“Oh, no,” he said distractedly as he started washing her car. “I hate that vain shit, but I do the Ironman every year. It’s based on endurance and skill, not looks.”
“Those insane competitions where you run a hundred miles and swim open ocean?” Eve asked in horror.
“Not a hundred miles, only twenty-six. It’s like running a marathon. Only the biking part is over a hundred miles.”
Eve gaped at him. “That’s insane. Really insane—I thought you hurt your knee. Danny told me last night you hurt your knee playing football. That’s why you never became a Marine like you planned.”
Paul’s entire body stiffened but his voice was soft as he continued washing the car. “When you’ve got a permanent knee injury, there’s no point worrying over it. No amount of babying it will make it go away.”
“Doesn’t all that make it hurt more?”
Paul lifted his eyes to her, a blush staining his cheeks. “Danny said you wanted to date him.”
Eve sighed, looking away from him as his change of topic had her forgetting that he looked good enough to eat.
“He told
me
that you said you were totally fine with it,” she said in a voice sharp with hurt. “The idea of me fucking your best friend doesn’t bother you?”
Paul swallowed hard, looking away from her once more as he rubbed at the back of his neck. “I’m, um—” he started, his voice cracking as he squeezed his eyes shut in pain that Eve didn’t miss. “Trisha really isn’t my girlfriend, she’s my fiancée. We’re getting married New Year’s Day. It would be unfair for me to tell you who to date.”
Eve considered that, quietly watching Paul when he started washing the car again, obviously needing something to do as an uncomfortable silence hung in the air.
“Do you love her?” Eve finally asked. “As much as you used to love me?”
Paul’s body stiffened once more, his back muscles flexing as he let go of the sponge and rested his hands on the hood of the car as he took a shuddering breath.
“That’s a bold question,” he rasped, shock evident in his voice. “I think it’s inappropriate.”
“When did I ever give a fuck what was appropriate?” Eve countered darkly, her eyes narrowed at his broad back. “And when did you ever expect it from me? You used to like me being bold.”
“I can’t play this game with you,” Paul whispered, sounding as if the words were killing him. “I can’t offer you anything other than friendship. So if fucking Danny makes you happy—go for it.”
“Fine, I will,” Eve said, feeling hurt and angry.
“Great,” Paul said, his body still stiff in obvious resentment. “Have fun.”
Eve folded her arms over her chest, feeling indignant that he couldn’t even be bothered to turn and look at her as he remained where he was, leaning over the hood of her car. “You can lose your anger. If you had said no, I would have walked away. If me fucking him pisses you off, it’s your fault.”
Paul’s shoulders slumped as he stood back up and ran both hands through his hair, leaving it spiked with soap and bubbles that sparkled in the sunshine. “You’re right,” he whispered, turning around to look at her with bright blue eyes that shone with hurt.
“It
is
my fault. I’m sorry for being an asshole. I want you to be happy. That’s all I have ever wanted.”
“Okay,” she said, looking down at the ground and wiping at the tears that showed up without warning and rolled down her cheeks. “Did you mean it when you said you could offer me friendship?”
“You can’t offer something that already exists without condition,” he said in a soft, sincere voice. “I’m your friend—always.”
Eve squeezed her eyes shut. His words made her heart feel like it was cracking in two because the last time he had promised her always, it was something much more than friendship. But that was a long time ago, made in the naïveté of youth and it was unfair to hold him to it. Just because she had never stopped loving him and had a hard time moving on didn’t mean he had and it was unreasonable to have expected it.
“Friends then,” she said in defeat, feeling like a part of her had died by forcing Paul to admit he was fine with her dating Danny. “I suppose it’s better than nothing.”
“I suppose it is,” Paul said, sounding every bit as disappointed as Eve felt.
Eve sighed and pointed back toward the house. “I’m going to gather my things and take off. Don’t worry about the car. It’s not worth washing but I appreciate the thought.”
“It won’t take me long,” Paul argued. “I was going to wash the other cars anyway.
Go have a cup of coffee with Danny and I’ll be done in no time.”
Eve turned around to look at Danny’s black Shelby Cobra, and Paul’s white Camaro SS now parked next to it. Both of them gleaming and sleek in the sunshine, looking like an oddly matching pair of masculine cars. “Why would you wash clean cars? That’s as pointless as washing my worthless piece of shit.”
