Page 22 of The Call of Azure (Unexpected Love #3)

As I step out of the shower and reach for a towel, I find myself wondering what Gabriel thinks of me.

I haven’t been able to stop wondering what Gabriel thinks of me since we agreed to start working on this performance piece together almost a month ago.

Okay, since I rescued his dog. Fine…fine…

since he dragged me into the bathroom of the club last year.

I focus on studying myself objectively in the mirror in an attempt to rein in my panic over the fact we’re meeting at his apartment tonight to move on to the next stage of the choreographing process.

Once we told Emma that we think we can make this work and that we might even be able to create a big enough spectacle of it to draw in some desperately needed funding, things have been moving fast. The custom-built rigging that will allow Gabriel’s silks to hang over the largest section of the mer-tunnels is nearly complete, and, in a week or so, we’ll be able to start working out our combined choreography on-site.

We’ve met at the center a handful of times to discuss the best positioning for the rigging and so he can watch my movements in the tank in order to take things like the resistance of the water on my speed and my need to breathe into account as he’s worked out his own routine, but there hasn’t been a whole lot of actual collaboration up to this point.

I’m fine with that. This whole project is his baby.

But for some reason, I’m nervous now that it’s time for me to see what he’s put together.

We’ll no doubt have to do a lot of adjusting once we’re working at the actual venue and we can watch each other in real time to see which elements look best, and which aren’t as technically possible as we’d imagined, but he thinks that he has the basis of a good silk program that I’ll be able to largely mirror in the tank.

Tonight, I’ll give him feedback so he can make adjustments if there are movements I don’t think will work for me, and it’s making the whole thing suddenly feel very, very… real.

I signed onto this project basically to spend time with Gabriel, not because I have a deep-seated love for performing.

In fact, even though I’m half-naked in a transparent tank when I’m at the center, I still feel like I’m hiding most of the time.

I’m not really myself when I’m a merman.

I’m a piece of fluff and fantasy that floats through the water without a care in the world, whose sole purpose is to make people smile.

A public performance art showcase is the exact opposite of that.

It’s the kind of thing that I avoid like the plague.

Knowing I’ll be performing with Gabriel is the only thing helping me keep it together.

Only the fact that I’ll be seeing him tonight has me leaving the apartment instead of hiding in my shower or closet or trying to squeeze my giant ass under the bed.

Seeing Gabriel makes me nervous for a whole host of other reasons, but all of those reasons have me wanting to run toward him rather than looking for a place to hide.

Apparently, he lives in an old converted loft space, and his silks are in his home.

Having to show up to his house like I’m picking him up for a date, even though I logically know that’s not what tonight is, isn’t helping my anxiety in the slightest. I’m sure everything will be fine once I get there because he’s a professional artist, and I’m sure I’m not the only person he’s had over to work on a collaboration.

Aside from the time he literally ran away from me after I rescued his dog, he’s acted perfectly normal whenever we’ve been together.

Even the first time he came to the center and realized that the universe had thrown us into one another’s paths yet again, his happy, engaging persona never faltered aside from our quiet walk to the bakery.

He’s treated me just like he seems to treat everyone else, with openness and laughter and kindness.

But that’s it. It’s like our few stolen moments together last year don’t affect him.

Or like they never even happened at all.

All I have to do tonight is remember that Gabriel is nothing more than a coworker and act just as professionally as he does.

I can do that. I can keep any stray thoughts about silken brown hair and expressive eyes and quiet gasps against my neck to myself. Absolutely.

Before I can start ruminating yet again about the fact that there is no way I’ll ever be able to forget those memories in the same way he seems to have, I pull my attention back to the mirror with a sigh.

I have shockingly pale blue eyes that in the right light are almost silver, a straight nose, plush pink lips, high cheekbones, and a strong jaw.

I know that objectively, if I saw someone with my features, I'd probably consider them attractive.

Even at thirty-four, though, thinking of myself that way feels… new and awkward.

I was six-foot-one before I turned thirteen, and I’d reached my current height before I was fifteen: six-six, and 150 pounds soaking wet.

The group homes and foster families always fed everyone the same thing and the same portion size based on age.

No one seemed to consider the fact that a six-six fifteen-year-old probably needed a few more calories than someone who was five-two.

Once I moved in with Aunt Mar when I was sixteen, she made sure I was fed enough to keep three people from going hungry, but it still took a while for my body to realize it was okay to put on a bit of muscle.

By the time I joined the Marines at twenty, I still hadn't made it to 200 pounds.

I let my gaze slide across my shoulders, freckled from all the hours I spent in the desert without access to enough sunblock for someone who’s pale as a ghost, even when sporting a dark summer tan.

