Page 3 of Holden
“I can show you, if you want,” Bryce added.
Holden’s tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, throat suddenly as dry as the Sahara desert. He didn’t have a single decent thing to say, so he said nothing at all. But, damn, how long had it been since he’d fucked? How long since he’d even messed around with someone? Months, probably. He wasn’t in the habit of counting or keeping track, but he knew it had been a pretty thorough dry spell. And not for lack of interest, maybe just a lack of motivation. After a long day at work, he appreciated the quiet of his apartment. The last thing Holden wanted to do was go out and make more superficial conversation with someone, all under the guise of getting off at the end of the night.
“Excuse me?”
They came to a stop in front of the deli on the corner. The sliding window that faced the street was slid open, the small handwritten menu taped onto the glass.
“I don’t talk with my mouth full,” Bryce said, eyes twinkling as he leaned in to presumably read the menu. “And we’re about to get lunch, so…”
“Hardly lunchtime,” Holden said.
“Definitely not dinner.”
“A weird in-between thing, then.”
Bryce straightened up and grinned at him like whatever Holden had just said was the sweetest or funniest thing he had ever heard in his life. Holden ignored the way the look made him feel and shoved his hands into his pockets.
“What do you like, Holden?” Bryce asked, pausing before tilting his head toward the building. “To eat, I mean.”
Words were never his strong suit, but being around Bryce made them ten times harder to make sense of. “The Italian.”
“We’re Greek,” Bryce said. “And Irish. If you wanted to know.”
The younger man turned toward the window and leaned down to order. “Two Italians please.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Drink?”
Holden opened his mouth to speak but words again failed him. Not because he didn’t want to have the conversation but because Bryce was giving him whiplash. Holden couldn’t decide whether he liked the man or hated him, but his body was giving very clear signals about where he stood physically on the matter. Back at the shop, Holden had certainly had some impure thoughts about getting Bryce onto his knees, but there was something so appealing about the casual way Bryce steered a conversation in his favor that had Holden feeling some other sort of way entirely.
He cleared his throat and answered, “Coke is fine.”
“Two Cokes,” Bryce ordered, reaching behind him and making a gimme motion with his hand.
Holden pulled the money out of his pocket and pressed it into Bryce’s waiting palm, doing his best to ignore the burning heat of Bryce’s skin and the way it set Holden’s entire body aflame.
CHAPTER 2
Bryce
“So, you’re a talker,”Bryce said, seconds before cramming the biggest Italian sub he’d ever seen into his mouth. Holden had already chewed and swallowed his first bite, and instead of answering with words, he flicked his gaze up at Bryce in a way that would have certainly taken his legs out from under him if he’d been standing.
His brother wasn’t wrong about Holden. The man was insanely attractive, with bleached hair that had started to grow out and reveal dark roots, round cheeks and a plush mouth, a slim body that was definitely covered in more tattoos than Bryce could currently see. Merrick had told him all about the shop, about Riggs—the guy who owned it—and about Holden, the grumpy and brooding artist who worked beside him. He’d told Bryce about the beach and the weather and the tacos, and from the first day Merrick had gotten hired, getting Bryce to California had been the plan.
“Sarcasm noted,” Holden murmured, tucking in for another bite of his late lunch. Bryce followed suit, trying to not stare too long at the shape of Holden’s jaw as he chewed or the flex of his throat when he swallowed.
“This is good.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and set the sub down on the white paper wrapper he’d unfolded to use as a plate. Some lettuce and red onions had already fallen out of the overstuffed sandwich, and he popped one of the onion slivers into his mouth to make sure he didn’t do something careless like get ideas about kissing strangers.
The thing was, though…Bryce liked kissing strangers. He liked kissing everybody.
“Are you from here?” he asked.
Holden glanced up at him and set down his sandwich, wiping his hands on a napkin before dropping them into his lap. “Yes.”
“Do you like it?”
“Obviously.”
“How long have you been tattooing for?”
“Since I was nineteen,” Holden answered.