“They’re clean because we wash them,” Paul said, giving her an indulgent smile. “It usually works like that.”
She arched an eyebrow at Paul, knowing he had no intention of washing the other two cars. “You haven’t changed at all, have you? You really are a boy scout.”
Paul shrugged and turned back around to start washing her old, ugly car once more. “If you say so.”
Eve watched him for a few more seconds. Paul washing a car reminded her of a male revue show, because he looked really sexy doing it. If things were different, she would have said he could wash her car anytime. Even if it was pointless, the eye candy made Eve want to grab a tub of popcorn and a lawn chair to set up camp and watch. Instead, she shook her head and headed back inside, deciding he could wash her car if he really wanted to.
“Evie Girl.”
She turned back to Paul, raising her eyebrows curiously. “Yeah?”
“Be careful,” he said, his cheeks flushing as he stared at her seriously. “Don’t get hurt and never let him talk you into anything you don’t want to do.”
Eve laughed, her eyes growing wide as she stared at Paul in disbelief. “Is that your boy scout tip of the month?”
“It’s actually a really good tip,” Paul said warningly, his face showing absolute honesty and a flash of something that almost resembled actual fear. “You should follow it.”
“I’m not sixteen anymore. I’m a big girl who has been surviving for a long time without you around to protect me,” Eve told him softly, feeling oddly touched that Paul was trying to protect her, even if it was a bit silly and old fashioned. “I know how to take care of myself.”
Paul ran a hand through his hair, his voice strangely haunted as he said, “I hope
so.”
Danny stared at the large glass refrigerator hidden in the back of the small flower shop. His eyes scanned the dozens of expensive bouquets as he realized he had never bought flowers for anyone save his mother. In high school, they had never been required to get laid. He hadn’t been out of high school for long before unrequited love had led him into a world where the people he had sex with would have considered flowers a major turn-off. If he did buy gifts, it was usually something that required a padlock to be any fun.
Danny realized with a sinking heart that he hadn’t dated outside the scene for a very long time. Somehow, he had ended up being a person he was never meant to be for a man who would never love him and now he was lost when he had to do something as normal as buying flowers for a woman he adored.
“Can I help you?”
“Yes, you can,” Danny said, turning his attention to the young man as he walked around the counter, knowing instantly he was gay. He was handsome, in a slim, blond, pretty-boy type of way Paul would have been if his pain fetish hadn’t made him huge. He looked like a bottom, but was probably one of those secret tops that could surprise someone unobservant. “Top or bottom?” he asked curiously as a distraction from deeper problems.
The florist laughed, a look of sheer incredulity showing on his face. When Danny just arched an eyebrow at him, he shrugged and said nonchalantly, “Top.”
“I knew it,” Danny said, giving him a sly smile. “Secret top. I can always spot them. Okay, help me pick out some flowers. I got a date. She’s an artist and she’s eccentric. Find me something that will get me laid. Price isn’t an object. Do what you do, impress me.”
The florist gaped at Danny in disbelief. “Are you for real?”
“What did I say that indicated I wasn’t real?” Danny asked in irritation.
The florist studied him for one long moment before he shook his head and waved off the flowers Danny was staring at. “Are you sure price isn’t an object? If you’re hoping to hide the fact that you’re gay from an eccentric artist, you need something custom and even that makes it a long shot.”
“Something custom, good plan,” Danny said simply, ignoring the rest. “And when I say price isn’t an object, I mean it. This woman is important to me. There’s no price limit on pleasing her.”
“Fine. Lots of colors and variety? Sound good?”
“Yes,” Danny said, pleased with his insight. “That’s perfect. Bigger isn’t necessarily better. I want it to be classy, not tacky and overstated.”
“Don’t use the word tacky on your date,” the florist said, his eyes running over Danny hotly. His cheeks flushed pink, making him look younger than he probably was. “And don’t wear those jeans.”
“I appreciate the advice,” Danny said dryly. “But I actually got this. I can get pussy just as easily as I can get cock.”
“I doubt that,” the salesman said in a husky voice, his eyes lingering in a way that made his interest blatantly obvious. “You wouldn’t have to buy me flowers to get laid.”
