Page 6 of Love Spell (Witches of London #3)

“Hurricane?” Timo chuckled. “Not at all. You don’t have to finish if it’s too much.

” While Noah fished a tissue from his pocket, Timo again caught the bartender’s eye and made a double tipping motion with his own right hand.

The man nodded. Timo returned his smile to Noah. “Sorry, what was so funny?”

Noah stuffed the tissue away after dabbing his eyes. “Nothing.”

“No one likes a pathological liar, Noah.”

“What?”

“You keep saying somethings are nothings.” Timo tried for his sweetest smile, eyes hooded, showing Noah that it was okay not to take him seriously.

Instead of reassured, Noah only glanced around again, looking first to the table of his coworkers, then towards the door, all in a flicker before returning to Timo.

“All right, well, I thought Russia might be a sensitive subject, and coming off of that you ask what’s my favourite novel —”

“Russian?”

“Yeah —” This time Noah’s laugh was a breath, shaking his head again.

“I promise not to hold it against you if you promise not to hold it against me that my favourite novel is American.”

“No shit?” He was actually smiling a bit, just a bit, but it was real — not panicky.

Timo grinned. “No shit.”

Eye contact in silence for three, four, five seconds before Noah looked away. A small cough. “I’ll tell you mine if you’ll tell me yours?” Another quick glance like am embarrassed schoolboy.

“Better yet, guess?”

“Oh yeah? You really think you can guess my favourite novel?”

“You first,” Timo said.

“That’s not fair. I mean, how many famous-enough-to-be-translated-into-English Russian novels are even around? Yet your American pick could be one among tens of millions.”

“Okay, I’ll go first —”

“No, I’ll have a guess.” Noah looked at him, frowning, while Timo kept grinning, having moved on from ears and imagining the taste of rum and passion fruit soon to be on Noah’s tongue.

Abruptly, Noah looked away. “You better go first.”

“What were you going to say?”

“Nothing.”

Pause.

Timo arched an eyebrow.

Noah laughed. “Oh, I don’t know. The Talented Mr. Ripley maybe?”

“ American Psycho .”

“No … That’s what I was going to say but … you know.”

“What do I know?”

“That you can’t suggest to your boss that American Psycho might be his favourite book?”

“We’re talking as friends, Noah.”

Noah’s bewildered expression was back in place as their new drinks arrived.

Timo couldn’t decide which was more adorable: scared or confused?

Then there was that smile, in those few fleeting moments when he laughed, when he really smiled and it was like a quick slap right in the testosterone.

Would Noah hold it against him if he reached over and —?

“To getting to know one another.” Timo lifted his glass.

Noah shyly touched glasses with him, drank, and gasped. “Whoa, that’s …” He coughed. “Strong.”

“Delicious, you mean? Like I said, don’t feel like you have to finish it. But you’re not driving; night’s young; you should be enjoying yourself, Noah.”

“Should I?” His cheeks reddened. “Sorry —” Clearing his throat. “So, uh, you were going to tell me my favourite novel.”

Was Noah or wasn’t he? That was the question.

Before those five seconds of eye contact, Timo had been infuriatingly sure he was investing attention in not only a man too young for him, not only in his employ, not only as boring as a sliced baguette but also, worst horror of all, straight.

Then the eye contact. Then the laugh. Then the flush because of an entirely unembarrassing bit of impulse speech.

Maybe he was, maybe he wasn’t. Maybe Alaska was almost as unforgiving as Russia when it came to anything infringing upon the institution of heteronormativity.

But Timo wanted Noah to be who he needed so much that he hardly hesitated in his guess.

“ Anna Karenina, ” Timo said.

Noah’s head snapped back half an inch, a reflex hardly bigger than a micro-expression, less noticeable than a sudden chill.

“How did you know that?” His voice was so hushed Timo barely caught the words in the increasingly loud crowd circulating around bar and tables. “I know there aren’t loads to choose from, but even so …?”

Timo smiled dreamily into his eyes, his own head on one side. It wasn’t that straight men couldn’t go starry-eyed over inane romantic tragedies as much as the next queer, but Timo wasn’t about to second guess his own triumph.

Noah glanced to his left, as if he thought something was behind his head that had captured Timo’s attention. “Are you —?”

“Hmm?”

“Nothing.”

“Naturally.”

Noah winced, took a proper drink. “Should we, you know, join the table?”

“Why?”

“Because we’re here with a group?”

Were they? The boys didn’t care as long as the booze kept flowing.

“What’s your favourite museum in the city?” Timo asked.

