idiotic as I had with the whole stepping-into-traffic ridiculousness. Regardless, a dare had been issued. But even more compelling was the knowledge that Mark was watching as I crossed the street. It gave me a boost of bravado that I sorely needed.

The chill of the late afternoon had quickly penetrated the thin T-shirt I wore. For a split second, I contemplated a retreat, if only to grab my jacket, but I knew the chances were high that I’d chicken out altogether. So I settled for burrowing my hands deep in my jean pockets, and locked my elbows to stop the shivers. It didn’t work. It just created uncomfortable nipple-chaffing action.

While I had the chance, I admired the man who had taken up far too much time in my head after just one meeting. He was everything I found attractive wrapped in classically casual clothes—not too starchy, and not too grungy. The leisurely way he moved, completely at ease while making eye contact and sharing easy smiles with others as they crossed paths—he was my kind of just right.

I cleared my throat as I approached him and his latest furry companion, who had stopped to sniff a few blades of grass next to a wooden bench. Brandon shifted my way with an open, engaging smile gracing his handsome face, and then he caught sight of me. His expression closed up, and my stomach sank.

That sucked.

There was no way I could turn tail and run. Besides, I wasn’t afraid of dealing with a little conflict. I dealt with suburban parents, for crying out loud. He was just a dude with a dog.

But still, I had no intention of crowding him, so I came to a standstill five feet away. “Hi, Brandon.” I paused. When he didn’t respond, I nervously shuffled my booted foot and blurted out, “Thanks again for what you did.”

“No problem, kid.” He waved me off, but then he suddenly took an aggressive step in my direction.

I jumped back, squeaking the most masculine “Whoa” I could manage, and kept my focus on his face.

“I’ve been home for nearly a year and have never caught sight of you. Now suddenly you’re everywhere I turn.” He leaned in, bringing his face to within inches of mine. “What’s with that, huh? Don’t you have school or something to keep you busy?”

Brandon only had a few inches on me, but he had a solid build, thick biceps, large hands, muscular shoulders, and beefy thighs. So I should have felt a certain level of intimidation, but that wasn’t the case. Nope, not even close.

First and foremost was a giddy sense of joy that he’d noticed me at all. But that was not to be overshadowed by the zip of boy-howdy happening below my belt. And with my fists still tucked in my pocket, my jeans were getting uncomfortably tight. Last but not least was the injustice of his accusations setting off my temper.

Yanking my right hand out of my pocket, I stopped just shy of jabbing him in the chest. “Well, Mr. Been-Here-For-a-Year Brandon. I’ve been here for a decade. And just so you know… I’m twenty-eight years old.” Hey, nobody ever said I was witty under pressure.

I waved my pointy finger towards the bookstore where Mark was surely witnessing my humiliation. “My best friend owns Bookmarked.” I shifted my arm to indicate an area over Brandon’s shoulder. “That’s my studio, Clique. I’m not following you.” This time I let my finger jab his chest. “And I’m not a kid.” God, I wanted to keep poking his chest; maybe I could move my finger around, poking here and there to see if he was as solid everywhere.

Oh my God, I’m such an idiot. This guy’s an ass, but I still want him.
“You may be hot, but it sucks that you’re such an asshole.”

Sensing movement in my periphery, I glanced down to see a shaggy white bundle of cowering pooch. I shot Brandon an irritated scowl. The jerk. “Now look what you’ve done. Poor puppy.” I sank to a crouch, held out my hand, and cooed, “C’mere, little guy. I’m sorry your grumpy antisocial daddy scared you.”

Brandon snorted, crouched down beside me, and patted his knee. “Hamlet, come on out, buddy. It’s okay.” Brandon made a few smoochy sounds that Hamlet seemed to find appeasing. He gradually inched his way out from under the bench, tail tucked under his butt and his entire backside wiggling out of control. Once clear of the bench, he rammed his head into Brandon’s chest and squirmed until his face was tucked into Brandon’s armpit. Lucky dog.

My earlier irritation gave way to my growing fascination with Brandon. The entire sequence was almost too adorable for my little Brandon-crushing self to handle. I began scratching and petting Hamlet, enjoying the relaxed Brandon. The lack of wariness was a great look on him, with his open smile and engaging expression as he ran his hands soothingly over Hamlet’s back and rear. If our hands touched more than a few times, it was by pure happenstance. Well, mostly. Did I mention how great his hands were?