Page 9 of New Year (Reconstruction #3)

CHAPTER SEVEN

Zack had never been so nervous for a non-date in his adult life. He rarely got nervous anymore, because he had enough confidence and life experience to handle most situations. But this one was unique for all kinds of reasons, and they had everything to do with Nathaniel Hawking.

Ever since Wednesday night’s post-nightmare conversation, Zack’s main focus had been Nat. Nat’s past in Louisville and his present here in Reynolds, and the dangerous ex he refused to name. Zack respected Nat’s need for privacy, but he was also glad he had a gun and security system. One day, he hoped Nat would trust him enough to tell him more about this ex. And about his mother.

His burning need to know more about why Nat’s mother was in prison butted up against his need for Nat to trust him. Zack could probably figure out what Nat’s name used to be. Most states required public newspaper announcements of name changes. Nat had left Kentucky at eighteen, and Reynolds College would have scholarship records.

No. Not yet. Nat was finally opening up to Zack about important things, and Zack couldn’t blow that by allowing his curiosity to get the better of him. He’d be patient.

A patient nervous wreck.

On Friday, Chase was having an off day, so he chose not to attend dinner service, which sucked for Zack. He was having trouble concentrating on his tasks, because he’d agreed to make a twenty-minute appearance at Tim’s tonight with Nat. It was absolutely not a date. But it also felt like a date. With someone Zack had very much wanted to kiss two nights ago.

Denying his attraction to Nat was idiotic. Not acting on it was difficult as fuck. But Nat had been through hell, and Zack wouldn’t be another person Nat had to survive. Zack was a patient man. As a Dom, he’d needed miles of patience, knowledge, and an observing eye. He’d needed to be intuitive with his subs, to anticipate their needs, but to also have a firm hand. Those last few years in Wilmington, he’d lost his way.

But he still possessed those skills, and he was using them to the best of his abilities with Nat. Giving him space while still being present. Gently asking questions without prying. And giving him his privacy.

“Mr. Matteson, sir?”

Zack snapped his head up from the wholesale receipt he was staring at and crashed back into his surroundings. His office at River Bistro II, where he’d retreated during a brief lull in reservations—a bit unusual for a Friday night, but not alarming, as long as it didn’t become a trend—so he could avoid embarrassing himself in front of his staff. He hadn’t dropped any plates or forgotten a regular guest’s name, but he was not on his game.

“Yes, what is it, Phoebe?” Zack asked.

“The guest at table seven has asked to speak to the owner. He’s asked for his steak to be re-fired a third time, because he says the temperature isn’t right.”

Zack swallowed a growl. These were some of the most common customers, insisting their steak is never prepared correctly, so they can demand the meal be comped. Santos was on the meat station tonight, and he could cook a perfect medium-rare filet with his eyes closed. “I’ll be right there.”

“Thank you, sir.”

At least the picky guest would give Zack a simple problem to solve—and solve it he did, in less than thirty seconds, when Phoebe delivered the medium strip steak to the guest. Zack had a meat thermometer and a copy of the standard cook temps for New York strip steaks ready on his phone.

The steak was perfect. Zack took twenty-five-percent off the bill for the inconvenience.

Nothing remotely as interesting happened for the rest of the evening. Normally, Zack found great joy in the simplicity of a well-run dinner service with few issues. Tonight, he was anticipating going somewhere after work, which made the hours drag on like a turtle stuck in mud.

Their last table of the evening finally left, and close-down began. Anticipation coiled tight in Zack’s belly with each lock he turned, with each step he took toward his car. Each mile closer to home. And his non-date with Nat. The non-date he was stupidly nervous about. He parked in the driveway next to Chase’s car, then dashed inside.

Nat was lounging on the sofa reading a book, and he looked up, smiling brightly at Zack. “You’re home. How was work?”

“Pretty standard for a Friday night, thanks for asking.” It was a new, endearing habit of Nat’s, to ask how Zack’s day had been. “How did things go today with you and Chase?”

“Nothing unusual. He wanted to see an afternoon matinee, so we went to that new alien invasion film. Surviving Neptune , I think?”

Zack shrugged out of his suit jacket and loosened his tie as he moved deeper into the apartment. He wasn’t wearing his formal work clothes to a pub reopening. “I’ve heard of that. Isn’t it the debut acting gig of someone in a famous music duet? I think Chase mentioned they played at Neighborhood Shindig last year for a fundraiser.”

“That sounds right.” Nat traded his book for his phone.

