Road To Romance: A First Time Gay Enemies To Lovers Romance Page 5

  Carefully, I turned so my back was against the door. My legs pushed out in front of me, barely supporting me, they felt so weak.

  I raised two fingers to my lips and pressed against them. They felt swollen and warm.

  Damn. That was—unexpected.

  6

  Luke

  My mouth was on fire.

  I locked the motel room door and flipped the deadbolt, as if Max could somehow get the first lock undone. Turning off the lights, I flung myself into the bed.

  My heart hammered wildly in my chest. I pulled the blankets up over my head, clenching my eyes shut.

  Max knocked on the door a few times. I ignored him and pretended to be asleep.

  What the hell did I just do?

  My stomach rolled. What had I done? Why had I kissed him?

  Kissed him. Oh, good God, I just kissed Max.

  A man.

  Of all the truly stupid, truly terrible things I could have done, this had to be the worst. This had to have been the absolute dumbest thing that anyone, anywhere, could do. It would have been better if I’d punched him.

  Punching him wouldn’t ruin my life—sure, I’d get written up at work, but even Harris had to realize what an annoying pain in the ass Max could be. Surely he wouldn’t fire me for punching him.

  Or I could have kicked him in the balls. That would have been a much better option than kissing him.

  I waited under the covers until I was sure that Max had made it back to his room. I heard baseball blaring from the other side. I turned on my own TV to drown his out. A home makeover show played, and I watched it mindlessly, trying to get my pulse to stop radiating out of my body.

  I couldn’t shake the image of Max, lips already swollen and parted, eyes wide and surprised. I didn’t know that I’d ever seen him that quiet, without smirking or laughing, for that long.

  I shook my head almost violently, my neck hurting from the emphatic roll. I threw the covers off and went into the bathroom, yanking the hot water on.

  I needed to stop thinking about that. I’d made a mistake—big deal. People made mistakes. People kissed.

  Guys kissed. Just because I had never kissed a guy—

  I jumped into the shower and scrubbed at my hair with the small, travel-sized shampoo. I listened to the TV blaring and thought about how many more hours we had to drive.

  We’d driven for nearly twelve today. We could get the rest done tomorrow, make it to LA, maybe be back in four days instead of five.

  The shampoo smelled like oranges. The sharp burst of citrus reminded me of being in Max’s car, of the warm sun beaming into the hot black leather, of Max being just a half a foot away.

  We’d be back in that car tomorrow. I could reach over, grab him, feel his large, warm hands press against me. My elbows still burned from where he had touched me—innocent, practically, in the way he’d grasped at me. I couldn’t fight against the onslaught of wonder, the desire to know what it would feel like if his hands weren’t just clutching me in surprise, but moving, exploring—

  I yanked the water over to cold.

  Get. Control. Now.

  I finished my shower as quickly as possible, nearly shivering by the time I climbed out and dried off.

  “It’s no big deal,” I said out loud. My voice cracked, and I shook my head. The mirror was halfway between foggy and clear. I stared hard at my reflection and brushed my teeth for a second time, scrubbing vigorously.

  “So it’s the first time you kissed a guy.” My voice came out in a whisper. My skin was bright pink, and I couldn’t tell if that was from the water, or the embarrassment coursing through me.

  God, what if my grandparents found out?

  They couldn’t. They wouldn’t. No one had to know. Max knew, but—

  Max might tell someone else.

  Waves of nausea had me rolling into bed, covering myself up with the covers again.

  Why did I have to go and kiss him? Kiss him? He was such a dick; of course he’d tell everyone. He’d go straight into the Quad with a t-shirt that said I Kissed Luke on it.

  I’d have to move to a new state. Get a new job, maybe a false identity. I could go by Trevor or Thomas, something innocuous.

  Or maybe I could learn to live in the wilderness. Nick had a bunch of camping gear—I could just take it. Grow a garden. Become a mountain man.

  “Get a grip,” I murmured to myself. Underneath the covers, the words sounded like they were echoing off of a canyon. I could still feel my heart beating too quickly in my chest.

