Page 8

Chapter Eight

TYLER

I don’t have to volunteer at Sprouting Joy. I’d miss my little patch of earth, but at least it would solve the current problem.

Which is apparently me, sitting in my truck, convincing myself not to call in sick to work today. With each moment that passes, I become increasingly concerned that Graham will pull into the parking lot to find me here. As bad as it is to spend the morning in a conference room with him, it’ll be even worse for him to find me sitting here. Still. After thirty minutes.

I could rent a plot in one of those community gardens. The kind where a bunch of people grow flowers, vegetables, or herbs. It’s a waste, though. I’m not interested in growing my own food, and flowers don’t do much for me. Maybe I could donate the produce somewhere?

Before I can search for the answer, I realize it won’t make a difference. There’s still the small matter that I—well, my company—is designing Sprouting Joy’s new website. Even if I quit volunteering, I’d still see Graham at work. I can’t quit my job because of a hook-up.

My head hurts trying to sort through all of this as I stare at the text message that started this downward spiral.

Graham

I’d still like to take you out on a date.

Fuck . How does he make a simple date sound so appealing? The thing is, I can’t remember the last time I went on anything that could be considered a real date. Maybe right after college? So… fuck, has it been nearly seven years? That can’t be right.

Yet, as I search my brain for memories, that’s exactly it. I met Jasper at a coffee shop where we fought over the last chocolate croissant. We ended up splitting it, spending an hour talking at one of the tables. After that, we dated for six months before he called the whole thing off. My last and longest relationship.

Since then, it’s been hookups with guys I either met on an app or at a bar. I don’t think those count as dates—especially the times I don’t use my real name. It makes it easier to slip away after a few hours and not worry about follow-up messages.

This feeling—staring at the message I’ve been ignoring for two weeks—is exactly why.

Or, I guess, pretending to ignore. Not a single minute goes by that I’m not thinking about a response, vacillating between taking him up on the offer or shooting him down. I wake up in the middle of the night, fretting over not responding to him. I need to say something… anything… but I can’t get my mind and fingers to do the work.

That’s not the only problem, either. He knows I’m not sick in bed or dead in a ditch somewhere. I’ve sent him at least five emails in the last twenty-four hours, all strictly professional, of course. Usually, I can use work to hide from my real-world problems. Now, my problems follow me around like a lost puppy.

I keep picturing him reading my emails, sitting at the big mahogany desk in his office, wearing a tailored suit that hugs every inch of his body. As I do, the same fantasy keeps popping into my mind. One where he’s on the phone with a major donor explaining plans for the upcoming fiscal year, encouraging them to up their pledge from the previous year. That’s not the good part, though. The part I like is where I’m kneeling under the desk, hidden from view, slowly sucking his cock. Teasing, really. Enough to keep him on edge through the phone call, but not enough to make him come. I’d save that until he hung up so that I could really enjoy it.

In my mind, I can hear all the gasps and whimpers he’d make when I hit a sensitive spot. Even while trying to stay quiet and focused, he wouldn’t be able to hold back every little noise. I already have a pretty good idea of what he likes, but with enough time, I know I could find a hundred ways to make him beg.

Fuck, now I’m hard. Again . That happens a lot lately. At least the arousal pushes some of my anxiety down. I try focusing on much more boring things instead. Budget concerns. Programming. Favorite characters in the latest Final Fantasy game. It helps, but by the time I make my way into the office, I’m still forced to keep my messenger bag in front of me to keep anyone from spotting my hard-on.

* * *

An hour later, I make my way to the conference room. I’ve done nothing this morning except stare at Graham’s text. A lot of good it’s done me. I still don’t have a response.

He’s going to be sitting across from me in a few minutes, watching as I pick up my phone and computer to look at other things, fully aware that I’m ignoring him. The thought makes me lightheaded, and I put a hand against the wall outside the conference room to steady myself.

You’re fine.

I take a few deep breaths before I overhear Brian asking someone where I am. I slink into the conference room and find an empty seat near the head of the table. I hate being on display, but it’s expected now that I’m running a portion of the team. The equipment is already set up, so I pull up some of the test sites we’ve been working on over the last week. None of them are even close to done, but the goal is to get some initial feedback and make sure we’re on the right track. It takes a bit of imagination to look at these half-built pieces and envision what they’ll look like when they’re done. It’s why we insist on this part being in-person. That way, we can talk through what they’re seeing and capture the feedback without letting a client’s mind run wild alone in a room.