While he tapped away, Zack went into his room to change his shoes and shirt, trading his work clothes for a simple royal blue polo and loafers. He also added a fresh dab of cologne, since he didn’t really have time for a proper shower, and the varied scents of the restaurant clung lightly to his skin.

“Found the trivia,” Nat announced when Zack returned to the living room. Nat was standing now, and it showed off his outfit of loose-fitting jeans, an untucked button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and the first few front buttons undone to show off a black undershirt. It was both casual and sexy as hell.

“What trivia?” Zack asked, thrown off by how incredibly appealing his roommate was in that outfit.

“The movie. The acting debut? It wasn’t one person, it was the group Off Beat. Dominic Bounds and Trey Cooper? You know, the guy who plays violin with his boyfriend, the singing keyboard player?”

Two faces flashed in his mind, and Zack chuckled. “Oh, yes. Very handsome young couple, as I recall. They’re into acting now?”

“I guess. According to IMDB trivia, a producer on the movie was a huge fan and tapped them to write a song for the closing credits. Then he gave them both small roles as a gay couple in a few scenes. They were actually really good. Especially Dominic. He had to cry in a scene, and he really pulled that emotion from somewhere.”

“Yeah. Acting isn’t a job I’d want.”

Zack nearly argued that Nat put on a performance every time he’d been with a john, or whenever he’d pretended to be happy with his awful ex. But tonight wasn’t about bringing up the past. Tonight was going out to celebrate a new beginning. “It’s not a job I’d want, either. Ready to go?”

Nat scratched the back of his neck. “I’m ready, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was nervous.”

“About running into your ex?”

“Yeah.”

“If you do see him, Nat, promise you’ll point him out? Not so I can go over and deck him, but so that I know who our enemy is.”

Nat’s wary squint shifted into a smile. “I promise.”

When they got to Zack’s car, Zack pulled back hard on the urge to open Nat’s door for him. This wasn’t a date, no matter what his developing feelings wanted it to be. He’d never driven to Tim’s from home, but Nat knew a shortcut, and they drove past the location a little before midnight. Street parking was almost impossible, so Nat directed him to a public parking lot a few blocks away.

Good sign for the grand reopening of a location locals loved.

Humidity clung to Zack’s skin, and he’d worked up a slight sweat by the time they reached the pub’s front door. According to both Chase and Nat, the entrance had never been flashy, never tried to draw in folks who didn’t already know it existed.

Zack had seen photos of the explosion aftermath online, and his imagination still insisted he’d see blackened wood and smell smoke. But as soon as Nat opened the door, Zack was assaulted by the scents of alcohol and food, the noise of music and conversation, and the warmth of dozens of bodies crammed into a long, narrow space.

Nat hesitated just inside the door. Zack hovered close by, his left hand poised and ready to give Nat a gentle touch of encouragement if he needed it. With all the swarming, chattering people, Zack felt more like a bodyguard than a companion, and he kept his eyes open for anyone Nat flinched away from.

The first person to notice them was Peggy Maher, one of the owners. The Mahers had named the bar after their only child was killed in a gay bashing. They’d renovated an old antique store—that had also previously been a soda fountain back in the fifties—into a safe, inclusive place for everyone to gather and enjoy themselves. They’d provided that to the community for over a decade.

She hugged Nat close and then kissed his cheek. “Oh, lordy, Nathaniel, it’s so good to see you with my own two eyes. You look amazing!”

“Thank you, Peggy,” Nat replied, “I’m doing great. The bar looks fantastic! Did you have Angelo help with the remodel?”

“Of course, we did. His touch is all over the place again. It’s almost like the fire never happened.”

She didn’t seem to notice, but Zack was watching Nat carefully, and he saw the way Nat’s shoulders tightened. “It does, yeah.”

“We’d love to have you back, son, but I also understand that you’ve found something new?” She finally noticed Zack and squinted. “We’ve met, haven’t we?”

“Yes, ma’am, we met back in May, I believe. You and your husband were kind enough to be our guests at River Bistro one evening. Zack Matteson.”

“Yes, of course, Mr. Matteson. My apologies for forgetting, there’s been so much going on. Thank you for coming to our reopening. It’s wonderful to receive support from someone so new to the community.”

Zack held a polite smile, aware she meant new to the Reynolds restaurant community, and not to the business itself. “It’s important to support each other. Congratulations.”

“Thank you so much.” Peggy moved into the churning crowd. He had no idea what the restaurant capacity was, but it had to be damn close to the limit.