“Oh, the Museum of London maybe? No, the Sloane — weird place. Historical bits and bobs exemplified.”

“I’ve never been. Care to show me around on Saturday?”

Timo wondered if they called that the reindeer-in-the-headlights look in Alaska.

Noah took another drink. Nice that he was getting into the spirit of the thing at last. If he drained that, surely he would just fess up and express his own attraction to Timo and there’d be no more of this treading-lightly bullshit.

“Are —? Like … okay …” Noah scratched absently at his throat as he gazed along glasses behind the bar. “What are we talking about?”

“Enjoyable local activities?”

“No, I mean, what are we really talking about?”

So alcohol was giving the kid a “smart mouth,” as they said on American sitcoms? No chance he’d have said that half an hour ago. Was he a cheeky drunk? Damn, Timo hoped so — sweating just thinking about it.

Timo ran one fingertip around the rim of his glass. “What do you want to be talking about, Noah?”

“Work.”

Well, that had backfired.

Timo arched a brow.

“Haven’t we been talking about work?” Noah asked.

“Because, if I could stay on — you do know I want to stay, right? It’s just the visa situation.

In October I’m done here without a work sponsor.

I didn’t think you were interested, but if you are it’s something we need to start working on now, and probably with an attorney.

Not last-minute.” Another drink. He’d drained more than half his glass and a gut-punch of rum.

“I know I’ve just started, but I really feel like I could fit in here and make a go of this.

Your team is incredible — even the assholes among them.

Shit, sorry, wow …” He rubbed his brow with the back of one wrist. “Sorry.”

“Noah?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you run?”

“Run?”

“Exercise? We could go for a run before the museum on Saturday. Any idea if they open at nine or ten?”

“You know what? I better go. This is not … yeah.” Noah downed the rest of the hurricane like a milkshake. “Thanks for the drinks and whatever this has been. See you in the morning.” He stood, one hand on the bar.

“Tomorrow’s not Saturday.”

“At work. I’ll see you tomorrow at work.”

“Right.”

Noah leaned into his face. “Because I work for you . So whatever you’re doing, hitting on the juniors, please stop.”

“Have I made you uncomfortable?”

“Yes!”

“That wasn’t my intention. I usually mean it when I do that.”

“Don’t I know it.”

“Let’s step outside.”

“I can find my own way.”

Timo followed him, not to the front door, but veering off to the passage towards the toilets. Noah leaned against the wall, arm raised to it and brow on the forearm.

“Sorry,” Noah mumbled, eyes closed. “I drank that too fast. What do they put in those things? Lighter fluid?”

Timo rested a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Why don’t we sit back —”

“Get your hands off me.” Noah jerked away, stumbled, and leaned his back into the wall instead. Then, just as quickly, “Sorry, again. Yeah, I probably should sit down. Or go home.”

“I’m happy to take you home.”

Noah snorted. “I bet you are.”

“You’d rather I didn’t?”

“See, we’re still talking about different things and you’re still not talking about what you’re saying.

” Noah displayed a palm before Timo’s nose in a classic stop sign, making Timo’s pulse race with the audacity of the move and his own impulse to respond by catching the hand, swallowing the fingers, perhaps licking sweat from the creases.

Timo stepped closer, so Noah’s pointlessly raised hand was almost resting on Timo’s shoulder, facing Noah very close with his back against the wall.

“Noah?” Timo lowered his voice, gazing into Noah’s eyes, this hooded smile now of a seductive rather than gentle kind. “You can’t tell me you feel nothing.”

“What part of this equation don’t you understand? I. Work. For. You. You can’t invite me on a date. You can’t ask if I’m gay.”

“Did I?”

“The museum! The … whatever you just said! Stop it!” Noah’s hand moved to Timo’s chest, hot and solid, touching Timo squarely with all five fingers and palm, through no more than shirtfront and tie.

In a flash, Timo could imagine Noah’s hand closing around that tie, yanking Timo close, burning mouths connecting through rum and passion fruit and sweat.

Timo would step in, pulled in tight, and Noah would feel the unyielding bulge in Timo’s trousers and bring his other hand into action.

Instead, Noah’s hand landed on Timo’s chest, fingers splayed, shoving him back with a sharp, “ I’m not gay. Which is totally irrelevant since, no matter who I’m into, it’s never psychopaths!”

Noah pushed past him and almost ran for the front doors, Timo watching him go without moving to follow, mindful of the current shape of his own trousers.

Well, as first dates went, Timo had experienced much worse. Safe to call that a solid start.