Someone young and stupid enough to think the locals were wrong when they said their full-length flowing sleeves kept them cooler than working in the raging sun without a shirt.

The freckles adorn a broad expanse of skin these days.

My shoulders and arms are thick from years of training and hauling equipment while I was in the service and enough swimming and gym time to exhaust myself in the hopes of making it through the night without waking up in a cold sweat since I've been back.

One day, I might get used to thinking of myself as an attractive, muscular man, but as I turn with a sigh and head to my closet to pull on an old T-shirt and jeans - the only clothing type I own outside of my dress uniform - I can't find the energy to bother trying to shake the feeling that I’ll never be anything more than a quiet, scared, nerdy giant.

Of course, Gabriel acts like our moments in the club never happened.

Why would anyone as bright and shiny and perfect as him ever want anything more than a one-night stand and a professional collaborative relationship with me?

The way I’m drawn to him like a moth to a flame doesn’t matter.

The way I want him to pull me into his arms and kiss me until I drown in his touch, the way I want him to overwhelm me the way he did the night we met so he can keep me safe forever, doesn’t matter.

“One sec!”

“Oh my fruit, come to Daddy, baby.”

“Seriously, just one…”

“BABY, please.”

“I’m coming! Just one more second!”

“Sweetheart. It’s okay. Come for me, alright? That’s a good job. Just let me hold you for a minute. Good job, sweet thing. Thank you.”

By the time a panting and flustered Gabriel opens the door with Cupcake squirming around in his arms, I’m half hard just from listening to the…easily interpreted as dirty…commentary he was half yelling at me and half at her as he gathered her up to let me in the door.

“Hi!” His perky welcome, stunning smile, skintight tank top, and sparkly spandex pants that look like they’ve been painted on do not help me control the situation in my pants.

“Hey. Everything okay in there?”

“Oh, sure. She’s just a terror when someone knocks. She’ll calm down in a couple of minutes.” His playful laugh is equally as problematic for my pants situation.

“Can I?” I nod at the little ball of fluff that is wiggling so much I have no idea how he’s managing to keep her contained.

“Umm…I mean. Just because she didn’t bite you the other day doesn’t mean she’s not planning on it now. But they’re your fingers, so if you feel like risking them, you can’t blame me if you lose a couple.”

“I’ll take my chances. I think she’s already halfway to falling in love with me.” I grin before shifting over to my most embarrassing doggy voice. “Isn’t that right, sweet girl?”

She squirms even faster as I reach for her, and I’m still a couple of feet away when she manages to escape Gabriel’s clutches to catapult herself into my arms, where, for the second time in our relationship, she instantly begins licking my face.

Gabriel laughs and rolls his eyes. “Traitor. That’s what you are, little miss.

You know you’re only supposed to love me.

” He shakes his head, and his espresso-colored hair falls into his eyes for a moment before he sweeps it back into place, steps back, and gestures me into the apartment before shutting the door behind me.

“Well. When she’s done with you, you can just set her down, and she’ll go about her queen of the universe business however she sees fit, and you can help me out in the kitchen.

I’m just finishing up a stir-fry for us, so there isn’t much to do.

I’m not sure if you cook or not, but you can always help set the table or someth…

frack. I just told the guy who owns a bakery that I’m not sure if he can cook. Lord. Just ignore my rambling.”

He’s mid-sentence and still talking a mile a minute as he turns and walks through an arched doorway.

There isn’t a single pause as he talks about dinner and laughs at himself when he realizes that he already knows I can cook, or at least bake, and his volume simply increases once he’s out of sight, like he knows there’s no chance I’ll stop paying attention.

He’s right, of course. I’d listen to him talk about anything…

from anywhere. I don’t really want him out of sight for any of the moments I get to spend with him, but I can’t just abandon Cupcake since she so clearly wants my attention.

She’s adorable, and it certainly can’t hurt if her dad realizes just how much she likes having me around.

I take the few moments he’s rambling about dinner to scratch her ears and kiss her little head before following Gabriel toward the kitchen, depositing her on the arm of the couch along the way.

I don’t think it’s a big stretch to assume she’s allowed on the furniture, considering there’s a blanket that looks like it’s been piled up in a little nest, with a bone and two stuffed squirrels in the corner of the loveseat.

Gabriel is certainly eclectic, but I’m not inclined to believe those are his toys.

I bet he has other toys somewhere though.

Seriously, brain, we just managed to fix the pants situation.

I’m really not in a hurry for Gabriel to see just how much I enjoy his company.

I don’t have time to continue berating myself for thinking about Gabriel’s toys. I don’t even make it to the kitchen doorway before a thunderous crash jolts me away from that train of thought and sends me back to places I never want to be again.