Brainy and the Beast (20 page)

“It’s my fave.” Having given me that much, Grant retreated to circle his plastic drink cup on the wooden table. He alternated that with an occasional noisy sip and jittering his fingers on the hard surface.

I inhaled, trying to figure out just how the hell to open a conversation, because it was quiet at our table for several minutes. I racked my brain to come up with something to say. “So. Your gramps said I should um, try to talk to you more.”

When Grant furrowed his brow in response, I thought maybe I should do better than that. “Okay. How’s school?” That seemed like a safe question. No way was I starting with the gay question.

“Okay, I guess.”

“About that, um, what we were talking about over there.” I waved a finger toward the produce section and held my breath to see how Grant would respond.

He hunched a little bit more over his drink, eyes on the table.

“I’m, um, well, I’m sorry I missed your last game. I should have made it a priority.”

Grant offered a tiny, one-shoulder shrug. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.” It really wasn’t. “I could have been there if I’d wrapped up what I was working on at the shop a little sooner.” I nudged his calf with my boot. When he looked up at me, I continued. “I’ll try to do better.”

I’m pretty sure he mumbled a thank-you around his straw.

Another minute of silence while I tried to figure out what to say next. “That turd skinhead bother you again?”

Grant slouched in his chair, sliding one long leg out to the side. He twisted his foot back and forth. “Nah. That jerk’s been laying low since I cracked his head in the cafeteria.” The boy looked proud for a couple of seconds. “Some kids at school came up to me after and high-fived me. When I got back from suspension, I mean.”

“Seriously? Cool.” Right? It was okay to say that even though he’d knocked the other boy down with an amazing kick, wasn’t it? “But you’re keeping an eye out, aren’t you?”

He shrugged and nodded at the same time.

“Going to take any sports this spring?”

“I-I was kind of thinking of maybe trying out for track.”

“You mean running—or that Olympic-y stuff?” I made a shot-put motion, or at least what I thought was a shot-put motion. The stifled laughter on Grant’s puss made me think I hadn’t quite hit the mark.

“Yeah.” He fisted his hands and pumped his arms forward and back. “The runner-y stuff.”

“Ha-ha.” I grabbed my Frappuccino and took another swig, embarrassed that I couldn’t even speak the athletic lingo.

Either the kid was more sensitive than I thought, or my face was looking like a thundercloud, because Grant subsided and sucked on his own Frap. We each watched the passing shoppers, and the barista entertained us for a bit as she cleaned the steam wand on the big espresso machine.

After a couple of minutes of silence, we spoke at the same time.

“What’s your favorite subject?”

“Are you working on any cool cars right now?”

We stared at each other.

“Earth science.”

“A ’65 Camaro.”

At that, we both started laughing. I felt the tension between us pop, and I actually enjoyed seeing the big grin on the boy’s face.

That was how Henry found us, still chuckling and sipping through our straws. We’d actually started a real conversation by then, talking about cars, of course. Oh, and we talked about my mom, which I had to say was very…nice.

“They must make special drinks over here. It seems to have made a huge difference in your outlooks.” He scanned both of us, eyes going back and forth. I felt the faintest bit of warmth when his Jaguar blues lingered on me and that heated glance focused on my lap.

I tapped my finger on the wood table, and his gaze popped up. He looked guilty for a few seconds, and that made me smile again.
Sweet.

“You want me to get you something, Doc? And before you answer that, remember the kid’s here.” I jerked my head to the side in Grant’s direction.

My nephew’s good mood continued, because he just halfheartedly grimaced.

Henry bit his lip, and I would have sworn he was trying not to laugh. “Well. I guess I’d like to try whatever you’re having. It certainly seems to have done the trick.”

I dug into my pocket for some money and slid it across the table to Grant. “How about getting the doc one of these?” I pointed to my almost empty cup.

“’Kay.” He sidestepped the grocery cart Henry had brought along.

“Jeez. You move pretty quickly. That’s a lot of food for”—I glanced at my watch—“about twenty-five minutes.”

“I know what I want.” Henry was looking me up and down when he said that. “And when I see it, I put it in the cart.”

I lowered my voice to a whisper. “No way am I fitting in there.”

Henry leaned closer. “I guess we’ll have to figure out somewhere else to put you.” He dragged a finger down my thigh. “My bed, I think.”