“Buy you a drink?” Zack asked Nat.

“Absolutely.” Nat angled around to toss him a bright, almost flirty smile. “Think you can handle the house special?”

Intrigued, Zack nodded. He limited his alcohol intake to special events only, so it was fine to indulge in a single drink. “Since I’m driving, I can only have one of whatever, but I’m game for this special.”

“Excellent.” Nat boldly took Zack’s hand and pulled him toward the bar.

Tim’s was a long, narrow space with the bar on the right wall, booths on the left, and round tables with chairs down the middle. The small kitchen was tucked into the back corner where the bar top ended. Every space seemed to be filled with a human body of every age, weight, gender expression, and skin color, all bopping around together to modern pop music. Truly a place for everyone—except homophobes and bigots.

Nat squeezed them up to the bar near a station worked by a tall, muscular woman who moved fluidly while making her drinks. Nat was bouncing on his toes, and when the bartender noticed them, she squealed. “Natty Dog!” She was tall enough that she could actually lean over the bar to give him a quick hug.

“Hey, Sasha,” Nat practically yelled. “I’m so happy seeing you back there again.”

“Me too, sugar! Only thing better would be you handing me drink tickets and delivering nachos to tables.”

“Maybe, but I like where I am. Hey, this is my roommate, Zack. Zack, this is Sasha.”

Zack reached over to shake Sasha’s very firm grip. “You two obviously used to work together. It’s great to meet you, Sasha. Congratulations on the reopening.”

“Thanks.” Sasha finished garnishing a drink and passed it over to a customer. “What’re you two drinking?”

“If the house special is the same, then two Tim’s Teas,” Nat replied.

“Coming up!”

In less than sixty seconds, Sasha presented them with two Collins glasses full of ice and light brown liquid. Zack had watched her grab multiple bottles from the well, and then top it off with a squirt of cola, which suggested a variation on a Long Island Iced Tea. His first sip proved him correct. Very similar flavor profile with the rum slightly stronger in this recipe.

Nat held up his glass. “To friends and a fucking fantastic bar being open again.”

“Cheers.” Zack clinked his glass to Nat’s, and then took a longer drink. The alcohol content hit him on the second sip and warmed his empty stomach nicely. He hadn’t eaten in hours, and he might need to order an appetizer if the liquor hit him too hard. One of the reasons he’d used to enjoy throwing parties at his own home was so he could consume liquor and drugs to his heart’s content.

But he was no longer that man and never would be again. He still attended NA meetings once a week, mostly to remind himself of what he’d let himself become—excessive, indulgent, reckless. He did the work, so he could occasionally treat himself to a drink.

They moved away from the bar to allow other patrons room to order, and they ended up in an empty space between a full booth and a full table. Nat’s eyes glistened as he sipped his drink, emotions sneaking out without permission. Zack could picture Nat as a server here, moving fluidly between tables, delivering food and drinks to guests. Chatting and flirting and earning his tips. Being around people his own age.

Not someone nearly twice his age like Zack.

A handful of young men approached Nat, and Zack watched Nat for any signs of discomfort during those interactions. They all seemed to be patrons who remembered Nat as their server, and they were glad to see him again. A few mentioned working at Neighborhood Shindig and missing their usual late-night gathering spot. But when one guy mentioned being happy Nat had survived the explosion, Nat’s lips went flat, his smile strained.

Being back at ground zero of a serious trauma could not be easy for Nat, and Zack was only a third into his drink when Nat went to the bar for a second Tim’s Tea. The overall atmosphere was joyful and celebratory, and before Zack was halfway through his drink, a few center tables had been shoved aside to create a small dance floor.

Zack had never been a dancer, but after a few minutes, Nat’s hips began to sway. Nat was pretty deep into his third tea when someone pulled him into the dancing fray. Nat seemed to resist briefly, his bright, nearly-glassy eyes seeming to ask Zack for something.

Zack nodded.

Nat began to dance. His long, lean, sensual body moved with the music like a live wet dream, and Zack was entranced. Despite having a male partner close to his own age, Nat seemed to dance just for Zack.

He’s drunk. Don’t read into it. Keep him safe while he lets off steam.

Zack did his best, savoring the remnants of his only drink, while Nat indulged himself in innocent revelry. Tim’s wasn’t a night club. It was miles away from being a sex club. The dancing was fairly tame. But Zack also knew Nat had been through some shit, and Zack didn’t know what Nat’s mysterious ex looked like, so he had to remain watchful.