I always worry at this stage that the client is going to think they made a big mistake hiring us. Or rather me. I know it’s a team effort, but the feedback feels like a personal attack. That feeling is tripled today. Of course I want Sprouting Joy to have the best site possible, but what I really want is for Graham to be impressed with my work. With me.

Oh God. Is this what it’s like to have feelings for someone? It’s terrible.

I don’t get the chance to answer that question. Graham walks into the office wearing a royal blue suit, crisp white button-up, and a big smile. The whole team adores him and flocks over to greet him and get him seated. He’s been nothing but a model client since day one. I find myself annoyed with them all swooning over him. Sure, he’s a nice guy, but do they really need to fawn over him? He’s capable of getting his own fucking cup of coffee.

Fine, we give out free coffee to everyone. It’s the way they ask him.

Graham nods at me as he sits across the table from me and pulls out his laptop. I shrink in my seat, afraid to meet his gaze. Seriously? Why can’t I respond to a stupid text message?

The answer doesn’t come to me, so I open my laptop and pull up the wireframes for the website. I jot down some notes of things I want to be sure to mention during the presentation. A few times, I let myself peek over my computer screen to spy on Graham. He’s consistently busy typing something. What could be so important?

A ding bellows through my computer speaker, and I fumble for the mute button. Graham gives a soft snort at my dismay. At least someone’s having a good time. Maybe my office chair will fall into a sinkhole, and I can get away from this embarrassment.

I look at my messaging app and see I have one new message. From Graham.

Graham: I like that shirt on you.

I shrink further into my seat. Any more and I’ll be under the table. So much for making a good impression on my colleagues.

Yes, I’m wearing the new baby blue shirt I bought last week. I didn’t put it on specifically for Graham. Though, maybe somewhere in the back of my brain I wanted to look extra nice today. It’s a client meeting. I might get away with black jeans and polo shirts a lot of the time here, but I still knew how to play by the rules. Especially with a promotion on the line.

Graham: So your messaging app does work. I was starting to wonder.

Fuck . There’s literally no escape. Unless a sinkhole appears in this conference room in the next five seconds, I’m royally fucked.

Nope, no sinkhole. Or any other catastrophes for that matter. There are never tornado sirens when you need them.

Brian calls the meeting to order, which gives me something to focus on other than the cursor on my screen.

“Graham, we’re so happy you could join us today to review some of the work we’ve been doing on the website. The plan is for us to give you an idea of what we’ve done and where we’re going.” I hate the way Brian says Graham . He puts too much emphasis on the last syllable, drawing out the h and making it sound breathy. “At this point, anything and everything is changeable. If you don’t like something or feel it isn’t on brand for Sprouting Joy, now’s the time to speak up.” He pauses, and Graham smiles weakly. “Keep in mind that this is all rough. The final product will, of course, be much more polished.” It’s the same speech we give everyone.

“Of course. I’m looking forward to seeing where we are.”

Brian launches into his whole spiel, reviewing the goals and timeline for the project, taking every opportunity he can to praise Graham and Sprouting Joy. Honestly, this part is where I usually tune out. Instead, I’m glued to my screen. I want to write something back, but I don’t know what to say. In a moment of panic, I type the first thing that comes into my head.

Hi

GRAHAM

Hi might not be the emotion-filled response I was hoping for, but I was definitely going to take it as a win. Especially since I can tell by Tyler’s face that those two letters took a lot out of him.

Hi.

Let’s try this again. I like that shirt on you.

Tyler tends toward dark colors, which suit him, but the light blue brings out his eyes and softens his whole demeanor. I suspect that’s why he doesn’t wear them very often.

Tyler

Thanks. I like your suit

I’d be happy to wear it on our date

Am I playing dirty? Maybe, but the situation calls for it. A blush spreads across Tyler’s face, the red continuing until it disappears beneath his collar. I wish I could take his clothes off and see just how far down it goes.

“Graham, any thoughts before we get started?” Brian turns toward me, an expectant look on his face.

I clear my throat. “Nothing right now. I want to take everything in before I make any judgments.” I have no idea where we are in this presentation, but hopefully, that was the right thing to say. Years of board meetings have taught me how to bullshit my way through any discussion.

“Great, well, I’ll let Tyler jump in and walk you through the initial designs.”

Tyler straightens up a bit in his chair. It looks as though a burst of confidence jolts through his system. “Okay, so my team has put together a few concepts that we think could work. Keep in mind that there are a lot of placeholders here, so you won’t see the images or text that will appear in the final product. Think of these as the skeletons. Once we have an idea of what you like from these, we can start building the full pages and add in the functionality that we’ve discussed.” He turns toward me, making eye contact for the first time since that day in my office.