  I didn’t need to flee the city. That was a bit overdramatic. It was a fluke; a mistake.

  I would just have to ignore him completely, and pretend like nothing had happened.

  — — — —

  I woke up the next morning more alert than I had ever been. It was like I hadn’t slept at all.

  I dressed quickly and drank the sad, watery coffee that the motel room offered with little Styrofoam cups. It was disgusting, but made the horrifying alertness feel at least marginally deserved.

  I had a text message from an unsaved number by the time my bag was all packed again. I frowned and opened it.

  Meet at the car in fifteen? XOXO

  I could practically feel my face paling. I glared at the phone even as it, and my hand, shook. The phone buzzed again before I could think of an intelligent response.

  This is Max, by the way. In case you didn’t save my number.

  I huffed and threw the phone on the bed and made another pot of coffee. It was decidedly worse the second time.

  I finished packing my bag and gave myself a quick once-over in the mirror. Despite the bruise-like dark circles under my eyes, I looked more or less normal. More or less like I hadn’t kissed a guy—a guy who happened to basically be my mortal enemy.

  I groaned and splashed water on my face before grabbing my bag. I flung my coat over my shoulder and reluctantly grabbed my cell phone.

  Max’s number had sent me a string of kissy-face emojis.

  Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to go to the car.

  The walk over took about thirty seconds; it felt more like thirty years, like I was truly in purgatory. The thought of even facing Max again was crippling.

  His bag was nowhere in sight. Max leaned against the body of the car, his legs long and stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankle. He was wearing a pair of light-wash jeans with a small rip in the knee. His t-shirt was plain white, but hung against his chest and shoulders snugly. I wondered if he’d picked that outfit just to punish me.

  Then I promptly reminded myself that he could wear whatever he wanted, because some guy wearing anything wasn’t punishment, because I did not care.

  I stopped a few feet short of him. His hair looked even worse today than it had yesterday—the dark brown curls were practically standing straight up, and he hadn’t bothered shaving, giving himself a thick five o’clock shadow all along his jaw. His blue eyes were a little bloodshot, as if he hadn’t slept that great, either.

  I cleared my throat. He quirked an eyebrow. Twelve-ish hours to home. I thought. I could hitchhike.

  Max pushed off the car and swung a little toward me. He winked. “Hey.”

  “Uh, hey.”

  “No kiss good morning?”

  I glared at him and elbowed my way past him, making sure to hit him with my shoulder, and climbed in the front seat. He watched me as I struggled to throw my duffle in the backseat behind me before shaking his head.

  Crossing around, he took the driver’s seat.

  I sighed. “Any chance I’ll get to drive today?”

  Max looked at me incredulously. “You’re joking, right?”

  “I am perfectly capable of driving,” I said.

  Max clicked his tongue as he threw the car in reverse. “Tough shit.”

  I opened my mouth to argue, but he continued talking before I could. “Do you want coffee? I’m stopping for coffee.”

  I’d already had two. I nodd
ed anyway.

  We swung through a Starbucks and Max pulled the car to an idled stop, tilting his head at me as he stared at the menu. “What’s your poison?”

  “Uh, just a plain black.” I squinted at the menu.

  “Boring,” he said passively before ordering. “Yeah, we’ll take a large black coffee, your house blend is fine, and then a large black Americano. And, uh, hold on one second—” he glanced at me and said, quieter, “I’m getting food. Food?”

  I nodded. He turned back to the menu. “We’ll take two of your egg croissant breakfast sandwiches.”

  We went through the drive-through and Max handed me my food. He gulped down nearly half of his coffee before we even left the parking lot.

  He perked up immediately. “How’d you sleep, Luke?”

  I jolted a bit in surprise and turned to look at him. He was staring out the windshield with his breakfast in one hand. “Um. Fine.”

  “Yeah?” He took a bite and chewed contemplatively before shrugging. “I figured you would have slept great, is all. After a kiss like that.”

  I cursed under my breath and shoved half my sandwich in my mouth to keep myself from saying something very dumb.

