Only See You (Only Colorado Book 2) Read online

  “From what I’ve heard, and the few minutes when I met him, Ben seems like he would be up for the job.”

  “Yes, indeed. He’s the complete opposite of the last person I lived with. Shelby, my ex-wife. Well, soon-to-be ex-wife. That’s a good thing.” He frowns out the window for a bit, and his gaze lingers on a couple walking a covered stroller, with a young child, bundled from head to toe, running ahead. “It’s a nice area, lots of trees and parks.”

  I imagine he’s thinking about what might have been, and for some reason, I’m hit with the urge to cheer him up.

  “Another nice thing about the area is the closeness to Poudre Canyon. Do you kayak or mountain bike? I can show you some great runs.”

  He aims a startled glance my way, and damn it if I don’t know what’s coming. I should have kept my big mouth shut, and it is big with pillowy fuck-me lips, thank you.

  “You kayak?”

  I nod and hum, not trusting my voice right now.

  “I didn’t imagine you’d be the type.”

  “No?” He happily shakes his head and I want to smack the stupid from it. “You can’t imagine that a person could be multifaceted and have more than one interest at a time? Or is it just a surprise that someone as glorious as this is able to rock the sweaty and dripping look, because trust me, I look amazing no matter what it is that I’m doing.”

  “Oh god, I didn’t mean to offend you.” He shifts in his seat looking truly horrified, and starts to lay a hand on my arm, then pulls back, thinking better of it. “You just remind me of Shelby. She always made sure she looked perfect, and she refused to break a sweat. She was one of those girls who would never actually get in the water when we went swimming because it would ruin her hair and makeup.”

  He says it with a deep bitterness to his voice. I can tell it’s been a while since anyone challenged his expectations, and unfortunately, it seems Shelby never strayed from her expected role of bitch.

  I reach over and pat his knee, partly to let him know I won’t freak out if he touches me. “Comparing me to the ex-wife is probably also not the best idea, even though I’ll take the ‘looking perfect’ compliment.” His eyes betray his horror. Yeah, buddy, you were digging that grave. “But you’re new, and I think you mean well, so I’m going to let this one slide. I suppose you just need to be trained up a bit. Remember, things aren’t always what they seem. If they were, I’d peg you for a douchey frat boy.”

  “I was a frat boy,” he mutters.

  I bite my lip so I won’t laugh. This poor guy just can’t catch a break.

  I park in the driveway of Craig and Zach’s new home, hand still in place on Parker’s knee. Before I can pull away, he grabs it and squeezes.

  “I truly am sorry. I didn’t mean to be that guy. I don’t want to be that guy.”

  “So we’ll rewind,” I say and then make some funny backwards noises that are my sad attempt at a rewind joke, but still leave my hand in his. I don’t want to pull away from his strong but soft touch. That alone should make the warning bells go off. What’s my mantra again?

  “Do you bike or kayak? I can show you some great runs.”

  A genuine smile spreads across his face. “I haven’t been biking in years, and I’ve always wanted to try mountain biking,” Parker says, finally pulling his hand away with a funny look on his face that I can’t decipher. “Would you really want to take me?”

  “Absolutely,” I assure him, and we head to the back of the truck and start to unload boxes. He’s not really paying attention to me anymore, lost in his thoughts, but at least they appear to be good ones. His face lights up with a smile.

  “Great!” he finally says, startling me because I thought the conversation was over. “I’ll start looking around for a bike and let you know.”

  “Can’t wait,” I say, returning his smile. And as I watch him walk away, thinking about that ass on a bike as well as the frown I converted into a smile, I really can’t wait.

  2

  Parker

  I didn’t forget about Mal’s offer to show me some bike trails, but settling in after a move of my own has kept me so busy that I keep putting it off. There is also the fact that they intrigue me like no one has in years, and I don’t quite know what to make of that. The day we met, they blasted through any preconceptions I might have had. I have never met someone who describes themselves as nonbinary before. Certainly not within the circles that Shelby, and therefore I, used to run in.