Not that Zack expected a man who’d manipulated Nat for possibly years to try anything in such a public place, but there was a first time for everything. And above all else, he needed Nat safe. So, he watched Nat dance as attentively as he watched everyone around him.

One of Nat’s partners bought him a shot, which Nat tossed back. The time inched toward closing, and Zack continued to watch. When one of the dancer’s hands strayed too close to no-touch zones, Zack waded into the group and pulled Nat out. Dancing was one thing; groping was a different beast entirely. Nat plastered his hot body against Zack’s, which made paying for their tab a bit of a challenge.

Sasha pinned Zack with a take care of him or else stare while she ran his credit card. The bar capacity had thinned by the time they headed for the exit, so maneuvering outside wasn’t too difficult. Wrangling a listing, drunk Nat the few blocks to the parking lot took a bit more effort, and having Nat draped around him was not helping the side of Zack that kept insisting they were just friends. He felt too damned good.

Even so, Zack managed to get Nat strapped into the front passenger seat without incident, and then they were on their way home.

Home.

He couldn’t spend too much time expounding on that at two in the morning, but Zack loved the idea of going home with his…what? Non-date? Roommate with possible un-negotiated benefits? He had no idea. He was just going home with Nat. His Nat. His Natty Hawking.

Nat melted into the front seat, his head lolling in Zack’s direction. He started messing with the radio, searching stations until he found a song that Zack didn’t recognize at first. It wasn’t until Nat started singing along in a decent voice that Zack figured it out. “(Everything I Do) I Do It For You” from the Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves soundtrack. It surprised Zack that someone as young as Nat would know that song. It had been all over the radio when Zack was a kid, until the whole world seemed sick of it. Zack hadn’t heard it in years.

He loved Nat’s rendition the most.

Nat impressed him by staying awake the entire drive. He also tempted Zack a little too much by clinging hard while they walked from the car to the door. Nat didn’t paw at Zack or do anything overtly sexual; he was simply close and warm . And so fucking sexy in those clothes. Zack got them inside, locked the door, and armed the alarm. Then he turned them both around and saw the obvious problem.

The sofa bed was still a sofa.

Zack could put Nat in the side chair and make up the bed. But that risked Nat falling asleep in the chair. Picking him up and putting him into the bed wouldn’t be too taxing, but why put forth the effort when the simplest solution also made the most sense? Zack led Nat into his bedroom, sat him down on the left side of the bed, and knelt to take off Nat’s shoes.

Nat giggled a few times. “This’s y’room.”

“Yeah, you’re going to sleep in here tonight. I’ll take the couch.”

“We cn’share. The bed.”

“It’s okay, I’ll sleep on the sofa bed. I don’t want you to wake up and freak out.”

“Won’t freak. Go t’sleep. Share.” Nat flopped sideways, his upper body sprawled on one side of the bed, feet still dangling on the floor.

“Nat?”

Nat snored.

Fucking hell.

Zack stood and stared down at his passed-out roommate, annoyed at himself for not anticipating this scenario and not talking to Nat about it while they were both perfectly sober. Sure, Nat said that Zack could sleep here, it was okay, but that was Drunk Nat. Sometimes people were their most honest while drunk; sometimes people said and did things they later regretted.

Zack never used to distrust his own intuition. Not until he was so wrong about who Brett Jones was. His intuition said Nat meant what he said, that sharing a bed was okay. And he really wanted to share his bed with Nat, platonically, because Zack’s bed had been so cold for so many years.

Nat was still in his jeans, and those were never comfortable to sleep in. But Zack didn’t want to give Nat any reason to suspect he’d been misled or lied to, so Zack left those jeans on. He gently wrangled Nat’s limp, sleeping body under the covers, then went into the bathroom to take a quick shower, brush his own teeth, and then slip into sleeping clothes. He also got a glass of water for Nat’s side of the bed, because Zack often woke up insanely thirsty after drinking too much.

Not that Zack had needed to nurse a hangover for a few years, but he wanted to be proactive for Nat. Anticipate his sub’s—no, his roommate’s needs.

Zack fetched the extra blanket from the sofa—plus Nat’s phone charger, so he didn’t wake up to a dead phone—and then settled on top of the covers on the other side of the bed. As much as he longed to slide under the sheets and snuggle up close to Nat, to hold him tight while Zack fell asleep, he didn’t. Nat had given him drunken permission to share the bed, nothing else. So Zack wrapped his arms around his pillow and tried to fall asleep.