  Doing my best to ignore the blaring radio and Max’s constant rattling of jokes—Hey, you’re not bothered that I’m such an amazing kisser, right?—I ate in silence.

  I wanted to punch him. Or maybe kiss him to shut him up again.

  I recoiled from the thought quickly.

  I did not want to kiss him again. I hadn’t even wanted to kiss him then!

  It was—fight or flight. That was it. Just adrenaline. We were coworkers, so it wasn’t like I could punch him. That kiss was the polite, coworker version of socking him in the face.

  I turned to tell him that, but he was grinning, wide lips spread in a smile, his head bobbing a little with the music, and I felt my stomach flip.

  Leaning my head against the window, I pretended to be asleep.

  Apparently, despite years of evidence to the contrary, I had absolutely no self-control or willpower. No matter how many times I purposefully redirected my thoughts, I couldn’t stop thinking about kissing Max.

  The problem was him. It was being near him. I could hear his chest rumbling as he hummed to the crooning rock music, could smell that warm pine scent that I knew wasn’t his car, had to be the heady smell of his soap, of his skin. I could feel the heat radiating off of his thigh, pressing against the outside of mine.

  My chest felt tight like coiled wire; my stomach was flipping, full of confused, anxious butterflies. Even with my eyes closed, and a fake dream fluttering my eyelids, all I could think about was the warm feeling of Max’s tongue against mine.

  I let myself imagine, just briefly, what it would be like; what it would mean to give in, to stop fighting, to admit things that didn’t need admitting. I imagined not slamming the door in Max’s face last night, instead dragging him across the threshold.

  The sounds he’d make if I’d pressed him against the cold door, crowded into his space completely—they’d be full of indignation at first, but then turn to whines, to pleas. He’d open up for me, strip out of his tight clothes, bare his skin and—

  My eyes flew open.

  Holy shit, get a fucking grip, Luke.

  Max shot me a worried glance. “Okay there, man?”

  I pointed wildly out the window and, thankfully, his eyes moved there. “The rest stop?”

  “Ye—” I cleared my throat and tried again, subtly dropping my hands to my lap. Why had I tucked in my shirt? “Yes. I need to use the bathroom.”

  “Oh, okay.” Max flipped on the blinker and slowly took the exit.

  I threw the door open as soon as the car was parked. The rest-stop bathroom was a disgusting place, and, luckily, exactly the sort of environment I needed. I felt the heat seep out of my veins and my body start to respond to my demand to settle the fuck down. Splashing water in my face, I glared at my reflection.

  “Luke,” I said, firmly. I had nowhere near the same hard tone as my grandparents but, fuck, it wasn’t like I could call them and ask for advice. I glared even harder at the way my reflected skin paled at the thought. “Get. A. Grip.”

  I grabbed a paper towel and dabbed at my face. “So you kissed your coworker. So what if he is the worst person you know, and also the most entitled, and a brat, and the closest thing you have to a mortal enemy?

  “Everyone makes mistakes. And, okay, he’s a he, and that is—not good. But! No one knows, and no one has to know. Plead the fifth. It’s fine. It’s fine!”

  I wondered if my look of assurance was half as convincing as it needed to be; I looked frenzied to myself. Maybe Max wouldn’t notice.

  The bathroom stall opened and I jumped, cursing to myself as an old man came out from behind the door. “Oh, hi.” My face burned with a bright blush. “I—didn’t realize anyone else was in here.”

  The man hummed a little in response, but otherwise didn’t say anything. He crossed over to the sink, and I quickly jumped out of the way, blushing.

  “You know,” the man said, running his hands underneath the flowing faucet, “you could stand to take a little advice from someone who’s been around the block once or twice.”

  “Hm.” I swallowed past the embarrassment and tried to wrestle my expression into something polite. The man was wearing an old brown sweater that reminded me of something my grandfather owned. It made me miss him with a fierce ache, even if I was well into my twenties and could never tell him what was actually going on with me.

  The old man glanced at me and sighed happily. “I’ve been married to Glenda for sixty years. She’s—she’s the love of my life.”

