Page 2 of Dog Days

TWO

Gideon

I smiled as I pulled up Alfie's profile one more time. I thought I'd come up with a pretty interesting question but had been disappointed in the number of boring answers I'd received. They usually named their captain and left no explanation. No discussion, no ranking of captains, not even people saying they preferred Star Wars.

But then Alfie came in and teased me and... I liked it.

I liked it so much.

I added the question for a couple of reasons. First of all, I was a huge Trekker, and Star Trek was, by all available metrics, way better than Star Wars. Fight with your mom about it.

Also, I wanted to make sure guys knew I wasn't in any way dangerous. Despite my size, tattoos, and naturally scowly face, I wasn't nearly as mercenary as I looked. I knew they'd take my Texas card for this, but I could never hold a gun, let alone take a life.

I’d had a rough childhood and spent a lot of time at the local boxing gym, one of the only safe places in our neighborhood at that time. I hadn’t been doing it for the looks, but since I was taller and put on muscle easily, I was eventually able to tell my foster parents to leave Reuben and me out of their bullshit.

Despite my intimidating exterior—made even more intimidating with Reuben’s burgeoning tattoo skills—my true passion had always been writing.

I wrote all kinds of things that I shared across a number of online forums, but young adult fantasy-slash-science fiction novellas were my jam. By the time I was seventeen I had a preferred forum, an established pen name, and a small but rabid following.

Then, just before my eighteenth birthday, my favorite Star Trek actor and long-time crush reposted one of my stories, and it went viral. The rest of the stories, written in the same world, soon followed.

With people clamoring for more, I’d taught myself to self-publish and my brother did the artwork for my first cover. I’d saved every penny so I could have a nice place for Reuben once he aged out of the system, and by the third book in the series, I had enough to put a down payment on a starter house.

Twenty years after I’d anxiously posted my first story on a free forum, I still couldn’t believe that the imaginary people in my head had saved us from certain poverty. I now lived in one of the big historical homes in Georgetown’s historical district, just a few blocks off the main square.

Reuben, now a full-time tattoo artist, still lived in our starter home with his girlfriend and three pit bulls. He’d begun therapy a few years ago to work through the mess of our childhood and, after sticking with it for a while, encouraged me to do the same.

I’d considered it for years but had been too chicken to try it on my own. I’d wanted to give up after the first couple of failed attempts to find a therapist I vibed with. With Reuben’s encouragement, though, I found Jackson. Unlike those saccharine therapists with their clear boundaries and clinically salient topics, Jackson was a friendly sort of asshole who cursed frequently, gossiped like a social media influencer, and was quick to let me know when I’d gotten my head stuck up my own ass.

I liked him a lot.

Jackson was the one who insisted I put myself out there on dating apps. It turned out you weren't supposed to spend weeks on end in the four walls of your own home. He said something about needing to go outside and touch the grass and feel the sun on my face.

I supposed he had a point.

Anyway, I hoped Alfie was okay with my size. We didn't discuss it, but I’d added full body shots on my profile, so he knew I was a bigger guy. He was also long-limbed, but kind of soft. I liked soft.

Either way, I was managing my expectations. I'd learned the hard way that people who were witty in instant messages were often shy or even antisocial in real life.

It’s me. I’m people.

Something told me, though, that Alfie wouldn't let the conversation go stale. I pulled on my jeans and motorcycle boots, then decided on the royal-blue button-down that brought out my eyes.

Sure, it was a little fancy for a quick coffee date, but I wanted to impress him.

I brushed and trimmed my beard, then finger-combed my unruly hair. I was well into my thirties, and it was starting to get a bit gray and silver in spots. Given my background, I wasn't always convinced that I'd live long enough to have silver in my hair, and it was a reminder of just how far my brother and I had come.

My eye landed on the bedside table as I gave myself a light spritz of cologne. Hah. I'd forgotten about the Star Trek communicator my brother gave me last year as a gag birthday gift. I pinned it to my button-down and looked in the mirror.

God, I looked like I was trying too hard.

I walked back to the closet and shoved things around until I found...oh, what did we have here?

A plain red T-shirt.

I put it on, liking how it emphasized my chest and arms. Bonus, Alfie’s profile said he loved tattoos, and there was no missing my ink in this.

Trying not to overthink it, I pinned the communicator on my shirt and walked out the door. Five minutes and two blocks later, I arrived at Addiction, my favorite coffee shop. Early, of course. My phone buzzed in my pocket.

Alfie: I'm a dork. I'm already here. I hope you didn't mind that I got us a table outside. They've got a misting system that keeps things cool.

I darted a look outside and immediately saw his black, corkscrew hair and his hunched cell phone posture. I set my fingers to typing out a pithy response.

Me: Then I'm a dork too. I just walked up. Outside is great—my therapist says I'm supposed to see the sun every once in a while, but what does that asshole know?

Alfie: Therapy? How very modern man of you. I approve.

