Page 8 of Breaking Through the Doubt (Espen Jetties #4)

8

COREY

Dropping the weights, I stood and wiped the sweat from my brow. I’d spent an extra hour in the gym this morning trying to calm my nerves. The only time I’d seen or spoken to Leslie since Wednesday was the other night when I texted to confirm the restaurant for tonight. Neither of us had been available until Sunday, which left me waiting to figure out what I could use a friend meant.

Nothing about this felt normal. It wasn’t the having dinner with a hockey player part, but a more what were we doing part. I swore the first few times he stepped into my shop I sensed an energy of interest from him. I didn’t think I had imagined it, but when he showed up last week and asked me to dinner as friends, I had to wonder.

It had taken all the self-control I could muster to keep from making my disappointment obvious. He’d turned me down the first time I asked him out for a drink, and I thought it might have been that he wasn’t interested. Then he showed up at my shop a third time. When he questioned why I asked him for drinks, I started to think maybe he’d just been nervous about why I wanted to go out with him.

The entire round robin had been driving me mad for days. At least at work I had other things to focus on. With the shop closed on Sundays, it was only me, my thoughts, and the whole lot of hope he’d change his mind.

If he even wanted to change his mind at all.

What if he really meant what he said about hanging out as friends? Not that it would be a problem, just not exactly what I had been expecting.

I racked up my weights and went into the locker room to grab my stuff. I waved at the few people who were here this early on a Sunday morning. In the car, I tried changing the radio station or turning the volume up to drown out my thoughts.

By the time I entered my apartment, I was more on edge than I was when I left. I went straight into the bedroom and turned on the shower. The hot water calmed my nerves slightly.

The only thing that had ever worked had been my art. The light flicked on in the second bedroom, and I scanned the space. Art hung on every wall. New ones, old ones. Basically, anything I’d drawn since the age of fifteen. Drawing had been the perfect release for me. One that gave me an outlet for any emotions I might be feeling. Journaling was for some people; art was for me.

I sat down behind my desk and pulled out a sketchbook. Pencils of different shades littered the desk in front of me. I picked up the nearest one and began sketching. Whenever I started a new drawing, I never had a plan. I always let my hands and fingers lead. Making line after line until they connected into something beautiful.

The pencil moved across the page in effortless strokes, leaving behind a gorgeous design of a dove flying, with a heart resting on its back. Deciding the piece didn’t need any color, I worked on shading the design until the image jumped off the page.

Satisfied, I carefully tore the paper along the perforations out of the book. I grabbed a pushpin and attached it to the display board I had hanging directly behind my desk. I stood looking at the drawing. It was an accurate representation of my feelings. My own heart being unable to settle on someone had taken flight, looking for the perfect match for me.

I smiled at the artwork and picked up my phone to check the time.

“Shit.” I shoved my phone in my pocket and raced to my bedroom to change. I hadn’t realized how much time I’d spent drawing. I didn’t want to be late for dinner.

O’Malley’s pub, where we agreed to meet, was only a few blocks from my apartment building. With the crisp fall night, I decided to walk and hopefully clear my head before I arrived, and I was faced with the confusion of what tonight actually was.

When I walked through the door, I was a few minutes early and didn’t see Leslie anywhere. The crowd inside was already large. Since I didn’t want to wait an hour for a table later, I told the guy at the host stand I needed a table for two. He led me to a booth almost directly across from the bar.

I sent Leslie a quick text about where I was waiting and sat my phone on the table. I couldn’t stop my nervous fingers from spinning it in circles repeatedly. The waiter came over to greet me.

“Are you waiting for someone else?” he asked.

“I am, but can I get a Yuengling while I wait?”

“Draft or bottle?”

“Draft, please.”

He entered it into his handheld tablet. “I’ll be right back with that. Anything for your friend?”

My insides cringed at the word friend. Damn, this was going to be a long night. “I’ll let him choose when he gets here.”

“Great. Let me know if you need anything else.” He walked toward the bar.

The rational part of my brain understood why calling Leslie a friend was necessary. As a service industry employee, how awful would it be to assume whether someone had a date or was simply meeting friends. Yet, as one part of the party, I had no idea what the answer to that might be. The word friend was the safe option under most circumstances. For me, it made the butterflies dance around my stomach more than they had before.

The waiter was back in less than a minute with my beer. I took a sip, hoping it might settle my nerves a bit. But like my phone earlier, I found myself twisting it between my hands after I set it on the table.