  I couldn’t help but smile back at him. “That’s really nice. My grandparents have been together for a long time, too.”

  “Nobody thought we’d last.” The man kept talking like I hadn’t interrupted. “It’s been sixty-two years, and no one believed we’d last a week! If I’d listened to everybody else, I’d have married Leila.”

  “Leila?”

  “My would-be high school sweetheart. Till Glenda.” He dried off his hands and turned to look at me. It was a little far-off, his look, a little bit like he wasn’t really seeing me at all.

  He smiled softly. “Not a day goes by I don’t thank my lucky stars I didn’t listen to anyone else but my heart.”

  I swallowed hard. “That’s—really nice.”

  The old man hobbled by, patting me on the shoulder twice before continuing on his way. “Leila was arrested ten years later for murdering six husbands, you know.”

  I blinked in surprise, turning around, but the old man was already gone.

  I let out a disbelieving chuckle. I had no idea how that related to me, but, sure. It was nice to hear that sometimes love did prevail.

  I used the toilet quickly and washed up before heading back to the car. Max was leaning over the top, his head propped up on his hands. He straightened up when I walked over. “Ah, you survived. I’m glad.”

  I rolled my eyes and flung open the door before freezing.

  Ignoring the issue at hand, sure. Ignoring Max trying to be nice, when he had this huge thing to hold over me? Probably not such a good idea.

  I took a deep breath. “Um. You, too?”

  I glanced up and watched surprise blossom on Max’s face. He cocked his head, narrowing his eyes, before a small grin grew on his face. He slapped the roof of his car. “Let’s get going.”

  7

  Max

  The winding road down to LA was probably very beautiful. Warm sun, and bright green, leading into the burnt orange of desert.

  I wouldn’t know. We were taking the interstate.

  It was on purpose that I was driving the entire forty hours by myself. I loved my car—she was a beautiful, lean, expensive sweetheart that I was unwilling to part with, even if it meant I got a break from the leg cramps. And the last time I’d let someone drive my car when I knew it wasn’t a good idea
—

  Well, Luke wasn’t going to get to drive. Even if he was a fantastic kisser.

  And, fucking hell, he really was. It had been almost twenty-four hours, and I couldn’t get the feeling of his mouth against mine out of my head. He’d kissed like he argued—sharp, sure, confident that he was going to win, but with just enough give that I could still take what I wanted.

  It was overconfident and self-assured but good. Really, really good. He’d tasted like Winterfresh, and blueberries, and I was sure that he hadn’t even eaten blueberries that day, so I had no idea where that had come from, and—

  Shit. I needed to stop thinking about that. About him.

  I didn’t know why Luke had kissed me, and I didn’t know if he’d do it again, but from the whiplash of hot and cold he’d been giving me ever since, the ball wasn’t really in my court.

  I had tried to make light of it, tease him a little, to get rid of the tension between us, but no dice. Luke hadn’t really responded to my humor the right way, and I didn’t know how else to clear the air.

  The guy sort of hated me, but I didn’t have a problem with him—if he wanted to make out, I’d be game.

  I shifted in my seat and ignored the heat that shot through my spine when he turned to look at me immediately. My body felt jittery from a simple look that wasn’t filled with malice. Good god, I was going insane.

  “How are you driving a million miles an hour and we’re still not there?”

  I relaxed a little in my seat; this was a Luke I understood. Whiny, annoyed at me as if I, myself, were personally responsible for the traffic. I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel and hoped that the Journey blaring on the radio helped soften his annoyance at me. It was a great song.

  “Good point,” I said, tilting my head toward him as if in consideration. “I’ll just quickly call every single other person on the fuckin’ road and ask them to please get out of our way.”

  “Smartass.”

  “Whine bag.”

  “Whine bag?” Luke shifted in his seat, the seat belt tugging as he turned to look at me incredulously. The traffic was slow enough that I could turn, too, and watch as his face worked through the insult. He tried to hide it, but I’d spent enough time with Luke hating me to see that this was amusement underneath the surface, not annoyance.