Sproing!
“Jesus, Doc. Don’t get me hard in the goddamned grocery store!” I was practically squawking as I whispered.

“Regretfully, I think you’re right.” Henry edged backward, one elbow on the cart.

I could see a bit of a bulge in his basket too. I looked pointedly at his crotch before cocking a brow at him. “See what you started?”

When he grimaced and moved to adjust himself, I coughed into my hand. We avoided looking at each other as we waited for Grant. And I could see my nephew keeping watch on us out of the corner of his eye.

I rubbed a hand over my face. It had been a hell of a lot easier to get laid when it was just me, that was for damned sure. I didn’t have to answer to anyone, didn’t have to worry about who saw me do what—or where, because I sure as hell wasn’t hanging out in the goddamned grocery story with whatever guy rocked my world at the moment.

Christ. Is this how straight people do it?

* * * *

When we left the store, we had seven bags filled, plus an eighteen-pound turkey. I’d reminded Henry that it was going to be just the four of us, but he’d sworn up and down he wanted lots of leftovers.

We had a slight kerfuffle at the checkout when he tried to pay.

“No way, Doc. Uh-uh.” Bad enough I conned him into preparing the whole damned thing, though I really was having a hard time feeling guilty about that. “You’re doing all the cooking for us.”

“All?” His eyes widened, and then a slow smile started. “All. Nice.” One eyebrow lowered, and he gave me a sly look. “You will be my assistant, won’t you? I’m picturing you in an apron.”

I laughed and shook my head at the image. “Sure. Whatever you say. But be warned, the only cooking I do is from a box.” And based on the recipes I’d seen him consulting as we finished shopping, we were in for a very nice dinner. I’d chuckled as we’d pushed the cart along the aisles. Henry had been so happy he’d gotten to use the recipe app for his iPhone, he’d been positively gleeful by the time we’d finished.

The issue of payment passed quickly, and he had a smile on his face when we walked outside.

The snow that was falling didn’t dim the wattage on Henry’s grin. “You know, I think I’m starting to get into the holiday mood. I don’t think I’ve looked forward to Thanksgiving like this in quite a while.” He gave the cart a solid push forward as he headed to the Mercedes.

“Glad we could be of service, Doc.” Henry’s visible happiness was making me feel good.

I got a warm fuzzy when I spotted a grin on Grant’s lips, fleeting though it was.

“He kind of grows on you, doesn’t he?” When Grant shrugged, then nodded, I clapped him on the back. “Come on. Let’s get that stuff in the car and get you to the dojang.”

I directed Henry to the tae kwon do studio a few miles north. He got quiet as he drove, and I crinkled my brows as I wondered what he was thinking bout.

There weren’t too many cars in the parking lot, but I could see a number of students through the window. It looked as though a class was just finishing.

My nephew grabbed his bag and pushed open the car door. “Later.”

I cranked down my window. “Hey, you mind if we come in and watch for a bit?”

I’d surprised him, I could tell. “Really? Okay, I guess.”

“All right. You go ahead. We’ll be in in a minute.” I could feel Henry’s gaze on me, and I bit my lip before turning to face him. “Um. Sorry. I didn’t ask if you minded if we stay. You got somewhere you’ve got to be? ’Cause I could call my dad to pick us up later if you need to get going. I can haul the groceries with us. It’s so cold I could leave them outside the dojang anyway.” And in this town, I probably could and not worry a minute about them.

The engine was idling in neutral, and Henry stepped on the clutch as he moved the shifter into reverse. “Not really.” He lifted his arm and stretched it over the back of my seat as he looked behind us. “I’m just—” He spun the wheel, adeptly steering the car into a parking space across from the dojang. Turning the ignition, he shut off the car, then held the key ring in his fist.

The snow was starting to come down more heavily, and I watched it begin to cover the windshield.

It seemed as though something was bugging Henry now, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what it was. Henry had gone from the satisfied cooking guy to this hesitant version in just a few minutes.

Henry switched to tapping the ignition key against the metal steering wheel.

“You’re going to scratch that.”

“Hmm? Oh. Yes.” Henry put his hands in his lap.

“You want to go in?” I wrapped my fingers around the door lever and pushed.

“Wait.”

I slowly pulled the door shut. “Yeah?”