I watched the entrance, waiting to see his shoulder-length blond hair when he stepped through the door. Another few sips of the beer and I started to feel settled. It wasn’t the beer. A few sips here or there wouldn’t have that much impact.

Maybe because the answer to the question of friend or more would finally be answered. Whether he actually meant friends, or it had been another statement to protect himself.

I set the pint glass down and glanced up in time to see Leslie walk through the door. No doubt about his size, but there was something different about the way he looked entering my shop and the way he looked right then. When he stepped into the shop, I thought nothing about the three or so inches of height he had on me, at least not until I was sitting down.

After I got over my shock of seeing how broad his chest was and how tall he carried himself, I gestured to him with my hand, waving him over to the booth.

Leslie slid into the booth across from me. His eyes zeroed in on my pint of beer then back to me. He didn’t say anything and suddenly I felt the urge to explain myself.

“Sorry, I should have waited for you to get here before I ordered.” I practically froze in my seat while I waited for his response. Not three minutes in and I was already fucking this up.

“You’re fine. I’m sorry I was late.”

I shook my head. “You’re not late, I just got here early.”

That was not how I expected the night to start. I picked up a menu and handed it to him, which left us both in silence. I decided on what I wanted to eat, then set the menu aside. Leslie was still looking at the choices. Did I talk while he was attempting to choose? Did I just sit here and stare at him?

Never in my life had I felt so disoriented when out with someone.

When Leslie set the menu down, I waited for him to say something. Anything. I was an outgoing guy. Someone used to talking to complete strangers. I had to be in my line of work. Yet tonight it felt like I couldn’t find my footing.

Why was the easy conversation we had at the shop missing tonight? What happened between then and now? It had to be me. My insecurities about what we were doing here together. About what this was.

Whatever was missing, I wanted to get it back. Which led me to ask the first question that came to mind.

“How was your game the other night? I didn’t get done in time to see it.”

Leslie looked up from the fork he’d been flipping around on the napkin in front of him. “Good. Better than our last two games on the road.”

“Yeah, sorry about those.”

“Thanks. It was tough. I must have been in my head too much, otherwise I wouldn’t have let those pucks through.”

“We all can’t have a perfect day, every day.”

He continued to flip the fork around. “What about you? Any other interesting artwork?”

Wow, this was awkward. What I wouldn’t give for a sip of my beer, but based on the way Leslie eyed it up, I didn’t want to remind him how I’d been rude and hadn’t waited for him. So, I left the glass sit there.

“Just a few…”

“Sorry to interrupt.” The waiter approached the table. “I saw your friend was here and wanted to see if I could get you anything to drink.”

Leslie looked up at the waiter. “I’ll have an iced tea please.”

“You’re Leslie Knoxton. Shit. Awesome game last night, man. Great save on that last shot.”

“Thanks.” He grinned, but his eyes shifted to me.

“I’ll go grab your iced tea, unless you’re ready to order.”

“I am,” I said and looked at Leslie. “What about you?”

He nodded and turned back to the waiter. “Grilled chicken sandwich with sweet potato fries.”

The waiter punched the information into his tablet and turned to me.

“Buffalo chicken sandwich, please.”

“Great. I’ll get those in and started for you.”

“Thank you,” I said and handed him both my and Leslie’s menus.

The waiter left the table, and I turned back to Leslie. “You asked about any interesting work?”

He nodded. “Anything down at the shop?”

Talking about our jobs was the last thing I expected us to be discussing tonight. Hopefully, this was the best way to push us into less stilted conversation.

“Mostly walk-ins looking for simple tattoos like flowers or butterflies.” I thought about the work I’d done over the last week. “A few tribal designs.”

“People can be predictable with tattoos, I guess.”

“Mostly, but there are plenty of people who want unique designs. Something that represents someone or something in their lives. Those are my favorite ones to do.”

“Like mine.” He smiled but it was on the shy side.

Our conversation was interrupted again when the waiter returned with Leslie’s iced tea. I took advantage of the moment and picked up my pint glass. I sipped the beer, a little warmer than I liked, but it would do.

Anything to give me a chance to think of something else we could talk about besides hockey and tattoos. Yes, they were important pieces of our lives, except there was so much more. If we were well and truly going to be friends, I wanted to learn more about him.

“How was your last road trip? Do you enjoy traveling?”