  Now that I can take a step back and look at the past eight years, I’m appalled by how complacent I had become, how much I had stopped caring about the direction of my life. When I started college, I didn’t only have career goals. I wanted to travel, to experience new things that I couldn’t growing up outside Oklahoma City. Then one night at a sorority party, I had a drunken hookup with a tiny girl who was a force of nature. After that night, she decided I was it for her, and I didn’t see anything wrong with that at the time.

  Bit by bit, Shelby took over my life, until her friends were our friends were my friends, and her plans were our plans were my plans. Upon graduating with my engineering degree, I got job offers from some smaller start-up companies with innovative projects that excited my love of invention. But Shelby wanted to get married, so instead I took a job with a big government contractor that provided excellent benefits and stability in return for mind-numbingly boring work. Then it was expected that every newly married couple would want a home of their own, so I worked for a promotion that would cover it. And Shelby prepared the house for our obvious next step, a baby.

  I’m not against any of those things in principle; I would still like to have a family one day. But I would like to do it when I’m ready. And not at the expense of everything else, including my happiness.

  So here I am at twenty-seven, embarking on life, version 2.0. Step one is complete: move out and find a job that doesn’t suck the soul from my bones. I found a small engineering firm in Fort Collins that helps small companies bring their ideas to life. It is truly amazing and what I wish I had done from the very beginning. Step two is in process: divorce Shelby. Step three is the one I’m struggling with: find happiness. I’ve started. I think I’m getting there. But old habits and Shelby’s very loud opinions still barrage my brain, causing me to second-guess every choice I make.

  Just because I have put off contacting Mal doesn’t mean my thoughts haven’t drifted to them since we met. Little things remind me of them, like passing the bike shop and urging myself to go in, just to see what is available. Or shaking hands with a new contact at work, a man with sausage fingers that, oddly enough, made me think of how long and slim but extraordinarily strong Mal’s hands were carrying box after box. Or the fact that I spent hours online researching nonbinary, what it means, and how to make sure that I’m respectful when interacting with them. I write off my slight obsession to the fact that they are so different from anyone I’ve ever met.

  A week after moving into Zach’s old room, I decide that I’m going to ask for Mal’s number. Craig and Zach are coming over tonight for pizza and video games, and thank god, because I don’t think I can take any more of Ben’s moping. He misses Zach and he has not been subtle about it.

  I have just enough time when I get home from work to take a quick shower and change into track pants and a t-shirt. At hearing a knock, I finish scrubbing dry my hair and toss the towel on top of the dryer in the hall closet on my way to answer the door.

  “Zach always put his towels in his laundry bin so we don’t get them mixed up,” Ben says from his room. The front door hangs open when he says it, which means our guests hear Ben’s grumbling. If you can call them guests. Part of me still feels like this is Zach’s home too.

  Zach smirks, Craig holds up beer, and I usher them both inside.

  “Uh-oh,” Zach says. “I forgot to warn you. Ben hates change.”

  “Now you tell me. You should have left some sort of instructions. How to load the dishwasher like Zach. How to prepare
the morning coffee like Zach. How to order the right pizza like Zach.”

  Zach laughs and pats my shoulder. “Must be rough, not being Mr. Perfect for once.”

  “Hey, I never insisted I was perfect. I’m not sure why they shoved me on that pedestal, unless it was only so they could join me up there. Believe me, I never felt like I deserved it.” Zach turns on the pitying puppy dog eyes, which is the last thing I want. “And my pizza selections are superior, I’ll have you know. Y’all are the Neanderthals that like black olives.”

  “Oh thank god!” Craig yells because his head is in the refrigerator, putting away all the beer except four bottles. He passes them around to everyone before taking a seat beside Zach on the couch. “I hate black olives too. We can have a whole pizza to ourselves.”

  Ben grabs the recliner, so I bring over a chair from the dining table to the living area. Don’t want to squish in with the lovebirds.

