Starting from Zero (Starting from 1)

He blew a plume of smoke in the air and smiled. “I’m a writer.”

“An author, a journalist, a blogger or…what? There’re a million kinds of writers.”

“True. I do a little bit of everything, but mostly in music. I’m good at jingles and hooks,” he said with a wink.

“So are we talkin’ commercial jingles or pop songs?”

“Like I said, a little of everything. Have you heard the Mason Hardware commercial on the radio?”

“Really? ‘Mason’s hardware helpers walk the aisle to make sure you leave with a smile…’ That one?” When he inclined his head in acquiescence, I chuckled. “Wow. That’s cheesy.”

“What can I say? Velveeta pays the bills. What about you?”

“I’m a bartender. And a barista too. I like the coffee shop gig better, but it doesn’t pay as well. I’m looking for something new.”

“Can you tell me where? Or is that ambiguity infringement?”

“Ambiguity infringement,” I repeated. “I oughtta write that down. Do I have to give you credit, or can I steal it?”

“It’s yours,” he said, turning so we faced each other.

The casual maneuver brought him fully into the light. Fuck, he was hot. And his eyes were gorgeous. I wanted to trace the lines at the corners but not smooth them out. They added character and hinted at untold stories. The tingle of awareness I’d felt when I first saw him in the bar was stronger than ever.

“Where do I work, or where do I want to work?”

“Yes. Tell me everything. This session is free.”

I threw my head back, laughed, and felt my shoulders relax as some of the pent-up tension left my body. “Thanks. I’d take a part-time job almost anywhere except a gym or an office.”

“Okay, I’ll bite. What’s wrong with a gym?” he asked, clearly amused.

I noticed his smartwatch light up and then vibrate like a cell phone. Someone wanted his attention, and I loved that he gave it to me instead. Any second now, our friends would come looking for us, and the real world would interfere. I wanted to keep him to myself for as long as possible.

“People exercise in gyms. And then they gloat about it,” I scoffed. “I practically grew up at my local YMCA. I know what I’m talking about.”

“I’m sure you do. But some people actually like to exercise... You know, for general health and well-being purposes.” He chuckled when I rolled my eyes. “All right. I won’t try to convert you. Where do you work?”

“I pour coffee at Aromatique and—”

“I haven’t been there in a while, but I like that place.”

“Me too. And…I bartend at Vibes.” I paused for his reaction. A facial tic or a nod or something to indicate he knew it was a gay club. He looked seriously straight, but I hoped he was seriously bi. Not that it mattered—nothing was happening here. “Have you been?”

“No. Is it on Santa Monica?”

“Yeah.” Bingo. I was right.

“Next to the new ice cream place,” he continued. “I waited ten minutes in line for a scoop of designer mint chip.”

Okay. Maybe not, I mused as my gaydar flipped back to neutral. Everybody liked ice cream. I couldn’t work with that. And suddenly, it seemed like something I needed to know. I could have just asked, but he wasn’t a random dude at the club. He had an air of sophistication and polish that demanded respect. Like a college professor or the sexy boss you secretly lust after even though you know you’re out of your league. I had numerous fantasies of the high-powered executive, lowly employee variety all the time. The kind that usually involved staying late to work on a secret project…over a desk, on a conference table, in an elevator. Neckties and shirts undone, suit pants unzipped or lowered just enough to get his thick cock out and—

Oops. Now I’m hard.

I straightened from the wall and pretended to take one last drag from the cigarette before putting it out on the trashcan next to the parking kiosk. Then I clandestinely adjusted myself and rejoined him.

“Scoops is always packed. Even in winter,” I said conversationally.

“True. I don’t usually have the patience to wait, but I was with an eight-year-old at the time. It’s amazing how cooperative that monkey can be when there’s ice cream involved,” he commented affectionately.

Talk about an erection killer. My X-rated daydream came to a screeching halt, quickly replaced by visions of a soccer-dad lifestyle complete with a house in the burbs, a hybrid SUV, three kids, two dogs, and a beautiful wife.

“You have three kids?” I asked, unable to keep the irritation from my voice.

“Three kids?” he repeated incredulously.

“Well, you said something about getting ice cream with your son and—”

“Nice try. I never said I had a son.”

“Gee, I could have sworn you mentioned your wife and kids and…whatsa matter? Is this anonymity infringement?” I teased.