I approached, and he grinned as he typed out another response. God, he was fucking adorable. His hair was trimmed tight to the sides and back with longer curls on top, and he was wearing ripped black jeans with flip-flops and a T-shirt featuring Benjamin Sisko on the front. His arms were kinda skinny and in his seated position, I spied—fuck, yes—a bit of pudge around the middle.

I stood right beside him as he hit Send, laughing to himself. I did a quick check, and it was a GIF of Napoleon dynamite.

"I was always Team Pablo," I said, grinning down at him.

He startled and dropped his phone in his lap, then looked up...and up.

"Oh my God! You are so fucking tall!"

I stepped back. "Are you okay? Is that okay?"

God, I hoped I hadn't scared him already.

He stood, laughing. "Why wouldn't it be? Hell, for some guys, it's an entire personality."

I grinned and shook my head. "Nah, I grew up in foster homes, so I have an amazing personality."

He cracked up. "It's weird because you're saying something tragic and funny, and yet...you really do look like you could murder me."

"Actually, blood makes me woozy."

"Worst serial killer ever."

"Truly a career that ended before it began," I said, chuckling.

Stitching his brows together, Alfie ran his hand up my arm. "How did you handle so many tattoos if you can't stand the sight of blood?"

I grimaced. "Mostly, I keep my eyes closed and meditate. Also, I only let my brother tattoo me, so it's okay if I faint."

"Wait, your brother did all of these?"

Grinning proudly, I nodded. "Yep. Reuben specializes in surrealism, both with paint and tattoos."

"I bet your tattoos are all over his lookbooks."

"As a matter of fact, they are."

Alfie grinned at me, then looked down, shuffling his feet.

"What's this expression?" I asked. "Are you already trying to figure out how to let me down easy?"

Shit, I really liked this guy.

He shook his head. "Not at all. It's just...you're all growly-looking and tattooed, and I really want to give you a hug."

I bit back a moan, imagining his body against mine. "God, I haven't had a good hug or snuggle in a long time. That sounds amazing."

“Well?” he asked, raising his brows.

I opened my arms, and he stepped right up to me, no hesitation at all, and wrapped his arms around me. I hugged him tight and probably held him for a little longer than was appropriate for a first interaction.

He didn’t pull away, though. Instead, he stuck his face into my neck, and I shivered.

"What the fuck are you wearing?" he asked, directing his bright smile at me. His brown eyes sparkled as the wind shuffled through his curly black hair. "I want to bathe in this cologne."

I scrubbed the back of my neck, dipping my head. "Le Labo."

"Fancy."

He chewed his thumbnail, awkwardly stepping away. I could tell it was just nerves, though, and resisted the urge to pull him back against me.

"I'm a simple guy,” I said, feeling the need to explain myself, “but...I have a few small splurges."

"I like it," he assured me, grinning as his fingers traced the abstract skull-and-rose tattoo on the back of my hand.

I couldn’t tell what I liked better—Alfie’s beautiful smile, or the way it made his eyes crinkle around the edges. He was the kind of guy who lit up a space, and his whole body smiled with him. I bet he'd be so responsive under my?—

My train of thought was derailed by the fucking sound of my nightmares.

A dog barking, sharp and vicious.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Backing up, I looked around for the source of the bark. Alfie's eyebrows rose, and he laughed.

I didn't see the dog anywhere, and it was freaking me the fuck out. I'd been working so hard on this with my asshole therapist, but it felt like every fucking shred of progress was just doused in kerosene and set on fire.

With terror crawling up my neck, I dared to look straight down and... Jesus Christ, it was right there.

Alfie was still laughing as I stumbled back and fell against a table, tipping it over and ending up on my ass, probably bruising my tailbone while I was about to get attacked by this fucking little beast.

The dog jumped on me, barking and barking and barking. I rolled to my side, bring my hands over my head.

“Shit, fuck. Gideon, I’m so sorry,” Alfie blundered, pulling the beast away from me. “I’ve got her now. She’s not going to bite you. She was trying to play with you. I’m so sorry. I’ve got her on a leash now.”

I waited for the embarrassment to hit. There was no way a big, tatted-up guy fell and knocked over a bunch of furniture without an audience.

I took a couple of deep breaths and opened my eyes. Alfie was holding a hideous dog and looking down at me with pity in his eyes. Sure enough, there were folks all around us, pointing and whispering.

So much for our date.

I should’ve known not to get my hopes up. I was embarrassed because Alfie’d just seen the part of me I don’t let people see, and, frankly, I was pissed that he laughed.

I made it to my feet and reset the table and the chairs with shaking hands while Alfie calmed the barking, wriggling hellion in his arms. I’d learned long ago to never hang out with people who made me feel like shit, and cute guys with predictable taste in Star Trek captains were no exception.

Deciding I’d had enough, I walked over to the little gate that exited onto the sidewalk and headed home.

What a fucking waste of time.