Total pages in book: 39
Estimated words: 36122 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 181(@200wpm)___ 144(@250wpm)___ 120(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 36122 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 181(@200wpm)___ 144(@250wpm)___ 120(@300wpm)
“An unscheduled date? Is that allowed?” Dropping his hand from Esteban’s shoulder, Russ smiled at his own joke, and Esteban immediately felt lighter himself. And like he wanted that touch back, damn it.
“Totally. I told you. We just tell people we are better off as friends, and then we show them that there are no hard feelings. Getting you a breakup cat of your own would be the perfect thing.”
“Yeah. Maybe cat photos would be a good distraction for at work. And…uh….I appreciate the friend thing. Thanks.” The vulnerability in his expression made Esteban’s chest pinch.
“I’m not going to turn down a new friend,” he assured him. “And speaking of friendship, you need to get started on your sample design for Connie. How about you come over on Sunday and you can work on measurements? I’ll feed you too. My friend is giving me the turkey carcass from our thing tomorrow, and I’m going to make a variation of Mami’s abuela’s chicken soup—homemade broth plus a ton of vegetables. It makes a huge pot, but I freeze it for easy dinners during the week.”
“That sounds really good. I can bring…” Russ’s face scrunched up in an adorable way that made Esteban reach for his arm again.
“Just bring you.” As their eyes met, Esteban forgot that they were supposed to be cleaning the kitchen, not making cozy plans, not acting like this was anything other than a convenient charade.
And the heat in Russ’s eyes absolutely wasn’t supposed to be there. In another world, he would have moved his hand up to Russ’s neck, tugged him down for an easy, slow kiss. But this was reality, and reality meant that kissing would only complicate everything. He wasn’t supposed to like Russ this much, wasn’t supposed to be already looking forward to Sunday, and definitely wasn’t supposed to be desperate to know what he tasted like.
“Yeah,” Russ agreed, voice gruff, and the moment was lost as he looked away.
Esteban should have been relieved, not disappointed and feeling like he’d missed his chance at something special.
Rebound. He’s on the rebound. He’d look at anyone like that. But try as he might, Esteban couldn’t quite make himself believe that. This pretend boyfriend gig was going to be hell on his self-control.
Chapter Five
On Sunday, Russ had to keep reminding himself that there was no reason to be nervous. He’d been in true danger, many times, and he prided himself on being able to keep his head under pressure. During his time in the service, he’d been known for not being easily rattled. But since his discharge, he kept getting flustered by silly shit. Like this, a meal with a new friend and some work on a project to prove he deserved the promotion.
Russ’s counselor—who Esteban seemed to think was no big deal—said that adjustment to civilian life was often a challenge and that some depression and anxiety weren’t uncommon, especially when the discharge was unexpected and accompanied by physical health issues.
But his knees had healed faster than his psyche. Discouraging, especially on days like this, when he wanted to be cool and casual, the sort of guy who could hang out with his sexy neighbor without getting tongue-tied or wanting something that wasn’t going to happen.
There had been a moment after Thanksgiving dinner when he’d thought maybe something might happen, but then it had evaporated, leaving him even more uncertain. And he hated uncertainty. Maybe that was what he missed about the service—all the rules and regulations provided a certain amount of security, even on deployments. Not knowing what was going to happen made his head spin and not in a good way.
So here he was, making the short trek next door with his laptop bag, a tape measure, a graph-paper notebook, and a bakery box. Esteban had finally relented to Russ’s questions about what he could bring and agreed that he could bring dessert if he wanted. Which he did. Both because coming empty handed felt rude but also to see Esteban try the macaroons from the local bakery he’d discovered while out for a doctor-approved walk the day before.
He had a feeling his foodie-inclined neighbor would like the assortment of flavors, and picking out a few to share had brightened Russ’s mood, distracted him from how the physical therapist still had him walking with some light weights when he’d once been able to run miles with no problem.
Esteban’s oversized Siamese cat with huge ears, the one he called Lance, accompanied him to the door, and Russ sidestepped quickly to keep him from escaping.
“Thanks. Someone is in a naughty mood.” Esteban smiled as he plucked the bakery box out of Russ’s hands.
“Oh?” Russ’s usually deep voice squeaked like a teenage tenor.
Had Esteban picked up on the direction of Russ’s thoughts Thanksgiving night? He’d tried so hard to not give away how turned on he’d been—from the shoulder rub and simply being near Esteban.