Starting from Zero (Starting from 1)

“That’s a very generous offer, but no.”

Gray frowned. “Why not?”

“Because I like you.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. If you like me, you should stay.”

“But I don’t casually like you.” I shook my head and reached for a Patsy Cline album. I pretended to study the liner notes while I gathered my thoughts. If I walked away not feeling like an idiot, it would be a minor miracle. “I’ve played that night over in my head a few times a day for two weeks straight. I stared at your number and almost pushed Call more than once. In fact, I almost did it before this meeting.”

“I wish you had,” he whispered.

“But see, I’m glad I didn’t now. We were equals that night. I knew you were older and probably wealthy and successful too, but in the dark, you were just a normal guy. Better than normal. You were interesting and funny, and sexy as fuck. And maybe this sounds paranoid or shortsighted, but I need that night to stay complete. I don’t want to ruin it with reality. I have a lot of shitty things to deal with that stress me the fuck out and I need this…need to be able to take that memory out of a box in my head and just remember things aren’t always crappy. Does that make sense? I hope so, ’cause I feel like a real moron, getting all moody and sensitive here.”

“No, it doesn’t make sense.” Gray licked his bottom lip and looked away. “I want you to stay. We can pick up where we left off. This time we know who we are.”

“Employee, employer. Top dog, little dog, alpha, beta. How old are you?”

“Forty-four.”

“You’re eighteen years older than me. You were probably in college when I was born. That’s a whole lifetime. There’s a built-in huge divide between us, and working for you would only widen it. If I was smart, I’d take the job and laugh at the irony of someone paying a guy who gets distracted halfway through the alphabet to organize this insane collection. It wouldn’t take me months, it would take me years to get through it. And then what happens? I lust after my boss from the sidelines and hope he drops by to chat about something silly he watched on TV, like The Westminster Dog Show, while I try to remember if M goes before N.”

“Okay, first of all, The Westminster Dog Show is not silly. But pretending you’re stupid is and—”

“I’m not stupid. I have concentration issues.”

“ADHD?” he asked with a frown.

“Yeah. Whatever. Not a big deal. I make it work. But I know my limitations. And this is one of them.”

He regarded me thoughtfully with a hard look I couldn’t read to save my life. “So what I’m hearing is…you’re an ageist with trust issues.”

I snorted. “I am not! I mean…yes, on the trust part, but I don’t care how old you are.”

“You just said you did. You walked into my house and judged me before I could judge you. Then you put a label on me and decided the idea of me is better than the real thing.”

“You know, you’re making me sound like a real asshole,” I huffed.

“Really? Because I think you’re fucking amazing.” He moved in closer and grabbed my hand. “And I’m so glad you’re here.”

I grinned like a fool. When I tugged my hand away, he tightened his hold and then lifted my fingers to his lips. I tried to act cool and unmoved by his unexpected gallantry, like I was used to hot guys making romantic moves on me. It didn’t work. I wasn’t just moved, I was swept away.

I didn’t argue when he slipped his arm around my waist and pulled me against him. And I didn’t turn away when he cupped my chin and gently pressed his lips to mine. I went completely still and tried to find a balance that would allow me to enjoy this with enough distance to not lose sight of reality. The moment he licked my lips and pushed his tongue inside, I knew it was useless. I wrapped my arms around him, moaning when he backed me against the wall.

Gray set his free hand above my head as he deepened the kiss. I fucking loved having him over me. He was big and imposing, but his size didn’t overwhelm me. Somehow, I felt safe, which was strange. I was bi, but my experience with men was limited, hurried, and usually involved some measure of regret. Gray didn’t give me room to overthink, but he was careful not to suffocate me.

We made out leisurely with twisting tongues and roving hands for a while. When we finally broke for oxygen, Gray smiled and pointed at the album I’d dropped.

“How do you feel about Patsy Cline?” he asked.