Page 48 of The Holy Grail

A guy walks into a bar ...

After spending an emotional evening with Jules, crashing on the couch with her, and waking up alone with a hangover (not quite a full-grown one, and not a baby one, either, but somewhere in the adolescent stage), Evan wasn’t really prepared for the sight of a man making his way toward the bar—a man he was now seeing for the second time in two days after an eight year drought.

Malcom fucking Hodge.

Somewhat off-kilter, Evan dropped the rag he’d been wiping down the top of the bar with into the sink and schooled his features as Malcom came and sat down.

Like yesterday at the Farmer’s Market, he was wearing casual jeans, but now they were paired with a white button-down shirt, instead of the Pink Floyd T-shirt they apparently both owned and wore on the same day, like five-year-old twins.

On most people the simple shirt wouldn’t be anything to get excited about, but for Evan it was his kryptonite, especially on this man, who at forty-two, looked better than he did eight years ago.

Asshole.

Why the fuck did Malcom have to be aging so well? Why couldn’t he be balding and a hundred pounds overweight?

There were times when life wasn’t fair, and then there were times like this when life was giving you the big middle finger and shoving it up your ass. Without lube.

Malcom was likely the same under his clothes—toned and fit, with strong thighs and nicely defined arms—and for a second, Evan pictured the other man naked in the hotel room, only this time, the woman with him and Evan was Jules, not Gwen.

He had to use his imagination for Jules, but the vision turned out pretty good. Too good.

Beyond annoyed, Evan gave a slight shake of his head. He’d told Jules he needed to figure out how to quit loving her and Malcom, and picturing the three of them in bed together probably wasn’t the best way to accomplish that.

“Can I get you something to drink?” Evan asked, ever the bartender.

“Macallan,” Malcom replied. “Neat, please.”

With efficient movements, Evan grabbed the bottle of Macallan and poured two fingers into a short glass, then set it down on the bar.

“I never knew your name, so I had no idea Jules knew you, or you were the guy she was working for,” Malcom said, after swirling the golden-brown liquid a few times and taking a sip, which went down like liquid heaven. “The bar name was different, too.”

It also looked different inside, he noted, taking in some modern upgrades and decor changes, which made the space more pleasing, along with better music emanating from overhead speakers.

There was also a new, large flat-screen TV hanging on one wall, currently broadcasting a Chicago Cubs baseball game, with the sound muted.

“We changed it after my dad died,” Evan explained, then went on to add, “I didn’t know she knew you, or you were the shy guy she was seeing. She never told me your name, either, so I always referred to you as What’s-His-Name when we talked about you. Immature, maybe, but whatever.”

Overlooking the ‘What’s-His-Name’ moniker (even though he found it mildly amusing), Malcom asked, “Shy guy?”

“That’s how she described you.” Evan shrugged. “She said you weren’t her regular type, and you were shy. She also mentioned you two being a ‘good fit’, which I could have done without hearing.”

“Hmm.” Malcom paused, then murmured, “She said you were hot.”

“I am hot. Looks like she was on the money with both of us.” Evan couldn’t help but smirk, pleased to get the better description, before changing the subject and becoming business-like. “So, what are you doing here, Mal?”

“I thought we should talk.”

“Yeah? What about?”

Evan’s dry tone had Malcom raising his eyebrows. “Oh, I don’t know, the weather? I hear it’s supposed to be really nice next week.”

Instead of answering, Evan simply adopted a bland expression and waited.

“Why don’t we start with what happened yesterday,” Malcom suggested.

“You mean the meet-and-greet at the Farmer’s Market?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, well, I don’t know what there is to talk about. Sure, it was unexpected and awkward as hell, but—”

“I know, and I wanted to say I was sorry for that.”

“It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anybody’s fault. It was just … bad timing.” Evan shrugged. “The three of us would have crossed paths eventually, so at least we got it out of the way.”

“I’m still sorry it happened like that. It was … shitty.”

“It was shitty,” Evan agreed. “And I appreciate the apology, but like I said, it wasn’t your fault.”

Just then, they were interrupted by Amber, the new waitress hired to replace Mandy, who was now one of the head bartenders and kicking ass in her new position.

“I need a Guinness, two Fireball shots, and a Cosmo,” Amber recited from a small notepad.