Henry fiddled with the keys again before raising his eyes to mine. “It occurred to me as I was driving that we’re getting somewhat chummy.”

“Chummy?” Who talked like that?

“I…I’m not exactly on familiar ground, Nicholas.”

“I know. But we’re not going to do anything but watch. I don’t think the instructor will mind.”

Henry shook his head with a sigh. “No. Not the dojang, although yes, I’ve never been in one.” He glanced toward the large storefront windows of the studio, then brought his gaze back to meet mine. “No. It’s this…this—” He gestured between us, his hand bending back and forth. “I’m not the type of person who experiences strong feelings. And I don’t like not being in control.”

That I knew. “Yeah, Doc. You’re a little tightly wrapped.”

Looking offended, Henry pulled his head back. “Tightly wrapped? Just what is that supposed to mean?”

It was my turn to flop a hand between us. What was going on? Was all this family time getting to be too much for Henry? Or just me? “I just meant that you, you know, you like things how you like them, and…you want to be in control.”

He relaxed somewhat. “Ah. You mean I’m choosy and fastidious. What did Grant call me? Fussy?”

“Uh-huh.” My shoulders relaxed, and I had to hide a smirk at that one. Not too successfully, though, if Henry’s grimace was any judge.

“Anyway.” He took a deep breath. “When we were in the store and that manager came over to us—”

“When we were going to get thrown out of the store, you mean?”

“Well, I’m not sure it was that bad. Regardless, when we were all standing there, it hit me.” At my questioning look, he elaborated. “It hit me how childishly I was—and have been—behaving. Grant’s behavior is understandable. He’s what? Fifteen?”

“Fourteen, actually.”

He turned, his knee sliding into the space between the bucket seats. “So what was my excuse? I’m forty-one. And I’m acting like an adolescent boy who doesn’t want to let anyone else ride his bicycle.”

I scrunched up my face, trying to figure out what he was saying.

He blew out a breath, shifting the hair on his brow. “When…when I’ve been with someone before, to tell you the truth, I didn’t ask, and frankly, I didn’t care if he started dating someone else.”

“You mean banging somebody else?” I usually didn’t have much use for beating around the bush.

“Yes, Nicholas. Banging.”

“And now?” Did I want to know? Was I ready for whatever was coming next?

Henry sagged against the leather, lifting an arm toward me. His fingers brushed my ear, and I shivered.

“I’ve had a few relationships in the last twenty years. When they were done, we both went our separate ways. No harm, no foul. And now? Now I find myself not so sanguine about things. It’s that damned bicycle thing again.”

The light dawned. “And I’m the bicycle?”

Henry pulled his lower lip between his teeth and nodded.

I scratched behind my ear, stalling for time. “I’m pretty sure I’ve never been called a bicycle before.” I turned my head toward the windshield for a moment, movement in the dojang catching my eye. The snow was thickening on the glass, but I could still make out some movement inside the studio. “I don’t know what I should say to that. I’m not sure I've been important enough to anyone before where it meant anything.” I swung back to meet his gaze. “So, me? I just pretty much go with the flow.” Was that a bad thing?

The arm Henry had stretched behind me dropped to his lap. “Yes. I’ve observed that.” It was his turn to look out the windshield. “Perhaps. What I mean to say is: things can be different, you know.” He fidgeted with the keys.

I opened my mouth to say something, but I couldn’t seem to assemble the right words fast enough.

After a few beats of silence, Henry spoke again. “Well, anyway, I wanted you to know that while I’ve been acting… Well, perhaps jealous is too strong a word for it. However you define it, I wanted you to know that I certainly respect your relationship with your nephew, and in fact, I admire it.” With that, Henry pushed open his door and got out of the car.

Without waiting for me, he trudged across the snowy parking lot toward the studio entrance. He didn’t even look back at me as he went inside.

I swallowed a little roughly and ran my fingers along my jaw as I considered what had just happened. I had the feeling I’d disappointed him, and I wasn’t sure why. Did he—could he—want just me? Me, mechanic Nick. And did I—could I—want only him? Him. Henry, pretty much the smartest guy I’d ever met.

Fuck
. Why did
relationships
have to be so goddamned complicated? I was pretty sure I was in one, since Henry was going to be cooking Thanksgiving dinner for my family.
At my house
. “Shit.” I yanked the door handle back and used my foot to shove the door open.