Danny laughed, giving the florist an unimpressed look. “Thanks for the offer but I don’t bottom for twinks, sweet pea. Go play with your flowers and stop hitting on your customers.”
The florist shook his head again, shock showing on his face. “You think a chick is going to put up with that?”
“I’m working on it,” Danny said in frustration, running a hand through his hair distractedly. “I’m stressed out. I get mean when I’m stressed. Ignore me. It won’t be held against you.”
“That’s sort of impossible,” the salesman said in that same husky voice, looking Danny over once more, his blue eyes wide as he stared. “You’re very unusual. I don’t do this often but go out with me. Forget the chick.”
Danny let his eyes run over the florist the same as he had done to him, only his gaze was hard and leering. He was attractive, but he carried himself in a manner that told the world he knew he was good-looking and enjoyed the novelty of it. Which was one of the more annoying, handsome, college-boy traits Danny instinctively wanted to offer a cure for. “What’re you, twenty-one?”
“Twenty-two,” the florist said hesitantly, wilting under Danny’s intense stare. “You’re out of your league. I could break you as easily as blink,” he told him
warningly, wanting the kid to understand Danny was actually doing him a huge favor
by rejecting him. Taking the cocky strut out of this pretty boy’s walk was very tempting. If he hadn’t just told Paul he could be faithful to Eve, he would have seized the opportunity. “You can’t handle my games, pretty boy. You need to stop thinking with your dick and go do your job.”
He swallowed hard, looking up at Danny with wide, stunned blue eyes, his voice losing its confidence as he whispered, “I’d bottom.”
“I bet you would,” Danny said smugly, his eyes running over the younger man once more as he silently mourned the loss of such a tempting amusement. “Flowers, that’s all I want from you and be quick about it. Waiting makes me angry.”
“Right, I’m s-sorry, sir,” he said in dejection. His shoulders slumped and he turned to walk back around the counter with a violent blush of embarrassment staining his cheeks. “I was probably out of line. I’ll give you a discount.”
“Sure, whatever,” Danny said, putting his hands in his pockets as he walked to the front of the store and stared out the window impatiently, deciding that looking at the distraction of Ybor City in the day time was a better use of his time than toying with cute, innocent college boys who blushed nicely when embarrassed. “I’m going outside for a smoke, pretty boy. I’m not leaving.”
“Okay, sir.”
Danny laughed as he pulled his cigarettes out of his pocket and walked out the door. He stood in the open air, soaking in the hum of Ybor City, which was rich with Tampa culture. Danny loved the old Spanish feel and the flair that came from being the cigar-making hub of the United States. His mother used to take him there all the time when he was young to shop at the Cuban bakeries and wander around and reconnect with her culture when his father’s oppressive, good ol’ boy behavior became a little too much to handle. Thinking of his mother had him feeling melancholy and he found himself calling Paul without thought as he stood there sweating in stagnant summer air.
“You need a real job, Danny Boy,” Paul answered on the second ring. “You call me ten times a day.”
“I’m bored,” Danny said. “What kind of flowers would you buy Evie?”
“I’m not helping you fuck her. I’m still pissed off about this. I don’t care how hard you whipped me, what you did will never be okay.”
“I already bought the flowers. I’m just curious if I made the right choice.” Paul sighed in defeat. “Wildflowers, something different and colorful.”
“I did make the right choice,” Danny said proudly. “I told you I could be vanilla.” “I find that very hard to believe. No way did you pick out wildflowers.”
“The florist helped me,” Danny admitted and then turned around to stare back into the shop with a dark smile on his face. “He was so cute. He asked me out. I feel sixteen.”
“How cute was he?”
“Precious,” Danny said slowly in a lascivious voice. “A pretty little college boy who wanted me to bottom for him. You want me to do it, Paul Guy? I will just to prove I can.”
“Is he socially challenged? You scream top in every sense of the word. He’d have to be the worst gay man in the world not to know it,” Paul barked out in amazement. “And no, I don’t want you to do it. The idea of you bottoming for some twink just made me nauseated.”
Danny laughed in amusement as he took a long drag off his cigarette. “Where are you? I know you’re not at work if you’re talking about twinks and bottoming.”