“Fucking Cosmo,” Evan muttered, before getting to work.

While Evan was occupied, Malcom used the time to watch, accepting the fact he was still profoundly drawn to Evan, despite the eight years that had passed since seeing him.

Back then, he’d been twenty-eight, and the only real change now was in his more serious demeanor—the easy-going, happy young man with the endless smiles and flirtatious charm had been replaced with someone who had sharper edges.

However, despite the changes, Evan was as compelling as ever, his hold on Malcom still as strong.

Evan was also still fine as hell.

When he was done filling the order, he came back to Malcom and asked, “So, was that it?”

“No. We also need to talk about you and me,” Malcom replied.

“That’ll be a real short conversation, then, because there is no you and me. There never was, actually.”

“You know that’s not true.” Malcom suspected Evan was trying to protect himself by pretending he hadn’t felt anything for Malcom. “When we were together, I saw the way you looked at me, and I know you saw the way I looked at you.”

“Saying we were ‘together’ is a bit of a stretch, don’t you think? ”

Instead of answering, Malcom adopted a bland expression and waited, exactly as Evan had done earlier.

“Fine,” Evan gave in. “So, I was looking at you, and you were looking at me.” He leaned forward on the bar. “Now, what, exactly, are you thinking that amounted to, besides a seventh-grade level crush?”

Overlooking the sarcastic tone and comment, Malcom answered softly, “Mutual, sexual attraction.”

The words were spoken as if the very act of saying them was a monumental achievement.

Perhaps for Malcom, it was, and Evan tried to appreciate it, but …

“You know what happens when mutual, sexual attraction isn’t acted upon?

The answer is: not a damn thing, which is why there’s no ‘you and me’.

” Turning away, he picked up the previously discarded rag, as if he needed to get back to cleaning something, and said over his shoulder, “Thanks for stopping by.”

Malcom ignored the dismissal. “What about affection?”

At that, Evan stilled. “What about it?”

“Jules said you had strong feelings for me.”

Evan felt a spike of annoyance with Jules for having shared that bit of information, and decided he needed to be more careful about telling her things in the future (if the occasion ever arose again), because sensitive information apparently didn’t stay under lock and key with her for too long.

Tossing the rag down, Evan slowly turned around and faced Malcom, who looked slightly uncomfortable now, but was otherwise standing his ground. “Oh? She did?”

“This morning. She said you … loved me.”

Evan took a frustrated breath. Fucking Jules. “Yes, I did. Unfortunately.”

“Unfortunately?” Malcom’s expression faltered.

“Yes, because it was unrequited. That’s the worst, in case you’ve never experienced it,” Evan said, figuring Malcom probably hadn’t, because he looked like a freaking super hero.

“It wasn’t unrequited,” Malcom denied softly. “I don’t know if it was love, exactly, but I had strong feelings for you, too.”

Evan felt his heart flutter at hearing that admission (despite the disclaimer), but the feeling died almost immediately because …

eight years. “You know what happens when strong feelings aren’t acknowledged or acted upon?

The answer is: not a damn thing, which is why there’s no ‘you and me’ …

and never was.” He picked up the rag once more. “So, again, thanks for stopping by— ”

“But you wanted there to be something. You talked to Gwen about it.”

Evan draped the rag over one shoulder, because apparently Malcom wasn’t going anywhere. “Yes, I did. And what a colossal mistake that was.”

“About that …” Malcom paused for a moment before continuing. “I’m sorry she was so awful to you. If I’d known—”

“You didn’t know?”

Malcom shook his head. “I found out about it this morning when Jules told me.”

Evan was now operating under the assumption Jules had likely told Malcom everything, which could turn out to be troublesome.

Evan couldn’t be totally sure of everything he’d told her, because parts of last night were a little hazy, thanks to Clooney and his smooth tequila.

“So, Gwen didn’t mention anything to you about her last conversation with me? ”

“Well, she told me she’d ended things with you because she felt like it had ‘run its course’, and I believed her, because that’s how it ended with—” Malcom broke off to take a fortifying breath, “—the woman I had sex with.”

Evan blinked. “The woman you had sex with?”

“Yes.”

“Did you and Gwen have an open marriage or something?”

“I’m not sure, to be honest. It started off normal, but—”

“Normal? You mean only fucking each other?”