  “What about pineapple?” I ask Craig, who responds with, “Good god, do none of you just eat a normal meat pizza?”

  “I’m not a big meat eater,” I say, making Ben snort. “Just kidding. I’ll share whatever you want.”

  Craig rolls his eyes but smiles at my joke.

  Once Zach hangs up from ordering dinner, he looks at me. “Have you heard from Shelby lately?”

  “We had a meeting with lawyers before Christmas,” I say, trying to force away the sour taste Shelby leaves. I’d been hoping Zach wouldn’t bring her up. “Next one isn’t scheduled until the beginning of next month. We’re under strict instructions from our lawyers not to talk to each other without them present, which is fine by me.”

  “I had no idea divorces take so long,” Zach says.

  “Unfortunately. I’m basically at the point where I’ll give her anything she asks for, just to get it over with, but she’s insisting on arguing over every little thing. What about you? Did you hear from any family over the holidays?”

  Our moms are sisters, but at the moment, neither of us “kids” are on speaking terms with our parents. Me because they’re pissed I’m getting a divorce. Zach because he finally stood up to his parents about his sexuality and their passive-aggressive need to punish him for it. Aunt Bonnie more so than Uncle Ned, but I’ve learned lately that keeping silent is just as bad as being the bully. I was silent about Shelby’s treatment of Zach for years, and I’m fortunate that he forgave me.

  “Yeah, right. Ha!” Zach can’t even fake a laugh, and Craig wraps an arm around his shoulder. He tries not to let it show, but Aunt Bonnie’s treatment of him was a crushing blow this past summer.

  “That reminds me.” Ben claps and bounces in his seat, turning to Zach. “I got your mom a subscription to Hairy and Hung Hotties. It’s going to be sent to their next-door neighbor’s house, but in her name. You’re welcome.”

  “Oh my god.” Laughter barrels from my chest. “Can you please do that to Shelby too? Please?”

  “I’m insulted that you think I haven’t already.”

  We’re all laughing, but I’m the only one with tears rolling down my cheeks. This is what I’ve been missing for the past eight years. Fun. Laughter. Joy.

  It reminds me of the other things I wanted to do with my life, including mountain biking with Mal. My mouth opens to ask Craig for Mal’s number, when Craig beats me to it.

  “That reminds me. Mal wants your number.” My heart thumps a little harder in my chest until Craig adds, “They were bummed they missed you during the move.” Then it just thuds. Of course he’s talking to Ben. Why would Mal possibly want me when they could have Ben?

  And why am I sounding all jealous? I’m not interested in Mal like that. They seem fun to hang out and try new things like mountain biking with. I’m interested in finding a new friend, one that I’ve made all on my own and not because of Shelby. That’s it.

  Food arrives and I grab the pizza cutter from the utensil drawer. I ignore the hideousness that has black olives, looking instead to the pristine pepperoni beauty inside the box Craig just opened.

  “Wait, you have to see this.” Ben sticks a hand in front of Craig, blocking him from taking a slice. Everyone, including me, looks at Ben like he’s crazy, but he Vanna Whites the box and ushers me forward. “Go ahead and do your thing, Parker.”

  There is nothing wrong with wanting to have an evenly sliced pizza, and I tell them all as much while I redo the horribly crooked cuts made by the restaurant. It’s like the employees there have never even seen a right angle before.

  Zach chews on his lip like he wants to laugh, but I’ve heard him complain about getting the last slice that everyone picks around because it had no toppings left. I walk, shoulders straight, back to the kitchen to wash and replace the pizza cutter. They can laugh all they want, but they’d appreciate someone with my attention to detail making their pizza.

  “Oh, and you have to see his closet,” Ben crows, making me think I put the pizza cutter away too soon.

  “You are not showing them my closet,” I say with arms crossed and my deadliest glare aimed at him.

  “But it’s precious.” Ben pinches my cheeks until I swat his hands away.

  “I prepare my suits ahead of time for the entire workweek so that I don’t have any surprise laundry or ironing needs crop up. It isn’t precious. It’s common sense.”