I nod and motion for him to continue. “I’ll try to look at them with a lot of imagination, but you might need to help me. I tend to do better with numbers than with anything creative.” Give me enough spreadsheets and Gantt charts, and I could rule the world.

Tyler’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “Great, then let’s dive in.”

I get lost in Tyler’s voice and the way he describes the various versions of the webpages that he pulls up on the screen. He wasn’t joking about them being basic. It takes more than a bit of make-believe to picture the finished product. It’s clear to anyone that he’s passionate about his work. I can look at a site and know if I like it, but I can never explain why. Honestly, most of them look the same. Tyler never makes his opinion known but lists the pros and cons of each one very clearly, often citing sources for which ones have the biggest impact on visitors. I’m not sure research has ever sounded quite so intoxicating.

It’s the way he’s gone from being shy and unsure to being a competent professional. More than that, the confidence that I saw the first night at the wine bar is back.

“Any thoughts or questions?” Tyler turns to me.

“Which one would you choose?”

“I—”

“It’s really up to you,” Brian interjects. “We don’t tell the client which one to choose.” He shoots Tyler a glare that’s so intense that I almost burst out laughing. We’re building a website, not doing surgery.

“I know, but I’d like to hear his opinion. I think he has a good understanding of our goals. Plus, this is the first time I’m attempting to build something like this, but your team here has done it hundreds of times. We’ve hired you for your expertise, so I would at least like to hear it before I decide.”

Brian stares at me, mouth open. He starts to say something a few times before giving up. “Tyler?”

Tyler turns to me with an expression that’s nothing but professional, except a slight twinkle in his eye. Maybe I’m imagining it, but I don’t think I am. “None of them are a bad choice. I want to say that first. They’re all built with Sprouting Joy’s mission and needs in mind.”

“But?” I gesture for him to continue.

“I think the second option gives you the most flexibility long term. It’s got all the pieces you need right now without being over the top or having a bunch of features you won’t need. That said, if you need them later, it’ll be easy enough to add them in.”

I swear he’s holding his breath, waiting for my response. “I agree. I like that one best. It looks very clean and easy to use. Most of the people who come to us don’t have a lot of computer skills, so it’s nice to have something easy to use and very clear.”

Tyler’s shoulders drop, and I can hear the breath he lets out.

Brian clears his throat and slaps his hands down on the table. “Well, then it sounds like we have a decision, Graham.” He emphasizes my name in a way that hurts my ears. Actual physical pain. I don’t think anyone has said my name that harshly since I was a teenager. “Our team will get to work on the next stages.”

Brian goes through some last details, emphasizing the timeline and repeatedly offering to be available for any questions I might have. I nod along, assuring him that I’ll reach out. If I deliberately leave out the part where I’ll direct all my questions to Tyler, no one can blame me.

The meeting concludes without much fanfare, and I shake hands with everyone around the table. Tyler sticks around after everyone else, slowly packing up his stuff and fidgeting with cords that I suspect don’t require the level of attention he’s currently providing them.

“So,” I say.

At the same time as he says, “Look, Graham…”

We both smile at each other for a moment. “Why don’t you start?” I gesture toward him.

“I really like you, but I can’t go on a date with you.” He stares at the computer cord in his hand, wrapping it and rewrapping it around his palm.

“Can I ask why?” I sort through all our interactions. I don’t think I’ve done anything so off-putting that someone wouldn’t agree to a single meal.

“I just… I can’t go on a date with you.” His voice is so quiet I can barely hear him over the projector fan.

“Is it because of the website project?” He shakes his head no. “Because I’m sort of your boss at Sprouting Joy?” The room is empty, but I keep my voice low in case anyone walks by.

“No, I… can’t.”

That seems to be the best answer I’m going to get right now. “Okay.” I’m not ready to give up, but it’s hard to keep chasing after someone who seems hell-bent on slipping away.

I take my bag and head out toward my car. Tyler might have said no before, but I’d been sure with a little bit of convincing, he’d be willing to change his mind. Not because I’m such a catch but because I think he feels the same way I do. We shared something special that night. More than sex, though that part was amazing, but some other connection. Something rare and hard to get. I wanted to capture that feeling, nurture it a bit, and see if we could get something to grow.

That moment I thought we had? Maybe I imagined it.