  I want to point out that Ben regularly looks like a wrinkled oaf, and it’s only because his colleagues are so beleaguered by today’s youth that they haven’t ever noticed. But that seems harsh.

  “You’re like a straight Barney Stinson,” Craig says as he takes almost half of our shared pizza in one go.

  “Barney Stinson was straight,” I reply.

  “Was he, though?”

  “Oh no, we are not having this argument again,” Zach says, even though they continue the debate back to the couch.

  “I vote queer!” Ben chimes in.

  “You always vote queer,” Zach says, and the room fills with laughter once again.

  There’s a deep sense of satisfaction settling into my bones as I take my seat with the rest of them. Yes, I’m definitely on my way to finding happiness.

  3

  Mal

  When Ben texted last week to ask me out, we agreed to meet tonight at the martini bar in Old Town and then work our way out from there. I left work a little early so that I could have time to get ready, and it totally paid off, if I do say so myself. I’m in platform heels and skin-tight black pants. The sheer vanilla top shows off my nipples. It’s a look that always gets me hard, so hopefully it will have the same effect on Ben.

  “Hi, you look incredible,” a voice to my left says, and I look up from the cocktail table at the front of the bar where I was daydreaming to find Ben’s eyes roaming over my body appreciatively. I’m pretty sure Ben feels the same way about my top that I do, because I see a flicker of motion in his rumpled slate slacks. “Wanna grab a booth?”

  “Absolutely,” I say and let him lead the way toward the back, where it’s quieter and darker, and we can find a more comfortable place to sit. Fine with me, because cocktail tables and tall stools are hell on my ankles in these heels, and I say as much.

  When we slide into the booth, I get a better look at him. He’s in a plaid button-down and a skinny black tie.

  “You look nice too. Kind of like my fifth-grade teacher. Don’t worry, he was hot.”

  Mr. Gallagher really was all sorts of hot and made my eleven-year-old self feel funny and tingly in ways I’d never felt before.

  “Well, I am a teacher, although high school, not fifth grade.”

  Sometimes I’m just too good. I wouldn’t mind getting hot for teacher. Play out my Mr. Gallagher fantasies, strip him down except for the tie and ride the fuck out of him. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

  “Ah, well, that explains the teacher aesthetic, then.”

  A waitress heads over to our booth and we each order drinks, me a grapefruit martini and Ben a vodka martini with an onion instead of an olive,
which sounds nauseating.

  “I’m glad you texted me. It’s about time you and I hooked up, don’t you think?” I say. “I had been hoping to see you over the holidays during Craig and Zach’s move.”

  Ben frowns and I have no idea why. “I was busy,” he mutters.

  Okay, then.

  “Yeah, family obligations can be a real bitch,” I say, as if I know. I had to work over the holidays. The only reason I was able to help with the move is because it was the weekend.

  “Not really.”

  I wait. That’s all I get. Jesus, it’s not like I suggested he murdered anyone over Christmas. I’m totally at a loss, so I forge ahead. If at first you don’t succeed, at least entertain the fuck out of yourself.

  “Well, the move was, unfortunately, the highlight of my holidays. At work, we’re already doing layouts for spring print ads, and I had this photographer who wanted to filter everything black and white. It’s a fucking ad for cupcakes. Great idea, if your concept for their brand is to be the leader in unappetizing baked goods.”

  The waitress returns with our drinks and Ben asks her to go ahead and start another one for him. She looks to see if I want the same, but I wave her off.

  Ben sighs and looks around like he’d do anything to get out of here. “So what is it exactly that you do? Obviously something about art?” he finally says, as if realizing he’s stuck with me. That’s fine. Design is a subject I could discuss for hours, even if it seems like pulling teeth for Ben.

  “Actually, I’m a graphic designer. I love the work, although I’m still trying to find the right fit, style-wise. The firm I work for now in Loveland has a more sports and wildlife type clientele that doesn’t really fit with my aesthetic. The cupcakery is an incongruity.”